 
# Rogue Stars

### 7 Novels of Space Exploration, Alien Races, and Adventure

## C. Gockel

## Pippa DaCosta

## Chris Reher

## G. S. Jennsen

## Mark Cooper

## Patty Jansen

## Salvador Mercer

#### C. Gockel

### Contents

About The Books

Archangel Down

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Betrayal

Readers and critics rave about The 1000 Revolution:

Chapter One: #1001

Chapter Two: Caleb

Chapter Three: #1001

Chapter Four: Caleb

Chapter Five: #1001

Chapter Six: Caleb

Chapter Seven: #1001

Chapter Eight: Caleb

Chapter Nine: #1001

Chapter Ten: Caleb

Chapter Eleven: #1001

Chapter Twelve: Caleb

Chapter Thirteen: #1001

Chapter Fourteen: Caleb

Chapter Fifteen: #1001

Chapter Sixteen: Caleb

Chapter Seventeen: #1001

Chapter Eighteen: Caleb

Chapter Nineteen: #1001

Chapter Twenty: Caleb

Chapter Twenty One: #1001

Chapter Twenty Two: Caleb

Chapter Twenty Three: #1001

Chapter Twenty Four: Caleb

Chapter Twenty Five: #1001

Chapter Twenty Six: Caleb

Chapter Twenty Seven: #1001

Chapter Twenty Eight: Caleb

Chapter Twenty Nine: Francisca

Escape (1000 Revolution, #2) - Excerpt

Quantum Tangle

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Starshine

Colonized Milky Way

Prologue

Part I

1. Earth

2. Seneca

3. Erisen

4. Siyane

5. Earth

6. Deucali

7. Seneca

8. Earth

9. Scythia

10. Seneca

11. New Babel

12. Atlantis

13. Siyane

14. Atlantis

15. Space, Northeast Quadrant

16. Atlantis

17. Metis Nebula

Part II

18. Earth

19. Siyane

20. Seneca

21. Siyane

22. Pandora

23. Siyane

24. Deucali

25. Cosenti

26. Siyane

27. Krysk

28. Siyane

29. Erisen

30. Siyane

31. Seneca

32. Palluda

33. New Babel

34. Siyane

Part III

35. Seneca

36. Earth

37. Siyane

38. Arcadia

39. Siyane

40. Seneca

41. Siyane

42. Earth

43. Pandora

44. Siyane

45. Deucali

46. Siyane

47. Metis Nebula

48. Siyane

49. New Babel

50. Earth

51. Earth

52. Space, North-Central Quadrant

53. Earth

54. Earth

55. Pandora

56. Earth

57. Earth

Part IV

58. Romane

59. Seneca

60. Earth

61. Siyane

62. Earth

63. Romane

64. New Babel

65. Space, North-Central Quadrant

66. Seneca

67. Earth

68. Seneca

69. Earth

70. Seneca

71. Erisen

72. Space, Northwest Quadrant

73. Space, North-Central Quadrant

74. Romane

75. Pandora

76. Space, North-Central Quadrant

77. Earth

78. Earth

79. Space, North-Central Quadrant

80. Romane

81. Earth

82. Romane

83. Earth

84. Gaiae

85. Siyane

Hard Duty

1. ~ Discovery

2. ~ Memories

3. ~ Undercover

4. ~ Sanctuary

5. ~ Survey

6. ~ New Life

7. ~ Abducted

8. ~ Decisions

9. ~ Checkmate

10. ~ Visitors

11. ~ Discovered

12. ~ The Next Step

13. ~ Predator and Prey

14. ~ The Chase

15. ~ Gifts

16. ~ Contact

17. ~ Answers

18. ~ Doomsday

19. ~ Desperate Measures

20. ~ Hope

21. ~ Extermination

22. ~ The Wilderness

23. ~ Going Underground

24. ~ The Keep

25. ~ Rescue

26. ~ Blown

27. ~ A Cry for Help

Ambassador 1

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Lunar Discovery

Prologue

1. Discovery

2. Executive Decisions

3. China, Russia, US

4. Race

5. Planning

6. Opening Moves

7. Nasa

8. First Move

9. Russia

10. Payload

11. Payback

12. Space Station

13. Planning

14. Change of Plans

15. Respites

16. Russian Plans

17. China Strikes First

18. The Russian Strike

19. Regroup

20. Difficult Decisions

21. BlackJack

22. Gambit

23. The Moon

24. Russian Pride

25. Nuclear

26. Microwaves

27. America Returns

28. Lunar Surface

29. Anticipation

30. Contact

31. Atomic Arrival

32. Russian Assist

33. Rescue

34. The Rabbit

Epilogue

Enjoy Box Sets?
Rogue Stars

Copyright © 2018

These novels are works of fiction. Names, characters, and locations are either a product of the authors' imaginations or used in a fictitious setting. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or people, living or dead, is strictly coincidental. No part from this book may be used or reproduced without written consent from the authors.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with another person, please have them download their FREE copy. If you are reading this book and did not download it from a digital retailer, or it was not downloaded for your use only, please return to an online book retailer and download your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

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# About The Books

_Archangel Down_ \- C. Gockel

Commander Noa Sato doesn't believe in aliens. She's wrong. In the face of genocide she must hatch a daring plan with a ragtag crew to save the lives of millions—and her own. Every step of the way she is haunted by the final words of a secret transmission: _The archangel is down._

_Betrayal_ \- Pippa DaCosta

She is programmed to kill. He'll do anything to survive.

In a world where only one thousand synthetics were built, synthetic #1001 should not exist. She is no ordinary synth and the memories locked inside her code could bring the entire Nine systems, an ex-con Captain Caleb Shepperd, to their knees.

_Quantum Tangle_ \- Chris Reher

A deep cover agent fights to keep the enemy as well as his own people from taking control of a strange alien that has invaded his ship, his mind and his life. It's high adventure in deep space where the voices inside your head are all too real.

_Starshine_ \- G. S. Jennsen

Space is vast and untamed, and it holds many secrets. Now two individuals from opposite ends of settled space are on a collision course with the darkest of those secrets, even as the world threatens to explode around them.

_Hard Duty_ \- Mark E. Cooper

In the far future, nanotechnology will be all that keeps us alive in a brutal war with the Merkiaari. Into this war-torn galaxy a courageous Marine, an alien geneticist, and a broken hero will unite in common cause to oppose the coming onslaught.

_Ambassador 1_ \- Patty Jansen

In Coldi society, you can get killed for looking a superior in the eye. Never mind accusing him of murder.

_Lunar Discovery_ \- Salvador Mercer

Alien technology has been discovered on the moon, and NASA scientist, Richard "Rock" Crandon must lead a desperate race to get there before America's rivals. But it isn't just the fate of Earth that is at stake in this exciting adventure.

# Archangel Down

### Archangel Project. Book 1

By

C. Gockel

**In the year 2432, humans think they are alone in the universe. They're wrong.**

Commander Noa Sato plans a peaceful leave on her home planet Luddeccea ... but winds up interrogated and imprisoned for her involvement in the Archangel Project. A project she knows nothing about.

Professor James Sinclair wakes in the snow, not remembering the past twenty four hours, or knowing why he is being pursued. The only thing he knows is that he has to find Commander Sato, a woman he's never met.

A military officer from the colonies and a civilian from Old Earth, they couldn't have less in common. But they have to work together to save the lives of millions—and their own.

Every step of the way they are haunted by the final words of a secret transmission:

_The archangel is down._
To my dad, Jim Evans. Thanks for getting me hooked on sci-fi, fantasy, and comic books. I miss you.

# 1

"We know you are a part of the Archangel Project."

Commander Noa Sato of the Galactic Fleet glared across the table. Two men wearing the dark green uniforms of planet Luddeccea's Local Guard glared back at her. Her arms were shackled behind her back to the cold metal chair she sat on. The room was chilly—she could smell the cold of it, along with the odors of various bodily fluids. Her back ached, her mouth was as dry as lizzar skin, and she thought the bright lights of the interrogation room might leave her permanently blind.

"I told you, I don't know what you're talking about," she spat.

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm on leave," she explained for the hundredth time. "I thought I'd spend my vacation visiting my brother on the planet where I grew up. Is that so difficult to understand?" Agitated, she spun her engagement and wedding rings around on her finger. Closing her eyes, she thought of her brother, Kenji, and inwardly begged his forgiveness. When they'd picked her up, she'd assumed this was all a misunderstanding. She hadn't meant to pull him into this.

"I've had enough!" said one of her inquisitors. A pair of sharp, pointed pliers emerged in his hand, and suddenly he was on Noa's side of the table. "Do you understand what I can do with these?"

Noa tried to keep from screaming... and woke up in the darkness, her whole body shaking, her breathing so fast and ragged her ribs hurt, cold air stinging her lungs. The darkness smelled like cold and various bodily fluids, an unhappy constant with the nightmare. She rubbed her eyes. But the rest had been just a dream. They hadn't used those pliers except to scare her during the interrogation. When she hadn't told them what they wanted to hear, they'd brought her to this camp.

She blinked. Was it unusually bright in the barracks? Stifling a groan, she sat up. Her vision immediately went black. She tried to access the reason why—and for the millionth time remembered her neural interface had been deactivated since she'd arrived here. Sucking in a sharp breath, she clutched her head, fingers drifting to the smooth, cool surface of the neural interface in her left temple. The guards were fond of parroting, "Freedom from information streams is the path to real wisdom," but it was torture, not freedom.

Noa's body swayed. Why was she dizzy? It couldn't be Luddeccea's gravity—the planet's gravity was the same as Earth's and standard starship grav. Was it malnutrition, or something more sinister? She bit her lip to stifle a bitter laugh. She was being slowly starved to death. How much more sinister could it get?

The spell finally passed, and she surveyed the barracks. All around her were rough wooden bunks four platforms tall. The beds were narrower than the single bunks on a starship, but each was shared by up to three women packed chest to back beneath thin blankets and without pillows. She could make out their faces—just barely—but it was definitely lighter in the barracks. Noa looked down at her bedmate, Ashley. Noa's skin was dark as straight Earth coffee. Ashley's was what Tim's people would call "peaches and cream." It made Ashley's delicate features easy to see, even in low light. As she slept, clutching her crutch like a pillow, her face looked peaceful and her breathing was gentle. Not wanting to wake her, Noa gently folded her side of the blanket over Ashley's sleeping form. Slipping down the slats at the end of the bed, she padded to the window.

Peering through the dirty glass, she caught her breath. Sure enough, thick white flakes of snow drifted from the sky, sparkling in the camp's harsh spotlights. Their barracks was close to the barbed-wire fence that enclosed them, and she could just make out snow catching on the Luddeccean pines in the surrounding forest. Noa pressed a hand to the window. The snow on the dense foliage would throw off heat-seeking scanners, and the thick branches would throw off radar, but it wasn't bitterly cold—yet. If they were going to escape, now was the time. Her brow furrowed, and she touched her interface. She squinted at the clouds as though she could will herself to see through them. Somewhere above their heads, the satellite that was Time Gate 8 floated just outside the atmosphere above Luddeccea's equator. The gate allowed instantaneous travel to any other system that had a gate of its own. It also sent and received data. Time Gate 8 and the other satellites that orbited around Luddeccea's equator acted as relay stations for the vast data traffic of the ethernet. And, she thought more darkly, if her neural interface couldn't be activated, the satellites would serve as useful landmarks for navigation... if the snow let up.

Dropping her hand to her side, she balled it into a fist and bowed her head. As a pilot of the Galactic Republic Fleet she'd been given POW training. She was taught to stay put, to obey orders, and not to make foolish escape plans. She closed her eyes. But there was no war going on, and she wasn't the captive of some pirate clan. She was in a concentration camp on her home world, Luddeccea, which hadn't declared independence from the Republic. Opening her eyes, she looked down at her wrist. A black 'H' and a number had been tattooed there, barely visible against her dark skin. She'd been captured, interrogated, and interned without a trial for being, in the guard's words, a "heretic." Not an admissible crime in the Republic. If the Fleet had known she was here, she'd have been rescued by now. Her hands formed fists at her sides. Kenji should have reported her missing. If he hadn't reported her missing, it had to mean he'd been interned, too... spinning on her heels, she went back to her bunk.

A few moments later, she was leaning over her bedmate, gently shaking her shoulder. "Ashley, Ashley, wake up, it's time to leave."

Ashley rolled over onto her back. Her eyes opened—visibly blue in the snow-brightness. She stared at Noa dumbly.

"Today is the day," Noa whispered. "It's snowing."

Ashley put a hand to her head and ran it through her sparse hair; they'd all been shaved when they arrived. A tattooed 'A' for "augment" stood out on her wrist like a black scar. Ashley's fingers went longingly to her neural interface just as Noa's had. About three centimeters in diameter, the interfaces were made of copper with titanium and polyfiber exteriors. At the center of each was a circular port that could be hardwired directly to external computer systems via cable, but it was more common to use the internal wireless transmitters. Around the central port, tiny drives, the width and breadth of fingernails, were arranged. When functioning, they could be used for app insertion. Normally, Noa thought neural interfaces looked like flowers—the tiny drives surrounding the central ports like petals. But like every prisoner in the camp, Ashley had a large, ugly, black polyfiber screw jammed into her interface port. The screw disrupted the flow of electrons between neurons and nanos and completely jammed their wireless transmitters. It was a primitive but very effective way to keep inmates from accessing their neural interfaces and the wider universe with their minds.

"We have to get ready before the others get up," Noa whispered.

Ashley stared at her a beat too long, but then sat up and quietly handed Noa her crutch. Noa slid off the bed and down the ladder, crutch in hand, and waited for Ashley. When Ashley had first arrived at the camp, she had a cybernetic limb, her 'augment,' having lost her left leg to an accident as a teenager. The guards had ripped the leg off on Ashley's arrival—no anesthesia, of course. Noa scowled in the darkness, anger bubbling in her gut on Ashley's behalf. Noa's thumb went to the stumps of the fingers on her left hand—her ring finger and pinky had been removed for different reasons than Ashley's leg, but at least Noa's "surgery" had been quick.

Ashley stumbled over the side of the bed, and Noa helped her down the ladder. Instead of giving Ashley her noisy wooden crutch, Noa swung Ashley's arm over her shoulder. Together they went to the corner of the room. There was a waste bin there reeking of vomit. As they drew close, a few scrawny rats scrambled out over the edge. Ashley gasped, and Noa put a finger to her lip for silence as the filthy creatures darted into the shadows.

Holding back her bile, Noa gave Ashley her crutch, released her, and then rolled the waste bin to the side. Ashley immediately went to her good knee and lifted a small piece of floorboard. She pulled out a sack and carefully unwrapped it.

Inside were a few pieces of bread they'd painstakingly saved over the last two weeks. There were also a few tools in the bundle. Ashley was a cybernetics engineer. Noa wondered if it was her engineering ability, as much as her cybernetic leg, that had gotten her thrown in the camp. Noa's hand fluttered up to her interface; almost everyone but the most strident fundamentalist Luddecceans were augmented in some way or another in this day and age.

"It's all here," Ashley whispered, snapping Noa back to the present.

Noa's bunk mate had created the tools in the bundle from bits of glass, scavenged wire, and castaway cybernetic parts. Along with a precious pair of pliers to remove the bolt, there was also, miracles of miracles, a shattered com chip that Ashley had cemented together with nail polish she'd stolen from a guard. The size of a fingernail, the com chip glittered in the low light. Slipping the chip into a neural drive would give Ashley or Noa the ability to listen to the restricted frequencies the Luddecceans were using.

"Well done, Ashley," Noa whispered, patting the woman's shoulder. She couldn't help but notice that Ashley was trembling. Outside, she heard guards talking to one another, debating who would wake up which barracks. "Tie it up, and be ready," Noa said. "As soon as people start waking, we offer to take corpse patrol." No one wanted corpse patrol—it meant being last in the breakfast line—among other things.

Visibly shaking, Ashley replaced the board. Noa quickly rolled the waste bin back over it, and helped Ashley up.

Outside, she heard the guards laughing and their footsteps approaching. Any moment they'd come in.

Trembling beside her, Ashley said, "Noa, I can't go with you."

Noa looked at her sharply, uncertain of what she'd just heard. "What?"

Not meeting her eyes, clutching the tiny bundle to her stomach, Ashley said, "I'll slow you down."

"No," Noa lied. "You won't." Noa was taller by at least four inches. Leaning down, she put her hands on Ashley's shoulders. There was a tear running down Ashley's cheek. Noa wiped it away without thinking. She felt her gut constrict. Ashley didn't look well; she was paler than even Tim had been—and he'd been blonde, blue-eyed, and genuine Aryan purist stock.

Ashley and Noa had bonded over their skin coloring when they first met. They were both throwbacks to an era people considered less enlightened, when humans had been many races instead of one. People like Noa and Ashley were reminders of that time; it made people nervous and, ironically, prejudiced. It had been a superficial reason to bond, and it could have backfired spectacularly when Noa had first voiced her escape ideas. But Noa had sensed bravery and mettle in Ashley and knew she wouldn't betray her. "I need you, Ashley," she whispered. She didn't want to carry out their escape plans alone.

Hunching her shoulders, Ashley looked at the floor.

Trying to ease her fears with a laugh, Noa said, "If you don't come, who will listen to all my crazy schemes and tell me they won't work? Who will tell me to shut up when I'm whining? Who will kick me when I snore?"

Ashley's eyes lifted.

Noa tilted her head and gave Ashley what Tim used to call her best "cornball grin." Although Noa had some acquaintance with corn, she wasn't sure what a cornball was—probably some Aryan-Europa purist isolationist thing Tim's people did—some sort of weird ball sport? Whatever it was, the grin had always worked on Tim and usually worked with her friend.

Instead, Ashley whimpered, "Don't make this worse! You don't need me, Noa. I showed you how to remove the bolt and turn your neural interface back on. You can move more quickly without me."

Noa squeezed her shoulder. "Ashley, Starmen do not leave Starmen behind."

"I'm not a Starman," Ashley protested, wiping her eyes.

"I can't leave you here," Noa whispered back. There was a part of her that wanted to, that was afraid of having to half-carry Ashley through the snow and wilderness. Starmen didn't give into fear.

Ashley closed her eyes. "Yes, you can, and you have to. You have to tell people about this place—if you tell them, they'll come for us and the nightmare will end."

"You could be dead before that happens," Noa whispered, the reek of the vomit in the bin creeping into her consciousness. People died here all the time—of illness, injuries, and starvation.

"I won't die," Ashley whispered.

Every muscle in Noa's body tensed. Ashley was too smart to believe that.

Putting her hand on Noa's arm, Ashley whispered, "And you have to go rescue your brother. From what you told me, he's in much worse danger than I am."

Noa swallowed. Most of her family had left Luddeccea—complaining that it was becoming more fundamentalist. But Noa's brother Kenji had left and then come back. Considering what Kenji was, that was especially crazy. Oh, nebulas, what would they do to Kenji? If they permanently deactivated his neural interface and deep neural implants—

The door to the barracks opened, and one of the guard women strode in. The guard was new and wore fresh Luddeccean Green—layers and layers of it. She looked so warm, Noa hugged herself instinctively. The guard had the amalgamation of East Asian-East Indian features that were most common: East Asian eyes, straight nose, full lips, tan skin, and black hair. She was very tall, and Noa noted enviously, well-fed. The woman bellowed, "Up, all of you!"

Around them, women cried and rose from their bunks.

Leaning to Ashley's ear, Noa whispered, "Do you want to wait until another day?" Her fingers twitched at her sides. The longer they stayed here, the weaker they became. But maybe Ashley's pallor was due to illness? Sometimes people here recovered from minor illnesses. Sometimes.

Ashley pushed the bundle at Noa's chest. Noa quickly tucked it in the waistband of the secondhand rags that served as pants. Her own clothes had been confiscated.

Ashley whispered, "If you don't go, I'll tell them you are planning to escape."

Rocking back on her feet, Noa's eyes went wide. The women in the barracks began stumbling into the line that went to the mess hall. Grabbing her crutch, Ashley hobbled quickly toward them. Noa chased her, feeling anger and dismay welling in her chest. "Ashley, wait... "

Ashley turned back. Wavering on her crutch, she hissed, "I'll scream, I swear it."

Noa stopped in her tracks.

"Why aren't you getting in line?" the guard bellowed at Ashley.

"I don't want to sleep with this woman anymore," Ashley said, shaking her crutch in Noa's direction. She curled up her lip and stammered, "Filthy African!"

Noa's jaw fell. It was the language of the European purists—a group to which Ashley didn't belong. She was like Noa—a random winner of a genetic lottery who looked like one of the old races. There were sharp chuckles from the women in line, maybe enjoying the irony of one perceived purist insulting another.

If the guard hadn't been new, she would have smelled the lie. Ashley and Noa had been friends since their arrival. But the guard was fooled. Huffing, she said, "Stupid Europa, get in line. And you—" She pointed at Noa.

Noa threw up her hands and moved to the line, but then her eyes slid to Ashley. The other woman was mouthing the words, "Go, Go, Go."

Noa's lip curled in despair and fury. Her eyes blurred—stupid, selfless, brave, Ashley. Noa was going to curse her name for years, she already knew it. Sucking in a sharp breath, she said to the guard, "I'm on corpse duty."

Noa watched the other women go to the mess, their shapes blurred by the snow and the dawn twilight. She could just make out Ashley hobbling on her crutch.

Noa looked heavenward. The snow-bearing clouds seemed to go on forever. There was no hope that she'd be able to navigate by Time Gate 8. She touched her interface, and her fingers slipped to the bolt blocking her data port. As soon as the bolt was removed and her neural interface was activated, she'd be able to find her way. She stroked the edges of the port, and her hand shook with hunger and weariness—or perhaps just yearning for connection. She'd be able to contact the Fleet, her family, everyone... she shook her head. Maybe not right away, not until she put some distance between herself and this place. Otherwise her signal might be targeted, and she'd be dust. But she'd be able to receive signals. Her heart clenched, thinking of her mother's voice. Her mother would have left a message as soon as Noa missed her weekly call. It had to be up there, suspended in the ether; Noa could receive it if she could just access the ethernet. The cold polyfiber of her interface burned her fingers, and Noa realized she'd been standing there, staring blankly at the clouds for much too long.

Exhaling and dropping her hand, she looked down the row of barracks. The snow was falling so thickly she couldn't see to the end. There was a large, open wagon two barracks away. The wagon looked like a thing out of the twenty-first century. It was made of rusty metal, with actual wheels. The source of locomotion, by contrast, looked prehistoric. The wagon was attached to a lizzar, a herbivorous animal native to Luddeccea that was lizard-like in appearance. It was as large as a cow. Instead of scales, fur, or feathers, it was covered by thick gray hide plates, as wide as a hand. It stood on four squat legs, had a short heavy tail, and a beak-like snout for ripping bark from trees. Noa had grown up in Luddeccean farm country surrounded by imported Earth livestock; lizzar made cows and even chickens look like geniuses. She watched as women from other barracks on corpse patrol threw bodies into the wagon. The smell of death didn't bother the lizzar a bit. It stood licking at the falling snowflakes. The smell of death didn't seem to bother the driver either. He sat unmoving at the front of the wagon, a barbed whip in his hand. Noa let out a breath in trepidation. There were no dead in her barracks. She had no corpse and no excuse to be near the vehicle. It was a sickening thing not to be relieved by the absence of death. What was she becoming?

Her skin heated despite the cold and her thumb found its way to the stumps of her fingers. Her fingers had been swollen when she first arrived; to steal her rings, the guards had cut off the last two digits. The memory of the pain didn't compare to the loss of those simple bands. After years as a widow, they were the only reminders of Timothy she kept on her person, and these people—animals—had stolen them. For a moment, she was so angry her vision went white as the snow. As her vision cleared, she spotted a barrel with a fire burning in it near the wagon. Two female guards were standing beside it warming their hands. Yelling for the driver's attention, the guards motioned for the man to get off the wagon. He perked up, hopped off, and followed them into a guard house. Noa's lip curled. For her husband's memory alone, she should take the barrel into one of the barracks, tip it over, and set this whole camp on fire.

Her feet started moving as though they had a will of their own. She pictured the flames rising up above the roof of the barracks, and it made welcome heat flare in her chest. And then she remembered Ashley's plea, "Tell people about this place," and swore. She heard her husband Tim's voice in her head, "Revenge isn't rational if it is suicidal, and it doesn't help anyone." She shook her head. Timothy was always so damned logical. "Damn you to Hell for being in my head all this time," she muttered. Her face crumpled, and she held back tears.

She drew to a stop and stood between the flaming barrel and the wagon. It was the first time she'd ever seen a corpse wagon unguarded and without a driver. In the guard house, she heard the guards and the driver; it sounded as though the guards were flirting with him. She snarled in frustration; how dare they laugh? She imagined picking up the barrel and hurling it through the building's window. Her hands balled helplessly at her sides. Or maybe she'd just burn herself. She looked at the wagon loaded with bodies, heard one of the female guards say, "We get so lonely sometimes," and bit her lip to keep from screaming. They deserved to die in flames. She heard the crunch of boots in snow, and looked frantically between the wagon and the fire.

"I should have set the whole damn place on fire," Noa projected the thought into her mental log as the wagon hit an exceptionally large pothole. She was shivering, colder than she'd ever been, and sick of it.

"Ehh... Lizzy, did you hear that?" the driver asked. Her neural interface was dead, and she had spoken aloud instead. Quietly sucking in a breath, she said a prayer—silently this time—but her mind still reached for her neural interface, though it had been disabled for weeks.

"Must be going crazy," said the driver. Noa could barely hear him over the sound of Lizzy the lizzar's feet and the creak of the wagon wheels.

Noa's lips curled, even as her heart rate picked up in fear. She longed to get up and shout, "You despicable blob of blue-green algae! You have been to the camp. You are a monster to allow such horror." But then she'd have to kill him before he killed her, and he wouldn't show up to his destination on time. She needed to get out just before he reached his destination—whatever that was—and quietly escape without anyone being the wiser.

But she was so hungry... and so alone. She longed to open up her bundle, not just for the food, but to activate her neural interface and have the collective consciousness of humanity piped blissfully into her brain.

_No, Noa, don't go down that road_ , she thought. _You'll get out of this_.

She bit her lip. She'd been in plenty of dire straits in the Galactic Fleet, but she'd never been in a situation this bad. Even the Asteroid War in System 6... she took a breath. At least, in that hell she'd had her crew mates.

Her one small relief now was that her fellows lay still and silent in the wagon. She had heard horror stories of barely-alive prisoners being thrown out with the dead.

She scrunched her eyes shut and took another breath, counting to ten as she did. Shutting her eyes was a mistake. Unable to see the meager light filtering through the blanket draped over her like a shroud, she focused on the feeling of the bodies around her. Where they should have been warm and soft, they were frozen and hard. She pictured their cold, graying eyes. She opened her mouth, about to say, "Get a grip, Noa, Captain Kim escaped a hostage situation with this same ploy... " Catching herself, she restrained a shudder. After his cadaver-escaping-hostage experience, Kim had become a haunted man.

Her hand drifted to the bundle. The rational part of her brain warned her that extracting the bolt was bound to be a noisy business... but the emotional part of her brain was screaming that if she went insane with loneliness, survival wouldn't be worth it. Her hands tightened around the bundle. She almost pulled it out, but then jerked her hand away. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on happy thoughts, the kittens on her starship, her last lover—not Tim—she could never think of Timothy. He wasn't a happy thought. But, of course, telling herself not to think of her husband made her think of him, and made her thumb seek the stump of her ring finger. She could picture his dark blonde hair, slightly sunburnt cheeks, pale skin and ice-blue eyes. What would he say right now? "Don't think of me, woman, think of something happy." She bit back a smile and the hard edge of old grief. Think of something happy. She closed her eyes, and thought of her little brother Kenji...

_The sunlight sliding through the window onto Kenji's bed seemed to have physical shape. It put his sleeping ten-year-old form in a natural spotlight. The spotlight effect was amplified by the midnight black walls of Kenji's room. Over the black paint he had put a map of the universe as it would appear from the core of Luddeccea. He longed to leave Luddeccea and explore the greater universe as much as Noa did, but for different reasons. Noa wanted excitement, adventure, and freedom. In Noa's mother's words, Kenji's fascination was much more "scientific." He'd agonized for months over how to make a cuboid-shaped room simulate a 360-degree spherical view. In the end, he'd made his bed the core and painted the constellations on the walls in a way that created an optical illusion of a sphere. Without an active neural interface, he'd tediously calculated the exact distortion he'd need to make the constellations appear realistic by entering formulas verbally into a computational device. Perhaps it hadn't been tedious; to Kenji, math was never tedious._

_Kenji's eyelashes fluttered. Noa's fourteen-year-old self sat down beside him on the bed._

_"Noa?" he whispered, rubbing the bandages over his data port._

_Leaning forward, Noa took his other hand. His skin was tan, unlike hers, and instead of her fine tight coils, his hair hung in smooth black ringlets._

_"I'm here, Kenny," she said. "How do you feel? Are you in pain?" Everyone received a neural interface in the soft spot at the left side of their skulls when they were just infants. The interfaces weren't activated until they were ten, when nanoparticles were injected into the central port. The nanos spread out over the surface of the brain in a net and could receive and send electrical pulses. Through the electrical pulses, sights, sounds, words, and even shadows of emotions could be received and sent. Secondary applications made arithmetic and memory tasks easier, too. Noa's "awakening" hadn't been a painful process; joining with the greater collective conscious had been, and still was, wonderful. As her neural interface had been gradually activated, she had been able to explore larger and larger parts of the universe with only her thoughts. But Kenji's "awakening" was different. Among other peculiarities, Kenji lacked the ability to read facial expressions. So doctors had sent some of the nanoparticles into deep structures of his brain to stimulate the regions that were at work when humans saw a smile, a frown, or a flinch._

_Kenji's eyelids ceased their fluttering, and his hazel eyes finally opened; in the bright sunlight they looked almost gold._

_"No, I don't hurt," said Kenji, his voice and expression flat._

_Noa smiled, not sure if the extra nanos had helped, but glad that he didn't hurt. A lot of the Satos' neighbors had disapproved of the family's decision to add the extra nanos, and she'd been worried about it herself. Her mom said it was the "Luddeccean influence" affecting Noa's reasoning. Her family was part of the fourth wave of settlers to Luddeccea, the "fourth families." They weren't part of the hard-core Luddeccean "first families" and "second families" that had migrated here to escape the coming Cyber Apocalypse and Alien Wars. It had been over four centuries since the first, primitive neural interfaces were designed and humans had begun exploring deep space. Neither of those conflicts had come to pass. Now, only the most fundamentalist Luddecceans didn't receive the neural interface—interfaces might be forbidden by Luddeccean gospel, but then, so was birth control. Most Luddecceans practiced birth control, and neural interfaces were even more popular than that. Still, many of the Satos' neighbors were against more drastic augmentation, like what had been done to Kenji. It would strip him of his "soul," they argued._

_Noa had worried about that, and that it might hurt. But it didn't. Her smile broadened._

_Kenji gasped. "You're happy."_

_Noa's eyes widened. He'd read her expression! "Yes." She hadn't sent that feeling to him through the net—his nanos were too new, and it would be a while before he was sending and receiving feelings or data._

_Kenji's brow furrowed. "And you're surprised... " His eyes drifted down to her mouth. "And happy."_

_"Yes!" Noa cried, squeezing his hand. "Are you?"_

_"Yes," he whispered. And then he smiled. A little awkwardly, to be sure, but genuine. Kenji's smiles were always genuine._

_"I feel... " he murmured. His hand tightened around hers. "Not alone."_

The wagon jerked to a stop, and Noa's eyes bolted open. She heard shouts, and the roar of large engines, but not the distinctive whir of antigrav. She was at the destination; she'd fallen asleep and missed her proverbial stop.

Outside of the wagon someone shouted, "Detach that dumb lizzar and get that loaded up onto the dumper! Let's toss those corpses and bury them so we can get inside and get warm!"

Noa's heart stopped. So that was what they did with the dead. She heard the driver step down from the wagon, heard engines approaching, heard four loud squeals, and then the wagon was hoisted into the air. Creeping out from under her blanket to the side of the wagon, Noa peered down and gulped. She was thirty feet above a deep pit in the dark, rich earth. She lifted her gaze. Beyond the pit was a field of low hillocks covered in snow. Her heart sank as she realized the hillocks were graves. "Focus on the positive, Noa," she reminded herself, and then realized there weren't many positives to focus on. "You're out of the camp... and being a first officer was boring you half to death. Stupid blue-green algae reports."

"Did you hear that?" someone said. "I swear this place is infested with spirits."

Her eyes went wide. Damn it, she'd spoken aloud. But then someone else said, "You're starting to hear things. These are augments, they don't have souls to be trapped in the afterlife. Human up!"

Noa's fists clenched at that, but she focused on the terrain beyond the graves. Through the falling snow she made out low, forested mountains—the perfect hideout if she didn't freeze to death.

She heard engines to her right; she looked and saw enormous bulldozers. The platform the wagon was on started to incline and the frozen bodies started to slip. Scrambling forward, Noa grabbed the front edge of the wagon. She had to stay on top of the bodies. Clinging to the cold metal, part of her brain screamed that this was it, that the dirt from the bulldozers was going to be on top of her before she made it out of the pit. "Shut up, brain," she whispered. This time no one heard. The whirring of the engines and screeching of the dumper drowned her out. The wagon inclined more steeply and the back opened up. Her frozen companions started to slide into the open earth. Noa could hear shouts of surprise and alarm over the engine roars. Had they seen her? Tightening her grip, she waited for bullets... but none came... and the wagon stopped its incline. She looked down. The wagon was tilted at a steep angle, but there were still a few bodies at the bottom. Once she could have clung here like a xinbat for hours, but she was so weak. Her arms shook with cold and weariness. She heard more shouts, and then her fingers slipped. Noa crashed onto the bodies below her, sending a few more toppling into the pit, but didn't topple in herself. She blinked, and found herself staring at a body of a woman whose mouth was frozen open in horror. Noa looked up fast, knowing that strange woman's face would be embedded in her consciousness as long as she lived. Granted, her lifespan felt like it was getting shorter by the second. She heard shouting. Above her head she heard the whir of antigrav.

There were more shouts, and the sound of engines turning off. One of the graveyard workers shouted, "The alien invasion is here! Quick, to your stations."

Noa's brow furrowed. What the solar core? She was ranked high enough in the Galactic Fleet to be privy to the intel the public didn't ordinarily hear: terrorist attacks that were thwarted and not thwarted, plagues that didn't respond to standard antivirals, antibiotics, or radiation treatments; the latest in quantum drives, hidden jump stations, and all intel on extraterrestrial life. There were no aliens—well, not the kind that were sentient space-going beings or that would be anytime soon. There was plenty of blue-green algae, though. She'd had to fill out many a report on blue-green algae in her time in the fleet. The Galactic Republic was so concerned with not disrupting the "natural habitat" of any potentially sentient being that it went to great lengths to prove that even the bloody-universal-blue-green algae they found all over the galaxy didn't represent a hive mind. In all the cases Noa had reviewed as first officer, it hadn't. She felt the muscles in her neck tense and her skin heat in memory of the maze of bureaucracy she'd had to go through each time they came to a semi-habitable world and she, as Acting First Officer, had gotten the joy of compiling the reports from the scientists.

She took a deep breath. It didn't matter what the crazy Luddecceans believed about aliens. She scrambled to the edge of the wagon and peered over. Not a human in sight. Hauling herself over the edge, she slid down to the dumper platform, and jumped to the ground. Overhead she heard cannon fire and more antigrav engines. Instead of an alien vessel, she saw a single civilian flight vehicle—the kind that could just get far enough out of atmosphere to traverse the globe rapidly or rendezvous with Time Gate 8. It was being rapidly pursued by one of the Luddeccean Guard's ships.

Noa didn't have time to wonder who it was. Ducking her head, she ran. She heard more cannon fire in the sky—so close the ground reverberated beneath her feet and her ears rang. But no one fired at her. She couldn't have planned a more brilliant decoy strategy. Legs pumping as fast as they would go, breathing so hard it felt like her lungs were filled with shards of glass, she threaded her way between hillocks, and didn't stop until her heart felt like it would beat out of her chest and she was well into the trees. Panting, legs shaking, she stooped and took out the bundle. She didn't reach for food; she reached for the pliers.

Moments later, the bolt in her neural interface was discarded in the snow at her feet. With trembling fingers, she reached into the data port and found the damaged circuits. She snapped a few tiny levers back into place. And felt... nothing. She shook her head violently side to side, and her interface was reignited by the kinetic energy of the action. She felt the familiar buzz in her neurons, and she threw up her arms in joy. She had an urge to call her mother, the Fleet, anyone, but stifled it, remembering her signal might be detected. Instead, she set about searching the ethernet for proper escape music, or maybe what she needed was a direct link to the mind of a footballer on Mars sprinting in low gravity; that would lift her heart. She settled on a channel for Mars's premier stadium. Instead of a direct link to a footballer's brain, she heard an announcement: "The Republic has failed to heed the Luddeccean warnings of alien invasion. We will be alone in our struggle, but as Luddecceans we will prevail!" Noa blinked. Madness, obviously. She searched for a channel on Venus she liked for its dance music and got the same announcer, this time warning, "Disconnect your neural interfaces lest they be compromised by alien influence." Noa felt her heart tumble as she skittered through the stations. All were broadcasting the same announcer—all the off-world and planet-side channels had been compromised.

Swearing, and almost crying, she plucked the chip from the open bundle, put it into a spare slot, and tuned into the Luddeccean secure channel—as she should have done immediately, she scolded herself. She heard a different man's voice, low and sonorous. "Team four has joined the pursuit, target will soon be down."

Belatedly, Noa realized the chase above her head was still going on.

Another voice crackled in her brain. "Should we give up the search for the lost prisoner?"

Noa held her breath.

"Negative, do not abort the search. Commander Noa Sato is considered a high security risk and extremely dangerous."

Noa's hackles rose. "Curse of bloody competency," she grumbled.

"We don't have her individual port reading," one of the voices said. "She must not have a locator."

Noa did have a locator—a Fleet supplied one. If there were any Fleet close by, they would have detected her. But, of course, the Galactic Fleet had devices that scrambled signals and even location. They didn't want shot-down personnel being trailed by terrorists. Unless they had a Fleet decoder—or until she tried to call for help—she would be as invisible as a phantom.

Another voice chimed in, "The screw jammed into her port should have a short-range locator. Try homing in on that."

Noa's eyes widened. She looked at the piece of polymer and metal at her feet. It was big enough to contain a locator chip. Picking it up, she hurled it through the air. And then, after stuffing some bread and snow in her mouth and letting it warm, she accessed some data her parents had made her download when she was just a girl. For an instant she worried that the ethernet bands used by her GPS would also have been hijacked—but a map seemingly etched in light appeared in the air before her—an illusion created by data as it interacted with her visual cortex. She saw her location as a single, red blinking light in a three-dimensional landscape. She concentrated—saved the data locally in case the GPS was hijacked, and then focused on finding the closest human habitation. There was a winter retreat town exactly twenty clicks away. She could make it... if she didn't freeze to death.

Curling her hands against her stomach for warmth, she set off through the pines. Just a few minutes later, Noa heard a howl so loud, it made every hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She heard a crack, snow fell all around her, and she ducked. A branch as thick as her leg landed not six steps away. The howling continued. Noa looked up. Where she stood there was only a breeze, but beyond the shelter of the pines' great trunks, the wind was whipping the tree tops like mad banners. She curled her hands more tightly against herself and kept going.

Over the Luddeccean channel, someone said, "Sato's data bolt has been found. Fan out!"

Another voice cracked, "We can't send a jump team from the cruisers. It's too windy."

"We've got men on the ground, divert them!" someone else said.

Nebulas. Scowling, Noa willed her legs to move faster—but they didn't. She cursed under her breath. She had to have more reserves than this.

In the sky above she heard the whir of antigrav engines, the scream of cannons, and then the roar of exploding cannon fire as it collided with a ship. Noa closed her eyes and said a brief prayer for the unknown person overhead.

A Luddeccean voice rang through her mind, over the secure channel. "The Archangel is down!" Stopping in her tracks, Noa spun in the direction of the explosions, memories of her interrogation flashing back to her at the word, "Archangel."

Someone on the channel gave coordinates for the crash site, and it seemed that every secure Luddeccean channel on the planet echoed the strange message. "I repeat: Archangel down, Archangel down!" The words exploded in her mind, and she felt a buzz in her head.

And then all voices went silent. Noa plugged the coordinates for the crash site into her neural interface's calculator app. Could there be any survivors? Could she reach them in time? The answer blinked back at her before she could even finish the thought: it would take hours to reach the craft on foot at her pathetic excuse for a jog. She couldn't help, or expect help, from any fallen angel.

# 2

He fell.

The ground rushed toward him, he swept past the limbs of towering Ponderosa pines to the ground of dead needles and rough stone, and he didn't feel pain. He was pain.

He opened his eyes and found himself flat on his back, bright lights burning his retinas, tubes in his mouth and nose. He heard the sound of rushing air, felt his lungs expand with a stab of agony, and then felt the air slowly seep back out. Dimly, he realized he was on a stretcher being pushed down a long, white hallway. Heat rushed down his cheeks.

"James," a familiar voice said.

His gaze followed the sound, and he found himself staring into his father's hazel eyes. They were red-rimmed with tears. His father never cried. "James! Stay with me," his father said. He pulled James's hand to his cheek. James blinked. His hand was pale next to his father's darker Eurasian skin. His mother was dark, too. His father and mother had struggled so hard to make sure that their blonde-haired, blue-eyed child wouldn't face any disadvantages. And he hadn't. James had had a wonderful life. A perfect life of mental stimulation, meaningful work, good friends, and adventure. He wanted to say so, but the mask over his face prevented him from speaking.

He heard shouting, and the sound of many footsteps, rubber on linoleum, a beeping long and slow, and someone saying, "Sir, you must step away."

"No," his father said. "No!"

His father's words echoed the feeling in James's heart. He couldn't swallow, but his body tried to. A gurgle rose up from the tubing, and the furious whir and beeping of machines became more furious still.

Blue-gloved hands wrapped around his father's shoulders, pulling him away, and James was moving through the long white hallway alone, the shouts becoming muted. He closed his eyes. He hadn't had a chance to say what he wanted to say—but the time capsule, his father would find it. Everything was in the time capsule... the world went dark behind his eyelids.

His eyes opened again. He was flat on his stomach instead of his back. Instead of pain he felt cold; it sizzled from his hands and the front of his legs and torso to his spine like an electric charge. He scrambled up, and for a moment he was suspended in a white blur. Trying to get his bearings, he spun in place. Was he in the hospital? But then why was it was cold? And there was no sound of beeping, footsteps, or the whine of antigrav stretchers—just a soft whisper.

His head ticked to the side, and the white blur came into focus. He found himself alone, outdoors—the ethernet strangely silent. He blinked. Beyond the snowflakes, there were trees. The whisper he heard was the sound of millions of snowflakes colliding with the pines, the ground, and his body.

Snow whispered.

He didn't think he'd ever noticed that before.

He blinked snowflakes from his lashes. The trees were Ponderosa Pines, which meant he was on Earth near the accident he'd just been dreaming of... no, remembering. He took a deep breath, and instead of the scent of pine, a different fragrance like mint and lavender flooded his senses—Luddeccean pine. He shook his head, blinked again, and saw that the trees he'd mistaken for Earth's Ponderosas had needles in gradients of red and purple, and silvery-gray bark. The morphology was almost identical to Ponderosas, hence his confusion. Similar gravity and climate on Earth and this planet had produced some of the most dramatic examples of convergent evolution in the galaxy.

How had he gotten here? He brushed snow from his chest and his hand encountered a strap. His eyes slipped down to a belt slung over his shoulder to his side... a holster... for the rifle on his back. Why did he have a rifle on his back?

He looked down at the outline his body had made in the snow. He must have fallen. Again. He shuddered, feeling a crawling sensation under his skin. Over the whisper of snow came the loud whine of antigrav engines above the treetops, ten kilometers away, south by southwest, and approaching at a rate that would put them here in 3.5 minutes.

He shook his head and clutched his temples as the recent past jolted to the forefront of his consciousness. He'd come to Luddeccea from Earth to visit with his parents at their vacation cottage—just as they had done every year since he was ten years old. The rifle was for hunting, as was the camouflage he was wearing. This year he'd come early. The recently elected Luddeccean government was very conservative. He'd heard things over the ethernet that made him suspect that the planet might have become inhospitable for outsiders. He had come to Luddeccea a week before his family, just to make sure things were safe.

He winced—the expression didn't go further than his eyes; his lips felt odd, stiff. The last thing he remembered was being in the shuttle he'd rented from the time gate... He'd had the proper authorizations; but, before he transmitted them, the Luddeccean Guard had begun firing. He blinked snow out of his eyes. His parents had said he was paranoid—things didn't get dangerous that quickly. James was a historian; his specialty was twentieth century Earth. Cuba had become dangerous in the 1950s very quickly... and apparently Luddeccea was undergoing such a dangerous revolution just as quickly. He couldn't remember ever being so unhappy to be right.

After the Guard had begun firing, he remembered a jolt as the shuttle's engines had been clipped. His body had been flung against his safety harness, and over the ethernet he'd heard, "Archangel down, Archangel down." Everything after that was a blank. But somehow he'd made his way here from the crash site...

He looked back at his footprints, rapidly filling with snow.

Archangel down. What could it mean? The ethernet was still silent—something must have become dislodged in his head in the crash. He shook his head in frustration and tried to access his own data banks. For a frightening moment he couldn't... but with another furious shake his neural interface kicked into gear. Although his specialty was twentieth century media, he had other historical data on hand. His neural interface picked up his last question and began to project images of archangels into his mind: illustrations from medieval manuscripts, paintings, and photo manipulations from the late 1900s and early 2000s, all of men with wings, often with weapons. At the same time the images flashed, nanos piped words. "Archangels: 'high angels,' mythical creatures, first imagined in 300 BC in the Judaic tradition: Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Uriel, Raguel, Remiel, and Saraqael. Lucifer was also sometimes considered to have been an archangel before he fell from grace. Archangels were present in the religions of all the Abrahamic traditions: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam."

He exhaled a long breath. The Abrahamic traditions were popular on Luddeccea; had they been comparing him ... Professor James Hiro Sinclair ... a historian, to the devil? His head ticked violently to the side. He was certain he could feel his synapses blinking in confusion at the lack of logic.

A shout on the ground drew him from his thoughts. James looked over his shoulder. The whine of antigrav was louder—as was the sound of wind above the trees. He still could not see anyone or even a ship; the snow was falling too densely. He stood, transfixed. The right thing to do would be to put his hands over his head, wait for an actual human, and explain the situation. If only they saw his authorization chip, they'd realize it was a mistake—he was a citizen of Earth, and purposely firing on him could be grounds for sanctions. Surely they'd merely deport him? On the other hand, if he ran, he would be a fugitive.

The approaching voices grew louder. He found himself backing away from his pursuers without conscious thought. He wanted to stop and think—but his body seemed to have a mind of its own.

... And then it occurred to him, in a bright moment of lucidity, that maybe his body had caught on to what his brain seemed determined to ignore. When he had told his parents the world might be unsafe for off-worlders, he thought maybe they'd have rocks thrown at their cottage windows—he didn't think he'd be shot out of the sky.

Could he reason with a government that broke the laws of the Republic under mythological pretexts?

Before his mind had even formulated an answer to that hypothetical, he found himself spinning in place. He started to run, calling on his data banks of the local terrain. A three-dimensional holo appeared to superimpose itself over the scene before him, an illusion his nanos were piping into his visual cortex. The perceived holo showed a map with a blinking light for him, the cottage a tiny block of light 234 kilometers away, and a refueling station twenty kilometers away demarked by a tiny glowing triangle. Could he catch a ride there? Or at least hide and find food and shelter before he died of exposure?

There was one other light. In his auditory apparatus the name "Commander Noa Sato" rang. He leaped over a large boulder, and, with the impact of landing, more memories hit him in a rush. Just before he'd been shot, he'd heard the Luddeccean authorities declare her "dangerous." An image of a woman in a crisp Fleet uniform came to his mind. Her eyes... Noa Sato's eyes, he was almost sure... were sliding to the side at someone out of the camera's line of vision. A wide smile was on her face. Her skin was so dark it made the drab gray of her uniform appear silver. Her cheeks were round and plump despite the sleek athleticism of her form. He knew, like he knew her name and face, that she was forty-two years old in the picture, though the Fleet's anti-aging regimen meant she looked closer to twenty-five. She looked vibrant, healthy, and very alive. In the cold, running for his life, the image impossibly made him _want_.

James felt the urge to frown, but his numb lips did not respond. He didn't know her... he couldn't remember anything about her other than that picture. She was in the opposite direction to his current course. He couldn't go to her. It was too risky. He stumbled, clutched his head, and stumbled again. His footsteps slowed, until he was standing, panting, staring at his feet, his breath curling in front of him.

He tried to move along his intended trajectory.

... And found he couldn't. The shouts rose behind the curtain of snow. Someone said, "It fell down here!"

It?

James looked in the direction he wanted to go, and then in the direction of Commander Sato. His feet moved toward the Commander... and at least he was moving away from the people calling him "it." At first he went slowly, but when he didn't stumble, he started to run faster. Every stride became longer, and faster, until the world was a blur. A fallen tree loomed before him, the crest of the felled trunk a meter and twenty-four centimeters high. He leapt over it before he'd had time to think—he had to have misjudged the height because he cleared it easily and landed lightly on his feet.

Noa wasn't running through the forest. She was shambling. Her limbs were cold, and it seemed that in every direction she could hear pursuers.

"Ashley," she muttered. "I am so angry with you... making me do this alone, making me leave you, making me so cold... for being right that you wouldn't have made it this far."

"Did you hear that?" someone shouted.

Noa didn't turn her head. Her Fleet-implanted locator app plotted the speaker as a glowing light a few meters behind her. She tried to run, but all that came to her limbs was a slightly faster shuffle.

She heard her own breath, raspy and loud. And she heard antigrav engines, the big kind, just clicks away. It was all strangely muted. By the snow? Or was she finally losing her mind? "I can't lose it now, I can't, I can't, I won't, I won't."

"I hear her," someone said.

Noa wanted to run, but sending that message to her limbs didn't work. It was like her body was a puppet that belonged to someone else. Without warning, the puppet master ripped her feet out from under her. Noa went sprawling forward and bellyflopped with the cold ground. She heard men, too close behind, looked back, and only saw a large root jutting out of the snow. "Damn you for tripping me," she muttered, trying to drag herself to her feet. "Stupid root. I hope you die of rot. Or weevils. Or... " She groaned. It took too much energy to talk, and breathing sent daggers of ice into her lungs. She managed to pull herself up on all fours, but couldn't rise further. So she crawled, hands burning with cold in the snow. She found the ability to speak again. "And damn you body. I hate you. Giving out on me at a time like this."

"Well, she still has energy enough to talk," someone said with a laugh. It wasn't a nice laugh.

The boot that connected with her side a few moments later shouldn't have taken her by surprise. Pain seared through her. _I'm sorry, body_ , she wanted to say, but couldn't. _Sorry, I don't want to leave you yet. Don't give up on me_.

Someone kicked her again. Lungs aching, she found herself staring up at white. Snow? Or had she fainted? She wasn't sure. But then her vision half-returned and she was looking at the dark arms of trees reaching for the sky. Someone said, "End of the line for you, throwback." She heard the click of a safety and found herself facing the barrel of a pistol. Beyond the pistol was a tan face, with Eurasian eyes, above a thick down coat in Luddeccean Green.

"Don't shoot her, Art," someone else said. "Command wants to interrogate her and to yank her port out. Fleet pulled a number on us."

"What the hell are you talking about, Joe?" said the guy holding the pistol.

Noa could actually hear the guy who must be Joe shrug, even though she couldn't see him. "Orders are orders."

The pistol pointed at Noa slowly lowered.

Out of her line of sight, Noa heard a soft thud.

"What was that?" someone who wasn't Joe or Art said.

She willed her body to swivel in the snow, to knock the feet out from under her closest pursuer, and steal his pistol. Instead she just managed to scoot backward like an upside down snake. Did snakes move upside down? They were a recent addition to the Luddeccean fauna from Earth. A tiny, obviously useless, part of her brain tried to access the ethernet.

Over the sound of his breathing and his pounding feet, James heard someone say, "End of the line for you, throwback," and then the click of a safety.

Skidding to a halt, his vision pulsed as though he were in a room where the lights were flickering.

"Don't shoot her, Art," said another voice. James blinked, and his vision normalized. He crept forward and peered around a tree. He saw what looked like a pile of rags on the ground, and four men in Luddeccean Green orbiting around it.

"Command wants to interrogate her again—and to yank her port out."

The words "interrogate" and "yank her port out," stood at the forefront of James's mind. The snow and storm disappeared as his neural interface crowded his mind with images of prisoners of war in WWII, and of victims of amateur port removals—their brains and nanos spilled out in back alleys.

He should run away from these savages. There were four of them, and only one of him.

He wanted to run. And couldn't.

He remembered a mountain climbing expedition to a sunken city along the San Andreas rift on Earth—he used to tell his students that he was a historian of the Indiana Jones variety—after he explained who Indiana Jones was. On that particular trip, his companion's safety cord had slipped from the rock face. James had caught him and helped him to safety without a second thought... and managed to pull his own shoulder out of its socket in the process.

Was he the type of person that simply couldn't turn away? But he wanted to turn away, and that person in the memory seemed like someone else.

James looked down at his feet half-buried in snow, immobile despite his wishes. He looked to the pile of rags that might be Noa Sato, and then to her pursuers. He couldn't run away—and he couldn't just haphazardly try to intervene—he'd be captured, too. How could he rescue her and keep his own skin? He needed a distraction...

Gazing at the snow, he recalled another winter he'd spent here as a child. He'd thrown a snowball at his father's back, missed spectacularly, and hit a tree. His father had turned to the remains of the snowball before turning to James and lobbing a snowball back.

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was what he had. Kneeling down, James quickly made a snowball. He threw it at a tree thirty meters from his location, and hit it dead center.

"What was that?" said one of the men. Raising his rifle, the man looked toward the sound.

James made another snowball, and threw it at a tree a few meters from the first. His aim was unerring. He tilted his head; he'd been a terrible pitcher at cricket. Was fear improving his arm?

"What joker is throwing snowballs?" one of the other men said.

"Knock it off!" said another.

"Probably Juarez. I'm going to check this out," said another, clicking the safety of his pistol and walking into the trees.

Swinging his rifle around without conscious thought, James found himself watching the man through the sights.

He'd never shot a human before. James had a memory of watching some Fleet personnel boarding a shuttle back on Earth. It was right after a hostage standoff that had ended with the Fleet killing innocent civilians. James had shaken his head, turned to a colleague, and said, "Violence is never the solution, not in this day and age."

Now his rifle was aimed at a man. Was he ready to shoot?

Reaching the exploded remains of a snowball, the man spun around, raising his firearm in James's direction. James pulled the trigger. The man's head jerked backward as the bullet hit and James felt... relief.

One of the men by the pile of rags screamed, "Pari!"

The same force that compelled him to find Commander Sato seemed to take hold of James. He moved from the tree he was hiding behind to another. A second man stepped into the trees. James's rifle was still raised, his eye still in the sights, and he pulled the trigger.

There was another soft thud, and then another rifle shot. Noa's body belatedly responded to her brain's order to move. Sitting up, she saw a man in Luddeccean Green crouched behind a tree. He had a heat-seeking scanner up, and he was aiming it into a swirling blur beyond him. Noa managed to climb to her feet, wavering like grass in the wind. The man in green paid no attention to her. His face was on the scanner screen as he swung it in a wide arc, trying to find the source of the rifle shots. The snow was so thick that at first the screen was a blur, but then he stopped. Over his shoulder, before Noa's eyes, a face emerged on the screen, very close, and very familiar.

Noa's body responded before her brain could give it orders. She charged forward and delivered a blow to the side of the Luddeccean's head. It should have been enough to knock him over—but somehow wound up more like a tap.

"What the—" The man let out a string of curse words. Before Noa knew what was happening, she was flat on her back in the snow again, the side of her jaw stinging, blood on her tongue, air whipping out of her lungs. There was the sound of a rifle shot, the crunch of snow, and the face she'd seen on the heat screen appeared above her. Bright blue eyes above high cheekbones, pale skin with a few freckles, all framed by dark blonde hair.

"Timothy," she whispered.

James stared down at the woman that might be Commander Noa Sato, the woman he had killed to defend—which seemed like it should be a milestone in his life—a marker, an event. But it wasn't. It felt as ordinary as breathing.

It was hard to reconcile the woman in the snow with the healthy, beautiful, laughing woman in his memory. This woman's cheeks were sunken, her hair was sparse, and her full lips were dry, split and bloody.

"Timothy," she whispered.

"No, my name is... James Sinclair." As the names spilled from his lips, they felt wrong. But they weren't. It was his name, a name with history. James was an ancient name, from Hebrew. It meant "he who grasps the heel" or "supplanter." Sinclair was Scottish, and it meant "bright and clear."

Why did it sound off? Because it was just a jumble of syllables that didn't sound like one who overthrew, and it didn't offer any clarity?

In the snow, the dark eyes of the woman rolled back as her head listed to the side. James took a step back. If this was Commander Sato, she didn't recognize him. Why was he drawn to her?

He heard the whisper of the snow falling on their bodies, and above the trees the sound of antigrav engines approaching. He remembered the expedition on the cliff face and catching the fallen man. Was it the instinct of a herd animal that compelled him to save her, or just a personality trait?

This woman was not part of his "herd," and logically, James knew she would be dead weight. Kneeling, he scooped her into his arms anyway. As he pulled her close, he smelled a raw stench of vomit, sweat, and unwashed clothing. He pulled her tighter, for some reason he could not fathom, and _felt_ something—a rush of familiarity. Clutching her tighter still, he looked around and spotted four hover bikes in the trees. If he could start one, they could be at his family's cottage in an hour.

He carried the woman over to one of the machines. It was oblong in shape with a turbo engine at the back. Two antigrav engines, each about the diameter of a large serving platter and the height of his palm, jutted out from beneath it. The antigrav engines looked larger than he was used to—older tech, he suspected. Old or not, he could see the dull silver of the timefield bands that counteracted gravity gleaming in the low light. The bands created a bubble in time—much like the ones created by the time gates that facilitated nearly instantaneous travel through space—but the fields generated by hover craft were less precise and robust. The computations for the timefield were complex—the engine's location relative to the planet, solar system, galaxy, and universe had to be taken into account. But with a warp in time to disrupt gravity's pull, all that was needed for lift was a simple propeller mechanism.

Sliding onto the seat, he slung the Commander awkwardly over his legs. The bike's controls looked as antiquated as the engine. There was a manual steering wheel, a flat screen, knobs, and dials. There didn't even appear to be a cable to connect to his data port. Dipping his chin, he focused on the dark screen trying to pick up the bike's wireless signal—and got nothing.

The Commander stirred. "Crazy, primitive, Luddeccean tech," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

James blinked down at her.

Her eyes were closed, but she continued to mumble. "Ignition controlled by retinal scan in the screen, take off the screen and you can hot-wire it. Just touch the yellow wire to the green port... Removing the scanner will also remove the tracking device."

James heard shouting, and actual footsteps. He had only minutes before they would be in visual range. He ripped the main screen off at the front of the bike with one hand.

"Nebulas!" the Commander hissed. "You're strong for a figment of my imagination."

He lifted the screen, about to hurl it to the ground, and hopefully break the tracking device when she coughed. "No! Do the same to the other bikes, wire them up, activate them, and voice command them to go far away."

James held the broken bike component above her head. It seemed like a waste of time.

The Commander rasped. "Throw the one you've got into the boot of one of the others when you do it."

The implications of that sank in. It was bound to be discovered that they'd stolen this bike. If they threw the tracking device into one of the other bikes, and the other bikes went to the wrong location, their pursuers could be diverted for hours. It was a better idea than throwing a snowball at a tree.

"Do it!" the woman hissed.

His neural interface was blinking like the lights of a Christmas tree. He had less than two minutes. James swung Noa off his lap without paying attention to her landing. He left her cursing in the snow at the foot of the bike, and as she cursed, his vision flickered. After ripping off the other speedometers, he quickly found the green port and yellow wire she was speaking of. He activated all three bikes, gave them commands, and watched them zip off through the trees.

He heard the last bike engine rev. Spinning, he saw that the Commander had managed to get up, slide onto the seat, and activate the vehicle.

He looked back at the trail the other bikes had left in the snow. The search party on the ground was fifty-one seconds to visual range. She had his bike now, he'd slow her down and...

"Get on!" she ordered him.

James felt his mind stutter. She didn't seem to have the same ambivalence about rescuing him that he did rescuing her.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked.

Running forward, James jumped on, just barely fitting on the seat behind her.

"Hold on!" she commanded over the roar of the bike's engine and the search party. The bike rose before he had a chance to put on his safety belt, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. The bike was capable of soaring above the treetops—but the Commander kept it close to the ground, following the crater-like path the other bikes' antigrav engines had left in the snow... which was strange. She was the one who had told him to use the other bikes as a decoy. Before he had a chance to question, they were gliding over a large stream, not yet frozen over. The Commander immediately doubled back, but kept to the course of the stream. It wasn't in the precise direction he wanted to go, and he almost protested... and then realized the antigrav engines left no trace of their movement in the water. It was clever.

The Commander hit the accelerator and within minutes the sound of the antigrav engines in the sky was several dozen kilometers in the distance, and he could no longer hear the shouts of the ground party.

It should have been comforting. But without the threat of imminent death, James's brain started to replay how he came to be sitting behind a strange woman who was as thin as a scarecrow and reeking of disease. He tried to think back to when he had first rented the shuttle on Time Gate 8—wondering if somehow he'd managed to get the wrong authorization. But he couldn't remember being at the counter of the rental kiosk, or collecting the shuttle at the terminal. And then there was the time after the shuttle was shot that he couldn't remember, either.

James released a long breath. His arms tightened on the Commander's waist. She was a stranger, and just a shadow of the vision of her he had in his mind, but she felt real and familiar. Between his knees the Commander shivered. He could feel the edge of her ribs beneath the thin coat. He had an inexplicable desire to slip his hands up beneath her coat to check her heartbeat.

The Commander shivered again, this time so violently he was sure if his arms weren't around her she would fall off.

"Hope you can drive, figment of my imagination," the Commander said.

"My name is James," he said. And then, like a delayed reaction, he realized that she might be telling a joke. Why would she make light of the situation? He blinked, remembering when he caught his friend as he fell down the cliff. James had said, "Next time you decide to plummet to your death, could you lose a few kilos?" He used to joke about death, too.

"My second wind just blew away," Noa said. "I think I'm going to... " She drew the bike to a stop. Water sloshed below them, spreading out in small waves.

"What?" said James.

She promptly slumped in his arms.

James stumbled through the snow, clutching Sato tightly to his chest. The snow was falling too thickly to see, and he focused on the glowing square in his mind's eye that was his parents' cottage, only ten meters away.

He'd abandoned the bike about five kilometers ago when it had been almost out of fuel. He'd commanded the machine to continue along the river. Hopefully, when it was found, it would be sufficiently far away to throw off anyone who might discover it.

He shivered. He'd wrapped his coat around the Commander. At first, exertion had kept him warm, but then the very exertion that had kept him warm had caused the snow to melt into his clothes, and he was cold. He nearly tripped again. He was hungry, too, and there was a perplexing haze at the edges of his consciousness, as though all non-vital systems had been shut down. It was a relief in a way. He hadn't obsessed about his missing blocks of time or how he knew the Commander in exactly forty-five minutes and thirty-three seconds... Apparently, his brain thought a chronometer was a vital function. The observation almost brought a bitter smile to his lips—but they felt numb, and it didn't come.

The dot that was him and the square that was the cottage collided. James lifted his eyes. He couldn't see the circle of pines that surrounded the remote retreat. The only thing he could see was the front stoop. A knee-high landscaping 'bot with a plow at the front was pushing snow away from the door. It flashed a red light at him, attempting a retinal scan. James dutifully met the red glow head on. The 'bot beeped in recognition, and before James even set his hand on the fingerprint recognition plate, the heavy wood door swung open. He stepped inside. It was warm—the 'bots had been expecting him. In the foyer, he paused. Everything was exactly as he remembered it. The floor was local limestone, the ceilings had exposed beams of Luddeccean pine. The walls were the same pine, but more finely sanded and stained a lighter color. He heard the whir of other housekeeping 'bots, and the distant hum of the furnace that heated water. James kicked off his boots and felt the familiar rush of warmth from the floors through his now-drenched socks. Familiar... and off. Something was missing.

His coat slid from the Commander's torso to the floor, bringing his attention to his mysterious burden. She had been absolutely silent since she'd passed out on the bike—he noticed with dismay that she was soaking wet, just as he was. Eyes still closed, she began to shiver. He didn't have time for his apprehension—as wrong as this place felt, it was still shelter.

He carried her to the bedroom. Dropping her on the bed, he put his hand on her forehead. Thirty-four degrees Celsius—she was mildly hypothermic. He flexed the fingers of his hand... he didn't remember having a temperature app. He didn't have time to ponder it. James quickly stripped her out of her wet clothes down to only her undergarments. For the first time he noticed that there were fresh scars on her left hand where her last finger and ring finger were missing. There were also two very small scars on her face—one beneath her eyebrow and one above. They didn't look like the aesthetic scarification that was popular a few years ago on Earth. There was another larger scar on her abdomen. Strange that she had not repaired the glaring imperfections. Besides those, she had visible bruising around her ribs and on her cheek. She was also visibly emaciated. She may have passed out from hunger as much as cold. For now, he couldn't help the hunger, but he could help with the cold.

Tucking her beneath the duvet, he stripped down himself and joined her. Removing her clothing had taken away some of the odors of filth that clung to her—but not all. For all the smell of death... there was something comforting about her presence. Maybe she'd only mistaken him for someone else earlier because she was exhausted from cold and hunger? Perhaps she'd wake up, they'd eat, and she'd remind him of how he knew her?

She shivered, and he put his hand over her heart. He could feel her rib cage too acutely, but the beat was steady.

Ten minutes later, the Commander's shivering ceased, and a quick check of her temple showed that her temperature had risen above hypothermic levels. His hand drifted down to her waist. He found that if he concentrated, he could hear her heartbeat over the sound of the wind outside, the furnace rumbling in the distance, and the house 'bots.

Settling into a semi-conscious haze with only the sound of her heart and his internal chronometer for company, he had an odd memory of being ten years old, in this very house, and curling up in this bed with a toy giraffe that played bedtime lullabies.

After four hours, six minutes, and thirty-seven seconds, the Commander shifted against him in a way that wasn't toy-like. Before James had a chance to come to full consciousness, she murmured drowsily. The tone of her voice was like a lover's, and his hand tightened on her hip, as though by reflex. Before he had time to fully process her murmur, or his reaction, she whispered, "Timothy ..."

The same body that had betrayed his logical mind and helped him find her, and was now gripping her hip in a way that was too familiar, betrayed him again. He responded without thinking.

# 3

_Second Lieutenant Noa Sato leaned against the bar, staring at the empty dance floor. Crossing her arms, she frowned. It was her first night after finishing Officer Training School, and she'd wanted to dance. Unfortunately, her roommate wanted to catch up with her ex-boyfriend, and worse, the dance floor was empty. Noa stamped a high titanium heel in impatience. More friends would be here soon—but she wanted to let loose now._

_"Excuse me, can I buy you a drink?"_

_Noa wasn't in the mood. She wasn't one for hook-ups, love sex though she might. What was the point in rolling in the sheets with a man who didn't feel the pressure to perform?_

_Without looking, she said, "No thanks."_

_"Oh, come on!" said the proposer, his voice indignant. "You have to realize what sort of internal anxieties I'm overcoming to talk to you!"_

_Expecting to hear some variation of "look at me, deigning to talk to someone who's an African throwback," Noa rolled her eyes. Turning to the speaker, she was prepared to give him a withering glare; instead, her eyes opened in shock. She expected to see tan skin, straight-to-wavy brown hair, and hazel-to-brown eyes. Instead the man before her was as pale as the moon, his eyes were bright blue, and his hair was dark blonde streaked with highlights that were nearly white._

_The speaker lifted his hands and gestured at her. "I mean, look at you, you're... "_

_Noa's eyes narrowed. "I'm what?"_

_"Taller than me!" the man declared._

_Noa's lips pursed, and one eyebrow shot up. In her seven-centi heels, that was definitely true. This particular pair of shoes had a collapsible heel by design. She could lower herself to his height and make him feel more comfortable—but she wouldn't._

_He touched a hand to his chest. "I think you should consider that it takes a big man to love a taller woman."_

_Noa's jaw dropped._

_The man's eyes went wide, and then his skin flushed red from the roots of his hair to the neck of his shirt. Putting a hand to his temple, he winced. "Nebulas, that came out wrong. Big heart, I mean, big heart!" He had lips so thin, Noa wondered how they could possibly sip from a glass, and a long, straight pointy nose—but those eyes, when they peeked at her—they were so wide they gave him an air of innocence, even if they were shockingly blue._

_Noa found herself laughing. She held out her hand. "Second Lieutenant Noa Sato."_

_"Oh, I know!" said the man._

_Noa's lips pursed._

_Almost cautiously, the man said, "You did receive a commendation for your performance in hand-to-hand combat... " A mischievous smile tweaked at the corners of his thin lips. "I thought you were there when they gave you the ribbon in front of the rest of us."_

_Noa felt her cheeks get warm, but knew her skin would hide the evidence. "And what is your name?"_

_Taking her hand, he said, "Second Lieutenant Timothy Anderson."_

_A lot of men had wanted to shake Noa's hand since she got that ribbon. Too many of them tried to crush the bones in her fingers to assert their masculinity. Pathetic in this day and age, really._

_Timothy didn't try to break her hand, but neither was his handshake weak. It was just right. Noa found her whole body warming at the touch. She knew right then that she and Timothy would be lovers... and that they would be together for a very, very, long time._

Noa was cold. She felt a chill deep in her bones, which was strange, because she was curled up with her back pressed to Timothy under a huge thick duvet, lying atop a mattress that was so soft and comfortable she thought that she may have to be antigravved out of it. She was so hungry that her stomach ached and she felt dizzy. She heard the wind howl outside and actually smiled. Of course, because they got married yesterday, in Colorado of all places, in winter... there had been a snowstorm. Noa loved snow.

Her eyelids fluttered briefly. She saw light wood-paneled walls, a rustic quilt on a chair... the honeymoon suite. She sighed and closed her eyes.

She hadn't eaten at all during the wedding banquet. She'd been too busy greeting all their guests, too excited and too happy, that was why she was hungry. She shifted against Timothy and remembered with bemusement that they hadn't had sex the night after their wedding, either. Her mother had said they'd be too tired. And her mom had been right. She frowned. But she hadn't been too tired to dream... terrible, frightening dreams. A concentration camp, and Timothy being dead, but then saving her and her saving Timothy.

She wiggled again, trying to get warm, and get closer to Tim. She felt fingers tighten on her hip. The cold... the lack of marital consummation, these could be easily remedied. "Timothy," she whispered.

"I am not Timothy," said a masculine, strangely familiar voice, but not Tim.

With an undignified yelp, Noa rolled out of bed. Hitting the floor with jaw-rattling impact, she skittered like a crab on her hands until her back hit something solid. Literally, backed against the wall, she stared at the bed. It was a high mattress, box spring combo, very old fashioned, complete with a thick quilt, like the one on her honeymoon. A man was sitting there. He might have been Timothy's twin, a clone, or the type of animatronic that some people made so they didn't forget great-grandma, their partner, or their dead child.

After a beat too long, the not-Tim held up his hands as though in surrender. His jaw shifted from side to side oddly, and his brows drew together. "I am sorry," he said softly, as though she were a frightened ptery or bird. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

Noa felt bile rise in her throat. She had a moment of complete disorientation and wondered if she was still dreaming. She took a few shaky breaths, and nebulas, the cold still felt like it was clawing at her lungs even in the warm room.

"My name is James Sinclair," the stranger said. A part of her brain fumbled to draw up his name on the ethernet and found it still disconnected.

James's chin dipped to his chest and his eyes bored into hers. "Don't you know me?" His voice was too low and rich to be Timothy's, and there was an urgency in it that was disquieting. He'd either bought an app to simulate the speech patterns of a wealthy Earther—probably European, maybe even British—or he was born into money. She didn't normally associate with either type of person.

Noa jerked her head in the negative. Pulling back, he wiped his face, and his eyes went to the ceiling, as though he was seeking some answer in the air. The picture of confusion—or dismay.

She gulped and looked down at herself... she was a skeleton, dressed in ratty underwear. She sniffed. And she stank. "It wasn't a dream," she muttered, her shoulders slumping. The escape, the concentration camp... her eyes fell on the scars on her lower abdomen, the thumb of her left hand touched the stumps of her ring finger and pinky... and Timothy was dead, and it hurt all over again.

"What dream?" the stranger said.

Noa blinked up at him. The likeness was extraordinary, and disturbing, but if she focused on him, she saw an artist's rendition of her late husband, not her Tim. James's hair color was the same—dark blonde, highlights of nearly platinum; he had the same skin tone, and blue eyes. But this man's lips were fuller, his nose not quite as long, his jaw more square, and his frame more muscular. He didn't have Tim's laugh lines, either. He had the sort of agelessness she associated with Earther plastic surgery and nano-repair. He looked to be late twenties, but could be anything from late twenties to early fifties. He was too perfect.

Her eyes narrowed. "Why was I... " She gestured to the bed. "With you?" And then she remembered the cold.

"You had—"

"Hypothermia," she said, dropping her eyes.

"A mild case," he said softly.

She shivered again with such force her spine hurt. In the periphery of her vision, she saw James sit up straighter—as though startled. She pulled her knees to her chest and curled into herself. James picked up the covering on the bed and walked over to her. Without preamble, he sat down beside her and draped the thick down quilt over them both, creating a welcome bubble of warmth, but she struggled not to scoot away. Scooting away would show fear—and she wasn't afraid—not really. She closed her eyes.

"Commander, the bed is warmer." His voice was a whisper, _concerned._

"Here is fine," Noa said, even though the bed would be more comfortable. She didn't feel violated, but spooning with the doppelgänger of Tim was too much right now. She felt weak and disoriented, and she needed to get her bearings.

"Very well." After a pause, he said, "I'd hoped you'd recognize me."

She did, sort of. "Nope," she said, rubbing her temple.

"But I know you're Commander Noa Sato."

Noa dropped her hand. Her body tensed.

James didn't seem to notice. "I don't know how I know that."

Tension left her shoulders. In the grand scheme of things in her life that were wrong, that seemed the smallest to Noa. "I've been in the press a few times," she said. "You've probably seen me in holos or on the ethernet."

Leaning his head back, he gazed up at the ceiling. "Nothing makes sense. This is my parents' cottage—we were going to spend the holiday here together." He closed his eyes and massaged his lids. "I came here a week before them to verify that it was safe. I was shot out of the sky by the local forces. The last thing I remember hearing as my ship crashed was the Luddeccean authorities saying, 'Archangel down, Archangel down.'"

Noa blinked as her memories came back. "Say that again?" she said.

"Archangel down, Archangel down," James said, dropping his hand and blinking at the ceiling.

Noa's skin prickled. If she was remembering correctly, he was saying that in the same voice with the same inflection as the Luddeccean who had first made the announcement... Which could have a lot of explanations. Voice chip for damaged vocal cords, natural ability to mimic ...

Still not looking in her direction, a dazed expression in his eyes, he continued. "I knew that the locals were becoming more fanatic—what with the election of the new premier—but I had not realized the extent of the fanaticism." He shook his head. "I had all the right permits."

A glow bug lit in Noa's mind. "You are the one they shot out of the sky. You're the archangel."

James's head whipped to hers. "I am not an _it_."

Noa's lips pursed, uncertain where that had come from.

His jaw dropped and he looked away. "I don't know why they called me that, or why they shot me down."

Noa said softly, "Mistaken identity?"

James's face remained impassive.

The speed of the head turn just now, the way he'd ripped the screen off the hover... "You're augmented," Noa said.

Eyeing her and lifting a brow, he touched his data port. "Aren't we all?"

Noa sighed. "Yeah, it's ridiculous, but when were fundamentalists ever rational?" As soon as she said it, she felt off-kilter. Guilty. Earthers like him thought all Luddecceans were crazy. There were a lot of crazy fundamentalists on Luddeccea, but there were wonderful people, too. She'd been to Earth and met "extreme atheists;" she hadn't found them more moral or enlightened. She was ready to quip something defensive about all extremists, religious and irreligious being irrational, but James was touching the sides of his mouth with the fingers of both hands. The words died on her tongue at the odd gesture.

"I can't smile at your joke," he said, voice almost a whisper. "I can't frown, either."

Feeling a pinch of worry for the strange man, she leaned closer. His skin, where she could see it beneath his fingers, looked healthy—there was no sign of frostbite. She drew back, more pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind. "You have to be very augmented. They announced the coordinates of your crash over the channel. To reach me in time, you would have had to have run sixty-seven and a half kilometers per hour over mountainous terrain." The way he was patting his face... if he couldn't smile or frown, it meant he had augmentation there too, not just run-of-the-mill plastic surgery. But why?

James dropped his hands. "There was an accident, on Earth, _before._ I fell, the equivalent of many stories. I nearly died... " His head ticked to the side in a quick staccato movement. It reminded Noa of some of the compulsive tics Kenji used to have.

She sucked in a breath. An accident like he was describing would require facial augmentation, not just plastic surgery. If he was telling the truth, then maybe he'd received some damage to his augments during the crash? It would explain his inability to smile. But there was more to his story that didn't add up. "You had access to the secure Luddeccean channel if you heard their 'archangel down' message." And how had he known where she was? "Are you part of the Fleet?"

His jaw twitched, and he touched one side of his lip, and then looked down at his fingers. "I am not in the Fleet. I am a _professor_ of history. I specialize in late 21st century. Most recently, I was in the process of reviewing discoveries I made along the San Andreas Rift."

Every hair on the back of her neck prickling, Noa interrupted him. "You killed three men."

For a heartbeat too long James was too still, his eyes on a place in the distance. When he spoke, his words came out as an uncertain stammer. "Yes... they kicked you, and were speculating on whether to kill you, talking about interrogating you and yanking out your port... and... I couldn't let it happen... I... I have hunted before, but never killed a human. I wasn't bothered by killing them, but I am bothered by the fact that I am not bothered, and I wonder if I should be... if that makes sense?"

Noa exhaled. Her hands flicked to her side—and she remembered being kicked—thanks to Fleet tech she was healing much faster than natural and it wasn't unbearably painful. "It does make sense," she said, and she did understand his ambivalence. She had pulled the trigger on more than a few unsavory individuals; it was harder than the holos made you believe. A man with no history of combat, nor apparently in a profession that would have given him training, killing three men? Her throat tightened. Of course, he'd just been shot out of the sky—probably because he was hyper-augmented. The situation was extreme—it could have pushed an ordinary man to extreme actions. And he hadn't hurt her, or ignored her, or dumped her off the snowmobile when she fainted. He had spooned with her scrawny, stinking self to save her from hypothermia.

"I feel... disconnected," James said. His face was turned away; his hand was on his data port.

"Because we're disconnected from the ethernet," Noa whispered.

His eyes narrowed and he shook his head, eyes roving around the room. "It's more than that. I feel off, Commander."

Noa's eyebrows rose. Something was off with James, but she didn't feel threatened. Instead she felt herself softening, seeing him for what he was—a civilian thrust into a war zone, a man who had overcome some physical and probably mental handicaps with augmentation. Her eyes grazed his perfect jaw line, the muscles and tendons in his shoulders that showed just above the comforter that covered them, and remembered the perfectly chiseled body below—his augmenters might have gone too far.

She sighed. "If you're not Fleet, you don't have to call me Commander."

Dropping his hand and turning to her, he said, "Very well, Ms. Sato." His jaw did that odd side to side shift, and he touched it in that self-conscious way.

He was too close for a stranger, and Noa fought the urge to pull away. "Just Noa is fine," she said, keeping her voice level. He turned away, and she felt herself relax. She reminded herself that he wasn't threatening, that he'd saved her, and there was no reason to be nervous or suspicious. Still, there was something else wrong with his story. "If you're not with the Fleet, how did you know my location?" She didn't remember her coordinates being broadcast, and her locator was Fleet secret tech.

"I saw your signal. I felt I had to find you." He gazed out the window.

Noa's brow furrowed. Her secure Fleet signal didn't rely on ethernet transmission at close ranges, but it was still secure and encrypted. Even if he'd tuned into the frequency, how would he have known it was her?

He shook his head—it was an odd movement—almost a shiver. "But I knew you were here. I hoped you could explain it."

Reaching up to clutch the edges of the duvet, she said, "I think the Luddecceans must have knocked out the satellite transmitter for this region—that's why the ethernet is down. Maybe the signals were scrambled as they were knocking down the satellite, and you accidentally tapped into the secure channel?" The Luddecceans and her own.

"A weak hypothesis," James said, perfectly sculpted profile angled away from her. She felt herself relax, and realized if he had agreed with her, she might have been distrustful. His honesty made her instincts shout, "very strange" but not "danger." Or maybe she was just too hungry to feel danger. She sank against the wall, the sensation of her stomach curling in on itself overtaking her.

"Noa Sato... that is a Japanese name," James said, the lack of segue startling her.

"Yes," she ground out.

"My middle name is Hiro," said James, "after an uncle four generations back. My parents made me install a Japanese language chip so I could speak to Uncle Hiro and my grandmother Masako."

"Huh. I probably have that app," she said—or her mouth said automatically. She didn't feel as though her brain had taken any part in saying it. She felt as she had just before tumbling over the root in the forest, or slumping on the bike. She closed her eyes. None of it was a dream—not the concentration camp, Ashley or Kenji.

"Nihongo wakaru no?" said James, shifting beside her. "Honto?"

_You understand Japanese?_ Her app translated. _Really?_

And she could understand his surprise... Japanese was no longer spoken, except by tiny enclaves of Japanese purists, and the app was rarely installed. To have two people in the same room with the app was rare, indeed. As she thought this, he rattled off in Japanese about how his great-great-something-or-other grandmother had left her purist family to be with his great-something-or-other British grandfather. It was a lot like Noa's family's story. Her parents had made her install the Japanese chip so she could talk to her 200-year-old purist Japanese great-great-great grandfather Jun Sato. And nebulas... like her, James didn't even look Japanese.

They could bond over that, but at the moment... bowing her head into her knees, Noa whined, "Get me food, James!"

He didn't move. "You'll be all right?"

Remembering his hunting rifle, Noa muttered, "What, do you have to go kill and skin it?"

"No, there is food in the kitchen."

"I'll be fine," Noa said, her stomach feeling like it was trying to devour itself. Remembering her first aid, and how it applied to starvation victims, she asked, "Do you have any soup? Something broth based?"

"I'll go check," he said, standing and giving Noa a view of the well-defined planes of his back and of his backside. She didn't even remember her brain telling her neck to lift her head. Scrunching her eyes shut, she groaned and banged her head against her duvet-covered knees.

James came back moments later with two sealed packets of soup in his hand. "Do you want me to warm the tomato or the chicken and rice—?"

Seizing the chicken and rice packet from his hand, Noa ripped a corner open with her teeth and sucked out a mouthful of broth. James stared at her a moment and then did the same to the tomato soup. She raised her eyebrows at him.

Settling down beside her and draping the cover over himself, he said, "I'm hungry, too."

"Mmmmmmm...." Noa managed. The cheap cold broth from the packet was the most delicious thing she'd had in weeks. With each slurp she felt as if the cells in her body were rejoicing, the fuzziness at the edge of her consciousness was beginning to sharpen. Still sucking on the broth, she began to inspect her surroundings. The wall to her left had a huge window that was half-covered in snow. Outside it appeared to be close to evening—and the wind was howling madly. Inside... had James called this a cottage? The bedroom was nearly as large as the first floor of the house she'd grown up in. There was an unlit fireplace made of pale rough stones. She felt warmth beneath her bare feet—the floor was heated, which meant the fireplace was for decor more than function. There was a plush rug laid out over the wooden floor, and there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere. As she thought that, a tiny cylindrical cleaning 'bot a few hands wide and half as tall rolled out from under the bed. A light on top of it flashed in their direction and it turned away, obviously programmed to be as unobtrusive as possible. She lifted her eyes. On a dresser across the room another 'bot was hanging from the top of a mirror, wiping the glass clean. She frowned.

"You're definitely from Earth," she said.

"Yes," James answered, lifting an eyebrow.

Her frown deepened. Earthers. Luddecceans would hire actual people for help; even menial work was better than no work.

She shook her head. Tapping her data port, she said, "I was out for a whole four hours?"

"And six minutes and forty-seven seconds," said James. "Why were they chasing you?"

The lack of segue threw Noa for a second, but she shook it off. Highly augmented minds sometimes were... odd. "I was on leave to visit my brother. I was picked up on the street, interrogated, and incarcerated in what they called a re-education camp. I don't know why."

"They had you working, didn't they?" James said.

The hairs on the back of Noa's neck rose. "How did you know that?"

James looked at her sharply. "I didn't know, which is why I asked."

Noa scooted away from him just the same. He didn't seem to notice. Wiping his face, he said, "I'm just trying to understand what's going on. If I understand the big picture, maybe I'll understand why they shot me out of the sky, why I am missing huge chunks of my memory, and why I knew how to find you."

Noa felt the tension drain out of her shoulders. The words were clipped. He was frustrated, she decided, and confused, just like her. "Like I said, you're hyper-augmented... " She waved her hand around the room. "Rich and from Earth. Of course they don't like you. It's crazy, but you shouldn't waste your time trying to understand things that are crazy. Better to focus on how to blow the insanity wide open."

James shook his head. "How would they know any of that if I never sent them my authorizations?"

Noa drew back. How would they have known? One of her brows shot up. "You rented a shuttle on Time Gate 8, they beamed down your data."

Looking away, he was quiet for a long moment. "That doesn't feel right." His head did that compulsive tick thing.

"The tattoo on your wrist, the forced labor... " he said quietly. "It sounds like other historical events. May I ask what they had you doing?"

Noa's body stiffened. "Things that should be done by a 'bot, even on Luddeccea."

James stared off into the distance again. She took a long suck on the soup. Soup, heated floors, a mattress, a quilt... Her left thumb went to the stumps of her ring and pinky fingers. She was safe, for now, and so many other people were not.

"The scars on your abdomen are old, but the injury on your hand has barely scabbed over—an accident during labor?" James said out of the blue.

Noa's whole body went still. She felt her heart rate increase, a prickle on her brow. "I... " Noa said. Her lips stayed parted. She remembered the guards holding her down, the ax, the pain—but more seeing them take away her rings, the rings Timothy gave her. "Can't talk about it," she said.

Without missing a beat, he said, "Who is Timothy?" And Noa felt like the atmosphere had become too thin.

She took a deep breath, smelled wood, floor polish, and James—he smelled impossibly good for a man who'd been on the run, and who now seemed set on mentally torturing her—and she smelled herself. "I reek," she said, because she couldn't say anything else.

James said nothing. Hopping to her feet, soup packet in a death grip, she looked around frantically, reminding herself he probably couldn't help his hyper-augmented brain. James hopped up immediately beside her. She was distantly aware of his fingers, just below her curled arm—as though he was preparing to catch her if she fell. Seeing a door slightly ajar, she said, "Bath?" She couldn't meet his eyes, but she saw him nod in the periphery of her vision. She set off toward the door without a backward glance.

James stood outside the bathroom, head bowed. For a moment he had a vision of Noa, lying at the bottom of the tub, her eyes wide open, her lips parted, and no air coming from her lungs. Stepping closer, he pressed his ear against the door. He felt static just beneath his skin. What was he doing? Why was he standing here obsessing?

Above the roar of the faucet, he heard the sound of Noa sloshing, and then he heard her sigh. He shook his head, irritated that the sound made him feel as though a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He stepped back from the door and the edges of his vision went hazy. James felt himself waver on his feet. He was still hungry.

Backing away fast, he stumbled down the hall past the familiar pictures that felt unfamiliar and unreal. He stepped into the kitchen. There was something about the place that reminded him of the set of a play he'd once performed in during college. Going to the cupboard, he pulled more emergency rations out—sealed packets of soup, boxes of shelf-stable soy milk, crackers, and several jars of peanut butter. Going straight for the peanut butter, he grabbed a spoon from the correct drawer without a pause, opened the jar, and scooped a heaping helping into his mouth. Every taste bud in his mouth jumped with joy. His eyebrows rose as he took another bite. He didn't remember loving peanut butter this much. Was it just hunger, or the fact that he'd nearly died... he smacked his lips and licked off all the salt. Or was it just that the peanut butter tasted real? He wanted to slow down and savor every gooey, oily, salty bite, but couldn't keep from shoveling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. As his stomach started to fill, his mind returned to something else that felt very real: he and the Commander—Noa—were wanted by the local government.

The ethernet was still inaccessible, so they could not call in the Republic's authorities for help. Opening the soy milk container, he washed down the peanut butter. The Holocaust, the Gulags in the old Soviet Union, the Khmer Rouge, the rise of ISIL, and the North Korean slave state were all very interesting historical events—he had data on all of them stored in his banks. Now he was witnessing a similar regime first hand. What luck. He felt a bitter smile want to form, and then his neurons flared white hot. No, Noa had been the witness—they'd tortured her and forced her to work for them. He shouldn't have asked so many questions—her answers made him want to go back to the camp she escaped from and set it on fire. He felt heat flare beneath his skin; it was a worthless impulse. He had to keep them both out of the camps.

He plundered his databases. Cutting off communications to the outside was what fascist regimes did. But in successful, long running campaigns of population control, civilians were held in check by propaganda.

Soy milk and peanut butter still in hand, he strode to the living room. It was decorated in rustic chic. There were the wood-paneled walls, recessed lighting in the ceiling, a rug under a chest that passed for a coffee table, and a blue couch. Everything was as he remembered it, and yet it was still dream-like—something was missing.

Shaking off his unease, he went to the trunk and popped it open. He pulled out an ancient-looking device—a chunky flat box the width of both his hands and about three centimeters thick. It was an all-frequency receiver, tuned to the antenna on the roof. His parents kept it around for emergencies. He flipped open the device like a book. On one side was a screen, on the other was a series of buttons with worn letters and numbers on them. He pressed a button that had a barely discernible symbol, and the device—a "laptop," his father had called it—sprang to life. Or at least it lit up. It took a frustrating few seconds for a menu to appear. James touched the screen and a communications app opened. After a few more touches, the screen displayed a man with too-symmetrical Euro-Afro-Asian features in a neat Luddeccean Green high-necked suit. "Greetings, Luddecceans, this is Bob Wang in the Briefing Room. I have good news and bad news tonight. The good news is that the war with the aliens is going well. We have shut down the entire ethernet network above Luddeccea that was being used by the devil-invaders to spread misleading propaganda."

James's eyebrows rose. Aliens? Devil-invaders? That seemed about as far-fetched as archangels.

Dipping his chin, Bob looked directly into the camera. "The bad news is that a dangerous alien sympathizer has escaped from the secure detention center."

The word "sympathizer" rang in his mind. An image of Noa in her Fleet uniform burned through James's visual cortex. The image in his mind looked nothing like the holo of Noa that sprang up beside Bob. In it, she appeared skeletal, with dark circles under her eyes, and had mangy, almost non-existent hair.

On the screen, Bob continued. "This is Noa Sato. She escaped detention with alien assistance."

James turned up the volume with a few keystrokes. Were they calling him an alien, or referring to some other assistance she'd received before he'd run into her?

"The authorities have secured the escape route, and it won't be used again; but the escapee is now at large in the Northwest Province."

"Noa Sato is armed and considered extremely dangerous," Bob Wang said. "If you see her, report her to authorities at once via the new landline network."

Bob waved a hand. "And now we'll take questions from civilians in our studio." The camera shifted to a man standing next to some bright studio lights. He was of average build and appearance, dressed in rough attire. "I'm Jorge Mendoza," the new man said. "I'm a farmer in the Southwest Province. How do we know an alien if we see one?"

Bob turned back to the main camera and Mr. Mendoza was no longer on the screen. "Well, Mr. Mendoza, that is the truly duplicitous nature of the alien scourge we are up against. It cannot be seen. The alien menaces that infiltrated our time gate and satellites are beings of pure energy, much like the djinn in the Final Book. They almost went undetected. They are capable of seizing and controlling augmented humans."

James rocked back in his seat... He hadn't run into Noa. He'd found her. Deliberately. Almost as though compelled... as though he'd had no choice.

Bob took a step closer to the camera. Hands raised to chest level, fingertips together, Bob said, "That is why it is important that you shut off your neural interfaces, lest the djinn hijack your free will, or make you a carrier and responsible for alien assimilation." Tilting his head, tone conversational, he added, "But not to worry. With your neural interfaces inactive, you are immune to alien influence. All the information you need can be obtained at your local authority and this station. Landlines will be available to all households soon."

Noa's voice cracked behind James. "What?" Twisting around on the couch, James saw her in the door frame wearing a pair of flannel pajamas. He blinked. They were his father's flannel pajamas—his father had let them hang on the back of the bathroom door. There was a new packet of soup in her hand. Waving the soup, the Commander exclaimed, "That was a load of lizzar excrement!"

James stared at her. Not looking at him, she glared at the screen. In a voice several decibels too loud she said, "I'm on more alien subcommittees than I can count on two hands and I can tell you all the top-secret information we have on sentient galaxy traveling 'energy beings.'" Noa huffed, her nostrils flaring.

James blinked. "You can?"

Noa waved her hands. "Yes! Because there are no aliens! None! Just a whole lot on non-sentient, stupid, heat guzzling, sunlight swilling, and H2O-choking blue-green algae-like organisms."

Her tirade was oddly comforting. Of course the Luddecceans were being crazy. There were no alien djinn-like creatures hell-bent on controlling humans through their neural interfaces... He knew this like he knew Noa's name... and when he thought about it, he realized it was so unlikely it was absurd. Humans themselves couldn't control other humans through their neural interfaces, or even lower life forms. He had a grainy memory of trying to control a cockroach through an interface in a seventh-grade science experiment. It had worked for a little while, but the cockroach had eventually regained control of its tiny brain and started resisting James's and his partner's input. Human brains were much more complex than cockroach neural networks. There were neural interface viruses that occasionally snuck by ethernet scrubbers—but none had caused massive epidemics of remote control—just massive epidemics of headaches.

The screen flashed, catching his attention. James turned back to find an advertisement for non-ethernet dependent washing machines. A tiny row of text at the bottom of the screen advertised that a romantic comedy was playing next. He flipped the device back to the menu.

Noa walked over and sat down on the couch. "What were we just watching? Some sort of two-dimensional holo?"

"The frequency was in between the 54 and 216 MHZ range."

"Which is?" Noa said, bending her head to suck some soup from the packet.

"Television... TV," James said, referring to the devices that in the past had used those frequencies.

One of Noa's eyebrows shot up and her lips pursed. "Speak in Basic, buddy."

James tried to formulate a succinct explanation, and settled on, "A two-dimensional holo." He adjusted the laptop on his knees. "How much did you hear?"

Noa sagged down at the opposite end of the sofa. "Enough to know that my guardian angel is apparently an alien, and I am an alien sympathizer."

James suddenly sensed that the laptop was about to fall off his thighs and moved his hands to stabilize it. He felt his nanos jump as he ran his hands over the cool plastic. The device was not unbalanced. "All the talk of demons, djinn, and devils ..."

Noa made a sound like, "Pfft." His eyes slid to her and she said, "Political and public types here are always putting their speeches into 'god' speak. They don't really believe it." She winced. "Well, maybe some of the political and public types do, and a large portion of the populace." Noa shrugged. "This isn't like Earth. It's a very religious place... in some ways it's a good thing."

Leaning back, Noa put a hand over her eyes. "Solar cores... since before the Luddecceans founded the original colony on this planet, they have been railing against neural networks, and augmentation, and the search for non-human sentience." This time her voice was softer. Tired. Parting the fingers of her hand, she peered at him and gave a tight smile. "Now they've managed to combine everything they hate in order to scare the populace and gain control." For a long moment she was quiet. "And you're caught in the middle... I'm sorry."

James's brows rose.

"This is my home world." Noa sighed. "I sort of feel responsible for their craziness."

"Hmmm ..." was all he could manage. He suddenly knew what was missing from his memories of this cottage. He didn't remember the smells—the pungent scent of the wood floor and paneling, the natural fiber of the rug that was thrown in front of the couch, the cold ticklish fragrance of stone and ash in the fireplace. And the reason he knew that was missing was because with Noa so close he found himself inhaling the scent of soap, wet hair, and her. She was familiar, and good. It made him feel... hope, anticipation... and the urge to pull her onto his lap. The last realization made him draw back. She was visibly unwell. Her skin was stretched tight across her cheeks and had an unhealthy tinge to it; her body was skeletal, her hair unkempt. Aside from that, she wasn't his normal type: tastefully augmented, civilized, quiet, erudite...

Noa's hand slipped from her face and dropped over the edge of the couch. Her eyelids slipped closed. From the rate of her breathing, James realized she was asleep. There was a raspy quality to it but it was steady and sure. He watched her for a few minutes, and then retrieved a blanket from the trunk. He draped it over her and her body relaxed. As she relaxed, he found he did, too. He turned the "television" back on and "surfed" the channels, the steady gentle rasp of Noa's breathing giving him the same peace he'd had when she'd been asleep in his arms.

And then the peace abruptly shattered.

# 4

Noa's back was pressed against a wall. Timothy was leaning into her, his lips meeting hers. A bright light shone behind his head, and somewhere Kenji was screaming. In the twisted logic of dreams, Noa could see her brother, head bent, at the same interrogation table she'd been at, but this time they were using the pliers. She knew it was a dream—a nightmare—but she screamed, "Kenji!"

Her own voice woke her. Her ribs ached with the force of her breathing, and she felt soft cushions behind her back. She found herself staring at Tim. She screamed again, her legs bunching beneath her and pushing her backward. Tim reached toward her, lips parted, his eyes soft and worried. The expression was familiar, but his skin gave him away. It was nearly the same shade as Timothy's... except that it didn't change. Timothy was so expressive that even his skin betrayed his feelings. He'd flush when he was worried or happy, turn completely scarlet when laughing, or when he was angry, or in the heat of passion. The not-Timothy had a boxy contraption on his legs. "I think you were dreaming... about someone named Kenji?" he said quietly, _carefully,_ in his highbrow Earther accent.

And it struck her—he, the not-Timothy, wasn't a dream. She sagged into the cushion, recent events coming back to her. "My brother," she said. "They've got him, too." She bit her lip. She had to save him. And then she remembered Ashley and everyone else at the camp. She had to save them all.

From the "television" came the tinny sound of, "Update from the Briefing Room. The rebels in the Northwest Province have almost been neutralized."

Noa huffed softly. "Well, that's a load of lizzar droppings."

James's eyes slipped back to the screen. He put a hand beneath his chin and then self-consciously touched the edges of his lips. He'd said they were numb earlier... maybe they still were.

"It's difficult to say." He shifted in his seat. "It might be true, or may just be propaganda to dissuade others from going to the Northwest."

"It's propaganda," Noa said confidently. "The Northwest has been home to a lawless element since the third-wave settlers arrived. The mountains there are filled with caves. Even dropping a nuclear bomb on the region wouldn't take out the rebels." She frowned. "Although, I wouldn't call them rebels, so much as bandits."

Eyes on the screen, she said, "We might go to the Northwest... there have to be some dissidents making their way there." Among them she might find someone skilled at hacking into data. She might be able to find where Kenji was held and alert the population about the camps via the landlines Bob Wang had mentioned.

"Do you think a landline could sync up with the population files somehow?" As she asked the question aloud, she tried to access the ethernet for information—and failed. She immediately sent a query to her own data files, but drew a blank.

"A landline could be used for data access," James said. "The original internet utilized landlines."

Noa blinked at him.

"The internet was the precursor to the ethernet," he said.

Noa gave him a smile. "I never realized how helpful it could be to have a history professor on hand." He turned toward her, brows still drawn together. He looked as though he was about to say something; but then, shaking his head, he turned away. Outside, the wind howled. She wondered if he was in shock.

Cocking her head toward the window, Noa mused aloud, "Of course, how would I get there? The bike's probably out of power."

"There is a hover in the garage," James said. "We could use that."

She didn't miss the word 'we.' It was the response she'd been fishing for, but still. "We? You'll come with me so easily?" she said with a bemused grin.

James was staring back at the screen. "I'd like to stay alive. I'm safer, the further I am from Luddeccean authorities."

Noa's blood went cold looking at his chiseled profile. She remembered what they'd done to Ashley. What would they do to someone as augmented as James? Give him a quick death—or slowly take him apart bit by bit? Before she realized what she was doing, she'd sat up and put a hand on his arm. "We won't let them get you," she said.

James's gaze dropped to her hand. Staring at her fingers, he said, "I sent the bike we were on to a settlement about 100 km from here. It should run out of fuel just before arriving in town. Hopefully, that will distract the authorities and keep them looking for us there."

Not sure if her proximity was making him uncomfortable or just her, Noa leaned back. Her eyebrows rose. "That's a nice bit of subterfuge, James."

He glanced at her. "I learn quickly."

She coughed involuntarily, not at his words.

His eyes dropped to her mouth. "We should probably pack and be prepared to leave."

Pounding her chest, Noa said, "Yes, you're right." She moved to throw her legs over the edge of the couch, but James dropped a hand on her knee. She looked down. Not on her knee—his hand was on a thick white duvet covering her knee. "Stay here and sleep," he said. "You don't sound well."

"I'm well enough," said Noa, but she felt tired. Exhausted, for no real reason. She'd slept, eaten. In irritation, she tried to move. But his hand was heavy. She scowled up at him. He leaned back slightly and his jaw moved side to side—as though he couldn't quite control it. One of his eyebrows rose, and he dipped his chin. "You don't know where anything is."

Noa took a breath, about to protest, but her lungs hurt and so did her injured side, and she was tired. She slumped back into the couch. He was right—she didn't know where anything was, she'd get in the way—getting some rest would be a better idea. She closed her eyes, and tried to relax, but consciousness was a buzz of static sizzling down her spine, refusing to let her drift off. As James walked away, her eyes slid to a dusty hologlobe in the corner, and to the cable he'd used to jack into the tel-ee-vision. After Tim died, she'd gotten in the habit of going to sleep with holos on.

She started rifling through the entertainment files in her neural apps. She'd watch _Lightyears!_ —the sixty-three episode, true-life adventure, romance, drama of timefield pioneers Dr. Chandi Sood and pilot Raymond Bautista was practically a religion in the Fleet... it made even the toughest grunts get weepy.

Noa sat up, reached for the cable—and realized she couldn't access any of her entertainment files—she couldn't even listen to the story in her head. Her hands flew to her data port. Did she feel bent metal, stressed edges? She almost cried. The stupid screw they'd put in her! She fell back in the pillows, and felt the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes. They'd taken _Lightyears!_ from her.

She put her hand over her eyes, and tried to breathe deeply. It was this sort of addiction to technology that her Luddeccean priests and teachers had always lectured against... She blinked at the dark ceiling. She tried to close her eyes, but she knew sleep wouldn't come.

Noa awoke on a sunny cloud. For a moment, the room was dim. She heard a tinny voice in the background say, "It is too late for that, my son."

Noa tugged at the cloud, and found herself on James's couch. The cloud was the duvet. The "laptop" was open on the ottoman-coffee-table-trunk. Noa put a hand to her head and grimaced. Her hair felt like it had been sheared by a blind barber. Dropping her hand, she stretched. At least she had slept. After finishing his packing, James had found her sitting in front of the laptop desperately trying to find something to listen to that didn't feature augments possessed by aliens murdering their families. She'd needed background noise to sleep and James hadn't even watched _Lightyears!_ , but he had these "move-ees" in his data banks. Apparently, he'd made his name as a history professor by finding an abandoned town littered with time capsules. Time capsules were sort of a misnomer. They weren't like the time bubbles created by time gates, but some low-tech things old Earthers used to do. They had put their favorite things in a box and buried it in the backyard. Noa had asked for something with space, adventure, and romance, and a lot of the capsules had the particular movies he'd selected in them—which was odd, because Noa hadn't been particularly impressed. The hero had some sort of hover car that would have sucked his head off in the jet engines. But James insisted the move-ees were very popular. He'd rattled on a bit to her about papers he'd written on "hero arcs."

Covering her mouth, she yawned. Last night she'd laughed when he'd gone off in lecture mode and had said, "Now you sound like a history professor," because he had, and maybe there was a part of her that still found that impossible. He'd reached her at speeds that would have been difficult for Fleet tech, and he'd killed her captors by himself—a lot for a history professor. When she'd made the joke, he'd turned to her and said, "Do I? I feel less and less like that person," and then gazed around the house as though he expected to see ghosts.

She shook herself. They both had ghosts. A normal person had to be even more rattled than she was by this situation. And she was rattled. It was worse than the Asteroid War in System 6. She rubbed her eyes again. The best way to handle things like Six was not to think about them... to focus on the immediate present.

She looked around the room. There were some clothes laid out for her, and no less than four jars of peanut butter on top of the trunk, all scraped clean. There were several boxes of opened soy milk that she didn't have to lift to know were drained, and empty soup packets. It was as though James had been the one who'd been in a work camp for weeks. He ate as much as several men his size.

Thinking about food, her stomach growled. Through the window she saw that snow still fell, but James was out shoveling. She could see the top of his blonde head among the drifts. She frowned and stood up. She'd been coddling herself long enough.

Pulling on the clothes laid out for her, she found her nose wrinkling up at the mess on the ottoman. By Fleet training, and an upbringing that had featured an explosion of rats among the native species, she did not like to leave a mess. After folding the duvet, she took James's trash to the kitchen, found the household incinerator-crusher beneath the sink, and dumped in the garbage. As she lifted her head and looked out the kitchen window, she was hit by a bolt of sunlight through the clouds. Her jaw tightened in the cheerful light. The snow was slowing; but, with James's earlier ruse, they probably had a few hours before company arrived. Just the same... she opened a soup packet and drained it swiftly, not even bothering to heat it up.

A few minutes later she strode into the living room just as James came in the front door. He was wearing a sweater rolled up at the sleeves. Covering his arms were tattoos. They looked like a twisting pattern of ivy and shimmered slightly in the sunlight that streamed in the door behind him.

She blinked. "Where did those come from?"

Following her gaze, he said, "We have to—" He stopped talking and drew his arms toward his face. "What are these?" he whispered.

Through the open door came the distant whir of engines. With a thought, Noa prompted her Fleet apps to identify the sound. It was a low altitude old-fashioned Luddeccean hover-carrier, the type that had been used in her youth to obliterate pirates that had terrorized southern sea lanes. She didn't remember one ever being used since then. They were huge and expensive. Her app placed it at twenty kilometers away—approaching at a speed of sixty kilometers an hour. It could go much faster—which meant they were using sensors. They were searching for someone. Her eyes went to James, still staring down at his tattoos. Or two someones.

"I don't remember how I got these." James stared at the dark marks on his arms, the world around him forgotten.

"James? Are you in pain?" Noa's hand landed on his forearm.

James's head jerked up. She was looking him directly in the eye. He heard the ship outside, and he realized how he must look. He'd rushed in to rouse her, and now he was staring at himself like an idiot... but he didn't remember how he got the tattoos. His eyes skimmed the house that he knew every inch of but felt like a set piece, and he blinked. Noa had folded the duvet and cleaned the ottoman. Those details seemed more memorable than the room itself.

"We have to leave, James."

The ship was getting closer. He met her eyes. They were no longer bloodshot. Her hand on his forearm was firm.

"Yes," he said, rolling down his sleeves, as though covering the mystery could make it go away. "This way," he said, pulling away from her grip. She followed without a word. The lights flickered on as they entered the garage and he heard Noa breathe. "An LX 469." Voice a reverent-sounding whisper, she added, "Older model, but nice, _very_ nice."

James had a hazy memory of saying nearly the same thing when his father got the vehicle. He'd been about fourteen, too young to drive on Earth, but in the 'wilds' of Luddeccea his father had let him. The craft was shaped like a teardrop. It was half as wide as James was tall, one and a half times as long. Even perched on its retractable wheels, it only came up to his mid-thigh. The top was glass reinforced with black steel supports at regular intervals, the front was rounded, the rear tapered to a single, large engine. The curve of antigrav engines peeked out from below. He tapped the button for the doors and there was a click—not a whoosh—and the sides lifted like wings. There wasn't a vacuum-tight seal; the LX was for near ground transport only, but it was small enough to slip through the trees.

He slipped into the seat and grabbed the wheel, and felt the now-familiar sense of wrong. Whenever he gripped the wheel before, he'd always felt a rush of nostalgia. Now... he only remembered the rush. He felt as though he was watching a holo of his life and not really living it. Sunlight spilled into the garage as the door lifted, and Noa slipped into the seat beside him. In the distance, he heard the approaching roar of the hover-carrier engines... that was real.

He hit the ignition. The antigrav engines whined, the craft lifted, and he retracted the wheels. They shot forward. In the periphery of his vision he saw Noa look back over her shoulder. "That carrier carries hundreds of troops, and smaller craft. Did they send it out just for us?"

James tilted his head. "There are a few other homes in this region."

"It's still crazy!" Noa protested. "The resources they're expending ... " She turned back around in her seat. "Why are you driving so slow?"

"I'm driving as fast as I can in these trees," he replied, swerving the vehicle over a large, protruding root system. His jaw wanted to frown, and instead just shifted from side to side.

"You're following the manufacturer's guidelines, aren't you?"

James angled the craft around a trunk and the centrifugal force pressed Noa into the door. He hoped it would make her be quiet so he could concentrate.

Being slammed into the door didn't deter her. "You are going too slow."

James didn't speed up. He looked through the rear view cameras. Tree branches blocked the sky and the giant hover-carrier was almost completely invisible, but he could still hear it.

"Display topographical map," Noa growled, and a three-dimensional holo of the Luddeccean terrain appeared on the dash. The mountains appeared and the Xinshii Gorge. "We can't go this way," Noa said. "If we approach the gorge at this angle, it will be too wide and deep for us to cross."

She was right, and James adjusted their course. She looked through the glass roof. "Can you go faster?"

"No," James said. The accelerator buttons were flush with the steering bar.

"You should let me drive," Noa said, her voice tight. "I'm a pilot." She tapped the dash meaningfully. The LX didn't have a cable outlet for neural interface control, but the steering bars were on a track that allowed it to be oriented in front of either passenger.

"I can't go faster," he said. His eyes went to the rear view screen. There were still too many trees to see the hover-carrier, but it sounded louder.

Noa rubbed her face. "I know this thing goes faster!"

"No, it doesn't! Especially not on this terrain—"

Over the sound of the craft's own engines, James heard more antigravs. Noa looked out the window and said, "There are antigrav bikes on either side of us. Go faster!"

"I'm barring it," James said, his fingers tightening uselessly on the steering bar and the acceleration control buttons.

"Give me the wheel!" Noa shouted.

James tried to plot the odds, the likelihood that his superior state of health and more likely faster reflexes would be an advantage over her experience.

"I am a pilot in the Galactic Fleet, James! Give me the goddamn wheel."

Before he could respond, she leaned across him, grabbed his hands, pulled back, and hurtled them upward. Luddeccean Green filled his vision. They were aimed at the belly of a hovering cruiser.

Gritting her teeth, Noa aimed the LX upward toward the Luddeccean craft hovering above the trees. It wasn't the carrier; rather a smaller, more maneuverable beast they'd sent out to drop charges and troops.

"What are you—" A nerve-searing crash from below cut James off.

Noa immediately pushed the bars, and the craft lunged down. She could feel the heat of plasma fire through the floor.

"That tree would have fallen right in front of us," James said. "How did you know?"

Eyes ahead, Noa gritted out, "It's what I would have done." The towering pine would have taken out a horizontal swerve—less need for a direct hit. She squeezed the accelerator. "Why isn't this thing going faster?" Noa hissed, angling the ship to the left so fast, James's shoulder slammed against the side door.

"I told you, it can't go faster," James said as Noa careened the vehicle toward a tree wider than their vessel. In the rear view screen she saw a bike directly behind them. Her apps went to work piecing together the make and model as Noa jerked the hover up sharply so they were rising nearly straight vertical. Gunfire erupted below, and Noa swung the ship to the side, colliding with a web of branches. They were buffeted by tree limbs, and the craft bumped like a wheeled vehicle on rocky ground.

In the calmest voice she could manage, Noa said, "James, did you not disengage the turbo dampener when you got this thing?"

"That goes against the manufacturer's recommendations," James said. "It's technically my father's and—"

"They only make that recommendation so they can legally sell them to civilians," Noa said.

"I actually told my father that," James said, his voice sounding strangely far away.

"Next family gathering, bring it up again," Noa said, swerving hard just before they collided into the upper trunk of a tree, and then disengaging the antigrav. They free-fell for a few breathless nanoseconds as two bikes soared over their heads and past them. Restarting the antigrav, she banked hard right. Her hands were slick with sweat, and she felt at any moment the bars would slip from the three fingers of her left hand.

A tree exploded in a shower of needles, splinters, and flame to the left. Noa swung the craft hard as another tree exploded behind them. She heard another sound behind them—a whining noise that was louder than that of their antigrav engines.

"What is that?" James said, evidently hearing it, too.

"More bikes," Noa said, glancing in the rear view port. "They've got forward-mounted guns."

"We can't outrun them," James said.

"Nope," said Noa, jerking the craft hard left. Another tree exploded in what would have been their trajectory. A soft voice piped the make and model of the bikes into her mind. "The bikes are older tech," she said, reviewing the data. "They can only shoot forward—the cannons pack such a mean punch they need the forward momentum to negate the recoil. If you see one and you think I don't see it, please scream."

She saw James swivel in his seat. "I think I can do better," he said, bending into the back where the gear was. A moment later he reappeared with his hunting rifle.

Eyes still ahead, Noa said tightly, "Those guys are in armor. You're not going to hit the sweet spot between their face plates and chest armor at our speed."

"At least I will annoy them," James said.

And he had a point. "Annoy away," Noa gritted out, swinging them hard right. In her mind she was playing a map of their path. They were headed to the gorge. Lizzar balls.

James touched a button and a skylight rolled back. A moment later, James was standing half in and half out of the cab. In the periphery of her vision Noa saw a black blur fall from the sky and then a flare of flame. "They're dropping charges!" Noa shouted. "... trying to keep us in a straight line."

A vehicle in the view screen was sliding into the path behind them. Noa waited for the moment it would be almost directly behind them to swerve. James's rifle cracked, and the moment never came. The driver went flying backward off his bike. Noa gaped, but she managed to raise their vehicle and hit the brakes in time for the riderless bike to careen below them and crash into a tree. She gunned the engine, heard two more cracks of James's rifle, one left, one right, and saw two more bikes go down.

"Nice shots, James," she whispered.

Slipping into the cab, he shook his head. "I can't believe I hit them. I'm not that good... "

Noa blinked. "This is no time for self-doubt!" She almost told him to keep firing, but dark spheres falling from the sky made her breath catch. Each was about as wide as her arm was long, and they had flattened undersides with antigrav engines. Each had a seam around the center, like an equator. Cannons protruded from the equator, and Noa knew from experience they could fire in any direction. "Lizzar dung! Drones!"

James was up and out of the skylight before she could stop him. "Aim for the glass eyes!" She shouted. It wouldn't destroy the drone, but it would slow it down. She cursed. The eyes were only two centis and at this distance and speed ...

James's rifle cracked and a drone went spinning. He'd hit it... Noa's jaw dropped.

His rifle cracked again and another drone slowed as it tried to reorient itself. The first drone was already back on their tail. James's rifle cracked as the cruiser above dropped more drones. She heard bullets whizzing overhead, and a charge exploding to their left. Noa did another hard turn, dropped nearly to the ground, and they flew beneath a tree in the process of toppling—trapping two drones at the same time. The sunlight overhead disappeared. Noa didn't have to look up... she knew the main cruiser was up there. James's rifle cracked again and another drone spun out of their path only to reorient itself a moment later.

Noa took a deep breath. The jig was up. She thought of Kenji and of Ashley and the fact that she'd never be able to help them. They'd yank out her port... and James, what they would do to him... he had some crazy tech in him to be such an excellent shot.

Her jaw hardened. Filling her voice with every ounce of command she could muster, Noa shouted, "James, get down and close the hatch!"

James dropped into the vehicle and obeyed. "Safety harness," Noa said. He clicked it on, and God bless him for not arguing. Ahead she saw a clearing in the trees.

"Noa, no!" James said, "We can't fly over the Xinshii gorge—"

Noa swung the craft along the edge of the gorge—a drone swept by them over the brink. The bottom of the gorge was 1,200 meters plus. Over the engines of the cruiser and the carrier she could hear the furious wail of the drone's antigrav and propeller as it tried, impossibly, to adjust to the sudden disappearance of the ground.

And then the wail disappeared. She peeked into her rear view and saw the sky where the drone had been was now empty.

She heard James exhale. "I thought you were going to fly over the—"

Gripping the steering bars harder, Noa chanted, "Hail Mary, full of grace," not because she believed, but to give herself strength, to calm her heart that was beating so fast she felt her rib cage sting. Before she could lose her nerve, she swung the craft directly over the lip of the gorge, hit the brakes and cut the engine. For less than a heartbeat that seemed to last an eternity, they hovered without antigrav or engine.

And then they plunged.

James couldn't breathe, the water at the bottom of the Xinshii gorge was coming toward them too fast. The gorge was nearly as deep as Earth's Grand Canyon, and his neural interface began randomly calculating the strength and processing power needed for an antigrav engine to keep them aloft above the drop—more than the LX had, and Noa had cut the engines anyway.

Back pressed into the seat by the acceleration, James saw a light streak in the sky. A shooting star? An optical illusion? His malfunctioning brain and data port concocting a metaphor for his short life and flashing it through his visual cortex? He glanced down and all he saw was black water coming toward them faster and faster.

James had no words. But even if he had, they would have been cut off by Noa's own utterance—a cry, a snarl, a scream of rage—it seemed to James to be all of those. Just before the craft hit the water, she pulled up on the rudder and engaged the antigrav engines, but it would never work—the engines would have to overcome the force of their fall and—

They hit the water with a resounding thwack before James could finish the thought. His vision splintered like shards of ice—another optical illusion? The last thing he would see before he died? The world went dark, and his head ricocheted against the seat. It took a moment to realize he was still alive, and that the impact had not been as much as he expected—the crack in his vision was an actual crack in the windshield, and water was oozing through the cracks in the skylight and the doors. Noa engaged the forward engine... he blinked... they were moving forward and up. A moment later they surged up out of the river, and instead of black he was surrounded by green... but not Luddeccean Green, the deeper green of the ivy that clung to the limestone walls of the gorge. The world that had been bright and sunny moments before was now bathed in shadow. James looked up, and saw the hulking shape of the hover-carrier just before Noa gunned the engine. An instant later, he was blinking in sunlight, and once again he thought he saw a shooting star.

"Damn it," Noa hissed. "We're carrying too much water."

That was when James felt the water around his ankles.

"Open the skylight, James!" Noa shouted.

He did what he was told—possibly because he was in shock. Noa hit the forward thrusters, gave more power to the antigrav engine, and angled them for some rocks jutting out of some rapids ahead at steep angles.

"Be careful," James said, "That will flip us—"

The craft hit the rocks, tipped over, and water poured out through the skylight.

"— over," James said.

Noa spun the craft right side up and laughed. "Hold on, we're doing it again!" she shouted, taking them over some more rocks even as the sweeper ship dropped charges behind them.

"Close the skylight!" Noa commanded, and he did. Another charge went off in their wake, but the canyon curved sharply and Noa took the hover along the curve. Above them, the sweeper ship did not readjust as quickly. As they twisted around another corner, James looked over his shoulder. The sweeper ship was farther away, contained by its own inertia, but soon—

"As it picks up speed, it will overtake us and drop more charges," he said. He felt like his life had been very brief.

Leaning closer to the wheel, Noa said, "I know." She slid the craft around another bend in the canyon at full speed far closer to the walls than he ever would have.

"Tell me when you lose visual sight of them," Noa commanded.

James looked over his shoulder. "Now," he said, his body hitting the side door as Noa slid around another bend—his data banks registered that they were headed northwest. Maybe they'd be able to reach the rebels before the craft overhead blew them to smithereens.

Noa snarled. James turned around just in time to see the ship barreling straight toward a canyon wall.

Water was sloshing over Noa's feet. She heard the sound of drones and sweeper hovers fading into the distance. Northward, according to her locator app... she closed her eyes... and a little light flashed green in her mind. Smacking the steering wheel, she laughed in relief and amazement. James didn't make a peep. Worried, she turned toward him. In the dim light, she couldn't see more than his silhouette. He was sitting very still, and very upright. Trying to get a rise out of him, she said, "Sometimes I amaze even myself." It was a reference to the ancient "move-ees" they'd watched the night before. If he was Fleet, she would have cracked a quip from _Lightyears_ , but since he hadn't watched it, he wouldn't get the joke.

She got nothing from him, not even a, "That doesn't sound too hard." Which was, frankly, disappointing. Did she have to be the only one trying to laugh at barely-avoided death? She tried again. "I am the literal embodiment of ..." What was the character's name? "Han Solo. James, I think you should be impressed."

James's voice was curt when he responded. "They will turn back soon, resume looking, and find us."

Noa flashed him a grin that she doubted he'd be able to see in the darkness. "Not too soon. They'll figure we hadn't disengaged the turbo dampener, and have made it to the mountains. Got a flashlight in here? I don't have augmented eyeballs."

"I... " James said. " ... do have augmented vision."

He said it like it was a new discovery to him, and Noa wondered how badly he'd been hurt when he'd been shot down.

"I also have a flashlight," James said, with more surety. "Just a moment."

A few seconds later, he pressed the flashlight into her hand. Turning it on, Noa lifted the door on her side and shone the light in directions the headlamps of the craft couldn't go. Behind them was a slim band of daylight, only a hand's width high above dark river water. Fortunately, the opening of the cave was much larger—just mostly below the river's surface.

"How did you know that the cave mouth would be large enough for the craft?" James asked.

"It was just a hunch," said Noa.

"That's not reassuring," said James.

"We're alive, aren't we?" Noa said in what was supposed to be a calm rational voice, but came out angry and half-shouted.

James was quiet for a moment, but then he said, "Why haven't they found us?" He sounded irritated rather than relieved.

"You'd rather they did?"

"Of course not," he snapped. "But I want to _understand._ "

There was an edge of something frantic in his tone. She remembered his words last night, "I'm just trying to understand ..." He wanted the world to make sense. So much of it didn't. Noa swung the light around to the front of the vehicle. They were parked in water, but up ahead was dryish rock. Suddenly feeling tired, she said, "Their sensors picked up the cave, but they've input the model of our vehicle into their computers. Our craft's manufacturer's description specifically says it is not meant to be an aquatic vehicle, and so this hiding place will be completely discounted."

"How did you know this model was capable of submersion?" James asked.

Noa blinked and pointed the flashlight back at him. His sleeves were rolled up, and his tattoos were back. She wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light, but they didn't seem as dark this time. Remembering how he'd reacted to them before, she quickly brought her eyes back to his face. "When we hit the water last time, we survived."

"You didn't know we could survive the impact when you plunged us over a cliff?" James whispered, his eyes wide.

"Nope," said Noa, testing the water with a finger. She stared at the uneven waves around the digit and realized she was shaking from head to toe to fingertip. The cave was tropically warm due to the depth of the canyon, but the water was snow melt from the mountains.

"You risked our lives—"

"I risked a quick death versus a long painful death," Noa snapped, blowing her cool completely. She closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she opened them again. James's expression was a blank mask.

"It was a Hail Mary move, James." She swallowed. Hadn't he heard her prayer? "I've seen what they've done to hyper-augments like you, and I know what they'd do to me."

His face didn't soften. Annoyed, Noa looked away. "I'd like to move us up to dry rock and let this boat drain while I disengage the turbo dampener," she said, as much to herself as to him. Gently pulsing the accelerator, she moved the craft forward. Sliding it up onto dry rock and turning it off, Noa said, "It is really lucky that we found this hidey-hole, I thought we were going to be stuck underwater, gulping at the air pockets as the ship slowly sank."

"Lovely imagery," said James dryly.

Stepping out of the vehicle, Noa shone the flashlight he'd given her down a long dark tunnel. "Maybe we'll discover a new species!" She tried to sound gleeful and carefree, to ease herself off of her adrenaline high, and to forget that she was still breathing too fast and trembling from it.

"What type of new species?" said James, sounding vaguely interested.

"A species like the one in the asteroid that tried to eat that spaceship in the move-ee last night," Noa said.

"A creature of that size and mass would have been detected by now," James said, climbing out of the craft.

Noa rolled her eyes in only semi-feigned exasperation. "I'm trying to lighten the mood here, James!"

James scowled at her. Noa's eyes dropped to his bare arms. With each passing second, the tattoos seemed to be getting darker.

Shaking herself and leaning into the craft, she said, "Help me lift the seats up so I can access the turbo dampener ... do you have any tools?"

James didn't say anything, but he helped lift the seat and retrieve a toolbox from the boot. Handing him the flashlight as he deposited the tools beside her, she said, "Go behind me and hold this over my shoulder."

Rolling up her sleeves, Noa went about disengaging the dampening conduit. Since James wouldn't talk to her, she did it for herself. "Look at me, repairing the reverse power coupling!"

"You are joking," James said, now standing behind her.

Not the witty repertoire or joking camaraderie she would have gotten from her fellow veterans, but it was better than nothing. "Yep," said Noa. "I am Han Solo."

Silence.

"Work with me! I can't be the only one trying to crack jokes and raise spirits as we head on a course toward certain death."

"Why not raise our spirits by not sending us on a course to certain death?" James said, his voice testy.

She turned around. His face was unreadable. She felt her skin heat. "Too late for that. No matter where we go."

James was quiet. Noa put her hand over her mouth. The comment had been half barb and half justification for her risky actions, but she suddenly realized the truth of it. "They sent a hover-carrier after us." A ship that could carry auxiliary vehicles and hundreds of personnel. She wasn't finished with the turbo booster, but stood up, turned away from James, and took a breath that physically hurt—maybe just from the enormity of that sinking in. If the Luddeccean Guard wanted James and Noa so badly, even the mountains wouldn't keep them safe. They'd be too busy running to help stage resistance in any meaningful way. She closed her eyes, bowing her head. "There are thousands of people in the camps. How can we save them on the run?"

"Millions."

Noa spun to him. "What?"

Standing still as a statue, James said, "I'd estimate there are millions in the camps."

Noa gaped. "How do you estimate that?"

"When you were asleep, I watched the Briefing Room channel for a bit."

Noa's eyes narrowed at mention of the "news" station.

"There were some callers to the Briefing Room—"

"How did they call with the ethernet down?" Noa asked.

"Telephones."

When Noa blinked at him, he said, "They are devices that use the landlines they were talking about last night. Callers asked about missing family members and neighbors. According to Bob Wang, alien influence corrupted the data banks of many of the populace and they had been brainwashed into wandering from their homes and places of work—and the authorities were in the process of finding them and deprogramming them."

Noa's jaw fell. Her brain sort of blinked off with the sheer stupidity of it all. But when she finally spoke, the words came in a torrent. "That's crazy—massive viral attacks of that sort of magnitude don't happen when there is a biological interface. Even cockroaches can ward off thought control!"

James's jaw did that sideways movement; his eyebrows rose. "I did an experiment like that in seventh grade!"

Noa's shoulders fell and she looked at a puddle of still water on the cave floor. "I did too. But a lot of people on Luddeccea don't believe their kids should study neural nets." She'd only done that experiment because her parents had sent her and her siblings to a progressive fourth-wave school. She met James's eyes. "There are a lot of people here who don't believe in neural interfaces; and, even if they get one, they only use them for emergencies. They arrange their kids' awakenings much later, they teach that the NI can be a direct ticket to the materialist culture of Old World sin, and that they are the antithesis of families."

She touched the stumps of her fingers. And in some ways they were right, she supposed. Getting her interface had only increased Noa's desire to get off world, to not become the happy housewife with six kids that Luddeccean culture encouraged. She pushed those thoughts aside. "So they're claiming there are millions of people who just wandered off due to alien mind control?"

Voice too level, James said, "In part. Other callers asked about workers in the New Valley." Noa lifted her gaze at the mention of Luddeccea's small but growing cybernetics hub. The planet might be anti-tech, but the solar system was loaded with the rare metals that made cybernetics hum. Luddeccea's New Valley was the perfect place to assemble the raw materials—cheap labor for the parts that had to be made by humans, with no need for an air dome, cosmic ray filters, or radioactive asteroid water. It was also where Ashley was from.

"The region is apparently a ghost town," James continued. "According to Bob Wang, the workers were relocated to secure locations."

Noa looked down at her tattoo. "They're secure, all right."

"It's all very reminiscent of the Third Reich," James said. "I'm sure many were exterminated... "

Her skin started to heat at his calm, and the hair at the back of her neck stood on end.

"... but not all," James continued. "There will be a need for cheap labor while Luddeccea transforms its manufacturing to a system not reliant on augments."

He said it as though repeating a history lesson. She felt a prickle of sweat on her skin and it wasn't just from heat.

"Do you have any feelings on this matter, James?" She didn't try to hide the bitter edge to her voice.

"It makes me concerned about the possibility of being caught," he said.

For a few heart beats, Noa couldn't speak. "Don't you want to help?" she asked incredulously.

"I want _us_ to stay alive," James ground out.

"Millions of people are dying. And you don't want to do anything about it?"

"No," he said levelly.

Noa rocked back on her feet. He wasn't a coward; he hadn't abandoned her—he'd taken care of her, very good care of her. But now he seemed remote, unfeeling. "You're inhuman," she whispered.

"According to the authorities I am not human," he hissed.

And then she felt a little disgusted—at herself for saying something so cruel, at the fundamentalists taking over her planet, but also at him for forsaking the other innocent people caught up in the same mess he was in.

Turning back to the hover with a growl of frustration, she began carefully scanning the wires and ports, looking for anything that might have been loosened when she disengaged the conduit. And she also began to think. The Fleet wouldn't let their own be arrested by locals without a court martial first. Which meant they didn't know Noa had been arrested in the first place... and acts of genocide gave the Fleet carte blanche authority to intervene. So they didn't know what was going on here, period. The Luddeccean authorities had managed to control the data packets that were being sent between Time Gate 8 and the wider galaxy by shutting down the ethernet, but that wouldn't be enough. She shook her head—how did they control the mouths of travelers? Were they restricting travel somehow? That would be difficult, and the Republic would be suspicious and would question it. Action would be slow in coming, bogged down by the Republic's near endless bureaucracy. She thumped her index finger on a wire and scowled. Still, she thought surely by now the Fleet would have an inkling...

She shook her head. Lifting herself out of the craft, she said, "I have to alert the Fleet." She felt a small wave of dizziness.

"The ethernet is down... How do you plan on doing it?"

Noa turned in his direction, tools shaking in her hands. Why wouldn't her hands stop shaking? "I'm not going to the Northwest Province to start."

"Where _do you_ plan on going?"

Where indeed? She took a deep breath, felt a bite in her lungs and sweat forming on her palms. She did know where. "I'm heading to Luddeccea Prime. You can drop me off at the nearest magni-freight line."

She expected to hear "fine," maybe "if that's what you want," and at most, "you're crazy." James took another step closer to her. When he spoke, his voice was almost a shout. "You're going to do _what_?"

Noa met James's eyes. "You heard me."

He didn't want to believe what he'd heard. He didn't care about millions, but Noa... he shouldn't care, but he did. Dipping his chin, James said, "You're going to the capital, the hub of the Luddeccean Guard, the location of the Central Authority of this world?"

"Yes," said Noa.

"No," said James, taking a step forward. She was so thin, her eye sockets sunken, her skin dry, and paler than he remembered. She was in no shape to go anywhere, much less to Luddeccea Prime. Noa didn't back up, didn't even wobble on her feet. She lifted her chin higher, as though she was challenging him.

He paused mid-step. Was he challenging her? A vision of swinging her over his shoulder, throwing her into the LX, and taking her to the Northwest Province flickered through his mind. And then he remembered finding her in the snow... She'd escaped a concentration camp; she would escape him. Or hate him. His vision went black for a moment. That was not acceptable. He took another step forward.

This time Noa did react. "Are you going to try to stop me?" Noa said, throwing up her hands. The pliers flew one way, and the pulse reader flew another, landing in water with a plop. And then Noa did back away, holding her hands in front of her. They were visibly shaking and she was looking at them with alarm... as though they weren't her own. He could empathize.

Straightening and dropping her hands, she turned to the water. "I still need that," she whispered, her voice slightly breathless.

He was barely listening. James felt like snarling—and couldn't, just as he couldn't smile or frown. She was going to get herself killed if she went to Prime. It shouldn't be his business, but it was; and it made anger and frustration burn in his mind like a white hot solar flare. "I'll get the pulse reader," he ground out. He had to get away from her, just for a moment.

James walked past Noa before she could protest. He kicked off his shoes, and then peeled off his slacks and his sweater. Noa's jaw fell. The tattoos that had been on his arm ran down his torso and his legs too—and they were very dark now. As he bent to put down his sweater, he paused, lifted his arms much as she did moments before, and then looked down at his body. His back was to her, so she couldn't read his expression—but from the way he practically leapt into the water, she got the impression that he was trying to run away from what he'd seen.

Noa watched his head disappear. She put a hand through her not-quite-existent hair—she was still shaking. And breathing hard. She felt a gust of wind could knock her over. She trembled again, this time with foreboding. What was wrong with her body? When James had stalked toward her, she hadn't been afraid, just aggravated. But when the tools had slipped through her hands... that had been scary. She wasn't clumsy. She didn't run out of breath. She didn't shake like a leaf.

Her jaw hardened. She'd been in a concentration camp for weeks, that was what was wrong with her. And others were still there. She growled in frustration, and her eyes dropped to the water where James was. It was very calm... she felt a stab of worry and checked her chronometer app. It had been two minutes and thirty-three seconds since he'd plunged in. She walked to the edge of the water. "James?" she shouted. "James?" The surface of the water remained eerily calm.

Grabbing the flashlight, knowing it had to be waterproof, she kicked off her shoes and dove in, the cold water hitting her like a physical blow. For a moment she saw an underwater world straight from a fairytale. But then the light flickered and the frigid blackness wrapped around her. She could see nothing, not even the surface.

# 5

It felt as though every centimeter of his skin was tightening and constricting to ward off the frigid waters in the cave. And he swore he felt all his cells cry for oxygen, and then sigh, as they gave up and realized none was forthcoming. His muscles stiffened—from the cold, or the lack of air, he wasn't certain. It was unpleasant. But even if he didn't have the lost tool as a goal, he would not have wanted to return to the surface. The world beneath the water was quiet, undemanding, and fascinating. Soaring through the water over a forest of pastel-colored stalagmites on the cave floor, he caught sight of small fish-like creatures with enormous eyes. The same soft hues as the stalagmites, they darted among the columns. He dove farther, searching among the column roots for the gauge, and was struck by a memory: a smaller version of himself asking his mother, "Why do the colors leave when it gets dark?" His mother had told him about the limitations and advantages of rod and cone cells in the retina—and how in darkness, the cones, the color receptors, could not receive enough light to be effective. Rods, by contrast, could be activated by as few as six photons. The shimmering colors of the underwater world defied that memory. A product of his augmentation? The only thing that told him it was dark was that the periphery of his vision was nearly black, as though looking through binoculars. He had no memory of when his vision was augmented. It was very strange. And wonderful just the same.

Catching a glint of something at the bottom of the watery cave, he dove deeper still. The blackness on the edges of his vision expanded, the pressure in his ears and chest increased, and his world shrank. He had to keep his eyes glued to the glimmer, or he would veer off course. It took a few minutes, but he did reach the fallen gauge. He wrapped his hand around the hand grip and brought it to his eyes. The tool was blurry, and it seemed to shimmer, and he was filled with a wave of panic. Something was wrong again, he could feel it, yet he wasn't sure what it was. He blinked in the depths, and called up every memory he had of being in a pool, a lake, or an ocean... and realized he hadn't exhaled... he hadn't even felt the need to. The water above him suddenly seemed solid, the cold completely frigid, and he was certain his muscles were going rigid. With a terrified kick, he propelled himself upward. As he got closer to the surface, he heard splashing, and Noa's voice, muted by the water.

He erupted through the surface and sucked in a long breath—to reassure himself that he still could.

"James!" Noa screamed.

Treading water, he turned toward her and lifted the gauge. "I found it," he said, because it was easier than saying, "I don't seem to need oxygen."

Splashing in the shallows, Noa said, "You were underwater for eight minutes." She ran a hand over her head. "How are you even—you don't have gills—I'd be able to see them."

He blinked at her, and an image of the implants along the front of the neck some divers and special ops agents sported flitted through his mind. Kicking to the shore, James searched his data banks. "Even without augmentation, humans are capable of staying beneath water for over ten minutes. It just requires training." It required years of training, packing air just before the dive, and staying motionless underwater. He didn't share that, though. Ducking his head, he climbed out of the water and shook himself off. The warm air on his skin felt wonderful, his muscles loosened, and he took another deep breath.

Noa didn't say anything for two long minutes. And then she looked down at the flashlight in her hand, now unlit. "I tried to dive after you, but your flashlight broke. Who doesn't have a waterproof flashlight?"

James blinked at her. He felt his own skin warming, and the edge of hunger that had begun to bite beneath the surface starting to fade, but she was soaked through and shivering. "I'll finish the repairs," he said, because he could. Disengaging the dampener wasn't a skill he had, but checking the charge in the ports was basic. He needed to not think about her fragile body in the cold water, trying to save him when he apparently didn't need saving.

He shook water out of his hair and then glanced down. Before his eyes, patterns were reappearing on his arms and torso. They were leaf-like shapes that were split by tiny veins of paler skin. He ran his hands over them. They had a slight texture, like scales. He tried to remember when he'd received them, and his memory was like a gray wall. He felt colder than he did in the water, though the air was warm. He remembered the Briefing Room, and Bob Wang describing aliens taking over the bodies of augments... he blinked his eyes. An alien of pure energy stuck in an augment would still have to breathe, and a being of pure energy wouldn't have... scales.

"James, what's wrong?" Noa said.

"I... " he stared at the leaf-like patterns becoming noticeably darker. "I still can't remember where these came from."

Noa shifted on her feet. "We need to get out of here, James, both of us."

James thought of the sweeper ship, the drones that would invariably be coming back. He wanted to tear at his skin with his fingernails. "You're right," he said. Turning quickly, he strode to the craft and went to work. As he did, he heard the pteranodon-like birds of the planet call outside the cave, and near his feet water lapped against the shore. But Noa was silent. Which at first was a relief. And then it was a worry. The woman seemed to like to talk. But maybe she was reconsidering her plan?

"All done," he said to break the silence. Lowering the seats back into place, he climbed to his feet.

He found Noa staring at him, arms wrapped around herself. "You can drop me off at the northeast junction," she said.

She had obviously not reconsidered. James's jaw shifted. He couldn't force her to do something, but perhaps he could reason with her? "Going to Luddeccea Prime is dangerous... "

She glared at him. "That isn't a good reason not to do something that needs to be done."

James felt heavy, like his neurons were misfiring. "You'll _die._ " He blinked at his own words, amazed that was the first thing that came to his mind, not _his_ death, although he was worried about that, too. He gulped.

Noa's mouth fell open, but instead of arguing, she just panted.

James pressed on. "You're breathing hard... you're half-starved... "

Her face softened.

"It's too risky," James said, shaking his head.

"It's the riskiest course of action," Noa admitted.

James's body sagged with relief. He tried unsuccessfully to smile.

"But it has the highest reward," said Noa. "We get to Time Gate 8, we call the Fleet, they'll have a cruiser there in minutes. They have ships on standby at other gates just for this sort of thing. We could be completely safe within days, not hunted like rats for potentially months."

James tried to run estimates of their chance for success... and could not. There were too many unknown variables. And yet, what she said about highest rewards—that was rational. Although saying a lottery had higher rewards than conscientiously saving for fifty years was also rational. He felt a shiver spread like a wave through his body. He took a step toward her.

Unmoving, Noa whispered, "You have to let me go, James."

James stopped. That would be the rational thing to do... it was her decision, he didn't have to go along with it. He opened his mouth, wanting to say he'd take her to the magni-freight line. "I will go with you to Luddeccea Prime," he said, the words surprising him with their smoothness. He felt like he did when he'd wanted to run away from her the night before. What was wrong with him? He stared at a black puddle on the cave floor. It gave him no answers... just his reflection framed by inky darkness. His reflection faded, and his imagination conjured up Noa in an interrogation room, body spilled out over a steel table, her neural interface yanked from her head, her eyes open and empty... to let that happen would be... failure.

"You will?"

His reflection on the surface of the obsidian-like puddle returned, and he lifted his eyes. Noa was smiling wildly, her teeth white against her dark lips. That smile filled his eyes, and his jaw shifted. Despite the stupidity of what he'd just offered, he wanted to echo the smile with one of his own. He stepped closer to her, as though pulled by a string, and then stopped short. His fists balled at his sides. He wanted more than just that smile—and the realization filled him with frustration that was more than sexual. She was in a profession he didn't particularly admire, she was too loud, and he was beginning to doubt her sanity.

Noa's smile disappeared. Her lips parted slightly. He blinked and in the same instant, Noa stepped away. Her wet clothes made her gauntness more apparent. He remembered the image of the smiling woman in his memory. Maybe he was attracted to an idealized Noa that used to be?

Rubbing her arms, Noa stumbled, and it hit him with the force of a blow. "I have spare clothes for you to wear," he said hastily. She was obviously cold, and ill, and he should have offered them before. She didn't argue, just said, "We have to hurry," so softly it was as though she were reminding herself.

After digging out spare clothes for her, he went to grab fresh clothing of his own. Hearing the craft rev a few minutes later, he turned to see that she'd already dressed and hopped into the LX before he'd had time to put on his sweater. He blinked. He had countless memories of waiting for women to get ready, and even making jokes about their lack of expediency. Feeling slightly abashed, he balled his sweater into his fist, and hopped into the craft—not even complaining that Noa was at the wheel.

A few minutes later, they were zipping through the canyon—not over the main river, but along minor tributaries.

"They are probably stopping all vehicles entering the capital," James said. Part of him hoped that, if he pointed out all the dangers, she'd turn back.

"Yep," said Noa. "I have a plan."

The craft darted through a patch of sunlight and James looked down at his arm. His "tattoos" were darkening; where the sunlight flooded in the window of the hover, they were darkest of all. He studied the veins on the markings. Holding his hand above his arm, he watched as the markings started to fade in the shadow of his hand. Maybe this was an augmentation that had happened after he fell? He felt a cold bolt of panic. He didn't remember waking up after the doctors wheeled him down the hallway. But no, he'd told his parents he was coming to Luddeccea. That had happened after the accident on Earth... hadn't it?

"Why are you still not wearing your sweater?"

Noa's question drew James from his confusing thoughts, and it was, surprisingly, a relief to escape.

"Who doesn't wear a shirt in the middle of winter?" she continued. "It's just ..." She gestured at the air between her and himself.

"Is this some breach in etiquette?" James asked. He had memories of people in the Luddeccean countryside not wearing shirts, or much else, in the summer.

"Well, it isn't exactly high-class," Noa said. She leaned forward and scowled, eyes straight ahead.

James raised an eyebrow at the look of ire. "Is my naked chest bothering you?" Seeing the tattoos bothered him, but they weren't obscene.

"I... no... of course not!" Noa stammered.

The transparency of the lie lit a little spark in his mind, a wicked, twisted little spark. She did say she wanted him to help her lighten the mood. "Maybe you are not so much Han Solo as the etiquette and protocol droid?" His lips didn't turn up at the jibe, though they wanted to.

Noa hunched at the wheel. Her nostrils flared. Her lips turned down. And then up. "Okay, that is actually kind of funny." He felt a sensation like victory, and his jaw shifted with the smirk he wanted to give, but couldn't manage.

"So, here's my plan," Noa said, her smile getting broader. "It's kind of crazy—"

James's urge to smile vanished. "We are heading into the capital, the fortress of our enemies, the figurative belly of the beast—how much crazier can it get?" And he had strange tattoos, augmented vision, didn't need oxygen, was too good a shot, and he was too fast—but he couldn't bring himself to say all of that.

"You're really getting the hang of this!" Noa laughed.

It took a few moments for James to process that his completely honest question had been interpreted as a joke. Seeing her happy made him happy and that was irritating. "Onward to the Death Star," he said dryly, apparently unable to help himself.

Noa laughed aloud, and it felt like a victory and a defeat of all that was logical in the universe.

_The Universe was packed. The floor of the Earth night club throbbed with a pounding beat. Normally, these were things Noa enjoyed. But right now they were getting on her nerves. She peered around the corner of the booth she'd commandeered and looked for Tim. He'd gone off to get drinks. They were supposed to meet friends here._

_Catching her unspoken question over their shared ethernet connection, Tim spoke into her mind. "I got our drinks, making my way back to the table now."_

_Noa squinted, trying to see him. The room was pulsing with blue strobe lights, and bodies were writhing on the dance floor, a step below where the booths were located._

_Timothy's thought came, "Ugh, I just spilled half my beer."_

_Noa's lips pursed. Over the ethernet she said, "I know what's bugging me. This place is just too damn crowded." On Earth they were close to people all the time. Humans were inescapable; even in "wilderness areas," humanity was only a shout away. There were no wilds on Earth. On Luddeccea she was always looking for a crowd; here she wanted space._

_"I'm not going to argue. More packed than a starship," Tim muttered. She thought she saw him holding two beers atop his head, and sent the image to him with a thought._

_"Yep, that's me," Tim replied, his thoughts a soothing balm in the noise and the crowd. Probably to make her laugh, he spun in place in time with the beat, beers still on his head. She smiled, but over the ethernet chided, "Don't spill my drink."_

_The music stopped suddenly, and the dancers slowed. The flashing strobe light dimmed, and Noa lost sight of Tim. A single man's voice singing a haunting melody floated through the room:_

_"We sent our probes out into the dark,_

_Hoping ours was not an uncommon part,_

_But the probes came back, and we found out_

_We are alone in the black, alone in the black... "_

_Noa glanced up at the speakers. It was a song she'd heard for the first time a few days ago. Humanity's inability to find another sentient space-going race was a frequent theme in art on Earth—it was as though timefield bands and having ten settled systems linked a heartbeat away by time gates wasn't something to celebrate. Earthlings' romanticized first contact. It might have been Noa's Luddeccean upbringing, but the prospect of eventual alien contact stirred mixed emotions in her. She wanted to be there the day they met another sentient space-going race—but another part of her realized such a race was equally likely to be friend or foe._

_Music throbbed again through the speakers, and the singer's voice became a wail:_

_"Dance! Dance! Dance all night!_

_We have to make our own light!"_

_... and then his words were overcome by the sounds of an electronic sitar and drums. The strobe light flashed again._

_Noa turned in her seat, and caught sight of a man staring at her. Facial tattoos had been in fashion last time she'd been to Earth, now scarification was the thing; you could tell who was an Earther by the raised scars that swirled around their eyes. In another month the scars would be gone, replaced by something else. Noa shook her head, "So much wasted energy," she thought._

_Over the ethernet, Tim quipped, "Keeps the surgi-centers in business." Noa laughed. The man who'd been staring at her started to point in her direction—maybe because Noa's scars were natural and not fashionable, maybe because she was a throwback. The man nudged his date—and she scowled at Noa. Rolling her eyes, Noa scanned the crowd. She saw Tim again, just a few paces away, eyes on the drinks he now carried in front of him. In the blue strobe light his pale skin shone like the moon. His blonde hair had been bleached by the sun during training in the Sahara, and it glowed._

_Noa smiled at him._

_Catching her eyes, Tim smiled back. "Hey, gorgeous," he whispered in Noa's mind. He was only two steps away when a man stepped in front of him and shoved him hard. The drinks spilled, and the man's voice boomed above the sound of the music. "Throwback Purist! What are you doing here?"_

_Noa was up in an instant, but a crowd of people were already dragging the man away. Tim was glaring and running a hand through his hair when she reached him. A man who'd helped drag the boorish man away blinked between the two of them. "Oh, you're together. Sorry about that."_

_Noa sighed. As if being visibly of one race was only acceptable if you were with someone who was not—or you were with a throwback of a different race. That proved you thought "correctly." She huffed. Incidents like this one were too common on Earth. On Luddeccea she'd faced racism too; but, in the small farming community where her parents lived, everyone knew her, and she was always accepted there._

_"I can't wait to get back into space," Tim grumbled over the ethernet, putting a hand on her hip._

_She knew what he meant. In the Fleet, racism was practically non-existent. The joke was that the Fleet treated everyone like throwbacks._

_She turned to him, a warm feeling in her stomach. She was about to say, "Let's get out of here," when he began to fade before her eyes. Noa's stomach fell, and she realized she was in a dream... dreaming of Tim. "No wait! Timothy!" she said, just wanting to have him for a moment longer, but he just kept fading, the bar scene disappearing with him, until all that was left was darkness._

Noa blinked. And found darkness, and for a moment thought she was still dreaming. "Timothy!" she called. And then she felt the prickle of hay beneath her back, and the side to side sway of the magni-freight car. She almost cried. It had been years since she'd had a dream where Timothy vanished before her eyes like that. Why of all times was she having one now?

She heard hay crunch, and a dim light flickered on. James's face was suddenly suspended above her, his body too close—and his face too similar to Timothy's own. That was why she had the dream.

"Noa, are you alright?" he asked, with his too perfect, too Earther intonation.

For a moment, she could only stare at him. His eyes were wide, his brow drawn—he looked worried. She averted her gaze to the hem of the blanket. Sometimes, when she looked at him, she felt she was looking at an impostor, not a real human being.

The car swayed, and Noa looked up at the ceiling as though searching for something she'd lost there. "Stupid hay, it is too prickly," she said, to say something, anything, that wasn't about the dream she just had.

James took an audible breath, and then, mimicking Noa's voice perfectly, said, "This freight car is the perfect way to get to Luddeccea Prime." No grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Tim would have cracked up halfway through that joke. James wasn't Timothy, but he wasn't an impostor, he was himself.

"Shut up," said Noa, but she smiled, trying to let him know she was grateful that he had changed the subject. He was picking up on the witty banter thing, at last.

James narrowed his eyes. His jaw moved from side to side as though he was trying to grin. "I don't think you mean that."

"Yes, I do." Noa glowered, but it was feigned. In the freight transport container behind them some cows lowed.

"If more than five minutes pass without conversation, you talk. Or prompt me to talk," James parried.

Raising an eyebrow, Noa put a hand to her chest as though she were affronted. "Are you calling me a chatterbox?"

James looked up at the ceiling as though searching for something hidden in the eaves, just as she had a moment ago.

"Never mind, I'm going back to sleep," Noa said, rolling onto her side. James flicked off the light.

Beneath them, the track the freight container was elevated on must have hit a rise, because the container rocked. They'd dumped the hovercraft in the forest a few days ago. They couldn't refuel it—their faces were all over "television"—so they'd hopped on this freight transport. The hay was prickly, but soft. This container and the half dozen behind and in front of it were hitched together, and hovered on a magnetized track. It was less energy-intensive than antigrav. The rocking usually put Noa to sleep.

Noa shifted beneath the blanket she shared with James. It smelled like him. No man should smell as good as James did, especially not after a few days without a bath. Scowling, she closed her eyes. As much as he gave her nightmares, she was attracted to him on some base level; she caught herself observing him too closely, and she felt herself flushing when he was close. That attraction ran smack into a wall in her heart or her head or both. He looked too much like Timothy and had the same sort of constantly curious mind Tim had. But Timothy wouldn't have thought twice about going to Prime; Timothy, even more than Noa, would always do the right thing. She closed her eyes. She was beginning to like James, but she wasn't sure she respected him. It was annoying that he had to be so good-looking.

Sleep didn't come, even with the gentle rocking of the car, although she was warm and not hungry.

She sighed. "You have to admit, hopping a ride in this freight car was a pretty good non-crazy idea."

"Four minutes and thirty-five seconds," James said dryly.

Putting a hand to the side, Noa found her canteen. "Admit it," she said and took a swig. James was silent. Returning the canteen to its spot, she plucked up the flashlight—recovered from its dip in the water—and shone it at James.

He scrunched his eyes in the spotlight, and held up a hand. She knew him much better after a few long boring days in a freight car. His father was a cybernetics expert, his mother was a biomechanical engineer—occupations that made perfect sense for the parents of a hyper-augment. She knew he didn't have a grip over all of his augmented bits; he was not sure how fast he could run or how strong he was, and the mysterious origins of his tattoos bothered him—but whenever a beam of sunlight streamed into the car, he invariably wound up sunning himself in it, shirt open, the tattoos turning black on his pale skin. He didn't need to shave, though he had a touch of stubble and didn't look like he'd had his facial hair follicles surgically depleted. Also, she'd never met anyone who ate as much as he did. She'd thought he'd overdone it when she saw how much food he'd packed, but now they were nearly out.

She realized that she was still shining the light on him, and he was blinking furiously.

She dropped the light guiltily—and then realized the spotlight had been like a wall between them. Flustered by how close he was, she looked away.

Taking a long breath, James said, "It's probably more comfortable than a cave in the Northwest Province ..." his voice trailed off.

"But?" said Noa, shoving him back with her shoulder and instantly regretting it.

"I can't help thinking about the Nazis loading the Jews into cattle cars."

Noa rolled her eyes. He was obsessed with this.

James continued. "We've done the work for the Luddeccean Guard, loading ourselves onto our century's version of a cattle car."

The transport jostled as it hit a bump in the track ... as though emphasizing James's point. Noa groaned. "Not with the Nazi's again, James!" She put a hand over her eyes. "And nothing about ISIL, or North Korea, or the gulags of the USSA—"

"USSR," James said. "The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics."

"Whatever!" said Noa. "They're dead and gone!"

"The impulse for genocide and reigns of terror isn't gone, it's alive and well here."

Groaning, Noa dropped her head to her knees and banged it several times. He'd filled her in on all of those despotic regimes, and she had to admit, he had a point; but she didn't want to think about it. They'd be in the thick of it soon enough. She'd already been in the thick of it on her own.

Not catching the not-so-subtle body language, or not caring, James slipped into professor mode. "Usually, this sort of fascist, self-destructive upheaval comes about because of corruption within, or from intolerable stress from without."

Hoping he would get to the point and change the subject, Noa groaned again. Loudly.

James kept going. "I don't know of any external pressures on Luddeccea right now."

And that rankled. Against her better judgment, she found herself drawn into his useless philosophical meanderings. Again. "Of course you don't know about the external pressures... you are an external pressure."

James blinked. "What? Me?"

Noa waved the flashlight. "The original settlers to this place didn't want to be part of the Republic. You guys just showed up—"

"You"— he pointed at her chest — "are a member of the Galactic Fleet of the Republic, you are 'you guys.'"

Aiming the flashlight in his eyes, Noa ignored his commentary. "The Republic showed up, offered to build the time gate to allow Fleet and traders through. Luddeccea said no—but then the third-wave plague broke out, a vote was held, the yes votes just barely prevailed, and this planet joined up. Now that there are no longer huge epidemics, and the place has been basically tamed, off-worlders are moving in, building enormous houses, not hiring locals, driving up real estate prices and making it hard for young people to buy farm land... " She gestured at him absently. "And looking so pretty with all your augmentations and leading easily impressionable youth astray."

"Looking so pretty?" said James, an eyebrow shooting up.

"But that's not the same as having two superpowers wage war on your turf like what happened in North Korea," said Noa. She thought it was a pretty good recovery, even if it slightly negated her point.

James exhaled. "You are right, it is not as extreme as the influence wars on old Earth. The local regime... it is corrupt, though, too."

Noa tilted her head. "It's static more than corrupt. The same families have held sway in Luddeccea since the founding of the first colony... but you can still have a very nice life here if you want to start a farm and make babies."

"Isn't 'static' the same thing as stagnant... and isn't that corrupt?" James said.

Noa shook her head. "Maybe a little. But it isn't like the way you described Earth's Middle East in the early 2000s. You don't have to bribe officials. Business permits are slow, but you can get them." She tapped her foot and frowned. Her baby sister had complained it was harder to do if you were female, too. Noa thought she'd been exaggerating—her sister had tried to start a composting plant when she was fourteen, based on a science fair project she'd done. That had been a little ambitious for a fourteen-year-old, in Noa's opinion, and Noa could see where the authorities might not trust a kid to follow safety protocols. Noa rubbed the back of her neck. But she'd also understood why her sister had been hurt and angry when a twenty-year-old boy from one of the old families had taken her idea and had gotten a permit for it right away. That incident was shortly after Noa went to the Fleet, and shortly before her sister had graduated and moved to Earth for schooling. One by one, her other siblings had followed, and then her parents. Kenji had gone off world for a while, too—but then had come home.

James tilted his head. "If ambitious men cannot get ahead by legal means, they will do so by criminal means... I remember reading the new Premier isn't from a First Wave family; he's just very good at promoting their agenda."

Noa stared at her feet, her thoughts catching on the words "ambitious" and "criminal." "I've been called ambitious and criminal, and I'm not a fanatic."

James lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

"How do you think I knew how to hotwire a grav bike? I borrowed one from a neighborhood Guard patrol when I was a teenager."

James blinked. "Why would you need to hotwire a vehicle you were borrowing?"

Noa looked up at the roof. "I didn't ask to borrow it first." She pursed her lips. "Although it wasn't technically a crime, since the charges were dropped when I told them I was going to join the Fleet as soon as I graduated. The judge's last words to me were, 'good luck and good riddance.'" She tapped her chin. "So maybe I wasn't really a criminal since I was never charged. Although I did hop transports like this too, I just never got caught. If you don't get caught, is it really a crime?"

"That seems like something a criminal mind might ask."

Noa grinned at the wry humor. "But I'm not a criminal. I joined the Fleet and flew straight, figuratively, if not literally."

"And if you had stayed here?" James asked.

Noa rolled her eyes. "Not worth thinking about. There would be nowhere for me to go, especially as a woman. The Republic may grant women rights, but culturally, on this planet... " She shook her head. The law was only the first step in such things. "My family wasn't like that... and they all left." She touched the scars on her abdomen self-consciously. "My mom always said the Luddecceans are slightly cult-like, and cults need to make babies. When babies need to be made, women can't be out making a living."

After a long moment, James said, "Which leads to a third reason why such fanaticism might be taking hold... maybe they really believe what they say?"

Noa shook her head, bored with the mental exercise that took them nowhere. "Why does it matter _why_ it is happening? At this point, it only matters that it _is_ happening. Our job is to alert the Fleet. They can come here and straighten it out."

Taking a deep breath, James closed his eyes and rubbed his jaw. "If I understand why this is happening... " He looked away. "There are so many things I do not understand. Things that should bother you too... like how I found you, and how I knew your name."

"Those things really do not concern me more than staying alive and not dying," Noa said.

"They should concern you more," James said softly.

There was a quiet that stretched too long. Taking his hand on impulse, Noa batted her eyelashes at him. "Is this the point where you tell me you're an alien, James?"

His gaze met hers, and his fingers tightened. "No." She had a moment where she thought he might kiss her. She felt herself flush, realizing a part of her wanted that... but Noa told herself it was too much emotion, too fast, brought on by too extreme circumstances—that she had too much to do. The transport jostled and Noa felt it all the way to her bones. She was also just so tired. Leaning back against the wall, she pointedly looked straight ahead. James didn't let go of her hand.

So quietly that he was hard to hear above the rattle of the connections between cars, and the lowing of the cows, James said, "Something is wrong with my neural interface and my brain, Noa."

Noa thought of her nightmares, and her flashbacks, and nudged him again. "We've both got broken brains."

Flexing his fingers in hers, he whispered, "You say the most unreassuring things."

Noa stared down at their entwined hands, dark on light. It brought back so many memories, and she couldn't bring herself to tear away. Instead she said, "James... will you put on a move-ee?" They'd been watching a lot of move-ees and tee-vee programs to pass the time when they weren't eating or training. Noa had assigned herself a calisthenics routine to try and recover her strength. She should do that right now... she liked working out, the meditative quality of it... although lately it was exhausting in a way she wasn't used to. Before her muscles ached, she felt inexplicably drained.

James took his hand away as he pulled out the laptop. She put hers in her lap and out of reach. As music started to play, she had a moment of apprehension. "What is this?"

"Schindler's List," James replied.

"Is this about ISIS or North Korea?"

"No."

"Is it happy?" Noa asked.

That was met with silence.

Curling her legs up, Noa banged her head against her knees. "James, I just escaped a 're-education camp.' Have mercy!"

James stopped the playback. "Would you like to continue the series we started before? You seemed to find that amusing."

Noa laughed, thinking of the space exploration "sitcom" he'd shown her before. "Yeah, that ship was hilarious. They would have flip-flopped through space." She'd laughed until she'd cried watching the opening credits.

"So—"

She waved a hand. "Something new."

James used a finger to navigate through tiny icons on the archaic screen. A show came on, obviously set on old Earth. It was some sort of detective show, with some sort of psychopath type as the lead. He had nearly augment-like abilities of recall. It was entertaining enough, but confusing: little text boxes popped on the screen occasionally. "What are those?" Noa asked.

"At that point in history, instead of thought-to-thought communication, humans used to send text messages on phones—the little black rectangles you occasionally see them speaking into—that were connected by satellite. Those squares of text superimposed on the frame reflect what he'd see on his phone."

Noa cocked her head. "Sort of like a prototype of thought-to-thought ethernet?"

"That is when they say it began," James said.

And Noa could see that. Sure, texting was to thought-to-thought communication like paper and ink was to painting on cave walls, but it was a start. If she could have it now... what she wouldn't give to be in contact with Kenji, her other siblings, parents, or her friends in Luddeccea Prime... Still, just to be contrary, or maybe just to talk, she tsked. "Poor, poor, primitive savages."

"Yes, they were practically chimpanzees," James replied. And bless him for joking. Noa grinned, but her smile almost immediately began to fade. "I think I remember reading about 'texting' actually... the text messages facilitated some of the early democracy movements, right?"

"Yes," said James, gaze still on the screen.

"The people of Luddeccea don't even have access to that," Noa said, her heart sinking.

"No," said James. He turned to her, his face blue in the laptop's glare, his features as always too perfect. "Do you still want to continue to Prime?"

Noa's jaw hardened. She thought of the camp and Ashley. She thought of her brother—he had been in Luddeccea Prime when she arrived planet-side—was he now in a camp? Had they hurt him? In Prime they had to have some sort of computerized record-keeping. The same person who'd helped them access one of the shuttles to Time Gate 8 might be able to find Kenji.

"I need to go there even more than before," she whispered.

She was dimly aware of James's Adam's apple bobbing. At last he said, "We will go there, then."

She closed her eyes at the word "we." She was ridiculously grateful not to be alone in this, and she wanted to drape herself over him, but also to pull away. She sat perfectly still, instead, and let herself be distracted by the antics of a consulting detective.

# 6

From the top of the freight car, James watched the suburbs of Luddeccea Prime roll slowly by. Luddeccea Prime was closer to the equator, and the homes were built with heat reduction in mind. They were low-slung adobe creations with deep awnings. Lights burned inside the buildings, and shone through wide floor-to-ceiling windows open to the evening breezes. There was nothing to suggest that there was anything amiss on Luddeccea. But sometimes, marching down the quiet streets, James spotted men in uniform stopping pedestrians and ground transports.

He had wondered many times, back when he was safe on Earth, what he would do if he were to find himself in one of the genocidal events he'd studied. He'd always fancied that he would choose to resist. But he didn't feel like resisting now; he didn't feel any sort of moral compulsion to help these people. He felt as though he was watching a bad play, and all he wanted to do was leave the theater.

He gazed down at the ground rolling past them. It would be easy enough to jump from the roof. The train was traveling at only thirty kilometers per hour, and it had stopped occasionally for other trains, cars, and once a wheeled busload of children. He could easily disappear into the darkness of the early evening. He could catch the next freight train going in the opposite direction. It would be the logical, sane thing to do. He wanted to do it, he really did. But he couldn't make himself leave Noa; she was the only thing in this nightmarish drama that felt real. He sighed. And he couldn't make himself bind and gag her and drag her to some place safe, he thought ruefully.

A pinprick of light falling in the sky caught his eye.

"Another meteorite?" Noa whispered, so close he almost started. "That's strange," she continued in a hushed voice. "If there was going to be a meteor shower during my visit, Kenji would have told me. He would have wanted to go to the countryside away from all the light pollution to watch."

James shook his head. He had no idea if a meteor shower was expected. But they'd seen dozens of falling stars over the past few nights when they'd dared to peek out of the freight car, even some during the day.

Noa sighed, and then said, "Ready?" James turned to her. Like him, she was on hands and knees, and like him, she wore a pack on her back with the remains of their scant supplies. The white of her teeth flashed briefly in the gloom, and then the smile was gone. She was less than a meter from him, and that felt far away. He'd become accustomed to physical contact, or the promise of it, at all times. Not that there had been anything untoward... which was strange. His former self, the person he'd been before he woke up in the snow, had been confident. Overly confident, maybe. He had a faded memory of being called "a presumptuous ass."

"No, I'm not ready," he said, predicting the straightforward observation would make her laugh. He was rewarded with another grin, but it disappeared too quickly. She took a long breath. Was it his imagination, or did her arms tremble slightly?

"Let's go," she said, turning her focus to the back of the train. "Let the revolution begin."

James sighed; but his sigh did not provoke even a chuckle from Noa. His only hope at this point was that this first part of the mission would fail, that she'd reconsider, and that they could hop off this train while they still had time and head for the Northwest Province.

Traveling on hands and knees, they reached the third to last car. In the caboose, there were four train operators who had fed the cows and occasionally checked the cars for stowaways. The cows were still alive, but they hadn't done a very good job with the latter, obviously.

Noa and James's goal was to subdue the operators, steal their uniforms and their identification, and then hop off the moving train and make their way to the city proper by hover—hired or stolen—before the freight cars arrived at their destination. In the city, they'd find a programmer who could hack their retinal scans into the Luddeccean time gate mechanic crew's database. Noa was sure they could find a retired Fleet officer to do it.

Reaching the end of the car, Noa slipped down. James followed. The animals in the car beyond began to low. Noa went to the door between the cars. It had a simple latch mechanism, a vertical handle that only had to be lifted. Noa gripped it and gritted her teeth, and then gasped and dropped her hand. "What? Today they lock it?" she snapped.

James blinked, remembering how easily they'd slipped into the car of cows, hay bales, and wooden crates a day ago. "Perhaps because we've been stopping more frequently?" he suggested, taking the handle and gently lifting. It was definitely locked... maybe she'd back down?

"We'll have to confront them in the caboose," Noa said with a frustrated-sounding huff. "Not as ideal as our original plan."

Much more dangerous than their original plan is what she meant. James jiggled the handle. "I think it has a little give," he said, not sure if he was lying or hoping.

Noa held up her hands. "Don't—"

James yanked it up sharply. There was a loud crack, and the whole mechanism disengaged from the door.

"—break it," Noa finished.

"Maybe it was rusty?" James said, turning it over in his hands. He didn't see any rust; yet, he had broken it as easily as a toy. He felt a stab of inner panic and tossed the lock aside. It made him think of his tattoos, night vision, and ability to stay underwater without breathing.

"Actually, this might work... " Noa said, snapping James from his thoughts. She reached into the hole in the door and winked. "Yep." There was a click. She swung the door open and disappeared within. James looked longingly at the ground rushing past. He could jump and survive with only a few scratches. His skin prickled with annoyance. But he wouldn't do that, no matter how much he wanted to. He followed Noa into the car.

He immediately hit a wall of the worst smell he'd ever encountered. Putting his arm over his face, he gasped, "Methane."

"You can't smell methane, James," Noa said, her voice barely audible over the sudden lowing of beasts.

James dropped his arm. He was sure he smelled methane, along with animal smells, hay, the faint odor of rot, dampness, and a hint of Root, a popular native stimulant that was very addictive and illegal on both Luddeccea and Earth.

"Although, there's probably plenty of methane in here," Noa said, looking around. "What you smell is cow. And what posh cows they are. These bovines are destined for the dinner plates of the high chancellors. Look at them, each with its own stall and feed bin, not packed like—"

James put a finger to his lips. Noa raised an eyebrow in his direction and fell silent. James tilted his head to the far door. Over the lowing of the cows and the rattle of the car on the tracks he heard someone say, "Something is getting them excited."

Noa loped to the door with surprising stealth. The cows still lowed and stamped their hooves in her wake. They stamped more vigorously when James passed down the center aisle between them. His passage was not as quiet as Noa's. He took his place beside her at the hinge side of the door.

He heard the click of the lock. The door swung open and two men stepped in, both brandishing stunners.

James shut the door—gently. Outside a remaining agent said, "Hey, Bart—what 'cha doin'—you know I forgot my keys." Noa stepped forward, wrapped one arm around the first man's neck, and in one smooth motion she lifted the man's own stunner and stunned his companion with it before either could call out. As soon as the stunned man went down, James dragged him into an empty stall. The man Noa was trying to choke struggled, and Noa stunned him as well. Lowering him to the ground, Noa nodded for James to pull him away. As James did so, she went swiftly to the door, opened it, and took shelter behind it.

A man stumbled in. "Oh, thanks, Bart—"

Noa hit him with the stunner an instant later.

"Well done," James said, stifling a sigh... it looked as though her plan might succeed, and they would not be going to the Northwest Province.

Without acknowledging the compliment, Noa looked at the downed men and exhaled audibly. "Wasn't hard, they're just civilians." She sat down on her heels and felt one man's pulse. "They'll all be fine. Nothing worse than a headache." Noa closed her eyes briefly. "Thank you, random factors of the universe."

James didn't comment. That was one of her goals, that civilians not be hurt. They were, in her words, "just caught up in events beyond their control." Which was their own situation as well. James hadn't argued with her assessment, even if the logical part of him said they'd be less likely to be identified if the train personnel were dead.

Opening her eyes, she whispered, "There's one more. I didn't hear anyone while we were above. Did you?"

James shook his head. Noa went to the door, pushed it barely ajar, and cautiously peered out the crack.

And then James heard a piece of hay break behind him and a soft exhalation, and he knew without turning that there was a man behind him, approximately 1.8542 meters tall. He could smell Root on the man's breath. He heard the soft brush of skin on hard plastic and knew the man had a stunner. Spinning counterclockwise, James kicked up and out with a leg and hit the man squarely in the chin. There was a sound he didn't recognize, a sort of snap, as the man flew backward over the hay bales he must have been hiding behind. Spittle flew from the man's mouth, and James caught a heady whiff of the drug.

Noa gasped, ran over, and dropped beside the man. She was silent for one minute and forty-five seconds.

"What's wrong?" James asked.

Noa looked up at him. For thirty-three seconds, she did not respond. And then she said in a hushed voice, "You broke his neck."

Gazing down at the man, James noticed the impossible angle of his head for the first time. "I acted on instinct."

"That was a mighty good instinctive roundhouse kick," Noa said, and James could hear the tension in her jaw.

James didn't answer. He had a hazy memory from his life on Earth; he'd been behind the controls of a hover, with a woman sitting next to him. She'd been a colleague and a lover, though he couldn't remember feeling anything for her. She had said to him, "You drive very responsibly." He had replied, "If I hit someone and they died or were injured, I'd never forgive myself." He hadn't been lying; but now, staring down at the man whose life he had ended, he felt nothing.

"James... " Noa said.

James turned his gaze to her.

"Really good instincts, for a history teacher," Noa said. "What are you hiding from me?"

James took a step back. For the first time, he felt something... terror, and the potential for failure of something he could not name. "Noa ... I don't know."

Noa's shoulders fell. For another ten seconds, she was silent. And then she shook her head. "Let's tie these guys up, take their uniforms and identification, and get out of here."

James took a deep breath. The charge in his body dissipated; but, instead of relief, he felt grief. He stared down at the dead man. He remembered a time on Earth when he'd watched a stranger's funeral procession from afar, and mourned in a vague existential way. James had that sensation now, but not for the dead man. He mourned for himself, the man he once had been.

From the back of the hover cab, Noa handed the driver the identification she'd stolen from the two train operators who looked the most like James and herself.

In the dim light of the cab, the driver looked down at the identification documents. They were primitive things, little booklets with a picture and relevant bio-data. The most high-tech thing about them was a two-dimensional holographic image of the Luddeccean emblem: a dove with a green branch in its mouth. She supposed that societies became paper bound when they had no ethernet.

The driver rifled through the booklets, taking his time. He glanced up at her and James, and back down again.

Her left thumb went to her rings—and found them gone. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes flitted to James. Like her, he was wearing the train uniform, complete with a brimmed cap pulled low to hide his blue eyes. Like her, his face was caked with dust from the gravel bed along the track. It made his pale skin darker, and her dark skin lighter. She'd added darker dirt to her jaw to give her the appearance of stubble. None of the train operators had been female.

She caught the driver's eye in the rear view mirror. He looked suspicious—as well he should be. Two train hands would never pay for a cab from the suburbs to the capital proper—they would have taken a hover bus. The man met her gaze in the mirror. "Port of Call?" he said.

Forcing her voice down an octave, hoping it didn't sound too contrived, Noa said, "Yes."

He stared at her a moment. Turning his head, he spit out the window. Noa's heart beat so fast that her ribs hurt. She was dimly aware of James slipping the damn protein bar into his pocket and his hand going to the latch of the door.

The driver grunted. "I want to be paid up front."

Noa's body relaxed, and then stiffened again when he said, "Seventy credits, no less."

It was highway robbery. The driver spat again. Noa ground her teeth, but she slipped out the credits and handed them to the man.

Without a word he set the cab into gear. He didn't look frightened, as presumably he would be if he recognized Noa or James from the "tee-vee" broadcasts. Her eyes narrowed. Or maybe he just knew the Luddeccean alien-devil spiel was lizzar excrement?

Sitting back in her seat, her gaze met James's. His hand was still on the handle of the door. He kept it there for the entirety of the trip.

Seventeen minutes later, they stepped out of the hover cab into the hot, humid air of Prime's Port of Call district. As the hover lifted away, Noa surveyed the surroundings. Port of Call was between the train yards, the Tri-center's spaceport, and the sea port. It looked almost exactly as she remembered it. Squat pastel-colored stucco buildings lined the narrow two-lane street. None of the buildings were taller than four stories; all had deep-sloped overhangs, to block the tropical sun and prying eyes from windows that were most often open to the breeze. Almost to a one, they had gleaming spiral windmills on the roof that by day drew energy from the wind and sun, and by night still derived power from the ocean breezes. A few had hover parking on their rooftops. Since they'd left the train, cloud cover had moved in. She felt a gentle drop of rain on her cheek and lifted her eyes. From where she stood, she could see the silhouette of the Ark, the vessel the first Luddecceans had arrived in, rising up in the direction of the Tri-Center. Built like the space shuttles of the twentieth century, but far more massive, the Ark looked like a mid-rise apartment building or warehouse, not a spaceship. A planet-wide monument and museum, it was lit from within and appeared reassuringly normal. However, there would usually have been a steady stream of ships leaving the spaceport behind the Ark, tonight the sky was dark. Feeling a rising sense of unease, Noa took a deep breath. Port of Call smelled like salty air and hover exhaust, but the normal smell of sun-baked garbage was absent. Dropping her eyes, Noa exclaimed under her breath, "Where are the rats? There should be rats."

"No, there shouldn't be," James said, sounding professorial. "They're an invasive species. They've destroyed huge swathes of the local ecosystems, spread disease, and... "

"And they're disgusting," Noa said. She blanched and stuck out her tongue. "Creepy, naked tails. I know some people say they make great pets, but get your hand bitten once, or find them gnawing on human corpses... " She sucked in a breath. Rat bodies writhed like so many snakes in her memories of the abandoned asteroid mines around Six... she shivered. "I convinced the captain of the last ship I was on, to keep a bunch of kittens because of the rat problem." And because kittens were cute.

"I was going to say—"

Noa waved a hand. "That's not the point. In this part of town they should be practically coming out here and saying hello." Cheeky little beasts. Voice hushed James said, "Just about every totalitarian regime gains power by solving some problems."

Noa shoved her hands into her pockets, although the night was warm. "I never thought not seeing rats would make me uneasy," she muttered. She looked down the street. She didn't see the usual prostitutes, and there were fewer land cars than usual. There were plenty of people... yet fewer than normal.

Beside her, James said, "The meteor shower continues."

Noa raised her face to the cloudy sky and saw pinpricks of light shooting through the clouds, exploding before they collided with the earth—but still, far too low.

Movement not sixty meters away caught her eye. Wiping a few raindrops from her face, she saw men in Local Guard uniform inspecting the papers of some nervous-looking civilians. Ignoring the natural fireworks display, Noa grabbed James's arm, guided him down a nearby alley, and then down another. She hadn't let the hover pilot drop them off too close to their destination. In the event he reported them, she didn't want their path to be too obvious.

She turned left and walked under some clothes clipped to a line being rapidly pulled in by an inhabitant in the flats above. Her head jerked up at the plain white men's shirts and women's slips. They looked like things she had sewn at the camp. It was startling to see them out of the context of Taser-wielding guards and the drone of sewing machines. It was also strange to see them line-dried. She shook her head. Even simple devices had become ethernet dependent over the last few hundred years. She shouldn't be too surprised that newer laundry machines no longer functioned.

Resuming her path, her eyebrows lifted as James ripped open another protein bar. "You're unusually quiet," he said, before practically inhaling the thing.

"I'm focusing," Noa said, which was the truth... but not the complete truth. They had murdered a train worker. By the smell of the Root on his breath, he'd been in the cow car desperately sneaking a chew. He hadn't deserved to die. There had been one civilian death in her revolution already. Her eyes slipped to James. She was certain he hadn't meant to kill the man, but she thought of him ripping the lock from the cattle car's metal door, and the way he'd peered down his perfect nose at it and suggested he'd been able to do it because it was rusted. He didn't know his own capabilities... which made him dangerous, like a child with a loaded weapon. She closed her eyes. She'd have to deal with it later. They had perhaps an hour before the team in the train car would be discovered.

At last, she reached the place she had in mind. She guided James down a dark stairwell to a nondescript black door. She knocked a few times, keeping her chin down and her cap pulled low so the security camera didn't get a clear view of her face.

For a too-long moment, nothing happened. "Does this place have a name?" James whispered.

"Hell's Crater," Noa muttered, keeping her chin dipped and her voice gruff.

"And I thought we were just going to hell in the figurative sense," James muttered. Noa smirked, glanced up at him, and realized all of the dust had washed off his face in the rain—and probably off her face as well. Just as she realized that, the door swung open.

Adjusting her shoulders, trying to appear broader, Noa stepped in with James. She was briefly blinded by lights as bright as the Luddeccean interrogation room. As her eyes adjusted, Noa saw a burly guard she fortunately didn't recognize. He was standing behind a podium with a thick open book, partially blocking a short hallway that led to some more stairs. Noa thought she made out mug shots on one side of the book's pages and a list on the other. Her stomach sank. But she took the pack she was carrying off her back and put it in some lockers just before the podium. She motioned for James to do the same. In her pack were the stunners, and James's pack contained his rifle, carefully disassembled. They'd be nearly defenseless, but it couldn't be helped.

"Sorry, guys," the guard barked. "I gotta see your IDs."

Noa swallowed. This was not normally the sort of place where IDs were checked... and even if the dirt of their disguises hadn't been washed away by the drizzle outside, they never would have passed muster in the bright light of the hallway. Her eyes flitted to James. His chin was dipped low, eyes on the security guard, and she could feel his readiness to fight.

Noa took a deep breath and made a leap of faith. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the billfold-like ID and handed it to the guard. Turning to James, she jerked her head in the guard's direction. Thankfully, taking the hint, he handed his ID over. The guard looked at the pictures in his hand, looked at them, and down at the pictures again. He looked over at the book, and ran his fingers over the names.

"These IDs check out," he said, head bent over the podium. Not lifting his eyes, he said, "The pictures look old." He handed the IDs back, still not looking at them. "You might want to have them updated." He coughed into his hand. "We get some slack for being a Fleet establishment, but sometimes, the Local Guard checks in here."

Noa nodded, and said, "We understand. Thank you." She wasn't sure if the guard recognized her—but she was sure he knew the IDs were fake.

Turning to James, she said, "Come on," and led him down the hallway to the dark descending stairwell beyond. She noticed that the hologlobe that usually played a Fleet recruitment recording in the hall was gone, as was the two-dimensional old time recruitment poster that used to hang on the ceiling above the stairs. A chill descended on her, even though the hallway was as hot and humid as it had been outside.

Beside her, James whispered, "He lied... he lied for us. I can't believe it. Although... there is a wonderful little-known account of a mixed-race man living in Nazi Germany, titled _Destined to Witness._ He was saved by purposeful acts of disambiguation by—"

"James," Noa hissed as a man appeared at the foot of the steps, a wave of sound from the room following as he did. "Shhh ..."

"Ah, right," James said, stepping to the side to let the man pass.

Noa could hear music thumping as they approached the bottom of the steps and the heavy metal door that separated the stairwell from the club. The humid smell of the hallway was replaced by a hint of Root and tobacco. James bumped Noa's shoulder with his. "Have I ever entered a more wretched hive of scum and villainy?"

Noa snapped, "These are mostly former Fleet personnel!" There were a lot of veterans on Luddeccea. The planet may have been ambivalent about joining the Republic, but Luddecceans were over-represented in the military, and especially over-represented in the ranks of grunts. If you were a Luddeccean from a lesser family, Fleet was the way to go. Luddecceans made great spacers; they were used to hard work and doing without. And Luddeccea's only recent conquest of native pathogens meant that Luddecceans were accustomed to living with the risk of death. She felt protective of her fellow "Luddie" veterans. They were her people, more than other spacers or Luddeccean civilians. She glared up at James.

His eyes narrowed, and his jaw twitched. "I was trying to lighten the mood." One of his eyebrows lifted. "I was under the impression you liked that sort of thing."

Noa squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the movie he'd mangled the line from. She'd missed the joke in his deadpan delivery. Timothy would have been blushing from hairline to neck, and biting a smile to keep from laughing aloud. He wasn't Tim. She released a breath. Not meeting his eyes, she nudged him with her shoulder. "Yeah, thanks. It was funny."

"Please, contain your mirth," he said dryly.

The wryness of his tone made her smirk. Putting her hand on the door latch, she said, "Now let's try and find someone I recognize, who can play programmer for us." She swallowed. "Without us being recognized."

Turning his head to her sharply, James said, "You said no one from Fleet would be likely to turn us in."

Wincing, Noa looked up at the ceiling. "Well, almost no one." Without waiting for a response, Noa opened the door and stepped into the room beyond.

Hell's Crater was almost exactly as Noa remembered it. Smokey and badly lit, it smelled like too many bodies and spilled drinks. But when her eyes grazed the crowd, she saw that things were different. It wasn't as full as usual. The hologlobe at the bar's end wasn't playing live sports; it was playing an old holodrama instead. And when she peered into cubbies and nooks, her eyes actually went wide with shock. Some of the patrons were linked to each other via cables. Hell's Crater wasn't stuffy, but it also wasn't the sort of establishment where this sort of thing usually went on.

Normally, direct neural interface communication was achieved by ethernet; but, with the ethernet down, cables or "hard links" could substitute. Noa felt a near-constant desire to link, but she didn't feel compelled to hard link. There was more risk involved in linking with hardware; it was easier to catch a bug of the biological or electronic variety. Also, the ethernet relay stations for thought transmissions had built-in gates to help keep errant thoughts and emotions from slipping through. With a hard link, the nearly subconscious observation that your data partner had nice biceps would be transmitted straight to his brain. And the way human brains worked, that observation was likely to be followed with thoughts even more explicit. Sex was so often a result of a hard link that "hard linking" was a metaphor for sex. Noa had some Fleet apps installed to provide filtering for her own thought transmissions; however, the apps couldn't shield her from a stranger's musings.

Realizing she probably looked like a kid who'd just found porn playing on her grandmother's hologlobe, she smoothed her expression. Squinting in the gloom, looking for someone she recognized, she saw a few hard linkers were smiling a little too broadly, eyes rolled back in their heads. A hard linked woman in one of the booths began to visibly moan, her mouth agape and eyes glazed. Her partner grunted, his hand beneath the table, his arm moving furiously. Noa had seen more explicit antics on some of her shore leaves, but nothing like it at Hell's Crater. She shook her head—so why now? The security guard's words came back to her. "We get some slack for being a Fleet establishment." She sighed. They were here because they didn't have anywhere else to go. She looked around the bar to see how the other patrons reacted. Some of them were laughing and pointing; others were shaking their heads. She noticed a man at a table directly across from the couple; he took credits from a man and then handed him a hard link. Noa's eyebrows shot up. Apparently this was where people came to buy hardware; that would explain the festivities. Her eyes narrowed as she inspected the seller. He was wearing a glowing necklace. The necklace lit Eurasian features that were more perfect than James's. He'd definitely had work done ... also not typical of this place. Fleet people were more likely than Luddecceans to have plastic surgery for major scars—but "pretty" wasn't an ideal. Just before she turned away from the man, he caught her gaze. His eyes widened a fraction, and he lifted his glass in her direction and leered. Noa's stomach churned.

Beside her, James whispered, "You know him?"

Noa stepped toward an empty booth in the corner. "No, but he makes my creep detector buzz."

"Is that an app?" James whispered in her ear.

Noa had no idea if he was joking, which made it funnier. Covering what had to be a goofy grin with a cough, she slid into the booth and tried to observe everyone discreetly. James had just taken a seat across from her when the door flew open. The guy they'd passed on the way up the stairs lunged in, eyes wide, shouting something into the din. Noa couldn't hear the words, but she could read his lips: "Patrol!"

The holo went silent, but the noise in the room increased. There were a few cries, a few shouts, and around them people started yanking cables from their ports. James lurched to his feet, and Noa did, too. Other patrons were already ahead of them, running to the back door, but before Noa had slid out of the booth, the door in the back burst open and men in Luddeccean Green blocked their exit.

Noa's eyes darted across the room, looking for a place to hide. There had been a time when alcohol was prohibited on Luddeccea. Maybe there was a hideaway behind the bar?

"Noa," James hissed. Her eyes snapped to him—he was staring at someone not two steps from the table.

# 7

James's muscles tensed. He heard shouting and saw people dropping hard links to the ground as they pressed in a mob toward the exits. A part of his mind noted the anomaly of it—hard linking wasn't illegal in the Republic. It was necessary for psychotherapy or neural interface repair. It was, however, typically found to be in poor taste in public places. He remembered half-seriously suggesting to a girlfriend that they hard link in the backroom during a particularly tedious event. She'd suggested he go hard link himself.

At the same time his mind processed these thoughts, his eyes remained fixed on the "creep." The man blocked their exit from the table—fortunately, he also effectively blocked the Guard's view of Noa and James. Hands in the pockets of a long trench coat, the stranger looked James up and down without ever meeting his eyes, and then he looked at Noa and smiled.

Her eyes narrowed at the man. "Do I know you?"

James heard footsteps on the stairs, and shouts of, "This is an ID check, stay calm!" James's eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape, but he heard the Guard at both exits. For a brief moment his vision went black. They'd run through a blizzard, fallen into a gorge, crashed into a canyon wall, hidden in a magni-freight car... this couldn't be their end... not in a bar. But of course it could be; it was magical thinking to suppose otherwise.

There were whispers and screams, and someone cried, "Dear God, dear God."

More magical thinking. But what was the alternative? James told himself they would get out of this. His vision returned, and he was once more staring at the stranger, but he couldn't move. He was frozen in place, his mind scrambling for a viable course of action and finding none.

Chuckling despite the chaos, the stranger slid into the booth across from James, blocking Noa's escape. Pulling his hand from his pocket, the stranger put a stiff plastic necklace on the table. "Sit down and put this on, Noa."

James looked to her, surprised the man knew her name. Realizing the man's frame was no longer blocking the view to others in the room, James sat down and leaned as far as he could in his seat. Noa followed James's lead, but didn't take the necklace. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The man's smile widened, but he didn't show teeth. "It will hide you from the patrol." The smile lasted too long without changing, and was too symmetrical.

Sliding toward him in her seat, Noa said, "Get out of my way... "

The man frowned. The necklace he wore went dark. Halting, Noa gaped. James did, too. Where an instant before there had been a handsome if artificial-looking face, what appeared now was the face of a man who was pudgy and overweight. He had a thin unkempt beard, above which his cheeks and forehead glistened with sweat. His nose was long, pointed and European, but his eyes were narrow and red-rimmed. He lacked a distinct chin.

"I'm only trying to help you, Noa," he said, his lower lip quivering.

"Dan Chow," said Noa. James's eyes slid to her. Her jaw was hard, and her eyes were narrowed. She didn't look overjoyed to see "Dan." Her eyes darted to the necklace. Dipping her chin toward James, she said, "If you're going to help me, you've got to help my friend."

"We don't have time for games," Dan said. Around the table the crowd was being pushed backward. James heard shouts from the patrol, "Take out your IDs!"

"Lizzar dung. You've been playing a game since we came in," Noa hissed back.

Dan's eyes slipped to the crowd and back to Noa. He looked down his too-long nose at James and sniffed. "Fine, Noa. Keep your toys." James felt heat flash beneath his skin, but instead of sweating, he shivered.

"My friend," Noa said, and the heat cooled.

The man's lips quirked up in a small smile. He snorted. "Really?" Pulling out another necklace, he slid it across the table to James. Leaning back, Dan said, "And he looks like a throwback, too ..." James raised an eyebrow. He remembered, in his past, getting into shouting matches with people who used that slur. Now... it might have been the circumstances forcing him to keep a level head, but he didn't feel outrage. The slur didn't feel denigrating, it felt like his name, an incorrect label, a jumble of syllables.

Taking the necklace proffered to her, Noa slid it on her neck—and she vanished. In her place was a woman with paler skin, straight black hair that cut off just above her shoulders, eyes that were narrower and lips that weren't as full. Her face looked perfectly made up with makeup that was sophisticated, but not too heavy. The tiny scars above and below her eye were gone.

It was a look he normally would like, but now it set him on edge. Noa was the only thing that felt real to him. The hologram—he was sure that was what it was—took away his one tether to reality. He gave his head a tiny shake. Picking up his own necklace, he inspected it briefly. It looked and felt like a slender band of lightweight plastic. Slipping it on, his mind whirred. To work, holographic projections required smoke at the very least. In the hologlobes, rapidly oscillating beads reflected cyan, magenta, and yellow depending on the holographic data received. The necklace had no such medium to operate in.

As the latch at the back of James's necklace clicked, Dan said, "Now you're both more attractive." Dan's necklace was on again, his face once again artificially handsome.

Noa—or the hologram she wore—rolled her eyes. James had a sudden inkling of what he looked like.

"Hide your hands," Dan commanded.

Glancing down, James saw Noa's hands were still dark and his were still light. They both slipped their hands beneath the table as Dan pushed some ID billfolds out on the tabletop.

At that moment, a Luddeccean patrolman sidled up to the table. "IDs please!"

Dan nodded at the ID billfolds. "Right there, Sir."

Beneath the table, Noa's hand went to James's arm, and he could feel her tension in her fingers.

The guard picked up the billfolds. As he flipped through them, James had the distinct impression that time was slowing. He cast furtive glances around the room, and noted there were no less than fifteen other Guardsmen. All were armed with stunners, and more lethally, phaser pistols.

The Guard's eyes went to James and then to Noa, and back again. James's muscles coiled, ready to fight. Noa's fingers tightened even more. Tipping his helmet, the Guard gave a wink to James and a smile to Noa. Nodding to Dan, the guard put the IDs back on the table. "Thank you for your cooperation," he said, and strode away.

Dan chuckled. "I wonder if I should feel jealous or proud that he found you two ladies interesting."

Noa made a barely audible gagging noise.

At the table where the two lovers had been hardwired together, James heard a woman's voice, "Please, no!" and a Luddeccean Guard saying, "You are under arrest!" Noa went completely quiet and still. There were more sounds of protests, and scuffling, as other patrons were shoved up against the bars and tabletops.

James's eyes slid to Noa's and her holographic disguise met his gaze.

"Easy ladies," Dan whispered. "Haven't I just proved that you have nothing to worry about?"

Despite his assurances, Dan didn't speak again until the Luddeccean Guard had cleared out of the room, taking a substantial number of patrons with them. And then he said, "Fancy meeting you here, Noa."

Noa's holographic illusion fixed Dan with a glare. "What's your game, Dan?"

Dan cocked his head, and one side of his lip curled. "I go by Ghost now. Aren't you going to thank me?"

"You didn't do it out of the goodness of your heart... " Noa tilted her head. "... Dan."

Dan frowned and leaned across the table. "I could just as equally ask what your game is, Noa. You need something, too. You were off in one of their re-education camps—"

Noa recoiled as though she'd been struck.

Dan gave her a thin smile. "Didn't think I'd know about that, did you?"

Noa's jaw hardened. "You knew about that, but didn't help?"

Dan's lower lip trembled. And James smelled something familiar. He'd smelled it when Noa had darted off his bed and in the cattle car just before he clipped the man in the chin. Noa had been afraid. Had the man in the cattle car been afraid? Was Dan afraid? James's eyes dropped from the man's artificially generated face to Dan's hands. They had a barely perceptible tremor.

"You were too afraid to help," James said flatly.

Noa snorted. "Good call."

James couldn't meet her eyes. He'd almost been too afraid to help, too. Dan's eyes flicked to James, and then went back to Noa. "I was too smart to get involved."

"You've always been too smart, haven't you, Dan?" Noa snapped.

"Ever seen tech like this?" Dan said, stroking his neck.

Noa's holo's eyes narrowed to slits.

Dan leered. "Oh, your precious Fleet would love these, wouldn't they? Are you sorry that you didn't recommend me for a promotion now?"

Huffing, Noa shook her head. "I had nothing to do with that."

"You could have put in a good word for me," Dan snapped.

She snapped right back, "Get to the point. Why are you helping us? Just to gloat? To show off your shiny new tech?"

Dan sniffed. "Maybe." He tilted his head. "Although I am curious as to how you escaped the camp." He leaned closer to Noa. "That would seem to be a feat that would require divine assistance."

James almost jerked back at the word "divine," and felt all his nanos and neurons fire at once. The Luddeccean Guard had broadcast the falling of an "Archangel." Had Dan heard the broadcast? Had he somehow pieced together James's "identity?" What would it mean if he had?

Without missing a beat, Noa said, "What are you getting at, Dan?" James didn't think he'd be able to speak as smoothly.

Dan's brow furrowed and a light went on in his neural port. "The Archangel Project. I know you were involved."

All the neurons and nanos in James's skull lit again, and the charge spread to every inch of his skin. Dan knew... he had to know James was the supposed Archangel. And then another neuron flickered brightly in his mind. Noa had never said she was involved in the Archangel Project.

Noa's jaw dropped. Her eyes flitted to James. Did she look guilty, or just confused?

"Dan," she said, meeting the man's gaze. "I'm not part of the Archangel Project." She sighed. Bowing her head, she leaned on her elbows, her shoulders slumping. "But you're not the first person to ask me about it. The Luddeccean Guard asked me about it when... " Noa shifted in her seat. "I'd never even heard of the project," Noa finished, "Not until they asked."

A light flashed near Dan's neural port. "But how did you escape?"

Meeting Dan's gaze, Noa tapped a rapid staccato beat on the table top with a finger. "It's not a pretty story. I don't want to talk about it."

Dan leaned back, touched his neural port, and the light went out. "I believe you." His forehead furrowed.

"What do you know about the Archangel Project?" Noa asked, leaning toward Dan.

Dan snorted. His eyes flicked to James, and for the first time James felt as though he was being looked at instead of looked through. Looking away, Dan blinked rapidly and waved a hand. "That the time of angels has come. Or aliens, or devils, or djinn. Who knows?"

"You're too smart to believe any of that, Dan," said Noa.

Narrowing his eyes at Noa, Dan frowned. "It's Ghost." And then he looked away and wiped a hand down his face. "Surveying my options... " He muttered in a voice so low it was almost inaudible. "Hoped you had something special... "

"What do you mean?" Noa asked.

Dan glared at her. James's eyes fell on the ignored IDs on the table. On a whim, he plucked them up and flipped through them briefly. He saw Noa's holographic image in one, another woman who looked startlingly similar to Noa's ulterior appearance in the second – he supposed that was what he looked like. The third had a picture of Dan's holographic avatar. James read the name "Hung See." And suddenly James knew why Dan had approached them. Sliding the IDs to Noa, James said, "He's on the run, too. That's why he's hiding his identity from the Guard, and he's looking for help."

Dan sat up very straight. He glared at James. Noa, by contrast, smiled. "Last I heard, the new Luddeccean Premier had hired you on; in your words, they 'recognized your talent.' Why would one of their own be hiding?"

Dan looked away. "I'm not one of them, obviously. They barely appreciated me. I built their non-ethernet dependent systems—a closed system that could never be infected by external influence. I gave them the computing power of a time gate at a scale that is... " His eyes closed and a look of bliss passed over his features. "... At a scale that is impossibly small."

"And they turned on you," Noa said. Her avatar's jaw appeared to harden. "Because the mind that could build that sort of computing power—"

"Luddites," Dan hissed.

"By definition, actually," said James, remembering the origins of the Luddeccean name.

Dan scowled at him. Noa's lips flattened, not like she was angry, but like she was trying to conceal a smile.

James's own lips wanted to pull up—but didn't. He touched the side of his mouth self-consciously.

Leaning toward Dan, Noa practically crooned, "You need help, Dan. Which is why you helped us."

Dan sat perfectly still. He didn't blink, or swallow, but his necklace flickered, and for a moment, James could see the red eyes and sweaty face of the real man. A passing barman, a bowl of peanuts and boiled soybeans in either hand, stopped and gaped.

Noa said quickly, "We'd like to see a menu, we're hungry." The man put the two bowls of snacks on the table, nodded, and left quickly.

James's eyes fell heavily on the peanuts. He could see their oil glistening in the low light. Before he'd even thought about it, he'd scooped up the contents of the bowl and shoveled them into his mouth.

"How lady-like," said Dan. James shrugged. The taste of the peanut oil and salt on his tongue made his taste buds sing.

"Your makeup is running, Dan," Noa said.

Dan blinked, and Noa tapped her necklace meaningfully. Dan's eyes went wide. He tapped his necklace and the hologram flickered back to life. Gaze shifting around the room, he picked up the fake IDs from the table and said, "We need to get out of here. Follow me if you want my help."

Without looking back, Dan slipped out of the booth and walked toward the back door.

Palming the soybeans, James looked at Noa—or the hologram that concealed her face. "He let us keep the hologram projectors," he said.

Noa looked past him and her brow furrowed. Following her gaze, James saw the bartender pointing in their direction and whispering to a patron sitting alone at the bar. James's mind whirled through his recent memories. He was certain he hadn't seen that patron before.

"Because he knows we have to follow him," Noa said.

The patron at the bar got up and walked with quick steps to the front door.

Noa's eyes got wide. Slipping from the booth, she whispered, "And we have to hurry!"

Barging through Hell's Crater's backdoor, Noa plunged into the alley beyond. From the main street she heard a shout. "Patrol, this way."

"I see Dan," James said, grabbing her arm and pulling her in the opposite direction. Noa blinked. There were no streetlights, and she was unable to see anything. She let herself be drawn in that direction, trusting James's augmented vision.

She heard pounding footsteps behind them. She plugged the sound of the steps into a Fleet app. Her gut twisted. "There's ten of them." She remembered the stunners and laser pistols they'd carried, and their threats to rip her port out—she wasn't sure which would be better.

James yanked her sideways into another alley at a four-way intersection. It had stopped raining; they passed under several rows of clothing hung out to dry. The pavement was still slick though, and everything smelled damp. The alley was partially blocked with dumpsters, and they bent low to hide behind the dumpsters' bulks.

"I saw him go this way," James said. "He took off his disguise."

"Because the light they emit is a beacon in these dark alleys," Noa gasped, ripping her necklace off and jamming it into her pocket.

James did likewise. "Nice to have you back," he murmured. Someone shouted, and the group that had been following them split in opposite directions.

"Five still after us," she said. "Keep moving." James nodded, and set off at a quick trot. Behind them Noa heard the Guards knocking on doors and banging their rifle butts on dumpsters. A shot made her jump, and both of them quickened their pace. They ran under another row of clothing, and past a hover on cinder blocks, and found themselves at a main thoroughfare. Late night shoppers and some men who looked as though they had just finished work at the boat yards were walking down the street. Over the sound of her loud, raspy breathing, Noa heard the whir of antigrav as a hover bus took off.

James stopped and peered left around a corner. "Patrolmen, three more of them. But Dan went right, I saw him—see him!"

Behind them there was another shot into a dumpster. "We have to make a break for it." Noa said, gritting her teeth. Her lungs burned and her ears rang with the sound of bullets impacting on metal.

"Right," whispered James. Grabbing her arm again, he said, "Now, before I lose sight of him!" He gave a yank, and they bolted to the right. She heard the patrolmen on the street shout, "There they are!" Noa urged her legs to go faster... she was a very fast runner. Was. Past tense. But James pulled her along. "Down this alley," he said, yanking her left.

They tore down another alleyway with laundry above. Noa's eyes widened. It was one of the alleys they'd passed through earlier.

James yanked her right, and left, and Noa saw the main thoroughfare where the cab had first put them down. She heard troops shouting ahead and behind. Noa's breath was ragged in her ears. Her skin was clammy with the ambient humidity.

James stopped. "I saw him go this way... but we should have caught up to him... he wasn't moving that fast."

Tearing her arm away, Noa looked for something that she could use as a weapon, a broken bottle, an old two-by-four, anything. "No garbage, nothing I can use to bash someone's head in," Noa hissed. "I'm really not liking the new regime, even if there are no rats."

"This wasn't sticking out last time we were here... " James said.

Noa looked over her shoulder. James was staring at a brick protruding from a wall where the outer layer of stucco was peeling away. Before she could tell him to stop worrying about it, he pushed it into the wall. It moved with a scrape... and a portion of the wall flickered... or rather, did the inverse of flickering. It went darker, reappeared, and went dark again. The unflickering wall was barely wider than Noa's shoulders, and no higher than her chest.

"Another hologram," James whispered, just audible over the sound of footsteps closing in on the intersections at either end of the alleyway. He took a step back and put a hand to his chin as though pondering a deep and weighty question.

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Noa might have laughed. "Just the time for your inner professor to pop out," she muttered.

"What?" said James, blinking at her.

Without a word, she spun him sideways. "Down!" she whispered, pushing him through the unflickering space. A heartbeat later she followed. She felt rather than saw stone walls scrape against her back as she passed through the narrow space. And then her side hit something firm even as the walls fell away in front and behind her. Stumbling, she found herself gasping for breath, side pressed to James's chest, staring back the way she came. "Shhhhh... " James said, and she realized he meant her breathing. She took one last deep gasp and tried to relax her demanding lungs. Looking back the way she came, she found herself staring through the hole in the wall they'd just come through. On this side, it looked like a flickering curtain of light... if it was flickering on the outside too...

Before she could finish the thought, the curtain of light abruptly stabilized just as Luddeccean troops converged right in front of the space. For a moment she thought they'd seen James and her disappear. She bit her lip, afraid to hope and afraid to move, lest the sound of their steps give them away. A man she identified as a captain by his uniform said, "Did you see them?"

Outside, a sergeant said, "No, sir," and gulped audibly.

Noa's body sagged in relief, and James, perhaps thinking she was about to faint, wrapped his arms around her. She almost pulled away, out of habit or pride or both, and then realized she was shaking, and her legs were weak. What was wrong with her?

The captain looked back and forth down the alleyway. "You must have mistaken the direction they took." From his hip, he pulled a device slightly larger than the "cell" phones that the characters in the old tee-vee programs used. Putting it to his face, the officer pressed a button. The device buzzed, and he spoke into it. "Patrols, I want you at the corners of... " He walked away before Noa could hear the rest.

The patrol split in opposite directions, and their footsteps faded down the alleyway.

Closing her eyes, Noa took a breath so long and deep she could feel it stinging in her lungs.

James whispered in her ear, "I think it's safe to move."

Noa didn't want to move. The way her legs were trembling, she was afraid she really might faint. She wanted to catch her breath, and stay safely supported in James's arms. Instead she pulled away. Finding the necklace in her pocket, she clicked the edges together—it lit a scant few centis of dark, and then abruptly shut off. It hadn't been enough to see past a lizzar's nose, and Noa didn't even bother to ask for James's. Instead, peering into the blackness, she asked, "Can you see?" There was a wall behind James, that much she was sure of. Maybe it was some sort of hallway?

James didn't answer. When she glanced back, she found him staring down at her. In the dim light he looked like he was glowering. "You're not well."

"I'm—" She almost said "fine." But then a cough wracked through her. She barely muffled it with her hand. "... recovering."

James did not move until Noa caught her breath again. Then, squinting into the dark, he said, "I see a door."

"Let's go," Noa said—though it came out more a gasp. "Lead the way."

Instead of walking ahead of her, he put a hand on the small of her back and guided her down the hall. With only the faint light of the hologram behind them, it was soon pitch black. The world was only her breathing, their footsteps, the smell of old mortar, her sweat, and James. As usual, he smelled good. It made her a tiny bit jealous. James took slow steps, either because he was afraid to tire her out, or because he couldn't see well. She almost wished she'd had her vision augmented—and then her mind conjured up Ashley and her missing limb. Would her captors in the camp have removed her eyeballs, if she had had nano-augmented night vision? The thought made her shiver, and James pressed his hand on her back more firmly.

"I'm fine," she muttered proactively.

She heard James exhale, felt his breath close to her ear, and shivered again. "And my eyes are not rolling," he said in his deadpan tone.

A laugh that sounded too much like a cough cracked out of her, and tears prickled the corners of her eyes. "I will be fine," she said. She pressed a hand to his side reassuringly—reassuring to him, to her, she wasn't sure. And then she caught herself, realizing how inappropriate the gesture was. She pulled away, but not before she felt the warmth of his skin through his shirt, and the tautness of the muscles of his abdomen.

James said nothing and Noa's mind wandered in the dark and near silence. "It was lucky you saw that brick ..." They had passed through so many alleys that all looked nearly identical.

"Stop here," James said, not dropping his hand.

As Noa obeyed, a thought occurred to her. "Do you have some sort of holographic memory app running at all times?"

The hand on her back stiffened. For a too long moment there was silence, and then James said, "I didn't have a holographic memory before the accident... but... I... believe I do... now."

Noa felt a flash of concern. "James, you have to turn that off." Noa had a holographic memory app like all Fleet personnel. But standard procedure was to dump the contents. Keeping so much data on hand tended to bog down normal processing of the nano and neural variety.

She felt a brush of his breath against her temple. "I ... don't think I can."

The stutter in his voice... he was just as broken as she was. Noa's hand slipped to where his upper arm would be—and found it. She gave him a pat... the same sort of pat she'd give to a fellow pilot, she told herself. "We'll find someone who can make you better, James. As soon as we get out of here, I promise."

"Thank you," he whispered, and she felt his breath on her forehead, and realized their bodies were facing one another, with scant centis between them. Unaccountably flustered, Noa spun around and threw out her arms. "Which way is that door?" In the same breath, she found a knob. She gave it a twist. It didn't budge. She rolled back on her feet. "Figured that he'd lock it... "

James murmured, "I'd thought... hoped... he'd left the brick out on purpose for us to find and escape our pursuers."

Putting a hand on her hips, Noa scowled in the dark. "Pfft. Nope, that was an accident, I'm sure."

She heard James exhale softly. "How far do you trust this Dan?"

"Not further than I can see," Noa said, running a hand over the seam between the door and the wall. "He is a malignant narcissist. He imagines he is a genius, and he is; but not that much of a genius."

"If he invented the necklace holograms, his genius is exceptional. The light of the holograms had nothing to reflect off of. Presumably he was manipulating individual photons... but such utilization of quantum mechanics outside of a closed environment isn't possible."

"Not yet," Noa countered. "But it's been speculated about for years." That much had been reported in the press, that she could speak about. It was also one of the Fleet Intel's projects.

"Speculated about, maybe," James said. "But I haven't heard of any working prototypes."

"Neither have I," Noa muttered, her shoulders falling. Not even in the classified briefings she'd attended. She shook her head. "But Ghost—Dan—isn't that smart." She stamped her foot and looked at the door—or tried to in the pitch blackness. "More of a problem is that he is a coward."

"Should we seek help from someone else?" James asked. "You don't like him or trust him—which makes me not like or trust him."

"I don't, you're right." Noa wrapped her arms around herself, hit by a sudden new certainty. "But it has to be Dan. He knows we're here. If we don't let him join us, he will try to turn us in for amnesty." The thumb of her left hand went to the stumps of her missing fingers. She took a shaky breath. "I hope we can convince him it's in his best interests to be on our side."

She felt James's hand drop on her shoulder. Voice too even, he said, "If he doesn't help us, I'll kill him."

Noa froze at his words. She believed that he would kill Ghost. So would she. Maybe. If forced. It sounded as though James had no qualms about it. She remembered him confessing that he hadn't felt bad for killing her attackers in the forest. She shook her head. She wouldn't have had qualms about killing them either; and, if his voice was too even—well, his apps were wonky.

Her heart sped up. But then how did he _imitate_ voices so well? Her breath caught; but then she shook her head again, remembering his stutter when he apologized for killing the train operator. The expression of emotion and the imitation of voices were two different things...

"Get back," James said, and she noticed his voice had become gruffer.

Noa backed away, and James threw himself against the door. There was a thud, and then another, and then the low moan of bending steel. There was another loud thud, a bang, and the sharp sound of metal crashing against metal. The door that had been in front of her fell and she was bathed in putrid green light. She threw up her hands against the glare. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a landing and a stairwell beyond the fallen door. Striding forward onto the landing, she motioned for James.

She almost shouted Dan's name, but gritted her teeth instead. Dan wasn't the only person who'd been passed over for promotions. Starship Captains required tact and a certain amount of verbal restraint. In every evaluation she'd had since Tim died, she'd come up short on both counts. Before Tim died, she had someone she could vent to, always just a thought away. Afterward... well, it was a lot harder to smile at the politician you thought was a mother-eating rodent from the asteroid colonies in Six, when there was no one you could be secretly honest with. What had one officer said over beers? "In the event of a first contact scenario, Commander Sato would be the last person I'd want on a bridge. She'd tell the green sons-of-bitches exactly what she thought of them."

Her nostrils flared and she balled her hands into fists. It wasn't that she couldn't be diplomatic. It was just that she hated it, so much that she wasn't sure even a starship captaincy was worth the trouble.

But if they didn't have Dan on their side, he could be dangerous. She bit the inside of her cheek. She thought of Ashley and Kenji. More than rank was at stake. "Ghost—think of him as Ghost," she muttered softly to herself. "Feed his vanity."

James must have heard because he gave a low huff.

"It will be hard, but worth it," Noa promised James and herself. "Even if it makes my skin crawl." Ghost was skilled enough to get them authorized to travel up to Time Gate 8. And... she paused at the top of the stairs. He'd known that she'd been sent to a camp; that meant, he'd know where Kenji was, too. Her heart hammered in her chest. "Ghost, we'll help you," she called out as sweetly as she could manage.

From the bottom of the stairs, Ghost's voice rang out, "You made it... I'm sorry. I had to run, you understand. But you made it, that's good." His voice was plaintive, like a frightened child. Noa could have forgiven _a child_ for simpering. She bit back the snarl that came to her lips. Instead of saying, "No thanks to you," Noa said, "Yes, isn't it wonderful? Now we can work together." She smiled down at him from the landing.

Ghost stood at the bottom of the stairs, no longer wearing the holographic necklace. He was holding a laser rifle, but wasn't aiming it. He sniffed. "I don't need your help, you know."

Noa's fingernails dug into her palm. James, her silent shadow, strode forward suddenly, the metal wire of the landing groaning beneath his feet, the expression on his face as impassive as a statue. Noa caught his arm and he stopped. At the bottom of the stairwell Ghost shuffled backward and raised the rifle shakily. Her eyes widened in alarm. James was scaring Ghost—and that was not good. She mouthed the word "wait," and then said, "Of course you don't need our help, Ghost."

Ghost huffed. "I'm just investigating my options... there are others who could use my services. Others with more money and faster ships."

Noa's brow creased, but she licked her lips and said, "Can we come down and talk about your services?"

Ghost was quiet for a long moment. But then he cleared his throat and lowered the rifle. Puffing out his chest, he sniffed again. "You can come down."

James looked at her sharply. Slipping his hand up to her elbow, chin dipped, eyes on hers, lips so close she could feel his breath, he whispered in Japanese, "Is it safe?"

"Yes," she replied in the same dead language.

"I'll go first," he whispered.

He was being protective. Touching and out of place. Noa shook her head. In Japanese she said, "No, you'll frighten him."

Downstairs, she heard Ghost clear his throat again.

James didn't drop her elbow. She wanted to tell him that Ghost was too much of a coward for direct confrontation. But Ghost was probably listening, and he was smart enough to feed their words through an interpreter app at some point. The less they insulted him, the better.

Without waiting for James to drop her elbow, Noa spun out of his grip and went down the stairs. By the bottom of the steps, she felt her legs giving out again. She found herself grasping the handrail too tightly, wishing James still had her elbow, and carefully watching where she put her feet.

At the bottom of the steps, she lifted her head—and stifled a scream. Behind Ghost was a floor-to-ceiling pile of limbs and semi-dismembered corpses, piled like logs bathed in the vile green light. She backed into James, and would have fallen over if he hadn't caught her. She was in the wagon again, the frozen elbows and knees of dead bodies jamming into her back and side.

"They're just sex 'bots," Ghost said.

She blinked, and saw that the mannequin-like faces of what she'd taken to be bodies were too perfect in death to be from humans. More obvious were the wires jutting out of amputated limbs and torsos.

Noa's diplomacy left her. "Still creepy as Hell, Dan!"

Ghost—Dan—rolled on his feet. He actually looked slightly ashamed. "Yes, but I need the parts, and people keep throwing them away. They're illegal now, you know."

Noa shivered unaccountably. Sex 'bots were expensive. She knew only one person who could afford to have one. The penalty for having one must be immense if people were throwing them away. She didn't approve of sex 'bots, but she found her eyes roaming the pile for the face of the one she knew, and was a little surprised she felt relief when she didn't see it.

"This way," said Ghost, leading them through a door Noa hadn't noticed. They followed him down a long hallway of poured concrete and exposed pipes. Her brow furrowed, remembering Dan's—Ghost's—psyche profile. He was all about showing status. If he was living in a place like this, he was in more trouble than he let on.

Ghost took them to a dark room that was too warm. It was cluttered with loose electronic equipment in disarray, and what appeared to be furniture covered by sheets. There was a floor-to-ceiling geothermal energy converter at one end of the room. There were also food pouches next to a wave oven and an industrial faucet with a bathtub-sized sink. Noa's eyebrows rose. There was a surprisingly clean, large towel folded neatly beside the sink—as though he was using it for a bath. Ghost was definitely in more trouble than he was letting on. She swallowed. Her eyes slid to James. He walked past her and stood next to the geothermal converter, crossed his arms, and glared at Ghost.

She heard the screech of chair legs on the floor, and turned to see Ghost clearing a space in the center of the room, pushing a piece of furniture covered with a sheet. The sheet abruptly slid off, revealing a sex 'bot in a ball gown sitting on an elaborately carved high-backed chair. Half of her head was cracked open.

Noa's eyes went wide. Ghost, catching her expression, said, "She didn't get me. And I needed her processor for something."

Noa closed her eyes briefly, unsure if Ghost was telling a joke. She reminded herself that no matter how life-like the 'bots were, they weren't alive, and didn't care if they lived or died. It still made her feel sick. She opened her eyes and found James's eyes on hers, his expression unreadable.

Ghost pulled a cloth away from another piece of furniture, thankfully, only revealing another high-backed chair. He sat down, and motioned for Noa to take a seat on a rickety-looking folding chair nearby. He didn't gesture to James at all.

Noa's lips pursed at the slights to her and to James, but held her tongue.

As she sat down, Ghost leaned forward in his seat and smacked his hands together. "Now, to discuss my fees."

James beat her to the rejoinder. "How can you tell us a fee if you don't know the service?"

Ghost jerked his head back, and his eyes narrowed at James. Noa's eyebrow rose, and she remembered Ghost's 'divine intervention' comment at the table. Ghost had to have been following the secure channel communications. Did he know James was the figurative Archangel? Ghost was too smart to believe in aliens, but he might have heard of James killing four men during their escape. That could be why Ghost was afraid of him.

Eyes coming back to Noa, Ghost said, "I know what you need."

Crossing her legs, Noa leaned back in her chair. "Really?"

Looking heavenward, he gave a leering grin. "You need someone to shut off the defense grid so you can slip your ship out of orbit."

Noa's mouth fell open. What Ghost was proposing was next to impossible. The defense grid's passcodes would be a lot more secure than a mechanic's personnel files. His proposal was also so far out of left field that it left her speechless. Her eyes met James's. He'd taken a step forward, his head was cocked, and one eyebrow was up in an expression that she recognized by now. It clearly said, "What is this crazy person thinking?"

Ghost bounced in his seat, drawing Noa's eyes back to him.

"Where do you plan to go? Which of the in-system colonies? There is Atlantia and Libertas ..." Ghost asked. His eyes narrowed and he raised a finger. "Oh, I know. Libertas is the most self-sufficient colony this side of the time gate. You'll hole up there. The local food, water, and oxygen should last another few decades." He nodded and smiled, as though pleased with himself. His eyes slid to the side. "With enough money, we could buy out Libertas's natives." His head bobbled, his smile remained frozen on his face, and his eyes slid back to Noa.

Noa blinked. Leaning forward, she said, "I have a better plan. One easier than turning off the defense grid. I'm going to bring the armada here. I just need someone who can get James and me to Time Gate 8, we'll send off a message and—"

Ghost started to giggle.

"What?" Noa said.

Wiping his eyes, Ghost said, "You're joking."

Noa's eyes slid to James, and both of them looked at Ghost.

Ceasing his manic giggles, Ghost's gaze flitted between them. "You really don't know?"

"Know what?" asked Noa.

"Silly woman," Ghost said. "There are no more flights to Time Gate 8. There are no flights out of atmosphere, period." His head bobbed, and he looked away. "Well, except for the contingent of the local armada surrounding the station in a Mexican standoff. They periodically refuel and do supply runs."

Noa's mind reeled. Without Time Gate 8, it would take a Fleet ship nearly ten years to reach Luddeccea at light speed from Time Gate 7... if they left right away. Her brow constricted. And they wouldn't leave right away—a mission of that scope would take months of planning. She shook her head. There had to be a way to reclaim Time Gate 8. "Have terrorists taken over the gate?" Noa asked.

Ghost blinked at Noa. And then he said, "Aliens have control of Time Gate 8." His eyes went to James, and she had an uneasy feeling in her gut. "That's Luddeccean lunacy," Noa said. "None of the Fleet intel has any indication of space-going sentient races—energy beings or not. You're too smart to believe that, Ghost."

Ghost shifted in his seat and dropped his eyes. "I didn't believe it at first, Noa. But the evidence, it's indisputable—the energy beings, they've taken over the station." He met her gaze, and his eyes were pleading. "I have access to Luddeccean intel. The station's personnel, the travelers, hardly any of them escaped during the takeover. If it hadn't been for a Luddeccean agent who planted a plasma detonator on the station long enough to temporarily damage the gate's self defense mechanisms, no one would have escaped at all. As it was, well, Time Gate 8's portal functionality was permanently disabled along with it. The gate's defenses were temporarily shut down—just long enough for some vessels to escape the station."

Noa's jaw went slack. All the words he said had registered, and yet they weren't fitting together in her head.

She was vaguely aware of James asking, "When did this happen?" Ghost gave a reply, and James said, "Be more specific. I need to know when... to the hour, and minute, and second."

Noa was dumbstruck. The station was under control of an alien force shooting ships from the sky? How could something like that happen without the Fleet having some inkling beforehand? It was too big, too much. There would have been signs. She had been privy to every suspected first contact, and all had come to _nothing_.

"That is impossible," she dimly heard James say. "The station could not have been under alien control at that time—"

"The meteor showers," Noa exclaimed, lifting her head. She hadn't realized she'd dropped her face into her hands. "They aren't natural, are they?"

Ghost turned to her with a sidelong glance at James. "No. Of course not. That is the station knocking ships out of the sky." He looked at a point on the floor just before her feet. "And the self-defense grid knocking down people trying to escape Luddeccea and head to Libertas, or other in-system colonies."

"The self-defense forces are knocking down people trying to get off world?" James asked.

Ghost cleared his throat. "And anyone trying to re-enter. All off-planet trade has been suspended. You didn't know?"

James mutely shook his head.

Noa dragged her hands down her face, her body feeling heavier and colder by the minute. "We have to let the Fleet know what is going on. We have to bring them here."

Ghost sighed. "Even at light speed, without a functional jump gate it will take ten years for the Fleet to get here from Time Gate 7."

"There's another time gate," Noa whispered.

"Another what?" James asked.

Ghost's eyes went wide. "In this system? Why hasn't Fleet used it?"

Noa massaged her temples. "It went offline a few weeks ago."

"What gate went offline?" James asked.

Noa let out a breath. "The gate is for Fleet only." It wasn't something civilians were generally privy to—or even all Fleet personnel. The Fleet had hidden gates in every inhabited system that was part of the Republic... and in some systems that technically weren't part of the Republic, or even inhabited.

Ghost shook his head, very fast, causing the loose skin near his chin to jiggle. "We can't use it, Noa. What if it was taken over by the same aliens who—"

"There are no aliens!" Noa said. "The weapon systems on Time Gate 8 are malfunctioning, or there are terrorists, or it's all a ruse that the Luddeccean government is using as an excuse to seize control."

"Noa... " James said, his voice a whisper.

"Then how do you explain—" Ghost said.

Noa closed her eyes. "Even if this Time Gate 8 is... " She waved a hand. "Possessed, the military time gate is a possibility. It is at the edge of the Kanakah Cloud. It was struck by a large asteroid according to its video feeds."

"They could have been faked," James said, his voice hushed.

"It wasn't faked," Noa said. Nebulas, was he suggesting the military gate was possessed by aliens—or whatever—too? "We have confirmation from more than one source. A repair mission was in the planning stages."

"If it's not functional—" Ghost sputtered.

"You can fix it, Ghost!" Noa exclaimed. "And escaping this system would be better than holing up on Libertas until their food runs out." She leaned closer. "And you know it will. The colony may be self-sufficient, but it won't be sufficient to feed all the miners in the asteroid belts in this system."

Ghost's mouth snapped shut. She saw his Adam's apple bob. And then he nodded and his voice became confident. "Yes, of course I could fix it, if it is at all fixable." His beady eyes narrowed. "I still want to be paid."

James interjected, "Do we even have a ship?" and Noa resisted the urge to wince.

Ghost looked at James and then back at Noa.

"I've got a ship," she said.

"You do?" said James.

Ghost sniffed and sat back in his chair. "I can tell this is going to cost you," he said.

"I have a ship in mind," said Noa.

"In mind?" said Ghost.

"One that we will have to steal," James said, rolling his eyes.

Noa's lips pursed. She really shouldn't be surprised that James had put that together... still...

Ghost looked at James sharply. One of Ghost's eyebrows rose, and then he looked back to Noa. "Is that true?"

"Steal is a harsh word," said Noa. "We'd actually be appropriating a ship and utilizing it for its intended mission... keeping the people of Luddeccea safe."

Ghost squinted at her and frowned. James's eyes widened. She knew that look. He understood what she was getting at, and moreover...

Rolling up his sleeves, exposing tattoo-stained skin, he stepped toward her. "No, no, no... "

"It's the best option," Noa countered.

James raised an arm in the direction they just came. "When you do something... " His hand made a fist. "... ridiculous, and you somehow manage to not die, do you think to yourself, 'I made a mistake, how can I possibly get myself killed next time?'"

Noa sniffed. Typical professor, using too many words when one or two would do. _Death wish,_ she wanted to say, _the words you're looking for are death wish_.

James took another step closer. "You can barely—"

Noa thought of barely making it down the steps, of struggling to keep up with him. She waited for James to say any of that, but his eyes shot to Ghost, and back to Noa, and his jaw snapped shut, his blue eyes boring into hers. She exhaled in relief. He didn't want to reveal how weak she was.

"Noa ..." He tilted his head. "You can't do this."

A moment ago, she'd thought he understood her. Something inside her shattered, but she straightened her spine. "I have to do this... I have to try."

Clearing his throat, Ghost looked hesitantly between James and Noa. "Have to do what?"

Noa's jaw tightened. Telling Ghost her plan would mean that if he was captured by the authorities, there would be no way to pull it off. On the other hand... malignant narcissist though he might be, Ghost was very clever, and he had built the Luddecceans' new main computer. If anyone could shut off the defense grid and help her pull off what she wanted to do now, it would have to be Ghost. He'd need to start preparing as soon as possible.

Before she'd made up her mind how much to reveal, James gave it away. "She plans to steal the Ark."

Ghost choked on his own spit.

# 8

"The Ark," Ghost sputtered, "No... no... no... that is just as illogical as... " He waved at James with a finger. "... suggests."

Ghost didn't use James's name, or even say "your friend." It sent ripples of static beneath James's skin. Ghost suspected James was... something else. He felt a cold settling in the pit of his stomach. The time table for his escape from Time Gate 8 was wrong. He'd left a full day after the explosion that had briefly incapacitated Gate 8's defenses, and the shuttle he'd been in was not the type that could hover in orbit for extended periods.

"His name is James Sinclair," Noa snapped. "Professor Sinclair if you must."

James looked up and found her glaring at Ghost, arms crossed. The sharp angles of the gesture highlighted how emaciated she was. He couldn't let her die...

Ghost snorted. "Professor?"

James blinked at him. "I'm a history professor." The words felt hollow, wrong, abstract, and a jumble.

"Really?" said Ghost.

"Ask him about his time capsules," Noa said, her voice dry.

Ghost leaned forward in his seat. "Time capsules?"

James lifted his chin. He had a speech for that. "Time capsules were popular on old Earth. I discovered a town along the San Andreas rift that had been— "

"Stop!" said Noa. She spun to Ghost. "We don't have time to talk about time capsules." She waved a hand. "Or hero arcs from the mov-ees within the time capsules."

James's mouth fell open and then snapped shut. It was true, the speech he had in his mind lasted for nearly fifty-five minutes. Every word was memorized, but none felt real. The passion behind them was gone—stolen by the need to stay alive, maybe?

Massaging her temple, Noa groaned. "Focus, D—Ghost. The Ark is perfect." She sat up straighter in her chair, and as her body unwound, it made her look frailer instead of stronger. She was still painfully thin.

"It has light speed capabilities," Noa continued, her form becoming animated, her face glowing in her excitement and giving her an illusion of health. "Its hull is robust enough to withstand deep space travel and time surfing once we get to the Kanakah Gate. It is kept stocked with decades' worth of S-rations, it can lift out of orbit without any planet-side assistance; and, even if its offensive weapons are worth their weight in meezle guano, the aft cannon was designed to crack large asteroids and should be enough to temporarily disable any ships from the armada in our path."

James took a step back, closer to the soothing warmth of the geothermal generator. He wondered if anyone could be as logically unreasonable as Noa; she almost had him convinced. He had rolled up his sleeves, almost unconsciously, and now he ran his fingers over the dark stains. Was she being unreasonable? If the Fleet couldn't come by Time Gate 8, it would take them ten years to get to Luddeccea from the nearest other portal, Time Gate 7... if they didn't get the military gate open, that was? Ten years was a long time to survive on the run planet side, but was taking the Ark to a hidden gate really a viable option?

Even as a non-native of Luddeccea, James knew about the Ark. It was the vessel that had brought the first colonists to Luddeccea. It was over 300 years old, but it was kept in working order by Republic law. In the event of an emergency, it could, theoretically, be used to help evacuate civilians. It would be more than adequate for a ride to the edge of the Kanakah Cloud. Even if they couldn't make the military gate operational, the Ark was stocked with enough provisions to get them to Time Gate 7. But...

Ghost thumped his chest as though trying to clear something from his lungs. "No, no, no. Stealing the Ark would be ludicrous!" He shook his head. "You're wasting my time."

Standing, Noa stepped toward the small man. "Ghost, it's our best hope... and think about it. No one would expect anyone to steal the Ark."

James had been to the museum that housed the Ark as a child. It was located in a courtyard between the museum and the spaceport spokes of the Tri-Center building. While waiting for their flight, his family had passed the time exploring the Ark's cramped living quarters and the museum's exhibits. At one point James had even peered down the long hallway that led past the massive security that kept tourists and travelers out of the Central Authority wing. No one uninvited went there; it was where all local civilian and military operations were coordinated.

James took a step away from the geothermal unit's heat. "Because there is no more heavily guarded location on the planet than the Tri-Center."

Noa put her hands behind her back and took a deep breath. "Technically, it's only close to the most secure location on the planet."

James crossed his arms.

Tilting her head, Noa said, "However, the Ark's not in the secure wing."

Clearing his throat, Ghost said, "Commander, the spaceport is swarming with troops right now. They don't want anyone leaving."

"Are there any more troops than usual in the museum wing?" Noa asked. Ghost's eyes widened. "No."

Noa rolled her hands, as though urging Ghost to say more. "And if there is any sort of disturbance in the area, where is the Central Authority most likely to concentrate their forces?"

Ghost's eyes went wider still. "The spaceport and Central Authority."

"Exactly," said Noa.

Ghost rubbed his chin. "Huh."

"There are guards at the museum," James protested.

Noa's eyes narrowed. "You've been to it?"

"My father took me there when I was a little boy," James said, the memory hazy and dull in his mind. "I remember one of those guards talking to me—"

Noa sighed. "If he was any spacer officer worth his salt, he wouldn't be chatting with little kids while he was on duty."

"But—" James started to protest.

Noa's voice was soft. "Unless they were hired on more as tour guides." She looked away. "They are practically civilians."

"This might just work," Ghost murmured.

Noa nodded. "The men posted around the Ark are for the most part semi-retired members of the Luddeccea Local Guard. If I'm right, it's the least guarded deep space vessel on the whole planet." Her eyes slid to Ghost.

The little man was nodding, his beady eyes wide. "Yes, yes, you're right." His pupils seemed to lose focus for a moment, and then began moving rapidly back and forth. Ghost was mentally accessing some data, obviously. James met Noa's eyes. Her chin was lowered, as though daring him to say something. He didn't look away, but he didn't know what to say, either. Her plan could get them killed—but so would staying on Luddeccea. His mind tumbled over all the odds and obstacles. He searched his data banks for a Prime street map—and miraculously found one. He began plotting distances in his mind, eyes still on Noa's.

Ghost giggled, interrupting their stare down and James's thoughts. "During a local emergency the museum guards' primary job is to help evacuate civilians." Ghost smiled. "They most likely won't even be there if we manage to trip an alarm."

James's head jerked, another obstacle coming to his mind. "The Ark is over 300 years old. It doesn't operate by even local ethernet... Who will fly it?"

Putting a hand over her chest, Noa said, "Me, of course. I've flown the Andromeda; it's the same model as the Ark."

James searched his data banks. The Andromeda was the same class of ship. He tilted his head. They'd still need to get into the museum complex. Which seemed doubtful...

Ghost frowned. "How did you get to fly the Andromeda?"

Waving a hand, Noa smiled. "Admiral Sung took me aboard when it was docked off Venus."

"Sung," Ghost muttered. His eyes narrowed at Noa. James found himself stepping toward Ghost, his hands curling into fists. Ghost's eyes darted to James, and he flinched and looked away. "She blocked my promotion," he said in a tremulous voice.

James realized he was on a trajectory toward the little man without even thinking on it. He stopped mid-stride.

"I had nothing to do with it," Noa said. "You know that."

Ghost shook his head and sniffed. "The Ark's a big ship. You would need a crew."

James wondered if flying 300-year-old ships was one of his undiscovered abilities. He blinked... and couldn't even draw up schematics for the bridge.

Noa cocked her head. "Give me access to the population records. I'll find members of the Fleet who are desperate to get off this rock."

"That will cost you," Ghost said, straightening in his seat. "I do have other options, other people who need to get off this planet, who can pay me much better."

Noa leaned forward. "What good is money going to do you in this system? Libertas is going to be hopping with food riots within months as asteroid miners flood in. That planet is so poor their Local Guard is made up of barely-trained, part-time volunteers. They won't be able to protect you, Ghost."

James's gaze flicked between the two Fleet officers. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted Noa to succeed in this bargain with Ghost.

"I don't want to wind up on Earth a beggar!" Ghost snapped. "All of my savings are here." Looking down his nose at Noa, he said, "Which reminds me, I want to be paid in Galactic Credits, not Luddeccean currency."

"How much do you want?" Noa said.

Ghost swallowed. Instead of answering, he said, "Also, you need to get the funds within three days."

James blinked. "Why?"

Ghost's eyes slid between Noa and James. "Because the Luddecceans have begun outfitting patrols with instantaneous DNA identification kits. They aren't tied to the ethernet, so all offenders' DNA has to be downloaded to the kits on a regular basis." Looking at the floor, he muttered, "Time consuming and wasteful... clunky bits of machinery... but blasted things would be beyond my control to hack into between uploads." Shaking his head, he looked up at Noa. "They already have you and me on file, no doubt, and the attention we drew at Hell's Crater will have them scanning the booth. They'll know we were there... " His eyes slid to James and narrowed. "And they may have their eyes out for you, too."

James's brows rose. If the Guard weren't aware it was Noa and him at the bar, they would be soon, and then they'd be on alert for them here, not in the Northwest Province. Even Ghost's holographic disguises—

"Even your holographic disguises aren't going to work with rapid DNA scans, Ghost," Noa said. "So let's not waste time. Give us access to your files so I can retrieve Fleet members' names and addresses."

James's apps started working again. There was a side entrance to the museum complex labeled as a pedestrian path—

"I'm not giving you access to my files until you pay me," Ghost said.

Jaw hard, Noa asked, "How much do you want?"

"50,000 credits," Ghost replied.

The apps in James's brain stopped working. His head whipped to Ghost. The man was playing with them.

"15,000 now," Noa said. "10,000 when we reach Sol System."

"20,000 now," said Ghost. "20,000 when we reach Sol."

"15,000 now," said Noa. "15,000 when we reach Sol. That's my final offer."

Ghost shifted in his seat.

Stepping closer to him, Noa said, "It's the best offer you're going to get. 50,000 credits isn't going to go far when Libertas erupts in food riots."

Shoulders tight, Ghost drew his arms across his chest. "If we survive stealing the Ark."

Noa waved a hand. "We'll be fine once we reach light speed."

It was nearly impossible to track ships at light speed, but he rolled his eyes. Once again, Noa was being truthful, but was omitting important details... like how they were going to get 15,000 credits in under three days.

# 9

In the darkness of Prime's sewers, Noa stumbled, and instantly felt James's hand on her arm. Water dripped in the distance. Her locator app said 400 meters to the left, but with the echo in Luddeccea in the cement channels, it was hard to tell. She brushed away James's hand, more out of habit than conviction. She was shaking, exhausted, and strung out. She wasn't sure if it was because she'd pushed herself too far physically so soon after leaving the camp—or if she was just overwhelmed by all she had to do.

"One foot at a time, Noa," she muttered. "It could be worse."

Ghost hadn't given them new disguises, but he had at least given her and James data chips with maps of the sewer system. The tropical city received heavy amounts of rain during the late winter months. Right now there was only a tiny trickle down the center of the tunnel, but in a few more weeks the place would be flooded. In spring, summer, fall, and early winter, Prime was bone dry. The first and second wave settlers had built an elaborate tunnel and cistern system to handle the alternating flooding and drought. Noa and James had traveled four blocks unhindered by Luddeccea's Guard, but Ghost had warned that the Guard kept watch over sensitive areas—beneath the spaceport, government buildings, and official residences—and had even begun sporadic patrols beneath Port of Call. For that reason they were using James's augmented vision, and the occasional street lights filtering through manholes, to find their way.

She listened for sounds of human footsteps, but she didn't hear even the skitter of rats. James, a dark shadowy shape beside her, whispered, "I suppose you have a plan for acquiring 15,000 credits," and the break in the near silence was such a relief she almost laughed. She'd expected he'd ask that a lot sooner. Instead, he'd just followed her. A cough from her own lungs surprised her before she could answer.

"Does it involve storming the Tri-Center's secure wing?" he asked. In the dimness it was hard to see, but she imagined that his jaw was shifting in an attempt to smile, and he'd lifted an eyebrow.

Thumping her chest, she summoned a smirk. "What if it did?" She had to stay cocky, optimistic, brave...

James drew to a stop. She still couldn't make out his features in the dark. "Don't joke." A hover rumbled softly overhead, and the sound echoed through a drain.

She wanted to return with a witty rejoinder. A joke was always appropriate when you were going to steal the Ark, which even she could admit was almost a suicide mission. Her stomach was tying in knots, but the thought of thousands—maybe millions of people if James was right—tortured and dying kept her going. If she didn't laugh at times like these, she would go mad with the weight of it all. Instead of laughing, she coughed, and the force of it was like nails hitting her lungs.

"Noa," James said. "I need to know what your plan is. If I don't know what the plan is, I can't calculate the odds of its success."

Noa suddenly didn't feel like joking either. Her blood went cold. "Calculate the odds of success?" Her jaw dropped. "Some things are worth more than any odds."

"I don't want to throw our lives away," James snapped.

"It's not throwing your life away if it's the right thing to do," Noa said, feeling a burn in her lungs; she didn't know whether it was from the coughing, or the heat of anger.

James's head cocked. "Yes, it is."

His voice was too even, and maybe it was the dim light of the sewers but he looked completely emotionless. Alarm bells went off in her mind. She thought of the man he'd killed on the train, of the way he'd dispassionately said he'd kill Ghost, and of the way Ghost kept subtly alluding to James not being human. It would explain his dispassion, his apathy...

She felt herself tremble with rage, not weariness. No, James wasn't an alien. He was worse. He was a spoiled Earthling who let himself be protected by a Fleet disproportionately made up of Luddecceans and people from the newer worlds—people whose lives weren't so sheltered that they forgot that some things were worth dying for.

"If that's what you believe, then go!" Noa hissed. "These tunnels can take you right out of Prime!"

James didn't move, but his fists balled at his sides.

And Noa had had enough—of his looking for every flaw, of his cowardice, laziness, apathy, or whatever the solar cores it was that would let him turn away from the suffering of millions.

Flinging up her arm, pointing to the nearest exit from the city, Noa hissed, "Go!"

"Go!"

The word hit James like a physical blow. His mind went still, and his vision flickered. And then his neurons roared to life, and it was like an alarm had gone off in his mind and body and every nano and cell was screaming, "Failure!"

He wavered on his feet. Noa stood before him, staring up at him, brows drawn, lips curled. All he could see was her, whether because of a fluke of his augmented vision that tunneled in the dark, or because... because...

"Get moving!" Noa said.

He couldn't leave her. He'd never been able to leave her, and now he could only stand helplessly trying to formulate a way to make this better. He didn't think millions were worth dying for. But it occurred to him that he would die for her—not precisely happily, or bravely—he just couldn't help himself. But he didn't think that would reassure her.

Noa's head whipped around into the gloom, and she took a step back.

Before James could say a word, she threw up a hand and motioned for silence. And then he heard it, a soft thumping too light to be human. It was followed by a light cheeping.

"Rats?" he whispered.

Shaking her head in the negative, Noa padded off in the direction of the sound. James followed. Ten steps later, the source of the noise became apparent. In a beam of streetlight fractured by a manhole cover, a small, serpentine creature swayed back and forth like a cobra. As they drew closer, he saw it was less like a serpent, and more like an Earth ermine. It had large eyes and tufted ears, with dirty gray fur that might be white if it were clean. It had ten limbs, and was currently standing on the back four, its other tiny paws curled to its belly.

His mind searched his data banks and he found a match for the creature. His nanos piped: "Werfle, name derived from English 'Weasel' **—** extremely rare, venomous, native to Luddeccea, master escape artists. Omnivorous, but favors meat. Population has grown since rats have become an invasive species on Luddeccea. Sometimes semi-domesticated. Experimental data on cognitive ability not available as Luddeccea has outlawed animal experimentation."

James had never seen a werfle before. He was struck by how high its forehead was, and how the large eyes met his almost appraisingly.

Noa sat on her heels, and the creature dropped to all ten legs. When it hopped cautiously toward her, it used only its front and hind-most limb pairs, the middle three pairs curled up to its stomach. He thought he'd heard werfles could carry their prey with their middle limbs for many kilometers.

Noa took off the outer jacket of the train uniform and held it before her like a hammock. James's eyes widened, realizing what she intended. "They're venomous!" he said.

Noa snorted as the creature hopped into the outstretched fabric. "Did you notice he's wearing a collar? His venom has already been milked."

James blinked. Sure enough, the werfle wore a thin red collar around its neck.

"Someone's pet," Noa murmured, looking down at the tiny form rolling onto its back in her arms. "But he's in bad shape."

On its back, the creature opened its mouth wide and made a high-pitched cry. James noted that he could see its ribs through its sparse, dirty fur.

Noa murmured, "I know you're hungry, little one." She sighed. "You lost your family, didn't you? And there aren't any more rats in the sewers." She wrapped the creature in her jacket so only its head was exposed, pulled it to her stomach, and ran a long dark finger down its exposed chin.

Without looking at James, she stood up. "What are you still doing here? You think stealing the Ark is 'illogical,' and are afraid of stealing 15,000 credits from the Central Authority."

The darkness in James's vision returned... He lifted his eyes from the softly sighing werfle to Noa. He almost asked if she intended to keep the animal, and then stopped himself. He felt as though gears were clicking into place in his mind. Of course she'd keep it. She surmised it had lost its family. It was starving. It was her.

It was a needless burden that she shouldn't take on. He could confront her and they could fight about it, and she could demand once again that he go. And he wouldn't be able to.

Meeting her eyes, he sighed. "I don't believe that stealing the Ark is completely illogical." He looked up at the dark cement ceiling above their heads. "I think it is near suicidal... but since learning that the time gate has been disabled, I realize staying here would be suicidal, too." He felt a flair of static and irritation beneath his skin. "I can't think of a better ship to buy or steal."

Noa looked up at him for the first time since she picked up the animal. Her finger ceased rubbing its chin.

"I will help you steal the Ark," James said.

Noa's jaw tightened. "I don't need your help."

In her arms, the werfle made another soft cry of hunger. Noa soothed it with her finger.

James blinked down at it, and searched his data banks. Although they preferred meat, werfle "chow" was often made with soy. Searching his pocket, he pulled out one of the remaining soybeans from Hell's Crater. He offered one to the tiny beast. It sniffed his finger cautiously, but then took the proffered bean. "You need all the help you can get," James said.

Noa's shoulders fell. She watched the creature noisily chew the soy bean. After two minutes and thirty seconds she said, "Fine, let's go."

It was two more blocks before James dared to speak to Noa again. "Please tell me acquiring the 15,000 credits doesn't involve raiding Central Authority... not that I am not committed to stealing the Ark, but maybe we could come up with a better way to get the money?"

Noa snorted. "Do you really think the Central Authority would have 15,000 _Galactic Credits_ lying around?"

James blinked in the darkness. Of course they wouldn't. It wasn't a bank. Far in the distance he heard water dripping. He remembered the intense feeling of failure that had radiated through his very being just minutes ago. "It was all hypothetical," he murmured.

"I'd do it if I had to," Noa said. "But I was planning on borrowing the money from a friend."

James cocked his head toward her. Noa gave him what she'd informed him back in the freight car was her "patented cornball grin." He'd had to explain that cornball was not a sport. In her arms, the werfle purred. Rolling his eyes, James looked away, irritation flickering under his skin, like static.

"I think I'll name him Fluffy," Noa said.

"He isn't fluffy," James snipped, perhaps in a bout of misdirected ire. "His fur is short. That name doesn't even make sense."

"They are fluffy when they're kits," Noa said. "We named our werfles Fluffy back on our farm."

"You named more than one werfle Fluffy? How is that even practical? They wouldn't know which one you were calling."

"Not at the same time!" Noa whispered. "After the first died, we named the second werfle Fluffy. That way we didn't slip up and call werfle number two Fluffy, when his name was actually Rex, or Spot or something. Calling him by a dead werfle's name would have been rude and weird."

"But technically, you were calling him by the dead werfle's name," James protested, feeling the static again. "Fluffy was the dead werfle's name even if it was also werfle number two's name."

Noa huffed. "Fine, if you don't like Fluffy, choose another name."

James looked down at the creature. Snuggled against Noa's stomach as she rubbed its chin, its lips seemed to stretch in a smile. Irritation flared beneath his skin again. "I wouldn't even think you'd like werfles. They look like rats."

Noa's eyes went wide and she gasped. "They look nothing like rats. Their noses aren't long and pointy, their eyes aren't small and beady, they're clean—well, when they have access to clean water, they're clean. Their tails aren't naked, and they don't eat people." She lifted the creature to her nose. "They eat rats. They're cute, they're friendly, and they're intelligent—smartest native creature on Luddeccea—at least as smart as ravens as far as anyone can tell."

James swore the creature's smile actually grew wider as it touched its nose to Noa's. The static beneath James's skin turned to heat. "Fine, call it Carl Sagan if it's so smart."

"Carl Sagan?" said Noa.

"Twentieth-century scientist," James muttered, looking away from the whiskered snout of the werfle. "He theorized that there was intelligent life in the universe, just that it hadn't visited us."

"Carl Sagan," said Noa. He could hear the smile in her voice, and the world lightened. "I like it."

The creature purred. Noa beamed up at James, and he wanted to smile back despite himself.

They approached an intersection in the sewers. Looking above, Noa said, "We're almost there." She frowned, and he saw some emotion flicker across her face. Worry, maybe?

"This person you're going to ask for a loan, do you think they'll turn us in?" James asked.

Noa shot him a glare.

"I have to ask," he said.

Noa looked away. "No, it's not that." Her shoulders fell. "I'm actually more concerned about whether Ghost will be able to shut off the defense grid. If he can't, this is all for nothing." Her brow furrowed. "I know he built the new main computer, so he'd know the weaknesses; but he'll have to exploit the weaknesses through a landline... which is slower, if you explained it to me correctly. And he isn't as smart as he thinks he is."

James's head tilted. She'd said something similar before. "He created the holographic necklaces."

Noa snorted. "They are tricks of the light."

"I think you underestimate their sophistication," James said.

Noa's jaw became set. She lifted her chin. "No, I don't underestimate it. I've known real geniuses, my little brother ..." Her voice trailed off and her jaw softened. "Ghost ... he doesn't have the tenacity to put his mind to work. In the Fleet, as soon as he had a disagreement with someone, or he thought someone didn't kiss his behind enough, he'd say he was being underutilized and ask to be transferred. There is a lot of hard work behind genius and invention. Only to a real genius, like my brother, it's not work, it's compulsion. Kenji, he can seem dismissive sometimes, but it's just that he's wrapped up in his own brain, and he sometimes forgets other people exist... but he's actually humble, and if you ask him to explain something in a way mere mortals can understand, he will. He's excited to share his passions with everyone."

James didn't know what to say. He never did when she spoke of her brother. Talking about Kenji always made Noa quieter. It made her fidget with the stumps of her fingers, and her eyes drift away.

"Kenji discovered that fifteen percent of Time Gate 8's power expenditure was unnecessary," Noa whispered softly. Her thumb grazed the place where her fingers used to be. "The thing has been hanging in the sky for a hundred years, and some of its auto maintenance features have built themselves up to be so big—they actually built in unintentional redundancies. He was working on fixing that... " She took a breath. "He'd been stationed planet-side... " Her brow furrowed. "He wouldn't have been on the station when the explosions happened." He heard her swallow and saw her lips turn down. "I don't think."

She drew to a halt beneath a manhole, a ladder beneath it on the wall. Tucking the bundle that was Carl Sagan into her shirt, she said, "We're here."

"I can go first," James suggested, but she was already scaling the ladder.

# 10

As James crept after Noa in the darkness of a small side street, he heard footsteps, the murmur of voices, and shouts from patrols. Closer to him, he heard Noa's breathing. It was too loud and too fast. Still, she didn't hesitate as she guided him around a corner. They were in a neighborhood a few kilometers beyond Port of Call. The buildings were still stucco, but they were surrounded by high- wrought iron fences covered with red-leaved ivy and bright white and yellow flowers. Most had at least one hover parked on the rooftop between solar cell wind turbines.

Noa reached a gate in a fence that looked no different from the rest. "There should be a buzzer... " Noa muttered, gently probing among the flowering vines as Carl Sagan peeked out the neck of her shirt. A moment later, James heard the sound of a doorbell ringing in the home beyond. And then there was silence... for two minutes and forty-five seconds.

"This person—"

"Eliza."

"How well do you know her?" James whispered.

"We're practically family," Noa whispered. "Great, great, great, great aunt thrice removed."

The answer didn't fill James with confidence. Fifty meters down the street there came the shout of a patrol.

"Could she have been arrested?" James asked as another precious thirty seconds went by. He scanned the small street for a manhole and saw none.

"She was one of the original settlers," Noa whispered back. "They couldn't have possibly arrested her."

"One of the first settlers?" James protested. "But that would make her—"

"Really, really old," Noa finished.

"And a fanatic!" James whispered back.

"Ahhhh... " Noa winced. "No... sometimes we wished she were. She has some eccentricities... "

"What kind of eccentricities?" James said.

Noa turned to him, her mouth opened, but before any sound came out a beam of light at the intersection caught James's eye. Arm looping around Noa's waist, he pressed her and himself into the ivy. Her dark eyes widened and met his.

"We can climb the fence," James whispered.

Noa shook her head. "No, there are alarms. Would draw even more attention."

At the intersection, someone called out, "I think I see someone! You there, show yourselves."

"Nebulas," Noa hissed.

"Fight or flight?" James said, hand tightening on her waist. Noa closed her eyes. A flashlight beam caressed the curve of her back just peeking out from the flowers and leaves. James ducked his head into the space of her shoulder and neck and breathed deep, his arm tightened around her.

Noa didn't answer.

"You there," the man called again. "I see you." James could see the flashlight beam bouncing. He counted no fewer than six pairs of footsteps. He remembered the laser pistols of the Guard in the bar. At that thought, a red spotter beam grazed the ivy above Noa's head and began to drop. James took a deep breath. He wanted to explode from his skin. He felt trapped in a nightmare, knowing what would happen and helpless to do anything about it. The tracer dropped to a centi from her head... and then there was a creak of metal and darkness came too quickly for James's vision to adapt.

"Quick, inside," a raspy voice whispered.

James blinked. The gate had opened between them and the approaching patrol, and a stooped figure was standing there, wobbling on a cane. He blinked again, and two exceptionally bright blue eyes came into focus. The eyes were situated in a face more wrinkled and worn than any he had ever seen.

"Halt!" cried the patrol officer. James heard the troops break into a run.

Before he could gather his wits, Noa pulled him through the gate into the garden between the ivy-covered fence and a lavender stucco home. The gate slammed behind them. From the house came the thunderous sound of a piano playing the opening to Carlos Chen's _Time Gate Ten Overture._ Behind him, he heard the woman cry in a warbling voice, "Fluffy! Fluffy! Where are you!"

James blinked. He felt Noa lean against him, the barest soft touch of her breast against his upper arm, and the faintest brush of her breath against his ear. His body went warm, his vision lightened, and gravity seemed to dissipate. What was the reason for this sudden intimacy? It struck him that he didn't care.

"Fluffy is a popular name for pets in our family," Noa whispered and then pulled away from him.

The lightness in his vision dissipated, and his skin prickled with annoyance or disappointment, or both.

Grabbing his hand, Noa pulled him toward the house along a pathway of sparkling recycled glass beads. A patrol man outside the gate shouted, "Hands above your head!"

He heard the old woman cry, "Oh, Officers, thank goodness you're here! Have you seen my cat?" His and Noa's feet crunched slightly as they walked—no, stalked—but thankfully, the piano music covered the noise. On either side of them were walls of pink and lavender flowers as high as his head. They walked toward the steps of a back stoop encrusted with a blue mosaic set into white stone. A door atop the stoop was open to a kitchen from which the piano music poured, and warm yellow light glowed. Just before they reached the steps, a voice, young and male, whispered from the wall of flowers to their left. "This way, quickly. Eliza says they'll ask to come inside next, and she doesn't want us to be found."

Noa dragged James in the direction of the voice down a path so narrow James wouldn't have seen it if they hadn't been right beside it. The path curved around to the side of the house. He quickly found himself staring over Noa's shoulder into the darkness of a door, just slightly ajar. He was completely unable to see inside, although the tops of the flowers were well-lit by the kitchen light. Apparently, his augmented vision had trouble adjusting to sudden differences in brightness.

"Ma'am?" said another officer, less than five meters behind him just beyond the fence laden with ivy and head-high flowers.

"She's a brown and black tortoise shell," the old woman continued.

"I thought I saw someone hiding in the vines, Sir," said the man who'd spotted them.

"Ohhh!" squealed the old woman. "That was her, that was her!"

"Are you sure, Ma'am?" said someone else just before James and Noa stooped to enter the darkened door. James's vision slowly adjusted, and he found himself in what might have been a gardener's shed, except it was set into the main building of the house. In front of him was a wall of old-fashioned pruning equipment, shovels and spades of every sort, rakes, gloves, aprons, and little houses he estimated were for the pteranodon-like creatures that flew in Luddeccea's skies.

He heard the door click behind them, and the male voice said, "I'll show you the way."

James turned toward the man and his eyes went wide. Striding through the shed toward the wall of gardening supplies was a young man with Mediterranean features too symmetrical to be natural. He appeared to be wearing only a pink apron. The man strode by them... and... he was only wearing a pink apron.

Apparently unconcerned with his nudity, the man went to the wall and lifted a spade. The wall opened with a click. Turning to James and Noa, he beckoned with a hand and whispered, "This way, Noa."

"I can barely see, Sixty," Noa said.

"Oh, it is dark," the man who was apparently "Sixty" answered. "But Eliza told me not to turn on the light until you were inside the safe room." The man stood ramrod straight by the door without a word after that statement.

"Maybe if you gave me your hand, Sixty?" Noa suggested.

"Of course," said Sixty, lifting an arm James could not help but notice was well-muscled.

James's vision darkened. Guiding Noa past Sixty, he said, "I can see fine."

Standing oddly still, Sixty didn't put down his hand as James led Noa into the narrow half meter-by-three meter space beyond. It was completely devoid of furniture, and there were handles set into the white-painted walls at regular intervals. James drew up short, the compact space making his neurons and nanos pulse in alarm.

"What is it?" Noa whispered.

"It's—"

The door to the garden tool room shut, a light flicked on, and white flashed behind James's eyes as they struggled to adjust. Noa's hand dropped from his and he felt her spin around.

"Sound and light proof!" exclaimed Sixty.

James turned around, rapidly blinking his eyes. As his eyes recovered, he found Sixty standing not ten centis from Noa's nose. The man was smiling brightly. Clutching the coat that contained Carl Sagan, now completely hidden in the folds of fabric, Noa stumbled back against James's chest with a yelp. James put a hand on her shoulder, and he heard her swallow.

"I was going to say cramped," James finished. He saw no sign of another exit.

"Please tell me you're wearing more than an apron, Sixty," Noa whined in a way quite unlike her.

"You know a lie would go against my programming," Sixty said. "And I was cooking—I have a new cooking app. Of course I would be wearing an apron." He looked up at James and held out his hand. "You haven't introduced me to your companion."

James stared down at the hand, an inkling beginning to form at the back of his mind.

Noa sighed. "James, this is Sixty—"

"6T9," the man corrected. "The number, the letter, and the number again." He smiled and winked.

James stared at the hand. The inkling in his mind became a 99.99% certainty.

"6T9," Noa said. "This is James."

"Hello, James," said 6T9, hand still outstretched. Looking to Noa, he said, "Noa, are you and James in a mutually exclusive sexual relationship?"

James's hand on Noa's shoulder tightened. He almost said "Yes," estimating it would end the line of questioning.

"Why are you asking?" Noa said.

Hand still outstretched, 6T9 said, "Because James is a fine specimen of the masculine gender. Sometimes Eliza likes it when I and—"

"Not interested." The words spilled from James's mouth in the same unconscious way he'd pulled the trigger in the forest, or kicked the man on the train.

Finally dropping his hand, 6T9 shrugged. "I have to ask. It's part of my programming. Please do not take offense."

"You are a... " James could not bring himself to finish.

Noa sighed and rubbed her temples.

6T9 smiled. "A sex 'bot. A very high-end one." He winked again.

James echoed Noa's sigh. Most 'bots were designed with a function in mind, and being human-formed was rarely the most ideal for that function—whether it was cleaning a home, sailing through the clouds of gas giants, or doing archaeological digs. It took a lot of processing power to move like a human, smile like a human, and sound like a human when speaking. When you created a 'bot that could do all those things, you didn't leave a lot of room for processors that could do other things. Like thinking. Sex 'bots were designed for their primary function, and that involved looking like a human. James had heard that they were very good at their primary function, but he hadn't indulged. It was considered extremely gauche. However, it wasn't just that. He remembered being really drunk and telling a friend, "Even when I'm this pissed, as soon as they open their mouths, I feel let down and annoyed." He must have had some need to connect on an intellectual level ... His head jerked at the unconscious past tense. Not must have had. He was the same person, no matter how different that person sometimes felt. He looked at the vacant expression on the 'bot's face and felt a mild revulsion sparked by more than just his preference for women. Some things he still had in common with that other him.

6T9 lifted his head, as though hearing a far-off sound. "I am supposed to turn on the monitors to the rest of the house now." He turned around, exposing his back side.

"Couldn't you put on some clothes?" Noa groaned.

Grabbing a handle on the far wall, 6T9 looked over his shoulder. "You know I can wear clothes, Noa. And I am wearing an article of clothing." The 'bot's head tilted. "Was that a rhetorical question?"

"It was a request," James supplied, intensely irritated by the 'bot after only a few minutes.

"Oh," said 6T9, opening a cupboard and pulling out a hologlobe that had a tail of cords trailing from its underside into the wall. It was hardwired—of course, if the signal was transmitted wirelessly, it could be picked up with signal augmenters.

"I don't have any other clothes down here," 6T9 said. He turned around so only the front of his pink apron was showing and Noa muttered, "Thank you," and wiped her eyes.

"Whatever for?" said 6T9, the hologlobe flickering to life in his hand. Neither Noa nor James bothered to answer. They both turned their attention to the globe. In it, James saw the old woman he'd briefly seen before, apparently in her kitchen. With her were two Luddeccean Guard members. The woman's voice filled the room. "Would you boys like some fish stew?" James shifted agitatedly on his feet and looked up at the ceiling feeling as though it might fall on his head. She was suggesting they stay?

"Ma'am, we can't have any when we are on duty," said a man who appeared to have a lot of ribbons on his chest.

"But it smells delicious," said the other.

6T9 smiled. "It is delicious. I have a fantastic cooking app."

"Well, I'll do anything to help the fellows who find my cat," said the old woman.

"Why is she encouraging them to stay?" James asked.

"Where are the others?" asked Noa.

"Probably looking about the house," said 6T9.

The globe flickered again, and James was staring at what appeared to be a sitting room. One trooper was staring at a chess set. It was set up on a coffee table next to an enormous blue couch draped with a knitted afghan. Pieces were arranged on the board as though it had been halted mid-game.

"Ma'am, is there someone else in the house?" one of the troopers asked.

"Oh, no," Eliza's replied wobbling over to the set on her cane. "I was playing with a friend on Earth over the ethernet."

6T9 made a sound that sounded like a sigh. "I'm not a good enough player to offer her sufficient competition."

"Shame about those aliens, I may never finish my game," Eliza said breezily.

"Ma'am," one of the Patrolmen said, "I hope you've turned off your neural net."

"Turned it off?" said the old woman. "Son, I am one of the original settlers. I never fooled with any of that newfangled gadgetry! I chat with my Earth friends via holo chat." She harrumphed, and the trooper actually tipped his helmet.

"Sorry, ma'am, just had to say so."

"There were more troopers," James said.

The globe flickered, and James was looking at two troopers in what looked to be a laundry room. "That's just to your left," said 6T9 cheerfully.

Before James could take a breath, the globe flickered again, and the gardening room came into view. There were two troopers in the room, stunners upraised. "And that," said 6T9, "is the room to your right."

"Shhhh... " said Noa.

In the globe, one of the troopers approached the wall of equipment and reached toward the wall.

"Oh," said 6T9, "perhaps they know we are here." James glanced up at the 'bot. His face was completely serene.

James's eyes dropped back to the globe just in time to see the trooper's fingers passing within inches of the spade. James found one of his hands balling into a fist, the other on Noa's back.

Instead of picking up the spade, the trooper picked up one of the pteranodon houses. Stunner upraised in his opposite hand, he turned to his companion and said, "This is really well done."

His companion shook his head and swung his flashlight beam around the room. "Don't take granny's ptery house."

"I wasn't going to," the first protested.

"Come on," said his companion. "There are still rooms to check upstairs."

The globe flickered once more, and James saw four troopers in the kitchen around a table eating bowls of soup. "This is really good!" said one.

"Undisciplined." Noa shook her head. "Eliza is still an old fox."

"Oh, yes, she is," said 6T9. "I call her my silver fox."

"Please don't tell me any more," Noa said, throwing up a hand.

"That comment wasn't gratuitous at all," said 6T9.

"But you wander off on gratuitous tangents all the time," Noa said. "And I'm trying to nip it in the bud."

6T9 tilted his head. "I like to nip—"

"Shut up," said Noa.

6T9's mouth snapped shut, and James found himself unexpectedly feeling pity for the 'bot. In the twenty-first century, humankind had hoped for so much from robots, androids, and AI—and feared so much, too. But that was before Moore's Law ran smack into Moore's Wall—significant improvements in computer processing power hadn't been made in centuries. Instead, humankind had plugged into perhaps the most sophisticated processor in the universe with nanos and neural nets... their own minds. Augmented with nano storage, and apps for memorization tasks and computations, humans could do all the feats they'd imagined AIs would do. 'Bots, on the other hand, seemed like simple humans.

A few breathless minutes later, in the hologlobe the Luddeccean patrolmen said goodbye to Eliza.

Her head bobbled, and she grinned and waved as they left—the perfect granny. As soon as she shut the door behind them, her demeanor changed completely. Her eyes went to slits. She looked directly up at one of the cameras and shook her cane.

"That is the sign for us to go up," 6T9 said. Putting the hologlobe back in the cabinet, 6T9 jumped up, grabbed another handle set into the ceiling, and pulled. A chunk of the ceiling opened up and 6T9 pulled down a ladder. He was about to start up it when Noa said, "I'll go first. I don't need the view of your moon and saber."

Lifting his chin, 6T9 smiled. "I know those metaphors. They have sexual overtones."

From above came a cackle. "I quite like the view of your moon and saber, 6T9!"

6T9 pointed up. "Eliza quite likes my—"

"Shut up," Noa grumbled, sliding by him, arms protectively around the still completely-hidden Carl Sagan.

6T9's mouth snapped shut.

From above, Eliza said, "Noa, are you insulting the love of my life?"

Noa snorted.

6T9's face went blank. He turned to James, and for just a moment James thought he saw a flicker of something—concern maybe?

But then 6T9 smiled at James. "Would you like a view of my moon and saber?"

"No," said James.

"After you then," said 6T9, holding up a hand, a pleasant smile on his face and all trace of concern gone.

For a moment, James froze. 'Bots of all sorts could "feel" concern for matters within their primary function—James's dig 'bots "fretted" often enough about the proper force to use when clearing dust from artifacts—although "voiced concerns" was perhaps a better description than "fretted." But what about Noa or Eliza's statements could concern a sex 'bot, James couldn't imagine. Shaking his head, he hastily climbed up the ladder.

Noa ducked her head and crawled out of a narrow doorway into Eliza's kitchen. She blinked back over her shoulder. The doorway was cleverly disguised as a kitchen cabinet. Scrambling to her feet, wobbling only a little in exhaustion, she smiled at Eliza, a snappy comment on 6T9's nudity on her tongue. The comment died as she looked at Eliza for the first time in proper lighting. It had been only a few years since Noa had last visited her—but the woman seemed to have aged decades in that time. She was shorter, more stooped. Her hair, once steel gray, was now completely white, thin and wispy, and didn't completely conceal her scalp—although Noa noted that the fine wisps were strategically collected with a colorful rose bloom pin right above the spot her data port would be. Her face seemed to have collapsed in on itself in wrinkles. Inwardly, Noa's heart sank, but with some effort she was able to keep the smile on her face. Carl Sagan poked his nose out of the cocoon of her jacket. She stroked her fingers between his ears.

"So you've got a young man at last," Eliza cackled, leaning on her cane. "About time."

Noa scowled as the werfle ran up behind her shoulder. "I do not have a young man," she hissed in irritation. Eliza had never remarried, and the implication that Noa was better off with a significant other was downright hypocritical.

"Really?" said Eliza, her voice wheezy, high, and chiding, an impish smile on her thin lips.

Before Noa could retort, James poked his head out and nodded politely up at Eliza.

The old woman's eyes went wide, the chiding smile vanished. "He looks like—"

Tim. It wasn't just Noa who saw the resemblance, and Noa wasn't sure how that made her feel. She shook her head, to say, _no, we're not a couple_ , or _no, don't talk about Tim, please._

"Like who?" James asked, climbing to his feet and dusting himself off.

"Like he's hungry!" Eliza said brightly, in true Luddeccean grandmotherly fashion. Noa nodded her head at Eliza in acknowledgment of the small mercy.

Thumping her cane, Eliza commanded, "6T9, get these people"—Carl Sagan chirped from Noa's shoulder—"and their werfle some soup!"

Poking his head out of the cabinet door, 6T9 stared up at Carl Sagan. "That's not a rat?"

Noa barely heard Eliza's response. On shaky legs, she sank gratefully into a chair. Following her, Eliza said, "And while he's doing that, I expect you to tell me all about how you came to be on the Luddeccean Most Wanted list." Her voice lowered and her eyes narrowed sharply. "And then you can tell me why you need _my help_." There was accusation in that voice, and oddly it made Noa smile with relief. As much as Eliza's body had aged, her mind was still sharp.

An hour later, Noa was still at Eliza's table, a half-eaten bowl of soup before her. 6T9's cooking app was very good, but Noa was too anxious to finish. Next to her, James was on his third bowl. Carl Sagan was asleep by the stove. 6T9 had left the room to prepare rooms for James and Noa to sleep in.

Eliza was sitting in front of her, nervously playing with some beads around her neck. Her eyes were still bright and sharp—Noa's relief at that was tempered by the fact that the more of her story she told, the deeper Eliza's frown lines became.

"So," Noa said, "I think at this point the best option is to bring in outside assistance."

"The fastest any deep space vessel can reach the next time gate is 9.633 years," Eliza said. She exhaled shakily.

Noa leaned back in her seat. She wasn't sure how many details of the hidden time gate to reveal—she trusted Eliza, but good intentions weren't enough to hide the truth if someone were to pry loose your neural net. And Eliza still had her neural net in place, that was for certain. Although Noa couldn't see the port, the old woman's observations were too precise to be anything but net enhancement. One of Eliza's eyebrows rose. "And frankly my dear, I don't think I'll live that long."

Before Noa's brain and net had a chance to process that reply, 6T9 walked into the kitchen and interjected, "The doctor said you're perfectly healthy. The cancer you had was completely eradicated by the immunotherapy and the plaques in your heart and brain were removed by nanos."

"It isn't my health I'm worried about, dear," Eliza said.

6T9 came over to the table; it put his derriere closer than was comfortable to Noa's nose. He'd thankfully put on a pair of boxer briefs beneath his apron—hot pink boxer briefs—but it was still disquieting. She found herself leaning away from him. Where he sat between Eliza and Noa, one of James's eyebrows rose.

"If not your health, then what, darling?" 6T9 said, leaning over the table, putting a hand on Eliza's shoulder. His expression was such a facsimile of human concern that Noa nearly shivered. She didn't mind 'bots that looked like 'bots, but the ones that looked human and talked like humans made her uneasy. It was, as her military psyche training taught her, too easy to bond with a human-like 'bot—a faulty glitch in the emotional centers of the human brain. For that reason, military 'bots never looked human, so no commander ever felt guilty sending a drone on a self-destruct mission.

Eliza was silent. Noa's eyebrows rose. 6T9 hadn't heard her conversations, and Eliza hadn't told 6T9 that possessing a 'bot was illegal... If she had, 6T9 might have wiped his memory and turned himself in. Eliza was risking her life for a 'bot... Noa rubbed her temples. If she didn't need Eliza's money, she might call her on it. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught James's gaze on her, inscrutable, emotionless, and probably judgmental. She got the feeling he didn't approve of 6T9. She wished she could reach him through the ethernet to reassure him that she didn't approve of 6T9 either.

"You contributed to the premier's campaign fund," said 6T9, snapping Noa back to the present.

"What?" said Noa, eyes going wide in alarm. Apparently, Eliza had been discussing some politics with her 'bot. James sat up straighter in his chair.

Waving a hand at Noa and James, Eliza said, "Don't worry, I never supported his policies."

"Then why did you fund him?" James said.

"Because he was going to win," Eliza snapped.

"You said contributing to his campaign fund would protect you against vicious gossip and wagging tongues," said 6T9. "That's what you're afraid of, right?" He shook his head and tsked. "You shouldn't be. Gossip won't kill."

Noa sighed. Gossip was all the danger 6T9 could conceive of, she supposed. It was probably beyond his processing power to understand that they were in the midst of a genocide.

Turning to 6T9, voice soft, Eliza said, "My money won't protect me anymore, dear."

6T9's head tilted to the side. "Why not?"

Eliza gave a wry smile. "Because I don't think there will be any more elections."

"But that is part of the charter, elections every six years," 6T9 protested.

"They will change it," said Eliza.

Next to her, James sighed and put down his spoon. "If history is any indication they'll find a way."

Noa took a deep breath. "Yep."

Eyes glued to Eliza, 6T9 said, "I do not understand."

"Don't worry about it, darling," said Eliza.

6T9's expression softened immediately. "Okay." He smiled a smile of utter peace and contentment—because an end to worry was simple as an order when you were a 'bot.

Stroking her beads, Eliza said, "Why don't you go upstairs, prepare some towels and clothes for Noa and James, too. You gave them separate rooms, right?"

6T9 nodded, and Eliza smiled brightly. "I'll join you shortly."

6T9's smile dropped. Dipping his chin, he raised an eyebrow and then winked at Eliza, giving a look that Noa supposed would be "smoldering"... if you didn't know it came from a 'bot. She glanced between James's light features, and 6T9's more conventional tan skin and brown eyes. Both of them were two of the most beautiful examples of masculinity she'd been around in a while. And she wasn't attracted to either of them, for very different reasons. She smiled bitterly to herself. It was unfair, but sadly convenient.

"I will be expecting you," 6T9 said in a low voice.

Putting a hand to her chest, Eliza giggled like a schoolgirl. "Yes, sir."

Noa rolled her eyes as 6T9 prowled out of the room. As soon as he was out of sight, Noa turned back to Eliza. "You see why this is so important, then."

Looking at the table, Eliza fidgeted with her place mat. "Yes... but I must consider my options. 9.633 years... "

"There is a faster way," said Noa.

Eliza's eyes narrowed. "You said you need money to help finance a mission... I know you have no ship, so you must be stealing one, and I don't know how you can get by the grid... "

"I have a plan. But the less you know the better."

"So you say," said Eliza, looking away. "To get past the blockade you'd need either a very big ship or a very small one, but a very small one wouldn't last in deep space... a big ship... " she rocked in her chair.

Eliza's eyes slipped to James. He was dipping a roll in a plate of rinseed oil. It struck Noa that he looked too big for the tiny table, and just the simple act of dipping the bread seemed a feat of difficult maneuvering for his large frame.

"Are you privy to the whole plan?"

James put the bread down. "Yes."

Noa prepared herself for Eliza to pry him for details, but instead she said, "What do you think of it?"

"That it is near suicidal," James replied.

"And yet you are going along with it," Eliza said. Her voice had become softer as the night had worn on. Her eyes were drooping. "May I ask why?"

One of James's eyebrows rose as they did when he was telling a joke. "I'm still asking myself that."

"You are a wry one," Eliza chuckled. "And what is your answer?"

James was quiet for a long time. Noa found herself shifting in her seat.

"I am a hyper-augment... " His head ticked, and straw-blonde hair fell into his eyes. He pushed it back. "I don't have a lot of options, and... " He looked at Noa, and then away and shrugged.

Eliza stared at a spot on the table between her and Noa. "This is a big decision for me."

Noa's jaw got hard. "So many lives are at stake, Eliza." Kenji's life was at stake. Her thumb went to the stumps of her fingers.

"Including my life," the old woman said.

Noa sat back in her seat. "You're a founder of the colony... surely if you just got rid of 6T9... "

Eliza's nostrils flared.

Noa felt her skin heat in anger. "He is a 'bot."

"But I'm not," Eliza said.

"Of course not," Noa said, not sure where this was going.

Eliza's eyes became pained. "You think he is just a sex toy, but he's not. He's my hands, my arms, my legs." Her hand shook. "My body is falling apart, no one can fix that at this point; but my mind is still alive thanks to nanos and apps. Without 6T9, they'll find some way to put me in a home. They don't allow nano flushes or apps anymore." Her eyes dropped. "I'll become a vegetable." For a moment it looked like Eliza might burst into tears.

Noa released a breath. "Eliza... " She reached toward the old woman.

"And if I'm going to die," Eliza said, "I want to be having as much sex as I can with the most beautiful man I can for as long I can."

Noa's hand fell.

Eliza's thin eyebrows waggled, and she giggled, her bony shoulders rising. "He really is excellent," she whispered. "It took me centuries to get lovin' like I've got now."

From the doorway came 6T9's voice. "Did you call me, Eliza?"

Eliza turned to him. "No, I... " Her brow creased even more. "Actually, I think I could use your help getting up the stairs."

6T9 strode into the kitchen, thankfully wearing pajama bottoms. "You know I live to sweep you off your feet."

"Eliza... " Noa said.

Eliza waved her hand. "You know where the spare rooms are... I'll give you my answer in the morning. I need to sleep on it."

Kneeling beside her, 6T9 said, "I hope you won't sleep too much."

Eliza waggled her eyebrows again and let him help her into his arms. "Oh, you... " she giggled as 6T9 gently stood, nuzzling her neck as he carried her from the room.

Noa put her elbows on the table and stared at her bowl of half-eaten soup. She dropped her head in her hands.

"That sounded like a 'probably not'?" James said.

Noa felt sick to her stomach. She was asking Eliza to give up more than a toy. She was asking her to give up her freedom, her independence... and her very life.

"What do we do now?"

Head still in her hands, Noa sighed. "Sleep, I guess."

"I meant if she says no?"

Noa rubbed her eyes. "I have no idea."

When Noa woke from a nightmare at 25:43 Luddeccean Time, even though James was dozing, he knew it. Since he'd awakened in the snow, he had been unable to truly sleep. His body was still, his eyes were closed, his breathing was slowed, his temperature was lower than normal, and memories were tripping through his mind in a semi-dreamlike way. At the same time his mind almost dreamed, there was, off in the corners of his neural net, a running inventory of what was still going on around him—minus vision, of course. At 01:00, Noa went downstairs and he heard her start to pace back and forth. That brought him out of his semi-conscious state. With his augmented hearing, even from the second floor he could hear her sigh.

He wasn't really sleeping, anyway.

Sitting up, he shook off the last vestiges of his doze—an image of Ghost's face flickering from a perfect hologram—and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Just before he stood up, he caught sight of the skin of his arms. He swallowed... and part of him registered that was a very peculiar reaction to unease. Was he trying to devour his disquiet? It didn't work; the strange markings on his skin still had him on edge. Earlier when he'd taken a shower, the strange tattoos had risen in stark black relief on his skin. They hadn't disappeared like they normally did; they'd only faded. He exhaled sharply. They always made him nervous, but they were too regular to be some nano-inspired tumor. He closed his eyes. He could do nothing about them right now. If they succeeded with Noa's plan, on Earth he'd reunite with his parents. They could help him recover the memories locked away in his mind, explain the tattoos, and hopefully give him the ability to smile and frown again. James drew his hand across the slightly raised flesh of the designs. When they were faint, they looked less like a leaf pattern and more like ... feathers. The thought made him bolt up from the bed. He pulled on the long-sleeved train operator uniform shirt before he left the room to hide the tattoos—from either himself or Noa, he didn't know which.

Minutes later, he found Noa in the room with the chess board. She was standing by a bookshelf, staring at a small glowing hologlobe. In it, many people, all facing the camera, were smiling back at her. As he padded forward, Noa jumped. Spinning in his direction, her body dropped to a semi-crouch, but then seemingly catching herself, she straightened. Wrapping her arms around herself, she asked, "Did I wake you?" Carl Sagan poked his bewhiskered nose out from between some books.

James shook his head. "I wasn't really sleeping." Which was the truth, if not the full extent of it. He walked toward the holo, and his head tilted. He saw Noa in the holo, near the front. She looked to be about twelve. An older man had his arm draped protectively over her shoulder, and the younger Noa had her own arm wrapped around a boy slightly shorter than her. Noa's mouth was split in a wide grin. The boy wasn't smiling, but he had one of Noa's hands in his. No one in the holo shared Noa's unique coloring, but... "They are your family," he said. He could see Noa's small, delicate, rounded nose on a man's face, her wide lips on another woman, her brows on another, her high cheekbones on someone else. The boy she was next to in the holo looked like Noa, but he was tan instead of dark brown, his eyes were so light they were almost gold, and he had wavy hair instead of her tight curls.

Pointing to the boy, Noa said, "That is my brother, Kenji." Her thumb caressed the place her missing fingers would have been. She bowed her head, touched the globe, and it went dark. She touched another globe, and it flickered to life, casting her profile in sharp relief. Like him, she'd taken a shower. She also must have cut her hair. It was now tight against her head and paradoxically looked thicker than before. The angle of the light emphasized the indentations of the scars on her cheek and forehead, but also her high cheekbones, her full lips, her wide eyes, and the overall smoothness of her dark skin—the way the bluish light caressed it, it looked almost like velvet.

"The older woman at the center, that is Eliza," Noa said, pointing at the new holo. James followed her finger. In the holo, there was a man and a woman who both appeared to be about sixty, if they weren't augmented. Around them stood eight younger men and women. There was something restrained in their expressions. They weren't smiling as brightly as the people in the other holo.

"That is her late husband and children. It must have been taken about twenty years after the colony was founded." Her brow furrowed. "Eliza had twelve kids... the original settlers favored big families."

James stared at the globe. Sometimes a cold or flu swept across Earth. He'd even caught one that had kept him flat on his back for a week while the nanos cleaned him up, but he'd never known anyone who'd died in an epidemic. "There are eight in this holo... "

"Yes," Noa said. "Four more died in another epidemic. Her husband died, too. I think it must have been shortly after this holo was made—he was maybe forty-seven?"

"Forty-seven... but they look so much older than that in this holo."

Noa shrugged. "Life was hard then." She shook her head. "It was some sort of virus. Caused a disease like meningitis. He wouldn't take a nano-treatment. Eliza and the children that survived did." Noa's brow furrowed. "I think that is when she started to reject the Luddeccean philosophy. She bought a lot of land after the virus wiped out half of the first, second, and third wave settlers. Sold it and used it to send her kids to Sol System for school. Three didn't come back. The other—her last daughter—died a few years back."

James drew closer to Noa. "Why didn't Eliza leave?"

Noa sighed. "Probably because her descendants wouldn't approve of 6T9."

"You don't seem to approve, either." As he said the words, he thought he felt a gust of cold air sweep the room.

Gazing at the holo, Noa sighed, the light of the globe shining in her eyes. "I don't normally approve of sex 'bots, or animatronics, no. People become addicted to them, forget that they're not human, give love and affection to machines that don't care one way or another, and that are expensive and energy hogs to boot."

"6T9 seems to care about Eliza... " His voice trailed off. He wasn't sure why he was playing devil's advocate. And where was the cold air coming from? He looked over his shoulder at an air vent—but it wasn't on.

Noa frowned. "It's his programming to mimic emotions. It's his programming to care about her feelings and her well being. But it isn't real... 'bots don't care about anything, not really, not their owners or even themselves. He'd wipe his memory and shut himself down if he realized he was endangering her."

James thought of contemplating leaving Noa to her fate in the forest. "You make 'bots sound better than humans."

Noa raised her eyes to his. "No, they're not—they're just programmed that way. To be afraid, to want to live, to want to avoid pain, and to do the right thing anyway, that is far more than any 'bot can do or be."

James felt as though gravity had lessened and the chill in the room had dissipated.

Noa looked down. "People who think they love 'bots... well, real love is compromise and sacrifice and not always easy, but it makes you better because you have to be a better person. And having a person who loves you back... they're doing more than following a script." She looked away quickly. His eyes slipped down her body. She wore a pair of light coral silk pajamas. Designed for life near the equator, the top had no sleeves. The color contrasted sharply with her dark skin and it might have looked enticing on the Noa in his memory, but it made the hard angles of her emaciated body stand out even more. She wrapped her arms around herself again. James wanted to put an arm around her, but didn't.

Noa sighed, walked over to the couch, and flopped down. "But in Eliza's case... I don't know." Leaning her head against the back of the sofa, she put a hand on her forehead.

James sat down beside her. Leaning back as she was, he retrieved some data on sex 'bots from his data archives. In the twenty-first century, there were some people who thought that sex 'bots would replace fellow humans as the sexual partners of choice. The thinking went that their appearance could be perfect and their personalities could be "perfect" as well. But with nano technology and improvements in surgery, almost anyone could have the appearance they desired, at least until they reached an advanced age like Eliza's, when systems broke down too fast for technology to keep up. The "perfect" personality varied with the individual, and 'bots were limited in that regard, as Noa put it, to "scripts" that got old.

"Everyone deserves the chance to be loved," Noa said, snapping him from his reverie. "Here on Luddeccea, it's hard for older women. Love and sex are for marriage and children. It's not uncommon for men past one hundred to marry girls in their twenties, or women with frozen eggs in their sixties who can still carry a baby to term." Her brow furrowed. "When Eliza's first husband died, she was too old, and didn't have frozen eggs. She worked so hard to put her remaining kids through school away from this system, and her business was here and she was alone... I think... " She shrugged. "There are extenuating circumstances, I suppose."

Leaning back, James rolled his head toward her. Noa had curled into a ball at the corner of the couch. She closed her eyes. "I'm so hungry," she said softly. "Do you have any of those soybeans you filched from the bar on you?"

"I gave those to Carl Sagan," James said.

"Damn," Noa said.

James tripped over a memory of himself as a young man staying at his grandparent's condo in London. As his grandparents had retired, his grandfather had said, "Help yourself to anything if you're hungry."

He looked down at the pajamas Eliza had provided for him. "Noa," he said. "Do you think Eliza would really mind if you helped yourself to some food?"

Noa was silent. James looked up and found her eyes wide, her lips parted. With his augmented vision he just barely made out the black H on her wrist. "No," she said. "No, she wouldn't mind." She didn't move from her seat. She looked distressed—and she was silent, which proved it. His mind was a maze of unanswered questions and locked doors, but his unknown couldn't be worse than her known.

"Let me go make you something," James said. He had fuzzy memories of cooking elaborate meals—he didn't think he could recreate them. But following instructions on the back of a soup packet seemed possible. And he wouldn't mind a snack himself.

Noa's mouth dropped open again. Shaking her head, she looked away. "Sure, yes, thanks, that would be great."

James left her there and padded into the kitchen. He found the small remainder of the admittedly excellent soup tucked in the refrigeration unit, still in a pot. Putting the pot on the gas stove, he struggled to turn it on—the electric spark would not light. And then he noticed a box of old-fashioned matches sitting off to the side. His eyebrows lifted. He looked at the stove and shook his head. The electronic spark must have been disabled with the ethernet shut down. He struck a match, turned on the gas, and watched the flame leap to life. Shaking out the match, he almost sighed. Welcome to 1984... and then, at memory of that particular year, and the novel by Orwell of the same name, he almost smiled wryly. But of course the smile didn't come.

Self-consciously touching the corner of his lips, he found a large spoon and begin to stir the pot as the soup slowly heated. Some of the soup splattered on his arm and he rolled up his sleeves. As the soup warmed, he began to notice the markings on the arm exposed to the steam becoming more prominent. Dropping the spoon, he pulled his hand away. He heard a shuffling noise, and turned to see Carl Sagan standing on his hind legs sniffing at the air, staring at James. He hastily rolled down his sleeves again.

Noa caressed the tiny hologlobe she'd found on the end table next to the couch. It fit easily in her palm and her fingers left streaks in the dusty surface. Light flickered from within the globe. James re-entered the room, bowls of soup in hand, and Carl Sagan followed in his wake. Perhaps enchanted by the fragrance of the soup, the werfle's bewhiskered nose twitched as he sniffed.

"That looks to be old," James said as the picture in the hologlobe emerged like a scene rising out of fog. It was one of the old globes that only had one holo in them, too. You could tell by the way the colors were muted. "What is it?" James asked.

Noa shook her head and put it on the coffee table in front of the couch, her mouth watering at the smell of soup.

As she took her first slurp, the sound in the globe crackled. "I met Jun at a transport station in Nigeria." The 'smoke' in the globe solidified and a man and woman appeared. The man looked East Asian; the woman was African in appearance with skin as dark as Noa's. She wore a Japanese yukata, but the bright yellow, blue, and geometric-patterned garment appeared to be cut from traditional Nigerian cloth. They both had sparkling augments in their temples smaller than modern ones, without all the external drives for app insertion.

Noa smiled. "That's my great-great-great grandmother and grandfather! Eliza never knew them." Her head tilted. "I wonder why Eliza has this?"

Noa traced the phantom figure of the man in the holo with a finger. He was visibly ethnically Japanese, with a slightly hooked nose, almond-shaped eyes, slender chin and slight frame. "Both our families were purist groups," her great, great, something grandfather said.

The image of Noa's grandmother within the globe shook her head. "Purist groups, they're like religious sects, they always urge women to have a lot of babies. Controlling women's fertility is how they maintain their existence. But ever since I was a little girl, I knew that wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to be in any of the careers that were slightly acceptable to girls—I wanted to build rocket ships!"

Noa's smile faded. She could see why Eliza might have this. Purist groups, religious sects... her own home planet. It was true, she supposed. If Noa's own parents hadn't been outsiders here, that would have been her life. As it was, she'd still felt the pressure to conform to that lifestyle. Nice girls didn't "borrow" antigrav bikes, hop onto freight cars, or spend years mastering martial arts. Nice girls were demure, modest and let the men in their lives take the risks while they tended the home fires. Maybe her risk-taking personality as a kid was just a counterbalance to that pressure? To prove to herself that she could be brave and fierce? And maybe the reason why she'd wanted to be a pilot, and then later, part of command, was because it was the furthest from the status in Luddeccean society she could imagine being? She put her spoon down. Maybe, if she hadn't been from Luddeccea, she would have been happy with some other career; maybe she could have been perfectly content as an engineer, or one of the Fleet's analysts. But the risk-taking had altered her brain chemistry, wired her for risks... she had hated being First Officer.

The voices in the holo changed to static. Picking it up and surveying the bottom, James said, "A penny for your thoughts?"

Noa blinked up at him.

Catching her gaze, he added, "It's a very old expression. It means... "

"I know what it means," Noa said with a wave of her hand. Her brow furrowed. "Not that I know what a penny is... " Her eyes slid to the side.

"It was a unit of currency that... " James's voice drifted off. "Actually, I'm not interested in reciting the history of the penny. I'm wondering what you're thinking and if it will somehow get me into trouble."

Noa laughed and swallowed another spoonful of soup. "I was actually just thinking about every damn report I've had to do on blue-green algae."

James said in a cautious voice, "Sounds harmless enough." His eyes slid to hers. "It is harmless, isn't it?"

"I can't begin to tell you how harmless it is, except for the kind that excreted hydrochloric acid."

James's eyebrows shot up. Noa waved a hand. "No, it was great, actually. The discovery of that algae was the only time anything interesting happened. The Republic's Committee on the Search for Sentient Space-going Races is so obsessed that even blue-green algae has to go through fourteen different tests for sentience on the off chance that it could be a hive-mind organism."

James's brows constricted. "It could be... "

Swallowing a spoonful of soup, Noa groaned. "But it's not! It hasn't been. I've cataloged over 100 species since I became First Officer aboard the _Sugihara_."

"I thought you were a pilot, not a scientist?"

Noa dropped her spoon. "I'm not a scientist, but I'm good at whipping up reports—" She raised her fingers to make air quotes. "—in plain Basic." Dropping her hands, she said, "I hate it. And then getting the sign-offs from the Fleet and the inter-Republic agencies... it's such a pain in the ass, and it has to go to someone who is meticulous, organized, and charming." She harrumphed.

As she finished her soup, she spouted off about all the stupid, redundant things she had to do to obtain authorization for a Fleet ship even to enter the atmosphere of a planet with blue-green algae. Talking was better than nightmares and thinking about contingency plans if Eliza didn't come through. But by the time she was almost, but not-quite-done with her rant, she leaned back and realized aloud, "I'm boring even myself!" She looked over at James. "You're cursing the fact that this is all going down in your holographic memory, aren't you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Not out loud."

She laughed softly and closed her eyes, and leaned her head back, just for a moment.

When she opened her eyes, it was still dark, but she heard the pterys outside announcing the imminent rise of the sun within the hour. There was a light streaming from the hallway, beyond the living room, backlighting 6T9's half-clothed form and Eliza's bent frame. Eliza had one hand on the 'bot; the other was wrapped around a cane.

"I've made up my mind," Eliza said. "I won't lend you the money."

Noa sat up with a start. During the night her feet had somehow managed to find their way onto James's lap. She might have flushed with embarrassment, but Eliza's words had chilled her to the bone. James was sitting up in his seat, leaning forward, wide-eyed.

"But I will pay you to book two flights of passage."

"What?" said Noa, wondering if she had wandered into another bad dream.

"One for me," Eliza said nervously. "One for 6T9."

"Oh, where are we going?" said 6T9, looking back and forth between the humans, a slight smile on his lips.

"That's impossible," Noa protested, swinging her legs off the couch and standing up.

James stood up beside her. "Eliza," James said, "Noa hasn't told me her plans for procuring the ship we need—but I know they will be very dangerous. You do not have the physical strength."

Noa remembered nearly falling down the stairs last night at Ghost's place, and struggling to climb up the ladder from the safe room. Maybe she didn't have the physical strength, either.

"6T9 will be my strength," Eliza said, patting his arm. "He will carry me if necessary."

"I am programmed to sweep her off her feet, literally and figuratively," 6T9 said with a proud smile.

"6T9 will be an energy hog," Noa said. That was the other reason AIs and 'bots never took hold. They consumed massive amounts of power.

"I'll keep him in sleep mode when he's not needed!" Eliza said.

Noa took a deep breath. "Eliza, if you get hurt, you'll endanger the whole mission, everyone on it, and everyone on Luddeccea."

Eliza looked down, and her knuckles went white.

"If we pull this off, we'll get help here in a few months," Noa whispered. If they could get past the gauntlet of the Local Guard above Luddeccea Prime, if they could coax the Ark to light speed, and if they could reach the Kanakah Cloud and activate the Fleet's time gate...

Eliza looked up suddenly. "I'm going," she whispered. "I gave my life for this colony, and my children's and husband's lives for their philosophy." Her wrinkled face crumpled further. "I'm being selfish now... " She took a deep breath and stood taller. She nodded. "If I'm badly hurt while trying to take the ship, you can leave me behind."

"And me, too," said 6T9. He pulled Eliza's hand to his stomach and gazed down at her. "I won't leave you."

Eliza beamed up at him. "I know. That's why I won't leave you behind, either."

Noa resisted the urge to growl. Eliza was anthropomorphizing him and it was going to cost them a whole lot of trouble. 6T9 would be useless aboard the ship, he wasn't the brightest 'bot on the assembly line.

Eliza's eyes flashed toward her. "I can offer you more than just my money. You can use my hover, and my time, and I'll do anything you ask... but I'm leaving this place, and 6T9 is coming with me." She drew herself up to her full height— diminished though it was. "Take it or leave it."

# 11

James's feet splashed in the thankfully shallow runoff water in the circular tunnel of the Luddeccea Prime's main sewer line. On his back he carried a pack stuffed with credits. Noa had wanted Eliza to drive them closer to Ghost's abode; unfortunately, Eliza was too shaky to pilot the hover. She'd been relying on an "ethernet chauffeur" for years. So now they were hiking again, this time without Carl Sagan.

"She's crazy," Noa grumbled beside him. Her breathing was slightly labored, although their pace wasn't particularly fast. "You saw how she thinks of 6T9 as a person!"

James tilted his head. "Eliza is the only person on the planet who has any experience in the Ark."

"She won't make it to the Ark! She's too frail. She'll be injured and shot... " Noa waved a hand.

"If she makes it, she may be useful, but if she is shot, you can leave her behind," James said. Noa might have experience flying the same model ship as the Ark, but every ship had its idiosyncrasies—even James knew that.

Drawing up short and spinning toward him, Noa said, "How can you say that?"

James came to a halt and tried to work out what had offended her.

"She's like an aunt to me!" Noa said. "A crazy aunt, but an aunt just the same! How can you suggest I just leave her?"

James stared at her. "Because that is her wish?"

Noa frowned. "How can you be so unfeeling?" she hissed.

James tilted his head. He didn't have any feelings toward Eliza, either positive or negative; but, if Noa was injured, he knew he couldn't leave her behind. It wasn't rational, and he had no explanation for it. "I _have_ feelings," he said. Noa drew back. She took a breath, and then turned away. "If we didn't have so little time... I would have convinced her not to come."

Breathing heavily, she continued on the path back to Ghost's lair. "As it is—" They reached a wide fork in the tunnel. The faint echo of voices sounded from the left. James grabbed her arm and drew her against the wall. Noa's eyes met his. She didn't speak or ask questions, but she inclined her chin to a branch off the main line just across from them. It was much smaller, just wide enough to crawl through, and it was at shoulder height. James nodded; the voices were getting closer, and they had to hide. They moved to the other side of the tunnel. Noa reached up and gritted her teeth. James had a memory of helping a girlfriend up onto a horse. Looping his hands, he nudged her with his shoulders. Dropping her eyes, she caught his meaning immediately. She slipped a boot between his fingers, gave a bounce at the same time he gave a lift, and she disappeared down the shaft a few moments later. James followed, the sound of the Guard sloshing in shallow water echoing in his ears.

Heart beating in her throat, Noa sat with her back to the wall in the thankfully drier secondary sewer shaft. She held her breath, afraid even that could give them away. She felt James's legs brush hers and could just make out the sound of his breathing. Light from the Guard's flashlights reflected from the water in the sewers, and for a moment she could almost make out his features across from her. A few minutes ago she'd felt so angry at him for his lack of compassion that she thought she might self-combust. That feeling was gone now, and all she felt was relief that he was here and she wasn't alone.

From the tunnel, she heard the sound of retreating footsteps and a patrolman say, "This tunnel is clear." The patrol had just missed them. They must not have seen the small tributary they were hiding in. The patrol didn't have a map of the sewers stored in their neural nets like James and Noa did.

Noa closed her eyes and waited for the sound of their voices and footsteps to fade. Lifting her head, she mouthed the word, "safe?" knowing that James would be able to read her lips even in the nearly pitch blackness of the narrow shaft.

"Yes," he whispered.

James scooted to the comparatively brighter main tunnel and then lowered himself down. Noa followed. Her arms shook as she lowered herself, but James caught her and she landed gently. Feeling a bit guilty for the way she'd snapped at him earlier, Noa whispered, "We make a good team."

He didn't reply. "Thanks for the lift earlier." She sighed and started down the tunnel. "I don't know who will be more a danger to the team—Eliza or me." She ground her teeth. What they were planning to do—well, they had no plan, and little hope.

"Leg-up," James whispered.

"What?" Noa said.

"In equestrian circles, we call that lift a 'leg-up.'"

"You were in equestrian circles?" Noa asked.

"I just remembered, I used to play polo."

Noa stopped in a slanting beam of sunlight coming through a grate above their heads. She had to throw a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud at the completely random statement. Biting said hand to stifle the chortle, she looked up at James. He raised an eyebrow and whispered, "I am glad you find that amusing."

"Rich much?" she asked, resuming her path down the tunnel. Horses—polo—enormous off-world country "cottage"?

James looked heavenward.

"Should I have told Ghost we could have given him double his money on arrival at Sol Station?" Noa chided in a hushed voice.

James stopped short. His jaw twitched—as it did when she expected a smile or a frown. "No... I... since the accident, I am not sure... "

Noa's smile dropped. "The augments... your family... " Enhanced sight, his appearance, his strength—James's augments were state of the art. "They spent it all on you."

James looked at the ground. "I think maybe... "

Noa put her hand on his arm. "Hey, at least you're here."

James looked up at her. Raising both brows, he looked pointedly down at the puddled water beneath their feet and then up at her. "Joy," he said.

And Noa had to bite back her laughter again. As they continued down the tunnel, her eyes slid to James. She could just barely see him in the dim tunnel. He carried the backpack swung over one shoulder. She trusted him implicitly with the burden. He could have left her behind long ago—but he hadn't. And he wasn't Fleet, or Luddeccean, but of all the off-worlder civilians to be stuck with, well, she could have done much worse. And he had that dry wit of his. She smiled to herself.

"What?" James whispered.

They had too many serious moments ahead of them. She wasn't about to let the ball of levity drop in this moment of calm. Alluding to a silly tee-vee show from the United States in the 1970s, Noa whispered, "The six-million credit man."

James didn't smile, of course. But she knew he found it funny, when, in a perfect imitation of the strange sound effects of the show, he said, "Sprrrrrooooooyoooyoooinnnngggg."

"Ghost's not answering," Noa whispered. She was hanging on a rusty ladder about a meter from James's head, rapping on an equally rusty metal hatch. The ladder continued up to a manhole. Sunlight was streaming over Noa, turning her skin to dark orange. Occasionally someone would walk overhead and Noa would press herself to the wall.

"Maybe I can break the lock?" James said, remembering the train.

"Yeah, I think you'll have to," Noa said, giving a tug to the door handle. Dust fell into James's eyes and mouth. He coughed and blinked upward.

Noa was staring at a piece of metal in her hands. The narrow hatch was slightly ajar in front of her. "Okay, that was really rusty," she whispered.

Because it had made her smile before, James made the same sound effect from the 1970s television show. Biting her lip, she gave him a dirty look. "Don't make me laugh—" A shadow passed above her and she pressed her slender frame against the wall. The shadow didn't slow. Noa pulled away from the wall with a sigh that James could barely hear, but could see. And then he saw her mouth drop open and heard her gasp.

"What is it?" James said, his body already dropping into a crouch, preparing to jump up to the ladder.

Dropping her head to face him, Noa put a finger to her lips, and then without explanation, she slid forward through the hatch; it slipped closed behind her with a soft clang.

Above the manhole someone stopped and James jumped back. "A rat down there?" someone said.

"Damn things hitchhike on spaceships all the time," said someone else.

"Not anymore," said another voice. "And good riddance." There was a sound of retreating footsteps. Jumping, James caught the lowest rung of the ladder with ease, and pulled himself up from a dead hang. He reached the hatch, and saw that not just the lock had come off, but a portion of the ancient brick surrounding the door. He didn't reflect on it, just opened the ancient door marked with the seal of a defunct electrical utility. Where there should have been the darkness of Ghost's hideout there was blinding light—and no Noa. Pressing himself to his stomach, he slithered through the narrow space, using his elbows to propel himself forward. He heard the door clang behind him as his head popped out of the narrow access shaft. He gasped. Instead of the unkempt room he remembered, there was brightness, and where the geothermal heater had been was a chrome column four meters wide, burnished so brightly he could see his own reflection and Noa's as she stood to the side of the entrance shaft, craning her neck upward.

"What's going on?" he said, pulling himself out of the shaft.

"I don't know," she whispered. The light was so bright, so natural, that for a moment James was transported to a memory of a church of the New Era with white walls and sunlight streaming through the roof. He lifted his eyes, and saw the ceiling that had been barely above his head before was now vaulted several stories high. Neat metal ducts protruded from the column at regular angles above their heads. He looked down. Below them was wire flooring, and below that he could see machinery that was eerily silent. Turning slowly in place, he saw a podium with gauges set into it, and a keyboard, much like the one on his laptops. He heard Noa's footsteps. Spinning, he found her lifting a hand toward the chrome cylinder. Her hand passed right through. "It's a hologram of the Ark's engine room," she said, her voice hushed. She inclined her head to the chrome column. "That must be a holo of a fission reactor... but I can't figure out what it's projected on."

"Another one of Ghost's creations," James said, reaching out to touch the keyboard. The illusion was so real he saw the shadow of his hand on the keys. When his fingers passed through the holographic keyboard, he almost sighed in dismay.

From around the giant column came Ghost's mutter, "Oh, no, that doesn't sound good at all."

Noa's eyes met James's, her lips parted but she didn't even whisper.

Ghost's voice echoed again. "But then how to fix it? Hmmm... "

Holding out her hands, Noa slowly walked around the chrome column. James quickly fell into step behind her.

They found Ghost with his back to them, staring down at another console, muttering, "That sounds better, but still not good—"

"That's because nothing good ever came out of a holodeck," Noa said, referring to a television show they had watched. She gave a wink to James. He wanted to frown at her. The "holodeck" they were in was ingenious, breathtaking, and deserved some respect.

Ghost spun around, eyes wide, nostrils flared. "I'm impressed your education was sophisticated enough to make that reference, Sato."

Noa shrugged and smiled. "Already preparing to go with us?" Her eyes narrowed. "Maybe you don't have as many options as you said you did?"

The hologram dissipated, and for a moment James could see nothing. His eyes adjusted, and he found himself in the familiar darkness of Ghost's basement. Where the shiny chrome nuclear core had been, there was now the geothermal generator. All of the furniture in the room had been pushed to the side.

Ghost's eyes narrowed. "The Ark is the only one of all my potential escape craft that I don't know like the back of my hand. I was merely educating myself on the peculiarities of its engineering before you returned with my credits."

Lowering her chin, Noa glared at Ghost for all of thirty seconds. He sniffled and wiped the side of his nose.

Jaw tight, she indicated the floor with a tilt of her chin. "James, let's give him the credits."

James dropped the backpack with the credits on the floor.

"The deposit's all there," Noa said.

Ghost looked down at the floor, and then up at Noa. He didn't ask questions about how they acquired the money, or even pick up the backpack, but James thought he saw a light by the side of his head flash in the direction of the credit-laden bag.

"You'll give us access to the population data?" Noa asked.

Lifting his gaze, Ghost said, "Yes." He tapped his head. "It's all in here... "

Noa leaned back, and her lip curled slightly. "I'm not interested in some dirty hard link."

Ghost sniffed. "I wasn't going to suggest it. I was only thinking of the best way to get the most up-to-date data from the Luddeccean main computer to—"

James's neurons fired like fireworks on Unification Day. "Up-to-date data from the main computer—but that would require the ethernet if you're not hard linking into it."

Noa's eyes went wide. "Ghost, if you're using some other sort of remote signal, their amplifiers could catch it."

"It's not like that." He smirked, and his eyes shone. "There is no signal to pick up."

Noa's jaw dropped. "You have some sort of landline—"

Ghost beamed. "No."

James's mind spun, thinking of the holograms that had to be the result of applications of quantum theory, and came up with another conceivable application. "Does it rely on quantum entanglement?" Theoretically, entangled particles could be in the same state in two different places at once, and such states could be measured and used to communicate between one place and anywhere else in the universe.

Noa huffed. "It's not quantum magic."

Ghost's smile dropped. His lip quivered. "No," he said, leveling his gaze at James.

"Then how—" James began.

"I use it all the time and they still haven't found me." Ghost said, beginning to pace. "But how to get the data to you and allow you to sort through it?" His eyes widened. "Oh, the Ark's antiquated interfaces have given me an idea!"

James was blinded by a bright flash of light, but then the light dimmed, and he found Noa and himself facing a semi-transparent wall. Between them were two consoles like the one James and Noa had just seen, complete with keyboards. In front of each, the wall blinked with illuminated text: _Please input search parameters._

"You couldn't have made it voice-activated?" Noa said, looking down at the keypad.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to study the engineering systems of the Ark without interruption," Ghost snapped back.

Noa glared at him but went to the keypad. She pressed down on a key and said, "My finger is hitting empty air."

Waving his hand, Ghost said, "It still registers your input."

Noa slowly plunked out a query and the semi-transparent wall of light began scrolling with names. Noa's eyes went wide. "This works. James, why don't you commit all the sewer, electrical, and service tunnels here in Prime to memory, and streets and alleys, too?"

"Will do," James said. His own mental map was not that complete. He bent to his console, but his eyes went through the wall, now filled with names. Ghost was staring at engineering schematics, similarly projected in the air before him.

Catching his gaze, Ghost said, "I don't just want to upload the schematics to my memory app—I want to commit them to my neurons—and really understand them." He sighed. "I have a feeling it will be a bumpy ride."

James suspected Ghost was right. He nodded at the inventor. Noa might not like or trust him, but James was beginning to respect his intellect. The man flushed slightly, and then his eyes went back to the schematics.

Bending over his console, James typed the request for sewer lines into the air pad, and began committing the results to memory. Beside him, he heard Noa gasp.

Ghost spun around, and James turned to her sharply.

Noa put a hand to her mouth. Eyes wide, she said, "Kenji."

James looked at the light screen. The young man from the holograph was there. He looked considerably older now—older even than Noa. He hadn't taken age suppressors, obviously.

From the other side of the light screen, Ghost sneered. "They gave him my job."

James's eyes slid to the other data besides Kenji's picture. There was his title, "Lead Analyst, Computing Systems," and a home address.

"They didn't arrest him?" Noa said.

"Arrest him?" Ghost said. "He works for them." Inclining his head toward Noa, he said, "He probably turned you in."

Noa's hands fell to her side. "He's my brother!"

Ghost shrugged.

"He didn't turn me in!" Noa said, her voice rising.

Ghost's chin dipped.

"Where's the evidence? Show me the evidence!" Noa demanded, stepping through the wall of light.

Ghost shuffled backward and held up his hands. "I don't... "

"You don't have any!" Noa retorted. "You were always jealous of him! You're not half the genius he is, and you've always been jealous!"

Eyes wide, Ghost took a step back. "I just... "

Noa took a step forward. "You just—"

James caught her shoulder just as her body was bisected by light. "Noa," he whispered, "We still need Ghost's help."

He felt her body rise and fall as she took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and stepped back, not meeting Ghost's eyes.

Ghost harrumphed. "Your brother is a lunatic."

James glared at him. Lip trembling, Ghost turned away. James looked back to Noa. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

# 12

_Noa walked along the promenade of Time Gate 1, hovering in Earth's orbit. The promenade went the circumference of the gate, and was as wide as an eight-hover roadway. A skylight over her head let her see the entirety of the gate. Time Gate 1 was shaped like a ring; her feet were in the direction of its outer rim, her head its inner. The outer rim had twelve "jewels" set into it. From where she stood they looked tiny, but each was as large as a mid-rise building. Each had engines and defensive arrays—although the defensive arrays had never been used in Sol System's gate. These "jewels" were studded with docked ships. She heard a hum and instinctively looked up. The skylights in the inner rim were bisected by giant timefield bands. The bands were glowing now. They looked like liquid lightning, and then the lightning turned to rainbow colors and spread out in an enormous sphere within Time Gate 1's center. It was a breathtaking sight, one that Noa hardly believed could be created by humans. The rainbow sphere disintegrated and the hum died. Where a moment before she had seen the opposite side of the time gate, now there were two large freighters and a number of smaller passenger vehicles. The memory of the bubble bursting stayed etched in her mind. She sent it to Timothy without even blinking her eyes. "Always beautiful," Tim replied from where he was stationed aboard the Sun-Sin, the fighter-carrier that was their home, currently docked for maintenance at moon base._

_"I forgot what gate Kenji's at," Noa said over the ether, dropping her gaze and searching the ethernet for departure information. "How did I not put that in my memo-app?"_

_"A-03," Tim reminded her over the frequency. And then his thoughts gently nudged her. "Shouldn't the Senior Lieutenant of a fighter squadron remember the destination of her mission without having to rely on a memo app?" Noa rolled her eyes and let him feel it. She'd just been promoted to the leader of her squadron aboard the fighter carrier Sun-Sin. Tim was an engineer for the enormous carrier, a position out of her line of command, allowing their relationship to be completely above board. Although she had aspirations for a Captaincy; that rank would complicate things, and for now their situation was perfect. "Don't you have a toilet line leaking near the engine to repair, Lieutenant?" she teased right back._

_"Ha, ha... but yes, I have to report to duty in three minutes and fifty-six seconds. I better sign-off. Enjoy your leave with your brother, and don't get into any trouble—I know that's hard for you."_

_"You stay out of trouble," Noa responded, mostly to keep him on the line._

_"Yeah, I'll be sure to put up the out-of-order signs." Because she knew Tim, she could "hear" the dry humor in his "voice" and feel his annoyance with the task in her bones. "Love you," he said, and then their connection shut down. Noa stopped on the promenade. For the first time, she saw the crowds swirling around her... and for the first time, she felt alone even though she could see Kenji now, sitting at his gate, eyes glued to an e-reader. He wore funny little old-fashioned glasses. Lately, he didn't want anyone "messing with his eyes." In her mind she felt the tickle of messages piling up, and a restaurant she passed on the concourse sent a little ping to her personal line, trying to get her attention and remind her that they had the best won-ton mein off-planet. Ignoring all of it, she strode over to Kenji. Although she made no effort to hide her approach, he didn't look up until she leaned over and said, "Hey, Little Brother!" He visibly jumped in his seat._

_Grinning, Noa teased him. "If you were connected to the ethernet, you could have set your app to let you know when I approached."_

_Dropping his gaze back to his e-reader, Kenji said, "Or you could have just said hello before you were standing right over me." Adjusting the fragile-looking lenses in front of his eyes, he muttered, "Technology kills human decency."_

_Noa sat down beside him. "Giving you warning wouldn't be any fun."_

_To her relief, instead of becoming defensive, Kenji gave a sort of clumsy half-smile. "Sisters."_

_Smiling at him, Noa said, "Brothers."_

_Kenji's long fingers drifted down the side of his e-reader. "Go on," Kenji said. "Tell me what an idiot I'm being, leaving the firm and going back to Luddeccea."_

_Noa bit the inside of her lip. "Sounds like everyone else already has." And she agreed with them. He'd wound up disappointed with his job at the university. Politics at the academic level were the most bitter because the stakes were so low, her father always said. But then Kenji's love of numbers and abstract mathematical theorems had gotten him a position in a prestigious firm that specialized in extraterrestrial arbitrage. He could have advanced as high as he wanted if he just worked for it. On Luddeccea, as a member of the Fourth Family settler class, he'd hit a glass ceiling._

_Apparently mistaking her answer for approval, Kenji glanced over at her. "I'm glad someone understands."_

_Noa felt her gut constrict. She was naturally honest, but she also loved her brother. She didn't want their last meeting before he headed home to end in a fight._

_Looking away, he shook his head. "I've just had enough of this place." A cleaning 'bot whirred by, and he drew back as though from a bad smell. "I thought technology would make us better, but it just takes away our dignity."_

_Noa couldn't restrain herself. "You'd rather be cleaning floors than playing with mathematical theorems?"_

_Kenji pushed the delicate lenses up his nose. "Maybe the person who was good at floor cleaning would rather be doing it."_

_"Or maybe they'd rather just enjoy their dole," said Noa, "and writing bad poetry, or whatever they do for self-fulfillment."_

_Kenji frowned. "We clutter our minds with so much data, we've lost the ability to think critically about what we actually know; and we've lost a connection with our spiritual selves in an avalanche of electronic stimuli... the dole isn't worth that."_

_Noa groaned. That was language straight from Luddeccean philosophy._

_Kenji's shoulders sank. He looked away. "Noa... I know you don't believe in things like that but... being here, being constantly inundated with everything... it makes me feel lonely." His shoulders rose and fell. "I know it's supposed to make us feel connected, but it doesn't make me feel that way; it just makes me feel like another cog."_

_Pushing up his glasses again, he said, "Working on Luddeccea, I'll be doing meaningful work on our time gate, improving its systems. It's so old... "_

_Noa tilted her head. All the time gates were old and needed repairs directed by a human mind. The gates were programmed to repair themselves, but over the years some of the repairs no longer made sense. She looked around. The commercial sections of the time gates were always kept sleek and clean; but station staff complained that the living quarters sections had "roads to nowhere," hallways built for 'bot access that were no longer used, and huge rooms of computer servers that hummed with power—but whose exact functions were no longer known. She couldn't deny that it was work that needed to be done. And unlike extraterrestrial arbitrage, people would actually see the benefit of it. Nebulas, if Luddeccea's gate broke down and there was a famine..._

_She put her hand on Kenji's. "You're right, it is important work. And I'm proud of you for following your heart."_

_Kenji lifted his chin._

_"And you have experience with the local culture, unlike most programmers who won't get on too well with the Luddeccean First Families," Noa added, her lip curling a little in disgust._

_For a moment Kenji's smile faded._

_Squeezing his hand, Noa said, "I'm proud of you, Little Brother." He smiled back. Swooping in for a hug, Noa said, "And I love you."_

_Over a loudspeaker, an announcer called boarding for his flight._

_"That's me," Kenji said, pulling away from her embrace._

_Noa blinked. He had tears in his eyes. He stood up hurriedly, and Noa stood with him. Grabbing her hand, Kenji said, "I think you're the only person who understands me." Looking down at her hand, he said, "I love you too, Noa."_

_And then before she could reply, he pulled his hand away, and she was staring at the back of his head as he headed for the boarding tunnel._

Noa crossed her arms and bowed her head in Ghost's dreary basement. Kenji loved her—he would never hurt her—and as much as he respected some aspects of Luddeccean philosophy, he had to know it was out of control. Somehow they'd tricked him into serving them, and as for her being missing... well, maybe they'd made up a horrible story about her dying, or told him that the vid message she'd sent from the ancient Luddeccean vid booth was from off-system, or a computer simulation... or... there were hundreds of things they could have told him. And maybe he went along with it because he believed them, or because he was afraid.

"Noa?" said James.

Noa jumped at his voice—she smiled wanly in his direction without really seeing him. Her mind was focused on the memory of Kenji at Time Gate 1, hazy with the distortion of time, saying he loved her.

Her memory might be dim, but one thing was crystal clear. She still had to save her brother.

James's laptop was balanced on his knees. The hard line connected between his port and the machine kept getting in the way of his fingers, making his skin buzz with irritation.

"This screen is too small," Noa complained, sitting beside James on Eliza's living room couch. They were in the safe room. 6T9 was seated nearby, in the process of rebooting. The hologlobe showed that Luddeccean guardsmen were still upstairs in Eliza's kitchen drinking milk and eating cookies.

Noa had been quiet the whole trip back. Granted, when they'd crept out of the sewer near Eliza's house and slipped into the boot of Eliza's hover in broad daylight, silence had been a necessity. And then after Eliza nearly plowed said hover into the side of her home and a Luddeccean Guardsman had helped the old woman navigate into her rooftop garage, silence had been even more necessary. They'd just had enough time to exit the boot and run down to the safe room before the whole patrol had showed up at Eliza's door, making sure she was okay. Of course Eliza had felt compelled to offer the Guard milk and cookies.

"Can you enlarge this small section?" Noa said, pointing to a portion of the screen displaying the electrical network.

They were reviewing the electrical lines and sewer system of the city. Noa wanted to plan a "distraction" to draw the patrols away while they stole the Ark. They could have done this on Ghost's light screens, but Noa didn't trust Ghost, and insisted they keep their plans secret from him until the last possible moment.

Reaching forward, James got his hand caught in the cord, and the plug popped out of the socket. The screen went dark. He felt his neurons go black in frustration. James's eyes slid down to the cord. "Noa," he said, holding up the end of the wire. "There is a faster and easier way to do this."

Noa leaned back in her seat. She looked away.

"I know you are still troubled about your brother. You don't have to worry about hiding it," James said. He'd had the odd errant thought about Noa—what if one slipped? He felt something within him alight with certainty. He could hide thoughts, couldn't he? He was sure he could, but how did he know he could? His head ticked.

"You're right." Beside him, Noa cast a furtive gaze in his direction. Rubbing her temples, she said, "It would be faster and I need it in my data banks as well."

For once James was glad his face showed little emotion. It occurred to him that he was curious about what errant thoughts Noa might have about him, and he was glad that curiosity couldn't show in his expression.

"Give it here," Noa said.

James handed her the cable. Looking at it, Noa sighed, and then plugged it into her port. Her dark eyes briefly met his. No words passed over the link, but an emotion coalesced in the depths of Noa's limbic system, a surge of neural activity that James's mind had no difficulty in interpreting. There was something about looking at him that repelled her.

Noa hadn't hard linked with anyone since Timothy and looking at his doppelgänger was strange, and disquieting, and she wanted to pull away. The feeling rose in her before all her apps were up, and it raced at the speed of electrons to James's mind. She expected to feel something from him, shock at least—the emotion was not flattering, and sometimes she got the feeling James was at least superficially attracted to her. She was still too scrawny, but she was experienced enough to realize that for some people opportunity and proximity were three-quarters of attraction. They'd had a lot of proximity in the past few days, and he'd been more physically demonstrative than he needed to be. Before she could even say, "I'm sorry," aloud or with her thoughts, he said in her mind, "Let's review the plans, then."

Maybe he hadn't felt it? Perhaps the shielding had been adequate after all? He turned his head so he was facing away and touched the air. The engineering plans seemingly flickered to life in front of their noses, but actually it was just an illusion transmitted directly to their visual cortexes. If 6T9 were to awaken, he wouldn't see what they were pointing at.

She had too much to do right now. Worrying over hurting James's feelings was not what she needed. In Ghost's basement she'd memorized all the Fleet personnel that were planet side. She wasn't sure whom to approach first... if they believed in the "alien" invasion, if they believed she was a sympathizer, even a member of the Fleet might betray her. Hell, they'd be more likely to betray her. If they believed she was a danger to the planet, they'd turn her in, not for a reward, but out of duty. And then there was still the matter of how she would save Kenji.

First things first. Her jaw hardened, and she set her memo-apps to work. She began saving the schematics for the sewer lines and electrical grid to her mind, as well as a recent map of the city. She'd just completed those tasks when 6T9, apparently done rebooting, piped up, "Oh, fun! Do you have a three-way link?"

"We're done," said James, too quickly.

He pulled the hard link from his own neural port without warning. Noa leaned back slightly. He had felt her repulsion, she knew it, that was why he was pulling out of the link so quickly. But she hadn't felt his recognition of her emotion—or anything personal at all, which meant he had better shielding than her. Which was very strange. Fleet mental shielding was designed to resist torture. That he had something that might even be better...

"Oh, how sad," said 6T9. "Eliza would have found it so titillating."

"Yep, we're done," said Noa. She looked at the hologlobe. "And the Guards upstairs are done, too. Let's go up." The small safe room suddenly felt cramped.

6T9 pulled down the ladder and they made their way into the kitchen. Eliza was there sipping a cup of tea, reading a strange grayish pamphlet thing that was nearly as wide as the table. The front had Noa's picture on it and was captioned in big, black letters, "Alien sympathizer still at large."

Before Noa could ask any questions about their visit, James said, "Is that a newspaper?"

Eliza blinked up at him. "Why yes, it is. It's how they keep us in line."

6T9 went over to Eliza, but before he reached her, Eliza flipped the paper over so he couldn't see Noa's picture. Instead there was a picture of a happily-smiling family with black polybolts in their data ports and a headline that read, "Permanent Data Port Deactivation Gives Luddecceans Peace of Mind," and beneath that in smaller letters, "Luddeccean Premier makes it free—council discussing making it mandatory." Noa's stomach did an uncomfortable flip-flop. She hadn't seen any civilians with their ports jammed, but that day was coming.

Paying no attention to the newspaper, 6T9 went directly to Eliza and looked into her eyes, as though trying to see evidence of a concussion. "Eliza, are you having a moment of confusion? The stated purpose of the Prime Tribune is to keep the populace informed."

"I remember that is what they say," said Eliza. "Don't worry."

"Oh," said 6T9. He kissed her head and straightened with a smile. "I won't worry, if you say so." With that, he began clearing the plates away from the table. Eliza sighed.

James went and read over her shoulder. "I extracted a newspaper from the 2000s from a garbage heap on Earth. Is this published daily?"

"Yes," said Eliza.

"How interesting... they are reprising this technology," James said, sounding not unlike the professor he claimed to be.

Clenching her fists, Noa checked herself. Was. He _was_ a professor. "So they're taking us back to the 2000s level of technology," Noa muttered, partly to stamp those suspicious thoughts out of her mind. "Great."

James looked up at her. "More like the 1950s level of technology."

Noa felt a cold coil of dread in her gut... not that an extra fifty years of backwardness should matter so much. Keeping her fear out of her voice, she quipped, "Even better. Anything in that paper that might be useful?"

"They know you're in the city," said Eliza, eyes scanning the pages. "They're imposing a curfew at sundown."

"Well, at least we know they know," said Noa, walking over to the table. She said, "Anything else?"

"The daughter of one of the first colonists just died," said Eliza. "Do you remember her, Noa? She came to your elementary school and told you all what it was like to be a little girl at the time of the first colonization."

Noa looked over Eliza's shoulder. In slightly smudged ink there was a picture of a woman who looked even more ancient than Eliza. "Up until a few years ago," Eliza said, "Grace Lao took nano treatments like me. But lately she's been returning to her Christian faith and the Luddeccean philosophy... she decided she didn't believe in the treatments anymore, they were vanity and against the will of God. She died from a faulty heart valve... could have been replaced so easily, even at her age." She snorted. "Even at my age." Eliza's eyes narrowed. "Not able to reproduce and no longer of any use."

From where he was scraping dishes, 6T9 piped up, "She still could have practiced!" Eliza tittered at that, but Noa's eyes were riveted to the page. Beneath Grace's obituary, were more... and she said, "I recognize one of the names." She closed her eyes. Her hand went to her stomach.

"Who?" said Eliza.

"Manuel," said Noa. "Oliver Manuel."

"He was only eighteen months old... " said Eliza.

"I knew his parents," Noa rubbed her eyes and began pulling their address up in her mind. The location gave her a start; it was worth risking Eliza's driving for. "Eliza, get ready to fly your hover. We'll go offer our condolences to his parents."

Eliza looked at her watch. "Noa, there will be a curfew tonight; we won't make it back in time."

Noa looked down at the picture of Oliver Manuel. "They'll help us," she whispered. "And if they don't help us, no one will."

And no one else lived as close to her little brother.

James was flat on his stomach in the boot of Eliza's hover. Noa was beside him, and 6T9 on the far side of her. The back seat was pushed down so they could stretch. Eliza was driving, Carl Sagan hopping on and off her lap. If Eliza was stopped, they could pull the seat back up quickly and curl into fetal position and in Noa's words, "Pray they don't search the vehicle."

"This thing itches," Noa said, scratching at the base of a pink wig Eliza had loaned her. Eliza had also loaned both of them her makeup. The tan liquids and powders made James look darker and Noa look lighter, and both of them look pasty and unnatural, but they were going to need to get out of the hover at the Manuels' residence, and were bound to be seen.

"How are you not itching?" Noa demanded, turning her head in his direction.

James touched the blue wig he wore self-consciously. "It's no different than wearing a hat."

"It is a lot different than wearing a hat," Noa protested. "It feels like I'm wearing a hot, tight helmet filled with fleas!"

"We could be doing much more exciting things with our bodies in this tight confined space than tear at your wigs," 6T9 said, without any apparent segue.

Rolling onto her stomach, and in the process, closer to James, Noa shouted at Eliza, "He just touched my ass! Did you not turn off his flirt app?"

"I may have forgotten," said Eliza. "I like him flirty, and the pink wig may be confusing him. His processor is old."

Noa slid even closer to James, the full length of her side pressing against his. He was less repellent than a sex 'bot. He wasn't precisely relieved.

"6T9," snapped Noa. "It's me, not Eliza, keep your hands off."

"Oh, it is you, Noa," James heard 6T9 say. "I'm finding the strange locale, the wig, and the makeup confusing."

"How can you get me confused with Eliza when she's right there, in the front seat?" Noa said.

6T9's skull started making a beeping sound.

"Don't overload his circuits, Noa!" Eliza snapped, turning her head in their direction.

"Keep your eyes on the sky!" James and Noa screamed in unison.

"Turn your eyes on me anytime you want, my darling," said 6T9.

Eliza blew him kisses, and the frantic beeping from 6T9's skull stopped.

"Oh, Lord, if we succeed, we'll have this day in, day out," Noa said, slapping a hand over her face. The hover stopped abruptly and Noa, James, and 6T9 nearly flew into the front seats.

"That hover came out of nowhere," Eliza said.

Noa sighed. When the craft resumed its journey, she nudged James with an elbow. "You've been unusually quiet."

He tried to think of a witty reply, and couldn't.

"Aren't you going to tell me how ridiculous my plan is?" Noa asked him.

"I have already stated my objections to your so-called plan," James said. Noa intended to show up at the Manuels' door without giving them any prior notice. James believed it would be better to approach them incrementally—send Eliza over, have her gently probe and see if they were dissatisfied enough with the administration to leave. Noa had agreed with him, but then said they didn't have time, and that had been the end of it.

"You never listen to my objections," James commented.

"I listen, I take them into account. I just never agree," said Noa.

James stared up at the roof of the craft. What was he doing here? His vision darkened. He'd failed. Failed at what? His head ticked rapidly three times to the side.

"Hey," Noa whispered. "You okay?"

The compulsive movement ceased. James lay mute for a moment. The proper response was, _I'm wanted by fundamentalist Luddeccean lunatics, stuffed in the boot of a hover with another Luddeccean lunatic and a sex 'bot being driven by someone who isn't fit to park it in a garage. Of course I am not okay._ He felt as though his consciousness was condensing again. It was so cold in the hover. Did Eliza really need the air at full blast? But all he said was, "I'm hungry." As he said the words, he realized they were true, and his vision was getting fuzzy at the edges again.

Noa's brow furrowed. "You just ate... "

He shook his head in annoyance. "I was there, I remember."

"We're here!" 6T9 shouted.

The hover started wavering wildly, and Noa and James slid across the floor toward 6T9. "Just let me land this thing!" Eliza shouted.

Noa put her head under her arms in a crash position. The craft lurched sideways, and James rapidly assumed the same pose. 6T9 crooned, "Darling, you drive like you're in the Mars Rally 6000."

The Mars Rally 6000 was a demolition rally. James blinked beneath his arms. "Well, he isn't wrong."

Noa huffed in what sounded like a laugh, but then the hover hit ground, bounced, and bounced again and all James could hear was Noa's and his teeth rattling, 6T9's head bouncing, and a frantic-sounding squeak from Carl Sagan. James thought the worst was over when Eliza cut the engines, but then the hover settled down before the risers could engage. Metal screeched against metal. James felt as though his eardrums and the auditory regions of his brain were burning with agitation.

He barely had time to catch his breath or for his frantic nanos and neurons to cool before Noa said, "Let's go," and slipped over to open the side hatch. Mercifully warm air from outdoors flooded the hover.

James considered just lying on the floor with his head down.

"James, are you alright?" 6T9 said, scooting closer. "If you were injured during the landing, I give excellent back massages." James hastily scrambled to his knees and crawled out of the side hatch after Noa, Carl Sagan hot on his heels. Noa was already at the door to the Manuels' residence, hand on a brass knocker. The building was a two-story white stucco townhome with red tiles. It and its identical neighbors had covered balconies on both levels to shield the windows from the equatorial sun. Beneath the sheltered stoop, the light at the corner of the porch was already on; its blue-white glow made Noa's pink wig appear almost lavender. James reached her just as she let the knocker fall. She stood facing straight ahead, back straight, eyes on the door's peephole. James looked around, surveying the surroundings. The Manuels' home was on a cul-de-sac, set off of a narrow street. All the townhomes on the cul-de-sac and street had narrow front lawns with palm-like trees near the street, and neat sidewalks paved with recycled glass of various colors. Each had a short driveway in the front; Eliza had managed to land her hover squarely at the center of the Manuels'.

James tilted his head, listening—the sun was close to setting and the nocturnal pterys were starting to sing their songs. A rustling in the ferns close to the house made him turn sharply—just in time to see a white cat dart across the street. At Noa's feet, Carl Sagan stood up on his back four legs and hissed at it. Other than himself and Noa, he saw no humans outside, but he did see a few children's toys left on the lawns. There were none in front of the Manuels' house, he noted. Noa had promised that the Manuels would help them. Their son had been born with a faulty heart that had had to be replaced regularly with artificial devices as the boy grew. Noa was certain the Luddeccean philosophy had managed to kill the boy.

"Can you hear if anyone's home, James?" Noa muttered. She scratched at the base of her pink wig, and then adjusted the dark glasses she wore.

James turned his attention to the door and tried to focus. The ptery's cries seemed to increase in volume, the cat that he knew was four meters away sounded as though it was just a few steps behind him, and the sound of Eliza being helped out of the hover by 6T9 was deafening. His head jerked to the side, and those extraneous sounds faded. Behind the door he heard the very faint sound of breathing.

"Someone is home," he said.

Noa looked around. Turning back to the door, she took off her glasses, spit on her fingers, and rubbed a long stripe across her cheek.

Behind the door, James heard a gasp. And then a soft voice. "It's—Commander Noa Sato. Go quickly!"

He heard feet racing from the door inside the house. And then he heard the sound of marching boots. In the cul-de-sac he couldn't see anyone, but he estimated they couldn't be more than 400 meters away. There were no gaps between the houses; the ferns were too small.

"Patrol on the way," Noa said, evidently hearing it, too.

The door swung inward just as the words were out of her mouth. A man stood there. He was of indeterminable ethnicity: brown skin, dark brown hair, light brown eyes and medium build, which was to say, normal. What wasn't normal was the flare of his nostrils, and the sweat on his brow in the cool night air. Carl Sagan darted between his feet and into the house. The man didn't appear to notice. He stared at Noa open-mouthed, and then his eyes swept to James, 6T9, and Eliza.

"Lieutenant Manuel—" Noa began softly.

The man waved them inside, whispering, "It's almost curfew."

Noa and James immediately entered, and Eliza and 6T9 followed. Just before they crossed the threshold, 6T9 swept the old woman into his arms and cooed, "Milady."

"Hurry, darling!" said Eliza, for once not giggling at his flirtations. Thankfully, 6T9 didn't argue—but the Lieutenant looked at him in alarm. A moment later, he shook his head and darted outside the house, slamming the door behind him. Outside, James heard the troopers turn into the cul-de-sac.

# 13

"Manuel?" said Noa as the door slammed behind her. She shivered, and not just because the Manuels seemed to have set the air conditioning too high. James grabbed her arm and pulled her back. From outside the house she heard the sound of breaking glass, and the slightest band of blue-white light peeking through the curtains disappeared. She heard loud footsteps over the sound of her heart, and almost immediately heard a Guardsman say, "You there, what are you doing? It's past curfew!"

Inside, a woman's voice whispered, "Grandmother, are you injured?"

"I'm fine," Eliza whispered back.

Beyond the door, Noa heard Manuel say, "My porch light was blinking... broke the damn thing trying to replace it."

The Guard's voice went from accusing to solicitous. "Do you need help?"

"Yeah, that would be great."

A second later, yellow light broke between the cracks in the curtain. The Guard said, "There you go. Just to follow procedure, may I see your identification?"

"Of course," said Manuel.

"This way, all of you," the woman whispered. Noa turned and saw a slender woman with long straight hair who must be Dr. Hisha Manuel. She was leading 6T9 to what looked like a small cluttered kitchen.

As he entered the kitchen just behind Noa, James muttered dryly, "I hope that they don't invite the Guard in for milk and cookies." Noa gave him a sidelong smile, but he was looking away from her.

"That would be crazy," the woman whispered.

"Crazy like a fox," said Eliza.

6T9 growled. "My silver fox."

Hisha dropped her hand from the 'bot's arm. "You're not her grandson?" Hisha asked in a cautious voice.

Gently setting Eliza down by a chair, 6T9 said cheerfully, "No, I am her personal cybernetic consort."

The hand that hadn't been on 6T9's arm fluttered to Hisha's chest. She looked between Noa, James, 6T9, and Eliza, swallowing audibly. The woman sidled to the sink. "My husband will be back in just a moment, Commander." Looking away from Noa, she washed her hands in the sink—concentrating on the hand that had touched 6T9... which... sadly, Noa sort of understood. Touching a walking, talking, sex toy was a little disquieting, although she knew intellectually sex 'bots were programmed to practice scrupulous hygiene. Her eyes flitted to the 'bot. He didn't seem to have noticed the slight. Despite herself, Noa still felt for him. Which was why 'bots were so dangerous. Worrying about 'bots distracted people from worrying about their fellow humans.

The front door slammed, and Noa breathed out a sigh of relief when she heard only Manuel's footsteps hurriedly coming down the hall. Standing straighter, Noa stepped forward. "I'm sorry about your loss," she said, before anything else. Manuel raised his chin. When Tim had died, Noa had felt empty... afloat. Manuel looked angry, and something else; she couldn't put her finger on it.

The engineer hadn't changed much in the past few years. His hair had gone gray at the temples. It was longer, too. She noted it flopped over the spot where his neural interface was. He was sporting about three days' worth of stubble; but he was still in decent shape, as was his wife, who was a doctor. She could be useful. And they would be motivated to help her... if Noa had correctly surmised the reason for their son's death.

"You have a plan, Commander?" Manuel said.

"I have a plan to summon the Fleet," Noa replied.

Smiling tightly, he said, "Commander, I hoped that you were coming to say they were on their way... that maybe by some miracle they were already on the edge of our system's space."

"No," said Noa. "We have to go get them."

Manuel's eyes slipped to 6T9 and back to Noa. "Who is 'we'?"

Noa didn't flinch. "So far, only the people you see in this room—"

" —and the 'bot," added Eliza hastily.

6T9 looked at Eliza. "Why are we summoning the Fleet?"

"6T9," said Eliza. "Please shut down for now."

"Yes, ma'am," the 'bot said. He abruptly went silent; he'd been producing a barely audible hum, Noa realized. His eyes went dark.

Manuel looked at Noa, his forehead written with lines of concern. And then he took Hisha's hand. They looked at each other; and, before Noa could say another word, Manuel said, "We're in."

"We'll do anything," Hisha said. There was desperation in her voice, not anger. To Noa it seemed too fast, too easy, and that didn't feel right. But, if Manuel was going to turn them in, he would have done so already. Wouldn't he? Noa's eyes sought James's, but he was looking at the ceiling. Her hands clenched at her sides. She wanted the Manuels' help too much, but for the wrong reasons. Kenji was so close... the map of the city flashed in her visual cortex... if she could only get a chance to see him...

James said, "There's someone upstairs," and Noa snapped from her reverie.

"A cat!" said Hisha.

Noa's shoulders relaxed, but then James said, "You are lying." He stepped quickly to Noa's side, but kept his eyes on the Manuels. She felt a warmth rising in her chest that she hadn't felt since she'd returned to her home planet—trust—the kind of trust that only happened between comrades-at-arms.

Dipping her chin, Noa demanded, "What are you hiding?" An elaborate ruse to find out what her end game was?

It was Manuel's turn to hold up his hands. She saw his Adam's apple bob. "My son."

Eliza gasped, and Noa rolled back on her feet. James tilted his head. "But the obituary... "

"False," said Manuel.

"But the body... " Noa said.

Hisha spoke. "It was an animatronic—a 'bot someone had commissioned when their child died. I knew about it. They're illegal now so I begged it off them and then faked a death certificate. Some of my patients had their augmented children taken away, or they just vanished. Oliver would have been next."

Manuel took a step toward Noa. "Do you understand now, why we'll do anything?" A baby's cry from upstairs mournfully punctuated the question. Noa's heart sank.

James paced through the house, listening for sounds outside, and occasionally peeked through the blinds. Since their arrival, he hadn't seen nor heard more than a cat. He also listened as Noa related her plans to Manuel. Afterward, he heard Manuel say, "Dan Chow... don't trust him; but you're right, he needs to leave. Since he built the system that controls the ground defenses, he's probably the best bet to shut them down. Still, you have the Local Guard to deal with. You need weapons... "

"I was hoping you could help with that," said Noa.

"And," continued Manuel, "you need more than an electrical transformer station explosion to keep the Luddeccean Guard at bay while you steal the Ark." A transformer explosion was an idea James and Noa had floated to distract the Guard.

James padded back to the kitchen and found Noa sitting at the table with the engineer and Eliza. Eliza had fallen asleep in her seat. She was leaning against 6T9. The 'bot was standing beside her, hand on her slumped shoulder. 6T9 was in an energy-conserving "sleep mode." Although he was upright, his eyes were dull and dry instead of shiny and wet. James hadn't realized how much that contributed to a life-like appearance. 6T9 was also mercifully silent.

Noa inhaled sharply. Leaning on her elbows, she said, "I know, but I don't have a better idea."

"I do," Manuel responded.

Noa sat back in her seat. "What do you have in mind?"

From the front room James heard the sound of Hisha's footsteps on the stairs.

"Protests," said Manuel. "Some of us have been planning them even before Time Gate 8 was destroyed. I can organize a 'spontaneous' show of civil disobedience within days." He waved a hand. "And we have access to weapons and explosives for those of us who will be aboard the Ark."

"We need more engineers for the Ark," Noa said. "A ship that size will need a crew. I've got a list of Fleet personnel in my data banks, but I don't know whom to trust."

Manuel nodded quickly. "I can find you a crew."

At that moment, Hisha walked into the room with a child clutched in her arms. He appeared to be sleeping, his head pressed to her shoulder.

"He's beautiful," Noa said, although the child's thick, fleshy face was distorted by its own weight, and one of his sagging arms was visibly cybernetic as well—plastic and steel that the Manuels hadn't bothered to cover with synth-skin. His 'beauty' was subjective, James decided. He had a hazy memory of saying such things himself in the past. But he also remembered confiding in a friend that he didn't want children because they were a "burden," "expensive," and "drooling pools of disease."

Manuel slid out a chair, and Hisha's body sagged into it, giving credence to James's observation about children being a burden. The woman twisted her body, and James could see a dark wet stain of drool on her shoulder, giving credence to that observation as well. Manuel cleared his throat. "And my wife, she doesn't have combat experience, but she would be useful aboard the Ark... "

Noa was silent.

"I'm not afraid," Hisha said quickly, her eyes getting wide. "I... would do anything... For my child, I would even kill."

Noa looked back and forth between the couple. Her lips flattened.

"You just... you have to let us bring him," said Manuel. "You can't make it to the Ark without our help. You don't know which members of the veteran's community have fallen for the Luddeccean philosophy, you don't know whom you can trust. I do. And you know you can trust me—" He looked at his wife, rubbed his chin, and looked back to Noa. "You can trust us."

Noa's chair screeched against the floor as she scooted backward. "No. Manuel, I can't take the three of you... " Her eyes fell on the sleeping child and up to Hisha. Her lips thinned, and she turned back to the Lieutenant. "Manuel, I'll take you, yes... " She looked back at Hisha. "But Hisha, you and Oliver have to stay here; you don't want to bring your child into this."

"I have to get him off the planet," said Hisha, clutching the child tighter, the pitch of her voice noticeably higher. "His heart will have to be replaced in a few months! It won't be big enough for him for very long—he's growing so fast."

Voice tremulous, Manuel added, "I know, best case scenario you can get to the gate in the cloud in two Luddeccean months, but who knows how long it could take for the Fleet to plan a campaign after that? It will get caught up in bureaucracy."

Noa's voice was soft as she replied. "You know that, when we commandeer the Ark it's going to be bloody. If something happens to your son during the firefight, you won't be able to focus on anything else." Rubbing her temple, she sighed audibly. "A child will disrupt everyone's focus."

"I'll sedate him," Hisha said.

"That isn't what I mean," said Noa.

James's brow rose, not sure what she did mean.

"Hisha," Noa implored, "Please stay here, for your child's sake."

"We won't have anything to remain here for, if Oliver dies," Hisha said. "And he will die if he stays here. We know that... we will stick with the mission... even if... " She swallowed.

Noa put her hand down too heavily on the table. She released a long breath. "I don't like it," Noa ground out, leaning back in her chair.

James looked between the couple and Noa, weighing their arguments. Stepping closer to Noa, he said, "We don't have time to find another engineer... and finding a doctor was pure luck."

Noa looked up at him sharply.

"Each time we contact someone, Noa, we put ourselves at risk for being turned in. We are better off accepting their help and the risk to their child." He waved his hand at Oliver, still asleep on his mother's shoulder.

Noa crossed her arms. "The risk to bring the child on the ship—and then, once he's aboard—"

James shrugged. "If your objection is based on the risk to the child, there is no argument. He _may_ die trying to escape; he _will_ die if he stays here."

He heard Hisha gulp at his words, and Manuel shifted in his chair.

"I'm not just worried about the risk to the child," Noa snapped. "I'm worried that the child may endanger the entire crew."

James looked at the baby. His small cybernetic hand clenched in his sleep.

"Please," said Hisha. "We'll work hard. We won't let ourselves be distracted."

"Of course you'll be distracted!" Noa said.

Oliver stirred in his sleep, and Hisha shushed him. Eliza sank lower against 6T9's thigh. A whirring noise came from the 'bot's chest for a few moments and then went silent.

Noa sighed. She cradled her elbow with one hand, and massaged her temple with the other. For three heavy minutes the only sound was Hisha patting Oliver's back.

"He can come," Noa said at last.

"You won't regret it," Hisha said.

Noa's jaw tightened. "I do already."

With his hyper-augmented hearing, James picked up a thud above, and then another. Dropping his hand to Noa's shoulder, he exclaimed, "Someone is on the roof!"

Manuel cleared his throat. "Those are members of the opposition movement. I summoned them when you first arrived with the change in light bulb."

Noa looked at him sharply. "Military?"

Smiling tightly, Manuel said, "Not even close. Kids. None over twenty-five. It would be better if you hid in another room."

"You don't trust them?" said James, feeling alarm flare in his mind.

Standing from the table, Manuel said, "I trust them to cause unrest. I don't trust them to hold their tongues if they are arrested." He looked at Noa. "The less they know about you—"

"—the better," Noa said, standing. She looked at Manuel. "They traveled across the roofs?"

Manuel shrugged. "It's the easiest, safest way. Even the sewers are being patrolled now."

"Huh," said Noa, her eyes narrowing slightly. "How far does the rooftop highway go?"

"About a quarter mile," said Manuel.

Noa didn't reply, but the barest hint of a smile crossed her lips. James felt his neurons alight with alarm.

Noa snapped toward 6T9. "Wake up, 'bot, we're moving out." James could no longer see her face, but he could hear that same ghost of a smile in her voice.

"James, can you hear them?" Noa whispered.

They were so close that he could feel her breath against his cheek. Both of them were sitting next to the door to the bedroom they were hiding in, listening to the "opposition meeting" going on below. He could hear every chair squeak, every elbow on the table, and next to him he could hear Noa's breathing, faint and raspy. Across the room, on a bed, he could hear Eliza snoring softly, with 6T9 sitting beside her in hibernation mode.

"Yes," he said. "I can hear them very well."

Noa took a long breath. Again James heard a slight rasp. She'd started breathing heavily when they came up the stairs.

"Hard link with me, James," Noa said. "I want to hear, too."

For a moment, James sat motionless. The memory of her revulsion still stung. Below them the opposition members greeted each other. He heard hands clasping, and what he was fairly certain was backs being thumped.

"I'm sorry about last time," she said, averting her gaze. "You... reminded me of someone. It's... strange. I'll keep a better handle on it this time."

James wanted to ask who, and then he realized he probably knew. The mysterious Timothy. He remembered her darting up and away from him when they'd been huddled in his parents' cottage after he'd asked her who Timothy was. He nodded at her and retrieved the hard link, nestled next to his laptop in a small bag.

A moment later, opposite ends of the port were in each of their data drives. For a fleeting instant, Noa was unguarded. For less than a second, James could sense something, which was withdrawn and concealed quickly; then, Noa's filtering app must have kicked in, because he could feel nothing at all. It was disquieting, and also disappointing, he couldn't say why.

Downstairs, he heard the tone of the conversation shift, and quickly began relaying the words, exactly as he heard them... and suddenly found himself in the kitchen surrounded by medium height, slightly tan, faceless people. He blinked. The kitchen was blurry and out of focus.

Noa appeared among the faces. She was wearing her fleet uniform.

"Fleet-issued avatar for these sorts of mental conferences," the vision of Noa said, her avatar gesturing to the mental imagery. She looked exactly as she did in his earliest memory of her. He felt the familiar thrum of want, and was glad he could hide it from her. She was so close in the mental and physical worlds.

Not party to his thoughts—or desires, literally or figuratively—Noa continued, "I'm trying to imagine exactly what's going on."

James looked around the blurry kitchen and filled in the details for her. The faceless opposition members he couldn't picture—they hadn't had a chance to see them—but he knew their genders by their voices, and their weight by the sound of their footsteps and the way the chairs sounded as they slid across the floor. So he filled in those sparse details, too. An instant later, the mental image of the kitchen was exactly as he remembered it, and the tan placeholder people had more human appearance.

Noa's avatar shook her head. "Of course, you've got that holographic memory app running, you would remember everything." Her avatar walked through one of the opposition leaders and bent down to look at the table. "I can't believe you remembered the wood grain, though." Straightening, her avatar looked around. "This is amazing." She backed away from the table, where the constructs of the opposition leaders were drinking and complimenting the food.

"Don't you have an avatar?" Noa's avatar asked him.

"Several," he said, activating his avatar app.

Noa blinked—or, her avatar did.

James let his avatar look down at itself. His mental persona was wearing what he'd wear to a lecture hall—high-necked long silver jacket with patched elbows, black trousers, and polished shoes.

Noa laughed, or her avatar did, and she was exactly the image of the healthy vibrant woman from James's memory. "Patches on your elbows? Of course... I forgot. You're a history professor! For a moment there... " She looked around the mental space. "Well, I've only seen this sort of detail in internal 'scapes created for military ops, or in history class."

James shrugged. Since the opposition leaders were still talking about things that didn't seem terribly important, he changed the scene to the interior of 10 Downing Street, residence of the Prime Minister of England. He gave it the décor that it sported during Margaret Thatcher's administration.

"Amazing," Noa's avatar said again, taking in the antiquated furnishings. She let an emotion sift through. Emotions from another person over a hard link were like seeing an image through fog. Not as powerful as an emotion that belonged to yourself, but somehow more rewarding than hard data. He felt his real lips in the physical world want to curl up. She was feeling wonder. Although he couldn't smile, his avatar could and did. Noa's avatar beamed back at him. "And it's nice to see you smile."

In the physical realm, he touched the side of his face. "It is nice to be able to smile." She walked over to the desk and peered down at it. "No wood grain."

James tilted his head. "Nothing before the fall is as clear."

Noa's avatar looked up at him, brow furrowed. "The fall... "

James changed the scene, and Noa shrieked as they fell down past the Ponderosa pines. She jumped at the 'impact,' and he switched the scene to a generic white room.

"It was a miracle you didn't die," she whispered. "With the organ damage you would have received... they had to augment you."

A miracle? To James, something felt off with that assessment, and he felt a chill race along the neurons beneath his skin. Down below, he heard Manuel explaining, "So I said that I used the signal for a reason... " and he changed the scene back to the kitchen. Noa's avatar turned and gazed on the generic avatars of the opposition with laser-like focus. Manuel told the opposition that they needed to stage protests before rapid DNA testing was the norm—which James thought was a weak premise for a hasty gathering of forces—but the opposition ate it up. When it was over, and the "guests" were leaving, Noa made him replay the conversations that occurred while they had been distracted. As Manuel and Hisha were saying their goodbyes, Noa's avatar whispered in his mind, "We'd better unlink. I get the feeling that Manuel and Hisha would be scandalized if they found us hard linking in their house." She winked and smiled. Considering her revulsion, James didn't find it funny. Maybe due to his lack of reaction to the joke, or her own distaste for him, Noa yanked out her link too quickly for comfort. Just before their link was severed, James sensed her concealing something again. Winding the cord around his hand, he wondered, was it just revulsion she was hiding, or something else?

Standing quickly, Noa took a deep breath and slipped out the door. Tucking the cord away, James followed. As soon as he stepped into the hallway, he felt the world shrinking and growing dark at the edges. He heard Noa ask, "A hidden stairwell?"

At her words, his world came into focus again. Manuel was standing at the end of the hallway by a floor-to-ceiling block of shelves loaded with toys, physical books, and replicas of starships. It was situated at a forty-five degree angle, like a door ajar.

Manuel shook his head. "No, not really. This house is so small, I tried to utilize every bit of space efficiently." He pulled on one side of the shelf, and the unit opened fully to the steep stairwell beyond. "It wouldn't be a good place to hide. All the townhomes are built to the same plan, and any patrol searching places would know there's a hidden space behind the shelves, if that's what you're wondering."

"Nah," said Noa. "I was just admiring your handiwork." She peered into the space beyond, and played with the door herself, opening and closing it. "Nice workmanship. No squeaky hinges for you."

Manuel snorted. "I am an engineer."

Noa tapped his shoulder with a fist. "You think this is small after living on a starship?"

Face visibly flushing, Manuel mumbled, "Yeah, yeah, I know."

Her brow furrowed, and she said, "You said that any patrol would know that this space was here—but you have piles of rope, a rope ladder, and climbing equipment?" James's world began to get dark again. He heard Manuel reply, "That is part of our fire safety evacuation kit. We're responsible parents, Commander." James could no longer see the equipment; the hallway became progressively darker and more blurry, tunneling into a narrower and narrower frame. He remembered a snippet of innocuous conversation a few minutes before. When Hisha had asked the visitors if they were hungry, one had said, "I'm so hungry, I feel like my stomach is eating itself." Like a chain reaction, that memory sparked others from before the fall. He'd made similar statements on occasion and had felt that sensation before. The room felt suddenly very cold, although the temperature had not dropped. Suddenly he found it was a struggle to stand upright.

"Are you alright?" Manuel said, his concerned face blurry on the periphery of James's vision.

"I'm starving," he said. But he felt the hunger in his mind, not his body, and he knew that was very wrong.

Noa opened her eyes to darkness, in the too-chill house. She was lying on the floor in the spare bedroom, a blanket thrown over her. Tomorrow, she'd meet her crew. In 48 hours' time, they'd be in space, bound for the Kanakah Cloud and the hidden time gate. The most important thing she could do right now, before all that excitement, was sleep. She sat up anyway.

Her eyes slid toward James. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed. Illuminated by a single beam of a fluorescent street lamp slanting through a crack in the blinds, his skin appeared blue. Maybe it was that bluish cast, the fact that his lips were fuller than Timothy's, the slightly aquiline curve of his nose, or the delicate wing-like shape of his eyebrows, but he looked more Japanese than Caucasian. His eyelids didn't flutter as Noa gazed down at him.

She took a deep breath—and felt as though she'd barely breathed at all. Jitters, maybe? Or apprehension? As a fighter pilot, she'd participated in clearing the asteroid belt of System 6. The fire power of the carrier that played base to the fighter squadrons hadn't been at all useful in the tight conditions of Six's belt. Worse, the asteroid minerals dampened drone sensors; so, human pilots had to go in. When a squadron went in for a sweep between the densely packed asteroids and the pirates, it was pretty much guaranteed that only two-thirds would come back out.

In those sorts of conditions, pilots began developing rituals before each mission. Noa would kiss Timothy on the cheek three times before she left. She would perform the sign of the cross although she was only Christian by heritage. Then she would slip her wedding rings in a tiny carbon fiber envelope that she tucked into the left pocket of the under layer she wore under her g-suit. Once, after thirty-six missions, after she'd slipped her rings into that pocket, Timothy had kissed her an extra time. She'd taken her rings out, put them back on her fingers, and went through the ritual all over again. The protection such rituals gave might have only been mental—but that didn't make them any less important. She fiddled with the stumps of her fingers.

As important as ritual was the people on your team. She took a breath and bit her lip. During the System 6 campaign, she'd piloted a six-person bomber. Like everyone, she was expected to fly thirty-two missions. But during mission seven, she'd sustained a third-degree burn that melted her skin and locked her elbow. While she'd recovered, her first crew continued to fly. They'd been shot down during the first mission without her. Her next crew was fresher than Noa. When she'd finished her thirty-two missions, they still had seven more to do. They begged her to stay on because she was their "lucky credit." She'd been so afraid... but she stayed on as their pilot. Tim had been furious.

Her eyes slid to James. He'd been part of her crew for a while now. Mentally, she'd begun to depend on him being there. She took another deep breath that felt shallow and sounded weak. She'd been depending on him physically as well. She remembered every time he'd literally pulled her out of a jam. She was afraid ... but she had to do this alone.

Carefully pushing aside her blanket, she grabbed the small bag she was using as a pillow, and padded to the doorway and out into the hall. She was wearing the clothing she'd worn when she'd arrived at the Manuels' house, so there was no need to change. She slipped to the bookshelf door, opened it silently, and crept into the claustrophobic closet-like room beyond. Opening her backpack, she pulled out a flashlight she'd brought along, flipped it on to the lowest setting, and found the rope ladder and coil of rope. Hoisting it over her shoulder, she began to climb the stairs. At the top she found herself winded and silently cursing the camp. She'd once been so fit. Gritting her teeth, she undid the lock. Turning off her flashlight, she opened the door, slipped out onto the roof, and waited for her vision to adjust. The night was warmer than the townhome and she found herself almost sighing with pleasure. Luddeccea's satellites may not have been connecting the ethernet to the planet's denizens, but their glowing forms did give light to the rooftops. She gazed upward. She thought she could make out Time Gate 8...

Light to the east caught her eye, and she saw what looked like a meteorite falling to earth. Noa's jaw hardened. A ship that had tried to leave? A Guard vessel shot down by Time Gate 8's defenses? Gritting her teeth, she focused on the mission at hand. In her mind, she pulled up her map to Kenji's house and let it flicker behind her eyes—it was in a building across from this very townhome complex. There were four streets she'd have to cross between there and here, but she could make it. She carefully began making her way across the roof. It had a slight grade to let the winter rains drain off, and between each unit in the complex there was a short wall as high as her hip. The Manuels had toys still strewn across their roof and a hammock. Treading lightly, she climbed over the first wall. The Manuels' neighbors had small potted trees in giant planters, and a vegetable garden in neat boxes. She skirted between the plants, hopped over the next wall, and loped toward the next, her breathing getting ragged and fast too quickly. She was approaching the next wall between townhomes when a familiar voice whispered behind her, "What are you doing?"

The voice might have been familiar, but she was on a mission and her instincts were hardwired. She spun, and would have delivered a kick to James's lower legs—a kick that she could have followed with a rapid-fire kick to his chin as he fell—if James hadn't jumped half a meter in the air and missed the first pass. By that time Noa's brain caught up with her feet.

Nearly falling over, she panted, "Sorry."

Landing lightly despite his size, James said again, "What are you doing?" His face was as expressive as it was during sleep—which was to say, not very. Remembering his avatar's smile was like remembering a surreal but happy dream.

"It doesn't concern you. Don't worry about it," Noa said.

James's gaze shifted in what was exactly the direction of Kenji's house as the ptery flew. "You're going to Kenji's home, aren't you?" he said.

Straightening, Noa silently cursed the fact that he'd seen her little brother's location when they were at Ghost's.

"It doesn't concern you," she said again.

James took a step closer. "Of course it concerns me. You could be caught." His head did that ticky thing. "And then I'd have to find a way to get you out."

Noa actually laughed; fortunately, almost silently. The camaraderie she sensed between them was real. "Yeah, I'd do the same for you," she said. "But you don't have to come with me."

"Of course I do," he muttered. His hands clenched at his sides. "I have to. I don't know why... I wish I did. Then I could kill that part of me, and probably live a lot longer." He said it in that deadpan voice of his, and Noa had to fight to keep from laughing out loud.

"You're funny," she said, turning back to hop over the wall.

"I wasn't joking," he retorted.

Which made Noa giggle softly despite herself. "I can hear your eyes rolling," she said as she slipped along the next rooftop. She felt her spirits lifting. These things were easier when you had someone to crack jokes with.

"My eyes do not make a sound when—" Breathing heavily as she loped along, she flashed a grin at him. He did roll his eyes. "Everything is a joke to you." He couldn't smile in the physical world, but his eyes were much more expressive. Maybe making up for the things his mouth couldn't do? The exaggerated eye rolls and brow lifts were funnier on his too-perfect features. Some esthetic augments wouldn't be so expressive for fear of wrinkles—not that there weren't cures for such things—but the barest hint of a wrinkle that came with a frown, a scowl, or a smile was considered a blemish. His candid expressions showed a lack of vanity that was refreshing.

Panting, she came to the next wall between roofs.

"Noa," James said, not appearing even slightly winded, "I am not well versed in tactics... but I have watched a lot of twenty-first century crime dramas."

Noa contained a snort at that, but only barely.

"Even if Kenji would never turn you in... won't the authorities have people waiting for you at Kenji's house?"

"Of course they will," said Noa. "We'll have to figure out a way to sneak in when we get closer."

They reached the corner of the next wall, and she gestured with her head in the direction of his building. "He lives on the third floor of the mid-rise you can't see, but is just beyond the fern trees." She paused to catch her breath.

James was silent. When she looked up at him, he said softly, "Noa, you are not well."

Quickly returning to a lope, Noa waved a hand. "I know. Still recovering from the camp." She panted. "You'd think, being so much lighter, it would make it easier." Without her volition, her feet slowed to a walk.

"No, you're not recovering. You're getting worse," James said, putting a hand on her arm.

Noa jerked her arm away and broke into a lope again. A moment later, they reached the end of the block of townhomes. She attached the top of the ladder to a rooftop behind some enormous fern trees. She half-slid, half-climbed to the bottom, and then peered down the street. "I don't hear any patrols," she said.

"Nor do I," said James.

Noa looked back at the ladder. "Might as well leave it... can probably walk through the rest of the complex." She inclined her head toward a wall of fern trees that demarcated the edge of the townhome development. Perhaps twice as tall as the townhomes, they obstructed the view of her brother's buildings.

"Let's continue on the ground," she said, heading in the direction of the trees. The street had lamps, but it was an older section of the neighborhood, and there were plenty of trees and ferns to hide among... and truthfully, she didn't want to scale another roof right now; she was tired. She needed to conserve her strength. She bit the inside of her lip. Was she sick, as James had said? So many women had gotten sick in the camp. Of course, she had to have been exposed to something. She shook her head. Illness had a mental component. She would will herself through this; she could have her breakdown later, on the Ark, once they got past the blockade. Ducking her chin, she broke into a lope again, but she was grateful that she needed to stop and check to see if the coast was clear between clumps of vegetation and shadow.

A few minutes later, they reached the fern trees. The trees were part of a narrow stretch of "urban forest." Civic planners had put a path down the center of it. Skirting the path, Noa led James toward Kenji's building.

After long minutes of silence, James said softly, "Who will fly the Ark if you are caught?"

"I don't know." Noa panted, and her gut constricted. "Maybe Ghost could share the engineering designs of the ship, and one of the Fleet personnel could fly it?"

"Do you think a pilot could be prepared in less than forty-eight hours?" James asked.

"Maybe," said Noa, panting heavily.

James continued, his breathing regular, his lope easy, "I'm not a tactical expert... but it seems once the protests take place, it will be difficult to stage them again. At least some of the leaders will be captured."

Noa only grunted. She tasted bile on her tongue.

James was mercifully silent for a few more minutes, but then he asked in a light voice, "Is it standard military procedure to rescue a single individual at the possible expense of the mission?"

"If that person is of strategic importance, yes. Starmen don't leave Starmen behind." Noa said it to herself, to James, and to the universe at large. She could barely hear her own words over the sound of her panting.

"But he is working for the other side," said James.

"They've deceived him," Noa hissed. "You don't understand how vulnerable he is!"

She drew to a stop, her locator app telling her they were in the correct place. She went to the edge of the trees. Kenji's building was across a field of open parkland the size of one city block. She didn't need an app to know the distance. The city was built on a plan. A block was 500 meters. Between her location and Kenji's building, there was a playground, a dog walk area, plenty of trees and shrubs, and a "nature walk" that cut a circuitous route through the field. He'd chosen the home so he could be close to nature even in the city; he hated crowds. Now, for Noa, it meant plenty of places to hide.

Her eyes scanned the building and she picked out his unit. Noa's breath caught in her throat. "I see him!" she said. She didn't think she'd ever really believe in God, but she did at that moment. She felt so much relief swell in her chest that it was almost physically painful. A part of her hadn't believed Ghost when he'd said Kenji was still free—she thought it was false data to lead her astray. To lead her here to be captured...

"I see him, too," James said.

Noa scanned the park. She didn't see any Guards on the trails. She looked to the roof of the building, and didn't see any snipers, but James was right. They would be waiting for her inside. So she had to keep her time within the building limited. She scanned the balconies. Maybe she could climb up on the outside; she still had her coil of rope. She remembered James jumping half a meter in the air. If they could just reach the second level, between the rope and his augments, they could make it. She took a deep breath and felt fear turn her limbs to cold lead. Maybe James could make it ... Her hands and limbs were shaking, not with fear, but with exhaustion. She gritted her teeth. She'd made a career of taking action despite her fear. She crept closer to the edge of the field. They'd thought they'd catch her—but she'd steal him out from beneath their noses.

She took another step forward.

"Noa," James whispered.

She took another step.

"Noa," James whispered again.

She opened her mouth, about to tell him her plans, when he hit her from the side and behind, knocking her flat to the ground behind a small cluster of ferns just before the forest edge.

She lay in the damp earth, without protest, certain he'd knocked her down for good reason. Her heart beat in her ears, she could see nothing and hear nothing. His weight made her ribs and her lungs ache.

"What are you doing?" James whispered, his voice urgent. "You almost walked into the spotlights!"

Noa peered out over the dark field. "What spotlights?"

"You don't see them?" James whispered, shifting his weight and allowing her to breathe a little more.

"No, I don't, get off me!" Noa said, trying to pull herself out from beneath his hovering body to the edge of the cluster of ferns to get a better look. James knocked her flat again.

"What are you doing?" Noa snapped.

He didn't answer, but she felt his hand at her temple—or his fist, rather—and heard the click of a hard link being inserted, and suddenly the scene before her transformed. Spotlights were sweeping through every inch of the park. They were mounted on the roof of Kenji's building. Noa's eyes widened. In the physical world she saw only darkness, but superimposed over the shadows were men in camouflage wearing elaborate eye gear—a lot like night vision goggles from the old military museum. A team of four was moving in James's and Noa's direction. They stopped and dropped below a low embankment about 400 meters away. She made out the shapes of rifles on their backs. Noa's shock raced across the hard link before she could stop it.

James's voice came in her mind. "You did not see?"

Noa trembled with rage and helplessness. She projected the dark park she did see. She looked up at the spotlights, and mentally cursed in every language and dialect she knew. James was still on top of her, but his avatar appeared just in front of her. "Well, that language was colorful," he said. She felt nothing when he said it, no flash of amusement, nothing, but his avatar did raise a brow.

Noa let her avatar stand beside his.

"What is your plan?" he said.

Scanning the balconies with James's eyes, Noa saw Guards there as well. Her dismay slipped across the hard link before she realized she still hadn't battened down the apps that hid her emotions. "I'll figure something out," her avatar said. She hadn't thought it would be easy.

James's avatar turned to hers. She didn't feel any emotion over the link; but his avatar's brows were drawn, and his lips were turned down. It was strange how alien a frown looked on his usually stoic face. Noa's avatar looked away quickly and back to the scene before her and the spotlights she hadn't seen. "It's light just outside of the visual spectrum," she mused through her avatar.

In the periphery of her vision she could see his avatar blinking. "Ah... you're right," James murmured. "Ultraviolet. I didn't know I could do that."

"How well can you see my brother?" Noa's avatar asked. "Do you have telescopic vision as well?"

The perspective changed so quickly, it was like watching the zoom on a hologlobe. Suddenly, she was sitting down on Kenji's balcony looking up at him through the glass doors. To her immense relief, Kenji didn't look harmed, or even nervous. He held a cup of tea; his hand wasn't even shaking. His clothing was neat and pressed, he'd gained a little weight, in a good way, and his hair didn't show the telltale signs of fidgeting it always revealed when he was nervous. "He looks good, at least," she breathed.

"He looks very well," James said.

Noa's heart pounded in her chest. "They didn't incarcerate him because they wanted to use him as bait," she said into his mind.

"But they thought you were incarcerated—why would they need to do that if you were already locked up?"

"They must have just released him."

"Then why doesn't he look half-starved like you do?" James's avatar said, and she was shocked by the anger in his voice.

Noa couldn't answer. In the physical world, she struggled to get up, to crawl closer, but James grabbed her, and like the devil on the shoulder in a Luddeccean holo he said, "He never went to the camps, Noa."

Noa frowned. As though that meant anything. Her mind spun... "Because he's brilliant... they'd still find a use for him. Especially since they don't rely on the ethernet, they'd find his mind indispensable. They probably threatened him... said they'd hurt me if he didn't cooperate. I've got to get him out of there, I can't let them use him!"

"He doesn't look like someone who is worried about his sister dying," James said, as Kenji took a neat sip of tea. Before she could retort, James said, "He seems quite safe. By trying to save him you'd be putting his life at risk, wouldn't you? The men we saw in the field were armed." He didn't look at her when he said it. His voice was light, almost curious, as though it weren't a question of life or death but a mental exercise. "Noa?"

"Of course I have to save him!" she shouted over the mental link, though she remained silent where they hid behind the shrubs. "He'd do anything for me—anything for this planet and his people!"

James's avatar tilted his head. She felt nothing from him, but his avatar looked doubtful. "If he would do anything for his people... would he want you to risk your life and the mission to save him?"

"He... he... " Noa's avatar crumbled to the floor of her brother's apartment. Behind the ferns, in the physical world, her head fell to the damp earth. She locked down all her emotions before they rose in a deluge.

_Kenji had his arm through Noa's. He guided her through the penthouse apartment on Luddeccea, threading them past the party guests. It wasn't his apartment; that was below in the same building. This one belonged to someone from the First Families. Noa noted that the furnishings were simple and tasteful, the carpeting below her feet was as soft as her bunk, and there was a prayer room off to one side. A crucifix was prominently displayed on the wall, flower vases and three books directly below it. Noa knew without looking that the book directly below the crucifix was a Bible, to the left would be the Torah, and the right would be a Koran. The owner of the apartment was Christian, obviously, but all of Luddecceans gave respect to the Three Books. The room was empty. It would be in bad taste to step inside a prayer room during a party... which begged the question of why put the prayer room in a central location in the home, and leave the double doors wide open—but First Families always made sure the prayer room was in a prominent location._

_Her brother patted her arm, snapping her attention back to him. Kenji was smiling, just a quirk of the lips, but on Kenji that was a sign that he was ecstatic. They reached the floor-to-ceiling windows that were the western wall of the abode, and he said, "You won't see a view like this on Earth."_

_The penthouse overlooked a park in the heart of Prime, the main city on their home world. The sky was crystalline blue, and there wasn't a rim of smog that followed the horizon. Noa's eyes roved over the tops of the strand of fern trees that marked an urban nature trail. She thought she could make out a complex of homes between their branches, but with the angle it was difficult to tell. Beyond the homes she saw a few buildings and then..._

_"The ocean," said Kenji, "without a large stain of sewage just offshore."_

_"You're right, it's nothing like Earth," Noa said... or a shell of Noa said. She had a strange sensation as though she was here, and not here. She was half a being. Her hand instinctively went to the scars on her abdomen, still in the process of healing. At the last moment, she jerked her hand away, and nervously fidgeted with her rings instead._

_Kenji didn't seem to notice. Still beaming, he said, "You should move back here. Exciting things are happening." Part of her wanted to say yes. To go back to the starship where she and Tim were stationed... had been stationed... felt like a return to prison. It was the walls—the gray industrial metal walls of the whole damn ship, even the room they shared. The small three-meter-by-three-meter space that was their home hadn't been so bleak with Tim to tease her, to smile at her, or even to shout or scream. Even their fights had been life, their life, and now it was broken. She could fill her half-life with crystal blue skies and verdant green, find a new life here in the place where she had once lived._

_Her thumb twisted the rings around her finger. The grief counselor had said not to make any decisions before the end of one Terran year. Noa closed her eyes._

_She heard a change in the conversation among the guests as at least twenty divergent conversations merged into one soft murmur._

_"My friend is here!" Kenji said. "Come, I'll introduce you to him."_

_Before she could protest, Kenji spun her around. A man whom Noa didn't recognize strode through the front door. His uniform and the ribbons on his chest marked him as a Captain in the Luddeccean Guard._

_"Yon is amazing," Kenji said. "He worked his way up the ranks, and he's not even a First."_

_That he had made it to Captain in the Guard without being a First Family member spoke volumes about his competence. But Noa couldn't help notice that he didn't smile as they approached. "Captain Yon, this is my sister Noa, I told you about her," Kenji said. "She is scheduled to re-enlist in the Fleet in a few months. You should talk her out of it. She was a hero during the Belt Battles of System 6. She's a pilot and would be a great addition to the Local Guard."_

_Yon looked down his nose at Noa. "I guess I'll have to take your word for it, Kenji," he said. His face remained completely impassive. He looked down at Noa's hand. One of his eyebrows rose. "You're married... what does your husband think of having a pilot for a wife?"_

_And this was why Noa could never come home. Yon might have climbed the ranks on merit, he might be able to see the value of people beyond the offspring of the Firsts, but he would still have a blind eye to female talent. Even though, despite his higher rank, Noa had seen more combat, and had more genuine experience than he had or was likely ever to have._

_"I don't have a husband," Noa said, not surprised Kenji hadn't bothered to mention that she was widowed. It was the sort of thing that would slip his mind, even though he had teared up at Timothy's memorial._

_The Captain's brow furrowed into a scowl. The corners of his lips curled down. His gaze shot to Noa's rings, and then back to her. Maybe if she said she was a widow he'd give her a look of pity instead of a look of disdain that bordered on betrayal. She really didn't want his pity. When his eyes met hers again, Noa gave him a tight smile._

_Not returning the smile, he excused himself, and crossed to talk with another two officers of the Guard across the room. The slight smile on Kenji's face as Captain Yon left gave Noa pause._

_Later, when they were back at Kenji's place, her brother surprised her by saying, "I'm sure Captain Yon will offer you a better position in the Guard than you have in the Fleet." While she was straining a splash of potent redfruit juice into two mugs of steaming soy milk, Noa looked up in alarm. "Kenji... he's not going to offer me a position in the Guard."_

_"Of course he will," Kenji said. "I recommended you—and after System 6 and the Belt Wars—he'd be a fool not to."_

_Noa looked down at the juice. "Well, he'd be a fool, alright."_

_"Think of it, Noa, you could come home every night to Prime."_

_Noa looked up._

_"You could have a place like this instead of the tiny one room you and Timothy had on the ship." Kenji spread his arms, gesturing toward the admittedly expansive two-bedroom apartment. Two bedrooms and a prayer room. Noa's eyes slid to the cross on the wall, and the Three Books below it. Kenji was an atheist, but he always said he respected the peace religion brought Luddecceans._

_"I'm not his idea of a Lieutenant Commander," Noa said, throwing the strainer in the sink._

_"What do you mean?" Kenji asked._

_"Didn't you see the way he looked at me, Kenji?"_

_Her brother stared at her blankly._

_Noa's heart fell. "You didn't see, did you? Is something wrong with your app, Kenji?"_

_"I must have forgotten to turn it on," he said, meeting her eyes too firmly._

_"Why would you have turned it off to begin with?" Noa demanded._

_"Because caring what people think takes too much energy," Kenji said. "It distracts me from my work."_

_"But with the app—"_

_Kenji's face got flat. "Did it ever occur to you that I was born the way I was for a reason? That maybe my... my focus... is a gift, not a handicap?"_

_"You always said your app made you feel connected, not alone... "_

_"Sometimes people need to be alone," Kenji said._

_"Yes, but... "_

_"I'm less alone here in all the ways that really matter," Kenji said, taking a step toward Noa, head lowering and shoulders rising in a way that would be threatening if Noa didn't know sixty ways to kill a man with her bare hands... Still, she found herself taken aback. She scolded herself. Kenji didn't mean it like that._

_Halting, he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't have to depend on the charity of my family anymore for company."_

_"It's not charity; we love you!" Noa said._

_Closing his eyes, Kenji said, "Let me finish."_

_Noa took a breath._

_Opening his eyes, Kenji said, "I get respect here. More than that, I have friends. I go to parties like the one we went to tonight."_

_Noa hadn't thought the atmosphere there was friendly, the focus was more to see and be seen; but she held her tongue._

_"I'm even... " His face darkened and he looked down at the carpet. "Courting... "_

_Noa's eyes widened and her jaw fell. "Who... what...?" Kenji had a girlfriend or two in his past. But none of his relationships seemed to last long. He blamed his app, said he had a lag._

_Kenji met her eyes, blinking slightly. "Yon's daughter."_

_Noa felt her excitement evaporate. The daughter of Yon, she suspected, would court whomever her father told her to. She bit her tongue—this time, literally. In as civil a voice as she could manage she said, "And is it serious?"_

_Kenji rubbed his neck and looked down at his feet. "I dunno, she's pretty, and very nice... but I'm really too busy right now." He shrugged and met Noa's eyes. "She seems to like me, though."_

_Noa didn't know how Kenji could verify that without his app; but, considering the other domineering men the girl had probably been exposed to, she might like the distracted genius more. "Of course she likes you."_

_Shrugging, he smiled. "Well, maybe someday. I know here it's a possibility." He walked over to the window. "I know it's hard to understand, but here I can disengage my app and be treated more as a normal person than I ever could on Earth with my app engaged."_

_Noa thought to herself, if she were in his shoes, she wouldn't get the same respect. An eccentric man could be useful; an eccentric woman, though, would not be acceptable._

_He gazed out the window. "I know you think this planet is backward, and it is in some ways, but it's also wonderful." She walked over to him. Turning to her, he said, "I know you face less prejudice for your appearance in our hometown than anywhere else in the galaxy."_

_"Except for the Fleet," Noa said._

_Kenji looked out at the park land as though he hadn't heard her. In the rays of the setting sun, the lush greens were turning to rich browns and vibrant oranges. "You say you'd give your life for the Fleet," he whispered. "I'd give my life for the people here."_

"No," Noa said, her avatar hunched on the floor of her brother's apartment, clutching her head. James's avatar sat down on his heels, unsure of what to do. In the physical world, he held his breath.

The scene around their avatars melted, and they were lying in the dirt, in mind and in body. "No, he'd give his life for this world," Noa whispered, in the physical world and in his mind.

She took a breath that was ragged and too shallow. By now only James's arm was laying on top of her, but he moved it, afraid that even that small weight was hindering her breathing. She clutched her head in her hands, dark fingers scissoring the cable that hard linked them but not pulling it out. Emotions sparked across the link, too quickly for him to sort through them all, but anger was at the forefront. "No, he wouldn't want me to risk it." She snarled softly. "But I can't let them hurt him!"

And James remembered a conversation from when he was James Sinclair, the professor, with an older colleague. The colleague had said the only thing that came close to the love for children was the love for siblings. "They can be as different from you as chalk from cheese, they can annoy the hell out of you, but you still would kill for them. It's just as irrational."

James was an only child and childless, but he grasped hold of that memory, turned it around in his mind, and decided he had to convince Noa that dying for Kenji would be in Kenji's worst interest. "Noa, they won't harm him," he whispered into her mind. "They haven't hurt him yet and they won't hurt him later. You told me he is a genius and that they _need_ him."

Certainty slipped across the link from Noa. "They do need him."

"You might make it across the field," James said, hoping that he was pressing an advantage. "Would Kenji? Is he strong enough to make it... what if they killed him during the escape?"

He heard Noa suck in a breath, and he kept going, giving his imagination free reign. "No, they'd kill _us_ , but they'd be very careful not to hurt him. They _would_ believe he was in league with us, however."

Noa took another long breath that seemed to shake through her entire body.

"You said he'd die for this world," James said. "But he doesn't have to. You can save your world and save your brother—but for now, that means leaving him where he is."

Noa trembled.

James slowly exhaled, waiting...

Noa took a shallow breath. "I hate this, I hate this choice... "

James took another careful breath. He was grateful his app didn't show emotion. He suspected that, on principle, if she knew just how much he did _not_ want to try and retrieve Kenji, she never would agree not to try and rescue him. As soon as he'd seen the spotlights, the rifles, and the Guard, his vision had gone black and a sense of failure had flooded every cell, nano, and fiber in his being. He'd sorted through his memories, desperately trying to find a way to convince her, and realized she'd only ever backed down from a plan for the greater good. Would appealing to her desire to save Kenji tip the scales and save her now?

He looked at Noa. The sharp angles of her shoulders contrasted sharply with the memory of her avatar's smooth curves, and also her breathing—

"James, can you look at the field?" Noa said across the hard link. In the physical world, a breath rasped out of her fragile body.

Across the hard link, Noa projected an image of herself, skirting past the spotlights to the first line of patrols, stealing a weapon, and firing until she ran out of ammo... until she succeeded or they killed her. James froze. Her body shuddered, and in the physical world her voice cracked. "That's what I want... but I... I won't, James." As her physical body tensed, her avatar said coolly, "We need to leave here, but if they've moved the spotlights or if the teams have gotten closer, we may need to choose a different route."

James didn't look out across the field. Noa's avatar's eyes met his, and she let sincerity cross the hard link. Words could lie, but emotions could not. She was telling the truth—the vision of her storming the patrol was just a dream—James's body relaxed just slightly. He looked out over the field and transmitted what he saw.

"They haven't," Noa's avatar said smoothly. In the real world, she shook. He looked down and saw her face was wet. Her avatar continued without emotion. "We need to go back to the Manuels' before they do move." In the real world, she ripped some small plants out of the ground and her lip curled as tears dropped from her chin.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to push herself up, but in that breath James heard something that made him grip her more tightly.

"What?" her avatar said. In the physical world she hissed.

"I need to listen," James replied. Like he had needed to follow her here, like he had needed to pull the trigger in the forest. He pressed his flesh-and-blood ear to her back.

"What are you doing?" Noa's avatar protested. He didn't want her to be repulsed, but he had to hear her lungs. Instead of explaining with words, he let the concern slip across the hard link. Her whole body went rigid. She took a deep breath—and he heard a distinct crackle. His body went cold.

"What was that?" she said.

"You have some sort of lung infection," James replied. Movement caught his eyes. Raising his head, he saw the Guard team moving across the field. He sent the vision across the link, and then yanked out the cord, and helped Noa to her feet.

Panting, Noa said, "That isn't... what I... meant." But she didn't explain.

# 14

"Exhale," Hisha said, pressing a plastic mask over Noa's mouth and nose. Sitting on the side of the bed, Noa did as she was bid. The deflation of her lungs burned.

The trip back to the Manuels' home had gone completely without incident. Part of her had wanted to run into a patrol. She'd been filled with rage that had no outlet—rage at what the Guard were doing to Kenji, at the impossible choice she'd had to make, and at herself. She was leaving Kenji, Ashley, and a thousand faces without names behind, not knowing if she was doing the right thing. She'd felt rage at James, too—because she'd been weak and shaky, breathing too hard, and he'd asked if he should carry her as her pace had lagged. It had been humiliating. More humiliating, she had almost said yes.

She glanced past Hisha. James was standing in the door frame. The townhome was old, probably almost as old as the colony, and it was built when materials were scarce. The hallways and doorways were narrower than a starship's. James's head almost brushed the top of the door frame and he made the place look like a dollhouse. He was leaning in the doorway, arms casually crossed, and his face showed no concern; but he'd nagged her like a mother hen to wake Hisha as soon as they'd returned last night. It was Noa who had insisted they wait until morning.

He'd relented, but as soon as he'd heard Hisha stir when the baby woke, he'd gone off to tell her about Noa's condition. Hisha, being doctorly, had immediately insisted on examining her. Noa's eyes went to the crack beneath the blinds. It was barely even light yet.

"Breathe in and exhale again," said Hisha. In the doorway James shifted so his body filled the entire frame, as though he expected her to bolt. Noa had no intention of doing that. She knew when it was time to admit she was sick—most of the time, anyway. She did as she was bid, but glared at him on principle. His eyes narrowed. Over the doctor's shoulder, James stuck out his tongue—just as she had done last night, the third time he'd offered to carry her. Not very professional on her part, though in her defense, she had apparently been oxygen starved at the time. Seeing James stick out his tongue while he maintained an expression of gravitas in the eye and brow region, Noa laughed uncontrollably and so suddenly that it triggered a burning cough. A slight beeping came from the mask. Hisha pulled it away. As Noa's hacking subsided, Hisha said, "You have a cryssallis infection in your lungs."

Noa groaned. Cryssallis was a type of Luddeccean fungus that occasionally set up residence inside human and other mammalian lungs. It was fatal if not treated. The treatment wasn't painful, but it was long and cumbersome. James was suddenly standing next to Hisha, looking down at Noa. He wasn't frowning, but his jaw shifted, and his sudden proximity... he was concerned. Noa ducked her head, remembering the sudden flash of emotion he'd hit her with over the link, so strong it briefly incapacitated her.

"Bloody bastard of a dung weevil," Noa muttered, because the fungal infection fit that description, and also because she didn't want to think about that emotional rush.

Hisha's delicate features drew into a frown. "It isn't particularly contagious. It usually only occurs when the immune system is weakened. Even Oliver is in no danger from it."

"Would severe malnutrition make me susceptible?" Noa said, looking down at the tattoo on her wrist, mind wandering back to the disgusting gruel that she'd devoured at the camp. She almost shuddered.

"Yes, it would," said Hisha. Noa noticed the doctor looking down at the stumps on her hand. She closed her fingers instinctively.

"I'd like to do a complete physical," Hisha said. Her voice was soft, but the concern in her words rang loud and clear.

James took a step closer. "That sounds like a good idea."

"Sure," said Noa. She knew it was a good idea, too, but instead of admitting it, she glared at James and said, "Happy now?"

James said in that deadpan voice of his, "Yes, I am overjoyed that you have a potentially terminal lung infection."

"I'll let you undress then," said Hisha quickly. Turning to James, she raised a hand as though to put it on his sleeve but then stopped. "Let's give her some privacy."

James looked over Hisha's shoulder, obviously wanting to say something to Noa. Since the doctor's back was turned, Noa stuck out her tongue at James. He wasn't Fleet, after all; and she didn't have to be professional. He raised an eyebrow, and said, "Very mature," as though _he_ hadn't stuck out his tongue at her just a few minutes before. He was out the door before she could offer a witty comeback.

As she undressed, she heard Manuel getting ready to leave, and Eliza reassuring 6T9 that it would be best if she went to "meet some people" alone. Eliza and Manuel were going to round up the crew. It was dangerous, letting Eliza drive—dangerous to Eliza, passengers, pedestrians, and other drivers—but they were desperate. They had very little time to put together a crew, and Eliza's semi-celebrity status as a first colonist gave her some leeway with the Guard. If Noa, James, or 6T9 were captured in a random hover stop, the mission would end before it began; and so they were staying put. Noa needed to use the day to come up with a firmer plan. Hisha had a day off and had intended to stay home to watch Oliver.

A few minutes later, Hisha came back into the room. Noa could hear a kid's holo playing before Hisha shut the door, and guessed that was what Oliver was up to. What followed was a physical exam and all the questions Noa would have expected: Did she need to be screened for sexually transmitted diseases? It was a nice way of asking if she'd been raped. She hadn't, and she told Hisha so. Was she having trouble sleeping? Yes. Did she want something for it? Not yet.

After the physical exam and routine questions were completed, Hisha said, "Aside from the lung infection, the malnutrition, and your hand injury, you seem fine."

Noa slipped on her shirt. She was actually relieved. The lung infection had been a shock, although it shouldn't have been; all the signs had been there. After the diagnosis, she'd wondered if her body was harboring other dark diseases.

Hisha touched her lips, eyes on the scar on Noa's abdomen. "Mr. Sinclair... he's not from Luddeccea. His augments are extensive and they look _cosmetic_ , too."

Her accusatory tone gave Noa pause. But then she remembered her own first impressions of James—she'd thought of him as "too perfect." On Luddeccea, even doctors like Hisha frowned on "frivolous cosmetic augmentation." When she had first met James, Noa had thought he—or his family—had gone "too far." But she'd ceased to think of his enhanced features very much at all. It was strange how even perfection became normal and invisible after a while. She blinked down at her fingers on the buttons of her borrowed shirt. It wasn't just that his perfection had become invisible—somehow, over the past few days, she thought of him less and less as Tim's doppelgänger. She wasn't sure if she liked it.

"You're sure you can trust him?" Hisha asked, startling Noa out of her reverie.

"He's saved my life a few times now," said Noa, carefully keeping her voice light.

Hisha flinched. "He seems... different... the authorities, they're saying that aliens are infecting augments. If he is somehow contagious... "

Noa froze. Her skin crawled. Of course, Hisha was worried about Oliver; with parents, every decision would always come back to their children. Nonetheless, she didn't respond at once. A day ago she would have jumped to James's defense immediately, but after last night... When people felt emotions, electrical activity occurred on the surface of the brain. Nanos could pick up the location of the activity, transfer a similar electronic pulse to nanos in another human via hard link, and they could in turn "feel" a shadow of that emotion. The emotion James had transmitted last night had hit her like a bright lance of light; that was the only way she could describe it. Her brain hadn't been able to recognize the pattern. She'd even had a brief hallucination... the ground had fallen out beneath her, and James was trying to hold on to her. She thought that the hallucination was a product of her confused brain trying to make sense of what James felt. It had been surprising, intense, and... alien. Her lip curled in disgust, not at the memory of the strange emotional charge, but at her own reaction to it. That she could even think that way about another human made her ashamed. She met Hisha's gaze. "The same authorities saying augments are being possessed by aliens would rip your son's arm off without anesthesia and let him bleed to death."

Hisha's face became pinched. "My son's augments are necessary."

Noa secured the last button. "James was in an accident back on Earth. He fell from high enough to crush bones and pulverize internal organs. On Earth, they don't feel the same way about cosmetic augments as we do—but he would have needed them just to look human."

Hisha bit her lip. "His mannerisms... I've never seen anyone so... composed and unemotional."

Smoothing out the sleeves of her shirt, Noa took a breath. "More recently, our friendly Local Guard shot his hover out of the sky. The facial reconstruction augments he received were damaged. He may not appear to feel emotions, but he has them." And no one would ever think him unemotional after feeling that bright charge of pure feeling he'd hit Noa with last night, but she'd never say that aloud.

Hisha didn't precisely look convinced; but instead of questioning Noa further, she said, "I'm going to have to go into the hospital to get you the treatment."

Trying to smooth over the last few awkward moments, Noa gave her a respectful nod. "Thank you."

Opening the door, Hisha gave her a tight smile. "I can't have you passing out when you're piloting the ship. I can tell them that Oliver's death has made me not want to be at home alone." Leading Noa down the stairs, Hisha cleared her throat. "Of course, I need someone to watch Oliver."

Noa felt her nostrils flare as they stepped into the kitchen. Hisha was a civilian, and she didn't understand what they were up against. She tried to keep from snapping at her. "I can't watch him. I have to work out a plan with James for commandeering the Ark. Now that we have the protest marches to factor in, we'll be able to change our strategy."

"But he's too young not to have supervision," Hisha protested, going over to Oliver. Sitting in the corner of the kitchen in a bouncer contraption and sucking on his knuckles, he barely looked up at Noa. He was gazing intently at a holo.

Noa's eyes fell on James. He was eating a bowl of what looked like oatmeal with a fist-size helping of shredded coconut and a giant square of butter on top. Carl Sagan was at his feet. Noa would need James, preferably not hungry. She didn't distract him with a joke about his culinary choices. Her gaze flicked to 6T9, standing unblinking in hibernation mode, and was hit by inspiration. "6T9, wake up!"

The 'bot's eyelids fluttered and a soft hum came from his chest cavity and his head.

"No," said Hisha, apparently guessing her intentions. "No, no, no... "

Noa turned to her. "You said that you'd do anything so that your child could live."

Hisha took a step back. "But I can't let a se... a 'bot watch my son. Who knows what he might do to him? And he's unclean."

Noa rolled her eyes. "I'm sure he's been bathed since his last escapade."

"I have indeed," said 6T9 brightly.

"And he'd never have sexual relations with a minor," Noa supplied.

6T9's jaw dropped, and he stood up straighter. "Indeed, I would not. That goes specifically against my programming." It was the first time Noa had heard 6T9 sounding so affronted. Come to think of it, had she ever heard him sound affronted?

"Can you make sure the minor doesn't harm himself?" Noa asked.

6T9 smiled. "I am programmed to recognize harm, even self-harm, and to stop it with physical restraint if necessary, and a call to the authorities." A light buzz came from his chest. "Although, with the ethernet down... "

"You could call for James or me," said Noa. "We'll be upstairs."

"Oh, yes! I could call for James or you," said 6T9, eyes widening. He smiled and nodded, as though that was the most ingenious idea he'd ever heard.

"No," said Hisha. "He doesn't know how to take care of a toddler!"

Voice dry, James quipped, "I'm sure he knows lots of games."

Forcing herself to frown instead of laugh, Noa shot a glare in his direction. The cheeky bastard raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed, I do know a lot of games!" 6T9 chirped. He frowned. "Although most I could not play with a minor, as they would violate my programming."

Sighing, Noa said, "You can throw a ball, right, Sixty?"

"Yes."

"Make hover noises?" Noa supplied, remembering watching Kenji when he was a baby.

"Actually, yes!" said 6T9.

Noa nodded. "You'll have to do."

"No, he won't!" Hisha stamped her foot. "He needs instructions on feeding, and potty training, and nap time."

"Then give him instructions," Noa snapped.

"But make them simple," said 6T9. "I'm dense. Literally and figuratively."

Hisha glared up at Noa, and Noa swore the smaller woman trembled with rage.

Leveling her gaze at her, Noa said, "If you have problems with 6T9 watching your son in your kitchen, you better be ready to park yourself on this planet and stay behind. These are ideal conditions compared to what we'll face soon. If you think your son would be better served by staying here, then you say so, now."

Hisha's mouth opened as though she was about to speak. But then she snapped her jaw shut.

Noa let her stance soften and spoke gently. "I'm trying to save everyone's lives, not just your son's."

As Noa expected, the doctor deflated a bit at that. She turned to 6T9 and started to give him instructions for feeding, naps, and nappies. Noa took a deep breath and felt a sting in her lungs. Thank the universe, the rest of her crew would be military and disinclined to confront her over trivialities.

Motioning for James, she headed to the stairs. Grabbing a piece of fruit, he followed. "And that is why I didn't want a child on the ship or anywhere near this mission," she half-muttered, half-panted as she climbed the steps. She paused to catch her breath at the top of the landing.

"Maybe he won't survive the commandeering," James said.

Noa's head snapped in his direction. His tone was so flat, she couldn't tell if he was joking... if it was a joke, Noa couldn't imagine it being in poorer taste.

"What?" said James, with no eyebrow raise and no expression in his lips, of course. A shiver swept through Noa, and she didn't think it was just because the Manuels kept the air conditioning too damn high.

"What is it, Noa?"

Somewhere, an air vent clicked off. "You don't sound as though you care, either way," she said softly and then mentally castigated herself. It was just his damaged augmentation—of course he cared, even if he couldn't express it.

"I should care?" said James.

Noa wanted to step back, but her back was already to the wall. The situation suddenly felt wrong, backward, and inside out. "Yes," Noa whispered, hairs on the back of her neck rising.

James's head dipped. The air vent clicked again, and she heard air rushing into the other room. "You care," said James. A slight crease appeared between his brows. "More than you would about an adult."

"The death of a child is the death of hope," Noa whispered, her hands fluttering to her abdomen. "It would be terrible for morale."

"Oh," said James. He shifted on his feet. "Have you caught your breath?"

Noa started at the lack of segue, but then she shook it off. They had too much to do, and too little time.

James watched Noa's avatar prowl through a three-dimensional map of Prime generated by his app. Her avatar's face was lit from below, her hands were clasped behind her back, and as usual her avatar wore her Fleet grays. James's avatar, this one in more casual Earth attire—a long tunic and loose slacks—walked along beside her. In the physical world, they were sitting across from one another, cross legged on the bed, Noa leaning slightly against the headboard. Occasionally he diverted his attention to the sound of her breathing. As she'd rested, it had become less ragged. He was worried about what lay ahead. He knew the first treatment for the infection would give her improved lung function immediately, but she still would be far from well. He didn't let that concern, or any other emotion, cross the hard link. She kept her feelings to herself as well.

"A disturbance there should divert the Guard," Noa's avatar said, pointing at the entrance to the museum complex.

Her words brought his full focus back to the mental map he'd conjured. Their avatars were in the courtyard of the Tri-Center where the Ark was docked; the mental model of the Ark rose just to her hip. She was pointing at the restricted wing of the complex where Luddeccea's spaceport and Central Authority were located. "With the protests going on, the ranks of the Guard will already be thin—they'll have to divert some forces to protect the rest of the city. The Guard left behind will fall back to protect the Central Authority wing or go to the main gate, if they detect a disturbance. That's when we'll have to move in."

James tilted his head. "What sort of disturbance were you thinking of?"

"I'm sure with Manuel's help we could improvise a bomb," Noa's avatar said, tapping her chin.

In his mind, he ran through his near-contacts with the Guard, remembering in particular that they were solicitous when not threatened. James took a step closer to the gate. "Maybe we should use another sort of distraction, something that won't immediately be perceived as an attack, that generates confusion instead of aggression?"

Noa's avatar snapped her hands behind her back again. "Agreed. Have any ideas?"

Instead of answering, James expanded the scale of the map until the main gate was as high as the walls of the room; it was still only one-quarter of its real size. The gate was an antiquated-looking structure of metal bars embellished with decorative curling ferntree leaves. Looking out from the museum campus, it was possible to see traffic streaming by. Luddeccea's Tri-Center was in the heart of Prime. The First Families had built outward from the Ark's final resting place, a few kilometers from the sea where it had landed. There were Guard posts on either side of the main entrance. Each post shot beams of light into the sky at a thirty-degree angle. A stone fence connected to the gate and continued around the museum complex port and the central headquarters; the fence emitted a circle of similar beams. Altogether the beams of light created a funnel-shaped fence of light in the sky. To cross the beams was to violate a no-fly zone. Only ships specifically authorized by the Port Authority were allowed to take off and land. Hover craft approaching the port, museum, and Central Authority were allowed to do so, only at ground level.

"It's slightly blurry," Noa said, indicating the gate and the hover traffic staying low, carefully avoiding the beams of light.

James nodded. "This is from my memories, before I fell. I was just a child when I visited the Tri-Center."

A brief surge of emotion sparked over the link from Noa—sympathy—and he felt his neurons jump, as though he'd been waiting for exactly that. He wanted to pause everything, to examine that feeling; but there was no time. In his mind, the countdown clock to Manuel's expected arrival ticked along, unstoppable. He focused on the present, and mentally opened the gate. Luddeccea had no history of insurrections, so the gate was seldom closed. Blurry shapes of hovers swept in and turned, either to the left toward the museum complex and Central Authority, or to the right toward the space port. Noa's and James's avatars were standing in a pedestrian area, backs to the museum. There was a stone wall between them and the Ark, and enormous stone bollards between them and the main gate.

James tilted his head, studying the bollards and the traffic speeding through the gate. "What if we caused a hover crash pile up at the gate?" he said. "We could make it look like an accident—"

Emotion sparked across the link again from Noa, causing James's neurons and nanos to spark with so much electricity that he couldn't identify the feeling. And then he did. Happiness. It sparked through his nervous system like a drug.

Her avatar beamed. "We could program hovers to crash. None of our team would even have to approach the gate." Her brows furrowed. "But if the hovers were unmanned, the Guard would know immediately that it was a ruse."

James's nanos and neurons spun. "We need a decoy of some sort." As soon as he said it, he was struck by an idea.

Noa's eyes widened in real life and on her avatar. "Ghost's 'bots!"

It was exactly what he'd been thinking. James's avatar smiled. The body he was in wanted to smile, too, but couldn't. "Yes."

Noa exhaled, and there was a ragged edge to it. Her avatar said, "You know, for someone who called this a crazy plan to begin with, you're being really helpful."

His avatar's smile dropped. "I still think it's a crazy plan. But if we stay here, we're not likely to survive until the Fleet arrives; maybe a year or so at most." The mental map faded, and he was staring at Noa in the physical world, the hard link a tether between their minds. If he focused his hearing, there was still a slight rasp to her breathing. A thought occurred to him. "If we hadn't come to Prime, if we hadn't sought out help, your infection might not have been discovered. You would have died in months... or less."

She shook her head. "You don't know that. You would have discovered the infection either way."

"Would we have been able to find a doctor who wouldn't turn you in?" James asked.

"Who knows?" Noa and her avatar shrugged. "Unhappy what-ifs. Not worth thinking about."

But James couldn't help thinking about it. The Noa before him wasn't the vibrant woman from his memories, but she was alive, complex, unique, brave, and still beautiful, even with the sharp angles that had replaced smooth curves. If he lost her... his vision, his whole mind went dark, as though the possibility was too great for his neurons to contemplate. Failure. His body shuddered.

"James?"

He felt her hand on his shoulder. The world stood still. Noa was close, he could feel her breath on his cheek. His gaze fell to her slightly parted lips. The edge of her teeth, very white, flashed in the dim room. One had a barely discernible chip. A tiny flaw that would have been covered up on Earth.

"You alright?" she said.

He couldn't answer. He didn't know. The moment felt real, and everything beyond the moment felt like a dream. The time before he fell on Earth, that felt like the biggest fantasy of all, but it hadn't been... He tried to focus on the memories of himself as a history professor in Sol System. He had loved his career, he knew that intellectually. He remembered his mind had always been racing with ideas for his next paper or presentation.

He "had" loved his career, past tense. The dream was fading. Noa's hand on his arm by contrast was in brilliant focus.

He put a hand on top of hers. "I'm here," he said. He met Noa's gaze and her dark eyes did not avoid his. "I'm alive." His gaze dropped again to her lips that were so close. "I'm more alive than ever before. It's a cliché, isn't it?" At least according to the books he'd devoured _before_. There was some comfort in that; the dream that was the past was helping him cope with the reality of the present. He would have smiled wryly if he could.

Noa gave him a lopsided grin, and something warm sparked through the hard link. "Just because it's a cliché doesn't mean it's not true."

The spark of emotion, that was also real. He wanted more of that—of her. He couldn't leave her, couldn't abandon her, even if it meant death. The same books, that history that he was connected to, told him his attachment bordered on obsession. His hand tightened on top of hers. He wasn't the type to become obsessed with a woman. And, as right as she made him feel, the obsessive nature of his emotions also filled him with apprehension. Something was off. "I don't know if it is the extreme situation, though... I worry it is more—"

From behind him came 6T9's voice, "Oh, you're hard linking! You should have told me. I have some apps with built-in themes. Roman coliseums with gladiator avatars, cowboy ranches, dragon lairs with shapeshifting dragon knights... "

Noa projected what she saw over the hard link—6T9 with Oliver practically draped over his shoulder. Despite 6T9's rather loud declaration, the child didn't stir.

"Go away, 6T9," Noa said.

"Yes, ma'am," said 6T9, and through the link James saw him disappearing down the hall.

Noa's hand was still on his shoulder, and his hand was still on top of hers. He could feel the bones beneath her skin, and the light throb of her pulse. To think of her frailty was too much. To think of everything that felt real being wrong was also too much. He understood now, at some deeper, intrinsic, hard-wired level, why Noa joked in the face of danger and despair. It was to avoid launching one's mind on inconvenient mental trajectories. Seeing her laugh would be infinitely better than worrying.

Cocking an eyebrow, he said, "I think that reviewing the sewer maps would have been much more interesting if our avatars had been dressed as gladiators."

Noa laughed, and let her good humor slip across the hard link. It fused with the sense of victory he always had when he made her laugh, and that emotion and his own laughter exploded in his mind like fireworks. He let the sensation slip back across the link.

Pulling her hand away, Noa gasped and sat back fast. The cable between them drew tight.

He felt confusion across the hard link, and then nothing. She'd shut him out. "What was that feeling?" she asked.

The question echoed in his mind through her avatar, and in his ears, as she'd spoken the words aloud, too.

"I just... laughed," he said.

Noa stared at him wide eyed. From the front of the house came the sound of a hover landing, and then the click of a latch as the front door opened. James heard Hisha's footsteps in the foyer. "Noa, you need your treatment... now!" the doctor called.

Noa yanked the hard link out. Leaning forward, she whispered, "Don't worry, I don't think anything is wrong," she said. "You just startled me."

And then she was hopping off the bed. At the door, she stopped and leaned on the frame, as though in pain—or weariness—and the awkwardness he felt over the situation was replaced by dread. She could still die. His mind went dark, and he heard a single word echo between his nanos and neurons.

Failure.

He shook his head. Obsessive. He was being obsessive... or maybe it was just stress, and adrenaline. Rising from the bed, he followed her. The reality that he was in didn't give him a choice.

Noa held a plastic ventilator mask to her face. Her nostrils were filled with the slightly acrid smell of her treatment, and it left a bitter taste on her tongue. Although the day had been sunny just hours ago, clouds had rolled in; and she could hear a gentle rain on the roof. Through the cracks in the blinds, she watched the afternoon gray turn to the dark blues of a rainy evening. The wet season was coming. In a few weeks the Guard wouldn't have to patrol the sewers—they'd be flooded.

"You're almost done," Hisha said. "You should feel the treatment begin to work immediately, but you won't be better."

Noa nodded. She could already feel the beginnings of relief.

While the inhalation device quietly hummed and delivered the rest of her treatment, she reviewed the plans she'd made. She tried not to think about the emotional surge she'd felt over the hard link. She'd hallucinated again; this time, she had hung suspended in zero G and watched a star go supernova. It had been strange and surreal and... more. Beneath her mask, she licked her lips, flushed and scowled; she had no time for foolishness. Shifting in the chair, she tried to relax. Carl Sagan, padding around the room, stood up on his four hind legs and nudged her hand. She ran her fingers between his soft ears—and her thoughts drifted back to that strange emotion and hallucination like a leaf caught in a stream. She told herself that she wouldn't even _think_ the word "alien" and of course did think that... She searched the room with her eyes. James wasn't with her now. Cocking her head, she heard him eating in the kitchen. He had complained that the cold in the house made him want to "eat like a horse." She guessed a guy who played polo would know about horse appetites. Beneath the mask, she smiled. Polo was one of the most expensive sports she could think of, especially on Earth. Even on Luddeccea a horse was an expensive item. Horses ate a lot, and required a lot of pastureland and care. Perhaps that wealth was the key to James's strange, intense emotions; he had some hyper-weird expensive augments. Crazy Earther.

"You're done," said Hisha, walking back into the room, holding Oliver's hand.

"Shixty," the toddler gurgled, looking over his shoulder to the kitchen.

"Hush!" said Hisha.

"Shixty!" said Oliver.

From the kitchen came 6T9's voice. "Does he need a nappy change?"

James's voice floated from the other room. "I think that's his name for you."

"Are you sure? It sounds like he is saying a word Eliza finds too offensive for me to say," the 'bot replied.

Hisha picked up her child, her face crumpling in a way that foretold tears. "Hush, don't say that, Ollie," she murmured.

Noa took off the mask. Through the front door, she heard the sound of another hover outside. "That is Eliza," said 6T9, passing down the hallway between the kitchen and the living room.

Exhaling in relief that Eliza had made it back, Noa tucked the mask away. She joined 6T9 and Hisha a few minutes later in the foyer just as Eliza burst in. The older woman immediately reached for 6T9. He pulled her into an embrace and Eliza leaned against him. Her breathing was labored.

Looking over Eliza's shoulder, Noa saw—much to her disbelief—that the hover didn't have a single nick. But her heart dropped in dismay. "You didn't rendezvous with any of the Fleet members Manuel assigned to you?"

Eliza shook her head, still panting loudly.

"Check her for a cryssallis infection!" said 6T9, turning to Hisha.

"I'm fine," Eliza said, turning to Noa. "They weren't there! All of them... gone. I went into their homes and to their work places, and then I was stopped."

Noa's eyes widened.

Still trying to catch her breath, Eliza said, "I told the authorities... I have a grandchild... in the Fleet... wanted to visit him."

Hisha snapped a breath tester over Eliza's mouth. It blinked green after a few short seconds and Hisha pulled it away. "She's clean."

"I'm fine!" Eliza snapped, but she was still breathing deeply.

"Sweeping you off your feet!" 6T9 declared, putting a hand behind her back and another behind her knees.

"I'm fine!" Eliza said again, but this time more softly. 6T9 gathered her in his arms with such slow grace and gentleness, it looked like he was performing a dance.

Eliza took a deep breath and then turned to Noa. "I'm so sorry," Eliza said. "Their houses were all vacant." There were tears standing in her eyes.

Noa took Eliza's hand. Her skin felt papery and thin. "I know you did your best, and if it had been anyone else, they would have been arrested."

Behind Noa, James's voice rumbled like a storm. "This isn't good. If she went to their homes and was stopped... "

"Their homes may have been under surveillance," Noa finished, still holding the older woman's hand. "Which could mean they followed Eliza back here." She felt her heart rate pick up in her chest. The acrid taste of the treatment was replaced by adrenaline. She felt her senses sharpen the way they used to just before a piloting mission. It felt good, and she realized just how much the illness had been hurting her. She almost smiled.

"I didn't mean to... " Eliza protested.

Noa gently squeezed her hand. "There is nothing you could have done. But we will have to leave."

Eyes wide, lip trembling, Hisha said, "We have to wait for Manuel."

"Yes, we do," Noa agreed.

"Really?" said James, peering between the blinds by the door. He didn't turn when Hisha's head whipped around and she aimed a glare at him.

"We need a crew," Noa responded.

Hisha's shoulders sank. She met Noa's eyes, the death glare she'd shot at James completely gone. Dropping Eliza's hand, Noa put a hand on her shoulder. "But be ready to move out."

Nodding, Hisha tore out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Oliver at Noa's feet.

"Mub out," said Oliver, sucking on his knuckles again. Noa looked down at him. He barely came past her knees. He grinned up at her, chubby cheeks splitting in a lopsided, oblivious grin. The almost-smile on her face melted and her chest constricted. She had to get this adorable lump of uselessness aboard a spaceship while taking fire—and Eliza as well. If 6T9 malfunctioned...

"Blasted heap of a leaking fission reactor," she muttered, and silently prayed that Manuel would bring her some Fleet personnel.

At her feet, Oliver giggled.

A few minutes after Eliza's arrival, Noa heard the sound of Manuel's hover. She peeked through the blinds on the second floor and saw he wasn't alone in the craft. Her heart soared. Carl Sagan apparently caught her mood, because he hopped and gave a happy hiss. She reached out to him and he crawled up her arm and curled behind her neck. She scratched him behind the ears. "You're coming with us, Buddy. The Ark is a tourist attraction now and has a snack shop aboard." Her nose wrinkled. "And that means rats." Carl Sagan bounced and hissed happily as she strode down the hallway to the stairs.

Moments later, downstairs, her heart sank, again.

Noa's eyes swept down the line of men and women in Manuel's foyer as the werfle sniffed at them. Putting her hands behind her back, she tried to hide her dismay. There were six of them, four men and two women; all wore hats or hairstyles that hid their neural interfaces. Noa reckoned that only two of them were Fleet—an old man and a young woman who looked all of sixteen years old. Noa could tell they were Fleet by the way they stood—or in the case of the woman, how she sat in a wheelchair—at attention. Gripping her wrist tighter, Noa went first to the man, Manuel beside her.

"This is Gunnery Sergeant Phil Leung," Manuel said. The engineer's voice was shaky. He knew he'd let her down—or that circumstances had let them down. Since Eliza's targets had disappeared, Noa guessed that these were the only Fleet personnel he'd been able to find. She wished she could take him aside and tell him not to let his nervousness show in front of this motley crew. Normally, she would ethernet such information to her second-in-command—as soon as they were out of space and out of range of amplifiers, she would hook up a local ethernet on the Ark. In front of her, Leung snapped a neat salute and she gave him a tight nod. "Commander," he said, "it's an honor to serve with another veteran of Six."

Scanning her data banks, she pulled up Leung's file and, for the first time, felt hope. Leung had a potbelly that doubled his girth. His East Asian eyes were bright hazel flecked with orange, but bloodshot. His golden skin was marred by a bulbous red nose that spoke of too much drink, and his hair was thin and graying at the temples. He was out of shape, and possibly drank too liberally; but he was a veteran of the Io Company and had served in Six during the Asteroid War. She felt like singing Hallelujah. Gunny Leung's platoon had been in the thick of it—cleaning up the pirate compounds after Noa and her pilots had blasted the pirates halfway to kingdom come. She gave him a curt nod instead of singing, but she knew he could see the slight smile on her lips. "Glad to have you aboard."

Gunny's eyes went to Carl Sagan. The werfle gave a happy hiss and leapt onto Gunny before Noa could stop him. Gunny smiled as the creature climbed to its favorite spot, behind his neck. "We goin' someplace where there'll be rats, Commander?" he asked, scratching the werfle behind the ears as it relocated on his broader shoulders. Noa didn't answer that, but her lips turned up. Werfles weren't as common as cats on starships... but they were just as appreciated.

"And this is Ensign June Chavez," said Manuel, moving Noa down the line. Noa looked down at the woman in the wheelchair, sitting at attention. Chavez's legs were cut off mid-thigh. Most people tended to look like blends of all the human races, and as a result, didn't look like any race in particular. Chavez was the type of person who had distinct features of all the races. She had hair that was almost as tightly curled as Noa's, but it was red. Her tan face was dotted with freckles, and she had generous full lips. Her eye shape suggested East Asian heritage, but they were a vivid green.

"Do you have prosthetics, Ensign?" Noa asked as she pulled up Chavez's history. Chavez had lost her legs when she'd been caught in a landslide on System Ten's fourth planet. She'd been helping some colonists evacuate a settlement at the time. No combat experience—but notes in her file said she'd served bravely and had volunteered to be among the last to lift out.

"Yes, Sir, in the hover, Sir," said Chavez. "Temporary ones, but they work decently enough after they warm up, if they don't get wet. I was waiting to rejoin the Fleet after surgery for the permanent ones." The words tumbled out of her mouth so quickly it took a few seconds for Noa to catch it all.

"We had to hide them in case we were stopped," Manuel said.

Noa exhaled in relief. "Go put them on," Noa said. "Now."

"Yes, Sir, right away," said Chavez, wheeling herself quickly into the garage.

Noa's eyes went to the other three men, and the one woman. They all looked terribly young. Behind her back, her fingers went to fidget with her rings and found them not there.

"These are rebellion sympathizers from my shop," Manuel said. "They should do as crew." His voice was gruff, and Noa heard him gulp. "This is Bo," he said, indicating with his head to the tallest of the young people. He had typical Euro-Asian African looks—black wavy hair, green eyes, and he appeared to be in good shape, at least.

Giving a salute that looked sincere, but was obviously unpracticed, Bo broke into a lopsided grin. "I was on my way to join the Fleet when the time gate closed. I'm ready to get off this rock." The grin got wider. "Really excited." He bounced on his feet. Noa's hands tightened behind her back and she made a mental note to not give him a firearm. Inside her head, her chronometer was ticking down fast. Noa's eyes went to the other three sympathizers.

The girl looked quickly at the other two boys, and then blurted out, "We're all augments. I have an artificial lung... please don't leave us behind. Augments are disappearing."

"We are all engineers," said another, shifting nervously on his feet.

"Students," said the girl, dropping her eyes. "Engineering students, ma'am... I mean, Sir."

Behind her back, Noa's nails bit into her wrist. "No one is being left behind."

The chronometer in her head was almost at zero. She turned to Manuel. "What weapons do we have?"

"I couldn't get to the facility we're using as an armory. We've got what Gunny had in his basement."

Noa didn't sigh. The chronometer in her head ticked down to zero. James poked his head in from the garage. Yanking at the hard link he'd used to program the hover, he said, "We're ready."

Hisha appeared on the stairs. She'd tied a complicated-looking sling thing to her front. Oliver was passed out inside of it. Meeting Noa's gaze, she stammered, "He won't cry. I... I... sedated him, just as I promised."

Noa nodded at her. "It was the right thing to do." The doctor didn't look mollified.

Noa glanced at the rain-spattered window. It was dark at least. "Time to move out."

A few minutes later, the hover was set upon by Guard ships as soon as it left the Manuels' townhome complex.

Fortunately, they weren't in it.

# 15

James watched from the roof as the hover sped down residential streets, bright with the shine of lights on rain-slicked pavement. Sirens from the Luddeccean Guard's hovers screamed behind and above it. He let out a breath of relief. They'd put pillow cases stuffed with hot water bottles into the vehicle and sent it on its way, hoping the vaguely body-shaped pockets of warmth would confuse any heat scanners—not that it had been necessary. The rain had picked up. It was pouring in rivulets off the roof, off the hovers he saw parked in the complex, and down his neck—the cool water would throw off heat scanners. He'd also programmed the vehicle to follow the streets instead of taking flight; Noa had suspected it would be shot down if it took to the air. On the streets, still busy with evening traffic, the Guard would hopefully be more restrained, and hopefully they'd get a little extra time to flee before the ruse was discovered.

"It worked." The words from Noa were spoken directly into his mind. They were hard linked. Noa had dispensed with propriety the instant they hit the roof. Noa was beside him behind the wall of the home three doors down from the Manuels' residence, crouching under the leaves of the neighbor's rooftop garden. The rest of the "team" was with them. James's eyes flicked in their direction. He knew they were there, but all that he could see were Chavez's legs. They'd duct-taped plastic bags over her prosthetics—from where James sat, it looked as though someone had left a bag of garbage out. His gaze went to the roof of the Manuels' home. They'd gotten out of the house just a few minutes before the Guards dropped men to the roof from a hover. The Guards on the Manuels' roof were following the hover chase with binoculars, laughing amongst themselves. All that separated them from James and the team were leaves, darkness, and rain.

The link hummed with equal amounts of determination and focused fury from Noa. It was oddly reassuring. James wondered if the Fleet trained its officers to transmit such feelings.

Over the link, Noa spoke to him. "The Guards on the other roof—are they distracted by the chase?"

There was a reason they hadn't moved farther. There were two more Guards on the next roof. James looked over the edge of the wall separating the rooftop garden they were in from the next.

"Yes," he responded over the link and sent her an image of what he saw: two men, rifles slung on their backs, gazing through their binoculars.

Noa transmitted data on their weapons to him. They were sniper rifles. "With built-in transmitters," Noa said. "We can't steal them."

One of the snipers said, "Did you see that MX? Just jumped 100 meters straight vertical." He whistled. "Sweet machine."

"Think they'll ever sell those hovers to civilians? I sure want one," said his companion.

"We got 'em!" said the first sniper, springing a bit.

The second said, "Not yet."

And then there was the crackle of a radio device that looked like it might have been transported straight from the 1990s on one of the men's thighs. "Team S1, report!"

"We're here," said the first sniper. "All's well. Almost in position."

"Unprofessional," Noa whispered into his mind. "Lucky us."

Noa turned to Chavez, Manuel, and Leung and delivered some quick hand gestures. The three officers nodded.

Over the link, Noa said, "James, you and I are going to take them."

She slipped a stunner from a holster on her thigh—a weapon from Gunny Leung's "arsenal." They also each had a pistol and a rifle, but they were too loud. A stunner pressed against a man's side would be nearly silent.

"I'm allowed to use deadly force?" James said, taking out his own stunner, but eyeing the Guards on the Manuels' roof standing outside of the back door.

"Of course," Noa said into his mind, eyes on the two snipers. "Try not to let the sound of his body hitting the ground alert the others."

"Understood," James replied across the link. They didn't just have to worry about the other Guard team hearing. 6T9 was programmed not to hurt humans and to offer assistance in the event of injury. Such programming would override any orders Eliza gave him.

"Now," said Noa, yanking out the hard link between them.

She slipped over the wall between them and the two snipers. Her breathing was steady and even, her movements sure. James followed. Crouching low, they hugged the shadow of the wall that separated the rooftops.

From the hover chase blocks away, an explosion went off, briefly illuminating the rooftop. The snipers whistled and chuckled. As soon as the light subsided, Noa and James rushed forward. James put his right hand around his target's mouth. James was wearing a thin, stunner-resistant glove on that hand. Pressing the stunner to the man's side, he hit the activate button. James heard a soft click as two twin prongs sprang from the stunner's business end. He prepared for the man's body to convulse. Nothing happened. Recovering from his mental shock, the man began to struggle.

James pictured the man flipping him over his shoulder, and the Guard being alerted to their presence in the resulting scuffle. He acted before any of that happened.

Noa restrained a grunt as she lowered the sniper's body gently to the roof. In the periphery of her vision, she saw James do the same. She'd known he could do it. Chavez would have been an obvious choice, but her temporary limbs creaked. Leung was out of shape. Manuel was an engineer—he had the training, but not the experience.

From her right, she heard shouts. Every hair on the back of her neck rose, but then she saw it was just the rooftop team at the Manuels' house flooding into the dwelling. She heard the front door burst open from below, and shouts as the home was invaded from both directions.

She signaled the rest of the team to follow James and herself. Chavez launched herself over the wall and the rest followed, with Gunny, Carl Sagan wrapped around his neck like a shawl, taking up the rear.

At James's feet a muffled voice crackled, "Team S1, report."

"The radio," James said.

"Find it!" Noa hissed, rolling over the man James had stunned.

James plucked a device the size of a brick from the man's side pocket and began fumbling with the buttons.

"Mimic his voice!" Noa whispered.

James blinked at her. "Mimic his voice?"

"You mimic me all the time!" Noa said.

"I hadn't thought about it... " said James, staring at the radio.

"Team S1?"

"What do I say?" James said.

"That we're in position!" Noa said as Chavez slid over the wall of the adjoining roof and the rest of the team followed.

"In position," James said. Noa breathed out a sigh of relief. He'd perfectly mimicked the sniper who'd spoken earlier.

An order crackled over the device. "Keep your eye on the cul-de-sac, make sure no one climbs out a window."

Noa rolled her hands, trying to urge James to keep speaking.

James's eyes got wide, but then into the radio he said, "We got 'em."

Noa's brows drew together. That was exactly what the man had said earlier—maybe he could only mimic phrases he'd heard?

She breathed out a sigh of relief when there was just a chuckle from the other end. "Yeah, I think we did."

Checking over her shoulder, she saw that the two remaining Guards on the Manuels' roof weren't looking in their direction. "Keep that," she said, pointing at the brick-like transmitter he was carrying. James nodded.

Gunny Leung stepped over the man James had stunned and looked down. Noa followed his gaze on reflex. For the first time, she noticed the sniper's neck was at an awkward angle and his eyes were wide. His neck was broken... but she remembered James taking out the stunner. Gunny grunted. Noa put her finger to her lips for silence. She looked to James; he was motioning for her to move quickly. She and Gunny loped to the next wall. But the sniper's empty eyes stayed in her mind.

The eyes of the dead sniper were still in Noa's mind a few minutes later as she stood guard in an alley just beyond the townhome complex, pistol in hand. James was across from her, looking the other way. Chavez and Manuel had the other side of the narrow thoroughfare. Gunny Leung and the three engineering students were struggling with a sewer grate while Hisha waited with Oliver in his carrier, and 6T9 stood with Eliza in his arms. On either side of them, tall residential buildings rose steeply.

Behind Noa and James, Bo grumbled. "I could be more help if I had a rifle or a pistol."

Gunny Leung answered. "Lift the grate if you want to be any help at all, son." Carl Sagan gave a tiny growl from Gunny's shoulders as though to emphasize the old sergeant's point.

"His venom sacks have been milked, right?" asked Bo.

"Not in a long, long time," said Gunny. Bo seemed to redouble his efforts.

"Eliza," 6T9 whispered, "I am sure one of the gentlemen from the authorities on the rooftop had a broken neck."

Noa's whole body tensed.

6T9 continued, "Shouldn't we call an ambulance for him? One of the dwellings in these buildings should have one of those telephone lines."

"No, no, no," Eliza said back. "They were just sleeping on the job. Nothing to worry about, my beloved."

"If you are certain," said 6T9.

Noa exhaled.

Gunny's eyes flitted to James and narrowed. Noa couldn't decide if he looked suspicious or just appraising.

"I meant to tell you, the stunner didn't work," James whispered. His voice made her jump. He was still facing away, looking out onto the street beyond the alley. "I had to break the man's neck."

He said it so easily... because it was easy for him. She shivered, and it wasn't because of the rain. She remembered him saying, "I have no misgivings about killing, but I wonder if I should."

A history professor, even one that was an avowed adventurist, should not be able to break a man's neck with such ease. There was more to him than met the eye. She bit her lip. Of course there was. He was the "archangel," she'd known that since she'd awakened next to him in his parents' cottage. She'd thought it was a mistake then, just the authorities targeting an off-worlder out of some mistaken intelligence and religious nuttiness. But maybe there was a kernel of truth in their paranoia? A tiny part of her whispered that James was dangerous, that he might be part of some conspiracy. She scowled. Of course, the Luddecceans thought she was dangerous, too—and also part of the Archangel Project.

"Noa?" said James, holding the stunner toward her.

Glancing down at it, she said, "Stow it. Maybe Manuel can fix it."

"Hmm... good idea."

As he slipped it into a pocket, the girl whose name Noa still did not know, said, "I wonder when they'll realize that the hover doesn't have us in it."

At that moment, the radio in James's pocket burst with static. "Suspects were not apprehended. Repeat: suspects were not apprehended."

"The house is empty," another voice said over the radio.

"They were never in the hover," said yet another voice.

Behind Noa, Leung said, "Grate's off. Only room for single file."

"Gunny, Chavez, you first," Noa ordered. She gestured to the students. "You next—help Eliza and Hisha down."

As everyone snapped into action, the radio-brick thing hissed, "Team S1, report."

James pulled it out of his pocket and stared at it.

"Say something," Noa said.

"In position," James said in the sniper's voice.

"I can't get a visual on you, S1," said another voice.

"In position," James said again.

Another voice crackled over the radio. "Is everything alright?"

James blinked at the radio.

"Make something up! Stall for time," said Eliza, lifting her head from 6T9's chest. "Quickly!"

Lifting the radio to his lips again, James mimicked the first sniper. "That MX is a sweet machine." He coughed, and repeated the second sniper's words verbatim. "Think they'll ever sell those hovers to civilians? I sure want one."

Noa winced. Catching her eye, James shrugged helplessly, looking not so much dangerous as befuddled. Noa felt her heart growing lighter. James wasn't part of some alien conspiracy. And if he was tied to the "Archangel Project," it was only in whatever oblivious way Noa herself was tied to it.

"It was a boring conversation anyway," Noa said, wondering if he'd catch the reference to that old move-ee he'd shared with her.

Chatter exploded from the radio again. Someone said, "S1, I'm going to send a team to your position."

Noa's heart beat fast. Hisha was handing Oliver to someone below, and her movements seemed to be in slow motion. They were steps from the townhome complex, and any minute their path would be discerned.

Over the radio, someone said, "Team S1 is down. Repeat, S1 is down."

"Should I tell them we're having a reactor leak, too?" James asked, apparently having caught the reference. He raised an eyebrow—it was his 'I am teasing you look.' And, damn it... she needed someone to joke with at times like this, when everything could go down a mine pit at any moment. Grinning, Noa gave him a wink. That earned her an eye roll. She motioned to Manuel. "You go down, we'll follow."

Manuel slid down through the grate and James said to Noa, "After you."

Noa slid through the grate into the darkness and fell into line behind Hisha, Oliver's sleeping cherubic face just visible above the folds of fabric of his carrier.

Noa pulled on some heavy, ancient night vision goggles that had belonged to Gunny's grandfather and only slightly improved her vision.

She frowned. The darkness and the cluster of frightened civilians in a tunnel brought back memories of the evacuation of New Rio. The colony had been infected with a plague that was incurable at the time. Most of the carriers were oblivious. She felt herself shiver, even though it was warm. Being oblivious to his part of the Archangel Project didn't mean James wasn't dangerous.

It didn't mean she wasn't dangerous, either.

In the sewers, James poked his head around the intersection. He scanned in both directions. All he saw was the glint of the water running through the tunnel. "Clear," he said.

Noa slipped past him, pistol raised, and then gestured for the people behind him.

"Not clear back behind us," Gunny whispered. "We've got four incoming, 725 meters. Tunnel from the left."

"We're almost there," Noa whispered. "We'll make it."

James focused behind them. He heard the splash of footsteps, but couldn't detect the exact location or the number of men. Gunny must have had more sophisticated augmentation. It made James jealous—and that was ridiculous. He was a history professor; he wasn't supposed to have sophisticated locator apps.

The team walked a few more meters down the new tunnel. It was cooler in the tunnels, now that it had rained; their clothes were drenched. James felt a tightness in his skin, and knew that if he looked he'd find his bare arms to be as pale as bone. He found himself wishing he'd had a chance for a snack. He had the sensation of his vision and focus tunneling, as it did whenever he was hungry. The footsteps trailing the team faded out of his consciousness, and then he was aware only of himself and Noa. She was slinking through the darkness beside him with amazing stealth. Her breathing was no longer raspy, and her movements were fluid; she wouldn't need his arm this time. At that thought, he nearly tripped over his own feet.

Noa's eyes met his in the darkness. He shrugged, trying to convey _nothing to worry about_. He blinked, and remembered he had a snack on him. He pulled out half of a protein bar and started to munch. His vision cleared and his focus expanded. Beside him, Noa drew her head back, and then looked heavenward. He recognized the gesture from their time in the freight car, and remembered the words that normally went with it. "Eating again?" she would say.

He shrugged again, and put the tiny remainder of the bar back into his pocket.

A slight red glow fell on his shoulder. He spun, pistol raised, and found himself staring at a tiny blinking red light at the side of 6T9's head.

Staring at the muzzle of the pistol, Eliza gasped. 6T9 made no indication that he noticed the weapon. In a mechanical voice the 'bot said, "I am no longer able to assist." He set Eliza gently down and then started to waver. Before James's brain had caught up to what was happening, Noa, Manuel, Chavez, and the engineering students were grabbing the 'bot by his arms and were easing him to the ground. As they settled him down, 6T9 said, "Thank you."

Hand to her mouth, Eliza leaned over him.

"Low on power," 6T9 said, thankfully quietly.

"Leave him here," one of the engineering students whispered.

"That might be wise," said 6T9.

"No!" cried Eliza, putting her hands on the 'bot's shoulders. "If he stays, I stay, and there goes your mission bankroll."

"6T9, will you be able to walk another 600 meters?" Noa asked.

"Of course he will!" said Eliza, her voice too shrill.

One of the engineering students put a finger to her lips.

"I cannot walk any farther," said 6T9.

"You can, you can," Eliza said in a trembling voice. "Get up!"

"I cannot walk any farther," 6T9 repeated, not moving from where he sat.

"Shixty," said Oliver, drawing James's attention. The toddler was rousing, poking his rumpled head over his mother's shoulder.

As his mother hushed him, Eliza said, "He just needs power. There wasn't an adequate charger at the Manuels' home."

Under Eliza's hands, 6T9 slumped forward like a doll, and the light behind his eyes went out. Eliza gasped.

"Shixty," sniffled Oliver, as Hisha slipped an injection of something into his arm.

Taking advantage of the delay, James pulled out the rest of his protein bar.

"We should leave him," said Gunny, as James popped the last of the protein bar into his mouth.

"No, Noa!" said Eliza. "I'll need him to carry me later. I can't make it on my own."

Licking the sheen of fat from his fingers, James said, "Ghost has 'bot parts. He could probably put one together for you."

Eliza's face fell. "I don't want just any 'bot! I want 6T9." She turned to Noa. "The deal was, you took him and me!" The volume of her voice was rising.

Noa put her hands to her lips in a sign for silence. Somewhere in the distance, James heard a shout. They were so close to Ghost's home and safety. Were Eliza's hysterics going to get them shot down anyway?

Noa sighed. "You're right, I promised you passage."

"I'm not carrying him," said one of the engineering students. The young woman drew back.

Hisha and Manuel were quiet.

Gunny said softly, "It would be better to leave him." He closed his eyes and put a hand to his data port. "They're closing in on us."

Chavez's gaze was darting between all the other members of the team. Eliza started to cry, her sobs echoing through the sewer tunnels.

"Shhhh... " said Noa.

"Do you have more sedative?" Manuel whispered.

"I'll scream!" Eliza hissed.

Noa's eyes went to 6T9 and back to Eliza again. She eyed the team. "I did promise Eliza—we can make this work."

James noticed the 'team' shifting on their feet.

"He's not just any 'bot," Eliza interrupted. "If he was human, you'd bring him."

James's eyes slid to Noa. Her jaw was set, her shoulders squared. She wasn't going to leave 6T9. James could see it already.

"We have to leave it!" Hisha said.

James felt his nerves spark beneath his skin at the word 'it.' Noa's stance... that word... before he knew what he was doing, he was sitting on his heels beside the 'bot.

Someone whispered, "What are you—"

Pulling one of 6T9's arms over his head, James swung the heavy 'bot over his shoulder. Standing up, he found all eyes on him. "Move!" he said. He wanted to frown, but he could only manage to shift his jaw. "We don't have time to argue about this!"

Gunny's eyebrows were at his hairline. Manuel's jaw dropped. "Do you know how heavy those things are?" the engineer asked.

Before James could respond, Noa said, "Move out. The longer we're here, the greater the danger we're in."

No one argued this time. The young woman and one of the men went to help Eliza. There were echoes and shouts in the tunnel—but the voices were confused. They weren't sure where the team's voices were coming from in the maze of tunnels, so they were traveling more slowly than James's team. He would have felt more satisfied if...

"I'm hungry." The words were out of his mouth before he'd thought of them. He couldn't care if he was overheard; his vision was tunneling in again.

The sound of water from the recent rain gurgling in the sewers almost covered up the sound of Noa's "team." They were very close to Ghost's abode.

"Here," Noa whispered, slipping James a protein bar. She'd been feeding them to him, like stoking a furnace, since he'd heaved 6T9 over his shoulder. But he could eat all of it, as far as she was concerned. He'd saved her neck, and her authority, and the sorry excuse she had for a crew, by hauling 6T9 up on his back. She took a deep breath—for once, not because she was exhausted—but to keep her anger from boiling over. She told herself that Gunny would have been right, under ordinary circumstances. 6T9 was a waste of resources. But these weren't ordinary circumstances. Eliza would need the 'bot to care for her aboard the Ark. Noa had heard 6T9 talk knowledgeably about Eliza's ailments. He had some expensive apps to augment his native programming. And she'd seen the way he cradled her gently in his arms and took her hands with the utmost care—that was knowledge that would have been integrated in the circuits of his titanium bones and synth muscles. Even if they were to install his motherboard in one of Ghost's 'bots, not all of 6T9's working knowledge could be transferred with the motherboard.

A light went off in her mind, and she drew to a halt. Craning her neck, she looked up at the place her locator app told her was the entrance to Ghost's lair. It looked no different from any of the ancient cement surrounding it.

"My coordinates right?" she asked James, keeping her voice a low whisper.

"Yes," he said as the others caught up to them.

Noa held up a hand for a halt and silence.

"Leg up?" she whispered.

James slid 6T9 from his shoulder. Before he lifted her, Noa put a hand on his shoulder. Inclining her head to the 'bot, she asked, "You'll be fine hoisting him up too? Should I get some rope?"

James cocked his head. "I believe... yes, I will be fine... save the rope for Eliza." He cleared his throat. "Although another protein bar would be helpful."

Noa gave him her last one. He stowed it in his pocket and wove his fingers together. Noa gave a last look to the 'bot lying like a discarded doll in the middle of the sewer, a trickle of runoff pooling at the small of his back. And then she slipped her foot into his linked hands and said, "On three."

"What?" said Manuel.

Noa was already leaping up to the seemingly cement ceiling. As she expected, she passed through a hologram, into the vertical shaft below Ghost's abode. She caught the rung of the ancient metal ladder and looked down. Her legs were swinging through a shimmering floor of light. She heard hushed cries of surprise. Ghost had disguised the access tunnel to look like the rest of the sewer. She looked up and saw another shimmering veil of light between her and the grate above. The ancient metal door to his abode was gone. There was just the appearance of crumbling cement in front of her nose. Understanding hit her in a flash. Ghost was going through extra trouble to hide his dwelling. He was concealing himself even more than before... and he had been well-concealed before.

She shook her head, reached out, and felt the door. It wasn't locked. "Send Manuel up next," she whispered. After crawling into the tunnel, moments later she reached Ghost's lair. This time there were no holos of the Ark's engine room. It was just his place—the bed, the dirty kitchenette, the clutter of electronic bits and parts—among them a sex 'bot splayed out in a chair, arms and legs missing, eyes open to the heavens. It was dark even though the geothermal unit was still on. It was humid and too warm.

There was no sign of Ghost.

Feet in the relative safety of Ghost's abode, James bent into the crawl-way entrance and pulled on 6T9's shoulders.

"Thank you so much for doing this," Eliza said, already in the room, just behind him. "I won't forget it."

"Where is Dan?" he heard Manuel say.

"I don't know," Noa replied. "But he left the holos on to cover the back entrance, so he must be coming back."

James gave one final tug and pulled the 'bot out onto the floor. Hovering behind him, Eliza said, "The geothermal unit has chargers. It will take him a few hours to completely recharge."

James only grunted. He was exhausted, hungry... and cold. Slipping through the tunnel after the 'bot, Chavez said, "A geothermal unit? I can recharge my legs, they're starting to die on me." She began tearing off the plastic bags covering her prosthetics, revealing metal knee joints and plastic. At the juncture of plastic and flesh, there were bands of fresh duct tape. "Hisha put that on so water wouldn't get into the connections."

James saw one of the young men roll his eyes at the sight, and another turned up his nose. James blinked. He didn't find the sight off-putting, but a memory came back to him of eyeing a woman walking in front of him wearing her prosthetics unabashedly. He had said to a friend, "If you can have synth flesh and look perfectly normal—why wouldn't you?" He clearly remembered being repulsed. He looked at Chavez's legs again. The duct tape, the metal, and the plastic—he didn't find her more or less attractive for it. His eyes went to her face. She winked one of her startling blue eyes at him and grinned. "Where did the Commander find you?" Her Luddeccean accent was thick. He noticed a crucifix hanging at her neck. "And are there any more like you?"

One of the engineers coughed behind his hand. Another scowled at James.

It took a moment to realize she was flirting with him. In another life, would he have smiled at her... or would he have recoiled at the sight of her legs? Would he have turned up his nose at her accent? Would he have looked down on her because she was like Noa, too earthy, too brash, and too loud? Something in him went still and cold. Noa didn't flirt. Sometimes she recoiled at his touch.

His vision tunneled to the point where he saw only his hands. Hefting 6T9 up like a potato sack, he carried him to the geothermal unit. Setting him down without bothering to be gentle, he let Eliza plug the 'bot in.

Chavez gingerly picked up a duplex charging wire from a pile of equipment, plugged the single end into an outlet, and the double end into the backs of her prosthetic legs. James's eyes slid to the kitchenette. On the counter was a jar of peanuts. He looked at the geothermal heater—it felt so good to be close to it. It was so warm, but the peanuts looked delicious. He looked at the wires attached to 6T9 and Chavez and sighed. "I wish I could recharge so easily."

Rocking on her artificial limbs, Chavez gave him another grin. She was pretty. Her features might be unusual, but they were open and... he tilted his head... symmetrical. She looked healthy and energetic. He remembered a few of his other self's short encounters. He'd pursued far less attractive women for brief flings. And yet he wasn't drawn to Chavez at all.

Lifting an eyebrow at his own musings, James retrieved the peanuts, but then immediately returned to the geothermal unit and the halo of warmth around it.

With his first mouthful of food, the conversation around him began to come into focus.

Eliza was clucking at the dismembered 'bot.

Hisha had taken Oliver out of his carrier, and was gently rocking him while eyeing the same 'bot. Her nose was wrinkled in disgust. "That is so distasteful."

Farther away, Manuel was saying, "How long should we wait for Dan?"

Noa answered, "If he doesn't return, we're pretty much dead in the water."

"We could shoot our way up to the Northeast Province," said Bo excitedly.

Gunny, Manuel, and Noa all looked up at him, and then back to each other.

Manuel said, "If Dan doesn't get back—"

"I never left!" The buzz of conversation stopped. All eyes went to the door that led to the hallway. Ghost was standing there; he had his hologram projecting necklace on, the glow of it seemingly illuminating perfectly chiseled features.

"You're not Dan," said Manuel.

The necklace dimmed, and there was the slightly pudgy face that James remembered.

"I prefer to go by Ghost," he said, lifting his nose.

Noa rolled her eyes over to James. He mouthed "ebatteru." It was Japanese, but translated roughly into "arrogant" with implications of "attention seeker." He saw her chest heave, and she abruptly coughed. But there was no rasp to it. His jaw only shifted, but internally he smiled.

"Ghost?" said Manuel, his voice dropping an octave.

"Humor him," said Noa.

Ghost's beady eyes darted in her direction, but he didn't respond. Instead his eyes went to the others in the room. His lip curled up. "I suppose these are passengers you used to raise money for my services... but where is your crew?"

There was a short silence. Noa stood a little straighter. "These are the crew."

Ghost's mouth gaped. His eyes fell on the engineering students. "Is this a joke?" he whispered.

Noa took a step toward Ghost. "A deal is a deal, Ghost. They'll do, especially if you can generate one of your stellar holograms to introduce them to the Ark's engine rooms and to review my plans."

Ghost stared at the engineering students. His eyes passed over James, lingered on Chavez, then went to Eliza and 6T9, and stopped at Hisha and Oliver. Staring at the boy, he demanded, "What is that?"

James felt his neurons spark. That... denoted something less than human. James didn't feel the way Noa felt about children, but he felt annoyance sparking like static beneath his skin at Ghost's wording.

Hisha drew the child tighter to herself. "My son."

Ghost shook his head; lip trembling, he looked away. "They'll have to do." And then his eyes went to Noa. "We have to leave soon. There have been crackdowns, more arrests."

Noa said, "We put that together."

"I had to mortar up the other exit," Ghost said, lip still trembling. "There are too many Guards in the alleys. I think your disappearance has made them nervous."

"We are all ready to leave as quickly as possible," Noa replied.

Ghost began to pace. His eyes went up to James's and then down to the peanuts. "You're eating my peanuts?"

He didn't sound angry; he sounded surprised.

"What else would I do with them?" James said.

Ghost's eyes flicked to the peanuts and back to James. "You've got nerve."

James shrugged. "And an appetite."

Ghost ground his jaw. His eyes fell to James's arms. "Interesting tattoos."

"They are amazing," said Chavez. "Where did you get them?"

James was saved having to answer by a sudden hum and click from 6T9. "Oh, look, it is one of the XTC 100 models."

All eyes turned to 6T9, whose focus was on the dismembered female 'bot on the chair.

"Don't let it distress you, dear!" Eliza said.

Ghost snorted.

"Why would it distress me?" 6T9 said, turning his eyes to Eliza.

"Because it's a 'bot like you and it's chopped to bits?" said Bo.

6T9 tilted his head. "Only the health of humans matters." He smiled at Eliza. "And yours more than all others, my love."

Ghost snorted again. One of the students choked out a strangled, "Blech."

James's eyes went to the empty eyes of the dismembered 'bot on the chair. He found himself rolling his sleeves down to cover the tattoos on his arms.

A semi-transparent holographic image of the Tri-Center and the sewers beneath it floated in Ghost's lair in front of Noa. Her team gathered around it. Everyone was standing except Eliza and Oliver. Eliza was sitting in a chair. Oliver was on Ghost's bed, sleeping off the remainder of the sedative he'd received. Carl Sagan was curled up in a ball beside him.

The team had long since gotten past the "how is this possible?" questions about the hologram. James had again asked, "You're really not using quantum entanglement to pull data from the Luddeccean mainframe?" He had gotten a snippy response from Ghost about frequencies beyond the scope of Luddeccean devices' ability to detect, that felt... incomplete to Noa, but she was too busy to question Ghost closely. Now they were reviewing the final details of the plan.

Noa asked, "Can we get a close-up of the Ark?"

The holo of the ship expanded to fill the tiny room. Designed to take off upright and to glide to a water landing, it looked almost like the old space shuttles of the twentieth century, or like a submarine. Its nose was currently pointed to the sky. From this perspective, they were facing the bottom, the rounded surface that would slide into the water, gracefully slipping across waves, or potentially submerging in inclement weather, and then bobbing up to the surface to float to the nearest shore. The other side, just out of view, was flat and would be the top side if it were horizontal. Unlike the space shuttles of old Earth, the Ark didn't have bulky external rockets. Instead it had four small rockets at its base. Silver "timefield generator bands" encircled the full 78.5 meter circumference of its exterior hull and short wings. The bands were only a hand's width wide and were set at intervals of half a meter apart on the Ark's eighty-meter length. The Ark's computer didn't have enough computing power to create a stable bubble in time. Instead, the bands created an unstable bubble that had to be continuously regenerated, similar to antigrav engines. Unlike antigrav engines, the time space "bubble" would encompass the entire ship and allow the Ark to escape gravity when in orbit. Once it reached zero G, the timefield bands would allow the vessel to achieve _effective_ light speed. As the Ark moved into and out of that shifting time space, the vessel would be flung through space as though from a slingshot.

"We'll be moving at a different time from our folks back home, won't we?" said the female engineering student who Noa now knew as Kara. Her tone was mournful.

"Yes," Noa responded. Unlike ships that passed through time gates, the Ark with its timefield generators would experience the time paradoxes of light speed travel theorized by early physicists. Two months aboard the Ark at light speed would be approximately four months planetside. The difference would fluctuate with the efficiency of the ship's timefield bands, but even at optimal efficiency, if they had to make it all the way to Time Gate 7... she banished the thought.

She heard a few gulps among the assembled team.

Noa took a step toward the hologram. "Rotate it," Noa said. The portion of the craft that would be top-side during landing appeared. This side was flattened. There were doors set into it, but the view of those was blocked by an elevator shaft. The elevator was not native to the craft; it had been built to take tourists to the various decks of the vessel. The Ark's original grav generators had depended on acceleration. Those had since been replaced so that the vessel could have gravity even while stationary; however, the design of the vessel still hadn't changed. Instead of having decks set longitudinally in the long vessel, they were set horizontally. On board, "down" would be the tail, and "up" would be the nose.

Noa pointed to the first door, twenty meters above the ground. "This is the door that leads to the main engineering deck. We'll get out of the elevator here. It's possible we'll be receiving fire at this point, and it would be best if we took cover."

"The Ark's hull should be more than sufficient to protect us from ordinary laser fire and bullets," Gunny said.

"Agreed," said Noa. Even the more delicate timefield generating bands had been designed to survive for decades in deep space. The forward guns could prevent collision with large asteroids—the hull was designed to withstand the impact of asteroid fragments, should the forward guns be used.

Pointing at the vessel, Noa said, "Gunny, Chavez, James, and I will head to the bridge. Manuel, you'll lead the team including Ghost to the engineering deck."

Ghost snorted and the hairs on the back of Noa's neck prickled. Of course, he expected to be the "leader." Keeping her voice level, she said, "Ghost, show them what they'll be dealing with while _you're_ busy shutting down the defense grid."

No snort followed that command. Instead, he projected the engineering room. Noa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was such a genius that he couldn't foresee the need for Manuel to lead the team while his brain was busy with the much bigger task of keeping them from being shot out of the sky.

She followed along as the engineers went over exactly what they'd need to do to get the engines ready for lift-off, and then to gear up for light speed. Then she walked the bridge team through their tasks.

At the very end of the meeting, Gunny said, "You know, I think this just might work."

Noa felt muscles that she hadn't even realized were tight loosen in her back and neck. Gunny's opinion meant more to her than Manuel's, Ghost's, or James's. Gunny was the only one in the room with extensive ground combat experience.

"After we get to light speed, it should be a piece of cake," Noa agreed.

The older man nodded. "The time paradox will make their weapons useless, and we'll be nearly untraceable."

Noa actually smiled. If Gunny believed it, she could believe it. She felt her hopes rise and saw several tentative smiles around the hologram.

Scratching his stubble, Gunny said, "And no one will expect us to try to steal this old hunk of junk."

Chavez made the sign of the cross, and Kara echoed it. Noa's smile dropped. That hadn't been the most encouraging way to put it.

Oliver chose that moment to raise his head and cry, "Spaceshit!"

Gunny choked. "Sort of."

Hisha ran through the holo toward Oliver. "He can't say ship," she said apologetically.

Hopping from the bed, Oliver dashed toward the holographic controls. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Sitting up suddenly in her chair, Eliza shouted, "I just remembered. Sometimes when the timefield generators stalled, engineer Rodriguez would hit the transformer box with a hammer!"

Ghost snorted, "Crazy old woman."

James said, "It could be true... every ship has eccentricities. Even I know that."

Jun, one of the engineering students, said, "In our case, all the eccentricities will be aboard."

Bo laughed as all eyes in the room shifted to Jun. Jun shrugged. "You gotta admit, we're all pretty crazy to be planning this." Noa raised an eyebrow at him. Rocking back on his feet, he held up his hands. "Not that it's worse than staying here and waiting to be picked up by the Guard."

"Well, as long as we're clear on that," said Noa, sensing a chance to repair the mood of optimism.

"Hey, get away from that!" Ghost shouted as Oliver, evading his mother, activated one of Ghost's holographic necklaces.

The hologram of the Ark dissipated, and Ghost ripped the necklace from Oliver's hands, prompting the child to wail. Hisha picked him up and began consoling him. Oliver still screamed.

"I think we need more fire power," Gunny said to Noa, somehow ignoring Oliver's screams.

James, evidently hearing the comment over the screaming Oliver, said, "Ghost has some empty bottles here—maybe we could scrounge together the makings of Molotov cocktails, maybe even IEDs."

"How did you come up with that idea?" Ghost said, his tone oddly accusatory.

Noa blinked. It was true that Molotovs were an ancient technology normally only encountered in military history classes, but... "He's a history professor."

Ghost's eyes narrowed at James. "Huh," was all he said. Noa found herself biting her lower lip. Her fingers bit into her palms. Ghost's distrust almost made her trust James more, as illogical as that was, maybe because Ghost's judgment of character was about as reliable as a lizzar's.

"Molotov cocktails sound like a good idea to me," said Gunny, nodding his head at James.

Noa almost sighed with relief at the slight sign of cooperation... and the dropping decibel level of Oliver's cries.

Ghost muttered, "Next we'll be using flint arrows."

"Well, you seem to think we aren't capable of understanding more sophisticated technologies," James snipped back. Noa glared at him and Ghost. She took a deep breath, prepared to scold them both—and felt a sting in her lungs.

On cue, Hisha said, "Commander, you need to take your treatment."

Before Noa could get a word in edgewise, a plastic mask was slapped over her face.

A few minutes later she sat in a corner, plastic mask still on, the acrid smell of treatment in her nose. Her eyes were on James's back as he began assembling Molotov cocktails next to Gunny. The two men were working companionably, which gave her some hope. This might work; this really might work.

Her eyes slid down James's back. He'd stripped down to only a short-sleeved undershirt, and his tattoos were standing out in sharp relief on the pale skin of his well-muscled arms. She shook her head and reminded herself that those shapely muscles were probably bought. She tilted her head—they didn't look oversized, though—some augmented men looked as though they'd stuffed balloons in their biceps.

Chavez sat down next to Noa abruptly. "I think something came loose in my left leg's connectors," the other woman muttered. The ensign began ripping duct tape off her left limb. "How did this get in here?" Chavez wondered aloud. Noa's eyes flitted over briefly, and she saw the ensign holding up a single pebble. The ensign tossed it aside, grabbed another roll of tape, and began re-taping the joint of her artificial limb. Noa looked away.

"Errr... " said Chavez. "Ummmm... Commander... so I didn't realize that you and Professor Sinclair were a thing."

It was at that moment that Noa realized her eyes had roamed back to James's back. Averting her gaze quickly, Noa blinked over her mask at the young woman. She almost pulled the mask off—but there was Hisha again. "Oh, no you don't," Hisha said, putting her hand over the plastic.

The ensign continued, "I never would have flirted with him if I'd known."

Noa took another deep breath of acrid vapors. She'd missed that flirtation and felt a bit annoyed. She told herself it was because they didn't need that sort of drama this early in the game. Her brows drew together... and what made the ensign think that discussing this right now was a good idea? Or discussing it ever? Although it didn't break any rules per se, it was just not done. The young woman had no sense of proprietary and... Noa's shoulders fell. This woman was part of her crew.

Jun said, "Why don't we just walk through the gates of the museum like normal tourists?" He was assembling 'bots to go into the decoy hovers that would crash inside the Tri-Center.

"Because we were in Manuel's hovers and they have a visual ID on us," Bo answered in a voice that said, _idiot_.

"Mr. Ghost says he doesn't have enough holographic necklaces for all of us, either," said Kara softly. "And we should all probably stick together."

Kuin, one of the engineering students, said, "What is this?"

6T9 replied, "You asked for a woman's arm. It is a woman's arm."

"The skin tone is too dark and it's too large, you stupid 'bot."

"Would you like me to get a smaller one that is more appropriate in complexion?"

"I'll get it myself, you useless hunk of silicone."

"Don't say that to him!" said Eliza.

"Useless hunk of silicone," said the student, and Noa's skin heated in anger. It might not be hurtful to 6T9 to say such things, but it was hurtful to Eliza.

Noa nearly pulled the mask away to correct the boy, but Hisha's hand was suddenly on the mask again. "You can't miss any of this dose, Noa." Her brow was furrowed with concern. Noa scowled, but didn't argue.

"Don't touch that!" Noa's eyes went to where Ghost stood over Oliver. Ghost raised his hand as though he might strike the toddler.

"Don't touch him!" shouted Manuel, grabbing Ghost's arm.

Kara gasped. All the attention in the room went to Ghost and Manuel. The engineer growled. Hisha darted over and picked up the little boy, snatching him away from Ghost's reach. The timer on the treatment dinged. Noa ripped the plastic from her face, but before she could say a word, beside her Chavez said, "He's pretty to look at though, ain't he?" Noa's head whipped in the girl's direction and followed her gaze. She was staring unabashedly at James.

A scream ripped through the small space from the far corner. Noa's head whipped again, this time to see Kara standing with her hand over her mouth. Kara's eyes were riveted on Carl Sagan. Darting past her, the werfle was carrying cybernetic eyeballs in his mouth and with the tiny hands of his midsection.

"Stupid girl," muttered Ghost, before resuming his quarrel with Manuel.

Kara quickly shuffled away, hand still on her mouth.

Noa felt her stomach turn. This was never going to work.

James looked from side to side in the intersection in the sewers. His hearing caught the sound of footsteps—it was impossible to tell how far—his tech didn't adjust for the echo. But they sounded too close. The water in the tunnel had increased exponentially, but he could avoid splashing in the stream that ran down the center of the tunnel if he skirted the walls. He turned a corner, listened and verified that the Guard was coming in his direction. He heard someone say, "Jericho group will head down the tunnel beneath Liberty Avenue."

Turning, James rapidly signaled the team some 405 meters away. Gunny's augmented vision caught the signal, and he halted the others. They immediately began crawling into an accessory tunnel located about two meters from the ground.

James approached them slowly, carefully checking side tunnels before he crossed. By the time he reached them, everyone but Gunny and Noa were in the accessory tunnel. James kneeled down by Gunny, and offered a "leg up."

Slipping his boot into James's hands, the older man nodded and murmured a barely audible thanks. James didn't respond, just lifted the man up into the small tunnel. He heard scuffling inside, and a hiss from Carl Sagan. He nodded to Noa, and she put her boot in his hand, and he lifted her in a fluid motion. He followed her up into the tunnel and there was more scuffling as the team moved farther back.

Outside James heard a Guard say, "I heard something!" and he felt Noa stiffen beside him.

There was some light from a grate in the tiny space, and James saw one of the engineering students touch his forehead, his stomach and his shoulders. It took a moment, but James realized he was making the sign of the cross. For some reason, James felt as though someone had doused the lights within his mind with a cold pail of water. Leaning against the tunnel wall, he tried to make himself small.

The sound of footsteps outside the access tunnel got louder. "I definitely heard something!" a Guard said.

"Check that accessory tunnel!" someone in the main tunnel commanded. In the dim light, he saw Noa raise her pistol, and Gunny and Manuel did the same. James was so close to the opening of the tunnel he was afraid to move, afraid that any motion he made might be seen from below. A flashlight beam jumped along the wall in front of his nose.

"I don't hear anything," someone outside his line of vision said.

Deeper down the tiny accessory tunnel came a sleepy cry from Oliver.

"I heard it!" someone said. "Give me a lift!"

James reached for his pistol. Beside him, silent as a snake, Noa shifted so she was sitting on her heels, pistol raised at the tunnel opening. Before the Guard was lifted, Carl Sagan's body went hurtling past Noa and over James's lap. The werfle hissed and poked its head out into the main tunnel.

Noa's chin dipped. She readjusted her finger on the trigger of the pistol.

In the main tunnel line, someone said, "Oh, look. It's just a werfle."

"Someone's escaped pet by the look of it."

"Probably down here looking for rats."

A hand from one of the Guards shot up so it was in view of James, but the owner's face was not in view. Carl Sagan hissed.

"Easy, Mister," said the owner of the hand, giving Carl Sagan's chin a scratch. "We're not taking you in."

"We're not?"

"Hot cores, no. These guys eat rats. Let him stay down here and clear the rest of 'em out."

The hand retreated, and then the light. James sat motionless. Noa lowered her pistol, but touched a finger to her port, and met James's gaze. James pulled a few lengths of cable and a square port box from his pocket as quietly as he could, and he handed all but one cable to Noa. Plugging one end of the cable into his port, he saw Noa do the same, and then her avatar flickered in his mind's eye. "The 'bot controlled hovers should be ten minutes from the crash site." There was no segue, no, "that was close" or "thank the stars for Carl Sagan." The werfle settled onto James's lap in the physical world, and James idly scratched the creature behind the ears.

Another avatar flickered to life in the shared space between their minds. It was a young man in the camis of the Fleet: loose shirt and trousers speckled drab gray. "Who are you?" James's avatar asked.

Noa's avatar's lips pursed. The new avatar also looked at him curiously.

"It's Gunny," said Noa.

"Old avatar," said the mental projection. "But I didn't think I looked that different."

James studied the new avatar. He had trouble reconciling it with Gunny. The face was younger, clean shaven, and there was no gray hair or beer gut. However, the avatar did carry the same firearms and other assorted weapons as Gunny carried in the real world, and the eyes were the right color, James supposed.

Chavez and Manuel's avatars came online. James had less trouble identifying Manuel—though the avatar was slightly more fit, he looked about the same age. Chavez's avatar was indistinguishable from her person—minus cybernetic limbs. Ghost's avatar appeared, too. It didn't look military issue—it wasn't in his Fleet grays, and it had the same sculpted face as the holographic necklace.

"We're close to the Tri-Center now," Gunny's avatar said. "'proximately a kilometer."

Noa's avatar, bearing the same arms she did in the real world—an extension of the Fleet avatar programming, James decided—holstered her pistol and swung her rifle around. "Remember, we are bound to encounter resistance in the tunnels below the museum. They may fall back to protect the more sensitive areas of Central Authority, but we can't count on that."

"Aye, Commander," said Chavez and Manuel.

Ghost's avatar also bore a weapon—a rifle from his personal armory. Back in his lair, the engineering student, Bo, had asked if he could have one of the rifles, but Ghost had snorted and said, "I'd give it to the girl first."

The engineering students weren't in the shared mental space. They didn't have avatars. They were commonplace things on Earth, but on Luddeccea, apparently, they were considered an extravagance. In the physical world, Bo was petting a Molotov cocktail. The other students were more subdued. Kara sat next to Noa, and James was certain he could hear the girl's heart beating too rapidly.

"You all know your roles," Noa's avatar said. She nodded at James's avatar. "Let's go." And then her avatar reached up and motioned pulling the data cord from its socket. All the avatars copied the motion, and James was suddenly completely alone in his own mind. The break in the connection felt like a cold slap. He yanked the cord out of his own port. Noa motioned for it, and he let her gather up the length of the cable. It kept his hands free as he slipped into the main sewer line. As soon as he was down, he swung his rifle around and focused his hearing. He couldn't see anyone, but he could hear voices approximately 100 meters away. Catching Noa's gaze, he reached up and touched her hand, the signal that the team could follow. As soon as they touched down, he touched one ear and then the other—the sign that they could be overheard. Everyone nodded—except for the drugged Oliver and 6T9. The 'bot was blindfolded. Eliza had given him the exact route they were taking and told him they were playing an exciting new "game," that "only he could play with her." The 'bot was smiling blissfully beneath the blindfold. There was no doubt that there would be resistance—and 6T9 couldn't be allowed to see, lest he seek to render assistance—or report the team.

As the fastest member of the team with the best eyesight and second-best hearing, James took point, Noa and Ghost beside him. Chavez, Manuel, and Gunny were at the end of the line, the rest of the group in between. James's dancing neurons homed in on the distant voices of the Guard beneath the Central Authority. James expected at any moment that the darkness would be split by a UV spotlight, or laser tracer, but none came. Within a few minutes, they were at the first hurdle: a gate that spanned the width and height of the entire tunnel.

Most of the sewer lines were open; gates like this one were traps for garbage and debris that could block the flow of water during the flash rainstorms frequently experienced by Luddeccea Prime. But they were almost directly beneath the Central Authority, and as Gunny had explained it, "'ccasional floods are worth the added security of a gate."

The gate was made of crossed steel beams seven centis in diameter, set at intervals of fifteen centis apart. Set at the center was a locking mechanism—a steel plate as wide as James's spanned hands. He knew, without knowing how, that he wouldn't be able to open it with brute strength. It was not like the lock on the train... That had been brute strength, hadn't it? Not a rusty lock as he'd first believed, or wanted to believe. He felt a rush of static beneath his skin.

Putting these thoughts aside, James carefully focused on the ceiling by the gate. Something glimmered in the low light—a holocamera—just as Gunny had suspected there would be. Noa lightly tapped James's arm. Turning, he took the cable she had between her fingers. Ghost took the other end. It was too dark for Ghost to see without augmented vision. They plugged the cord into their ports, and there was the familiar rush of electricity and connection as James shared with Ghost what he saw across the link. Ghost's avatar flickered in his mind's eye and said, "I can handle it."

"They will have frequency jammers here," James responded.

Ghost's avatar rolled its eyes and smirked. "I told you, I have something special."

James knew he did have something special—they would never have been able to retrieve data from the mainframe without it; but, still... he felt his skin crawl as though expecting a bullet. He wanted to know how Ghost was connecting to the central computer. Next to him, he heard Noa shifting slightly on her feet. She was so close he could feel the soft kiss of her breath against his cheek.

Ghost abruptly ripped the cord out, and the stream of electrons running between their minds stopped. For a moment James saw stars behind his eyes, and then his gaze slid to Noa. She was biting her lip so fiercely it went pale beneath her teeth. There was no link between them, but he knew what she was thinking. If Ghost got this wrong, the whole show was over. Noa's eyes went back to Hisha, and then to Oliver strapped to her chest. The toddler was sleeping in a drug-induced stupor, drool slipping from his lips to his carrier. Oliver was, perhaps more so than Eliza, the most vulnerable member of their group. James's eyes went back to Noa, and he remembered what she'd said, "The death of a child is the death of hope."

He didn't believe it—not for himself—but he took in her pained expression and realized it wasn't just a cliché for her, a sound bite picked up from a political speech.

He heard a soft thud above, and looked up. "That's the hover crash happening right above our heads!" someone whispered, before another person hushed them. From the Guards down the tunnel he heard someone say, "Did you hear that?"

He heard an intake of breath from someone on their team, and then a crackle of static from a radio in the distance. His neurons and nanos dancing in anticipation, James focused on the sound. He heard another person say, "There was a four-hover pile-up above. Looks like a bad accident—Yao, Parvati, and Khan, go offer assistance." James's dancing neurons almost relaxed, but then from the gate came a loud clanking, like heavy unused gears grinding into motion.

Ghost spoke sharply in the darkness. "It's all done. Cameras are disabled. Run." James's brows drew together. Ghost wasn't supposed to say that aloud. Hunching over his rifle, the little man ran down the tunnel toward the gate. That wasn't the plan either; James was supposed to go first. Shaking his head, he ran after Ghost and quickly overtook him. He heard the team following, and down the tunnel shouts from the Guard. "What was that?"

James reached the groaning gate. It was slowly opening, the gears clanking faster and faster. James pushed against the ancient metal to hurry it along. Nothing happened.

Taking a step back, he rushed the metal bars, hitting them with his side with all his might. There was a loud groan, a snap, and the gate sprang open and James crashed through, just as a beam of ultraviolet light flashed in his eyes. "Incoming!" he said, flinging himself to the floor and raising his rifle as water trickled around his body. The rifle sights had built-in light adjustment; even without his augmented vision, he would have seen fine. Noa belly-flopped onto the ground beside him and lifted her own rifle. Ghost dove to the ground and crawled to the farthest edge of the tunnel before lifting his. There was the sound of rifle fire from the Guards, and bullets ricocheting off steel. Oliver screamed, and it pierced James's consciousness just for an instant, but he blocked it out and fired. He fired off one shot, Noa fired off another; and from behind, two more went off simultaneously. He barely had a chance to blink... and it was over. Just like that. He looked back and saw no one else had come through the gate yet. Chavez and Gunny's rifles were poking through the bars.

Manuel cried, "Is Oliver hurt?" and 6T9 said, "Eliza, this game doesn't seem to be safe."

"It is just a game," Eliza said, "It's safe."

"He's fine," said Hisha. "Just scared."

"Move!" said Noa, already on her feet. "We may encounter more resistance!"

And then it was chaos. Ghost was running ahead again, Noa was screaming for him to get back, Oliver was crying, and 6T9 was saying, "I am not allowed to play games like this with children!"

"It's not a sexual game," said Eliza. "Just exciting."

James heard shouting down the tunnel, footsteps, and the hiss of the old-fashioned radios the Luddeccean Guard used. But then the footsteps stopped. James heard one of the Guards say, "Protect flight control and the Central Authority." He felt a jolt of shock hit his system, a cocktail of relief, and bewilderment. He hadn't, he realized, believed that this plan would really work, but Noa had been right. They weren't expecting an attack on the museum, and no one thought about the flight capability of the Ark.

They swung a hard right and entered a narrower dead-end tunnel just as gunfire erupted behind them. James stood back with Gunny. The older man handed him a case of women's makeup powder that belonged to Eliza. "Check to see if they're approaching." James flipped the mirror open, held it around the corner, and shook his head. "They're not moving."

"Not yet," said Gunny.

"James!" shouted Noa. He turned. She stood in a natural spotlight cascading down from the manhole cover that was at the center of the courtyard that the Ark was housed in. Manuel was climbing down. "It's heavier than I thought." Manuel panted and dropped to the ground. "Have to lift it up and over."

From behind him, he heard the Guard in the tunnel approaching.

He appraised the height from the top of his head to the manhole cover... two and a quarter meters. He remembered the tree he'd hurdled in the forest without a second thought. He felt as though he could do this... not knowing how he knew made him uneasy, but the footsteps were getting closer, and Oliver was crying.

"Out of his way," Noa cried, motioning people to the side.

Sprinting forward, James leaped into the air. Electricity and pain shot down his shoulder. He heard the scrape of metal on metal, he felt the manhole give, and then collided with the wall of the dead-end, barely grabbing the ladder with one hand. He looked above. The manhole cover was only partially covering the drain.

"The human cannonball," someone said.

"Are you sure you're not Fleet?" asked Manuel.

"Your arm and shoulder!" Noa cried, voice strained.

At that moment, he realized he was cradling both against his side. "Will be fine," he ground out. His neurons weren't dancing anymore. They were red and angry. And his vision took that odd moment to blur and tell him he was hungry. He forced the arm he cradled to move—and it did, slowly, at first, but then with increasing ease. Managing to climb a few rungs, he turned his head sideways and pushed it through the narrow gap between the cover and drain wall. From the sewer he heard Gunny say, "They're almost here. Now!" There was the crash of glass, and he knew they'd set off the Molotov cocktails. From above, he heard an alarm go off and screams. Ignoring the screaming of the nerves in his shoulder and the alarm and cries of tourists, he pushed his head completely through the manhole, effectively using it as a wedge.

The heavy metal cover slid to the side and his top half emerged into the warmth of the Prime mid-morning. The sun had come out and it was hot. The only sign of the rain was lingering humidity in the air. He found himself in an empty, paved, circular depression that was slightly taller than him. At the top of it were decorative planters filled with two-meter tall tropical grasses. In the rainy season, they would be deep purples in hue, like the pines in the north, but now they were a faded violet. Above the tops of the decorative plants loomed the Ark. There were stairways at north, south, east, and west, and the rest of the perimeter of the circle was ringed with a bleacher-like seating area. Half-eaten food and food wrappers littered the seats. A woman carrying a baby was rushing away. He lifted his eyes up and saw more tourists at the base of the spaceship dodging through more decorative planters, making a break for the exits. His eyes drifted upward again along the lines of the ancient craft. There was a wide awning surrounding the vessel—it looked like what it was... an exhibit, a curiosity, a relic. His eyes went upward and he felt as though all his neurons and nanos had come to an abrupt halt. There was probably a reason why no one expected the Ark to be used as an escape vessel.

# 16

Noa hung on the ladder in the wall next to the manhole. "James, what's wrong?" she half-shouted over the sound of screams, rifle fire, breaking glass, and the museum alarm. Her partner in crime... or whatever... stood half-in, half-out of the tunnels. He didn't answer. Perhaps his injuries were worse than she'd feared? "James, can you move? Can you climb out of the way?"

She could feel the heat of the flames from the Molotov cocktails against her back. They'd hold the Guard back for a while, but soon they'd figure out their ruse and their destination.

James quickly shimmied up the ladder, and Noa felt relief uncoil in her belly. She scrambled up as he gave the signal for all-clear above. Gunny must have seen because he shouted, "Everybody up!" Noa popped out into the hot sunshine of the Prime morning. James stood, a rifle sagging in his arms. His neck was craned upward. Noa looked beyond him, out of the artfully-designed picnic area that could serve as a catch-pond during the rainy season, to the hulking shadow that was the Ark.

"I remember it as being bigger," James shouted over the roar of the museum alarm, stretching out the arm he'd just been favoring, and giving his hand a shake.

Noa squinted up at the vessel. "It's large enough for our founding families." She took off toward the steps.

James caught up to her. "It looks older than I remember. And... mutated."

Noa scowled. Picky off-worlder. True, the ship looked a little beat-up. The sides were scarred with over a decade's worth of asteroid impacts, and the Central Authority hadn't bothered to give it a paint job—paint was chipping off its dirty, rain-streaked hull. Also, the holo Ghost had projected for them was of a ship of the same class, but new. The ship in the holo hadn't spent years in deep space, endured a rough landing, and served as housing for the First Families for over a decade. It was evident from the Ark's not precisely streamlined form that the crew had had to make some special modifications during that time—however, "By Republic law, it has to be space worthy!" she shouted. "It looks old—"

"It looks mangled," James interjected.

Ignoring the comment, Noa continued, "It has all the comforts of modern times—real grav and food." Pausing almost at the top of the steps of the picnic area, she ducked to scan the courtyard through her sights. The base of the Ark was surrounded by a decorative awning that allowed tourists to walk the perimeter of the base without being drenched in the rainy season or scorched in the summer. No one seemed to be hiding in the shadows, and she caught no signs of movement through the decorative planters. The Ark's exhibit was situated between two prongs of the Tri-Center Building. On one side was the museum. Through glass walls she could make out three stories of exhibits. On the other side were walls of stucco and less glass—the wing of the spaceport. She saw no one in either direction; no tourists, no passengers, no members of the Guard. Just to be sure, she tapped James's shoulder. Sparing her vocal cords, she pointed to her eyes, and back to the building, a silent sign for, "See anyone?" Meeting her gaze, he shook his head. She took a deep breath. The tourists and guides had fallen back into the heart of the Tri-Center building. This was working too perfectly, and she felt a stab of dread.

Bringing her focus back to the courtyard, she muttered, "This is too easy," too softly to possibly be heard, but James's head whipped in her direction faster than a gray snake. She couldn't hear him, but she saw the startled, "What?" on his lips.

She gave as much of a shrug as she could with the rifle in her hands. There was no way she could explain it. She glanced back quickly in the direction they'd come. Ghost was cowering in the depression with Hisha and the students. Oliver was stirring on Hisha's shoulder, and 6T9 was standing up, shaking his head, blindfold still in place. Manuel was trying to push him down. The 'bot was frowning, saying something to Eliza that Noa couldn't hear over the alarm. Gunny and Chavez were standing over the manhole, Molotov cocktails in their hands. Gunny met Noa's eyes and Manuel did, too. They both gave curt nods. Leaving Manuel to keep 6T9 in line, and Gunny and Chavez to keep any pursuers from below confused—or at least busy—Noa and James darted quickly to the awning surrounding the Ark.

The contents of shattered souvenir hologlobes dropped by tourists crunched beneath their feet. She heard far-off screams, muffled explosions, and the alarm—she knew it would be ringing in her head for days. She wished she could turn down her hearing and use the ethernet to communicate to James and with her team. She wanted to feel the gentle flow of electrons that would let her know they were well, even without their conscious thoughts. She silently cursed having to rely on her battered eardrums.

Reaching the base of the Ark, Noa and James put their backs to the hull in the same heartbeat. Noa glanced toward the picnic area again. She couldn't see the team—Manuel must have convinced 6T9 to sit. As she thought that, Manuel's head popped over the top of the steps. He met Noa's gaze. Noa gave him the all-clear. Manuel disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared carrying his rifle and seemingly dragging Ghost by the collar toward the Ark.

The rest of the team hid in the depression, taking cover in case they had to beat a fast retreat. Noa took a deep breath. She didn't believe there could be a retreat now. This had to work. Just before Manuel and Ghost reached them, she turned to James. He gave her a tiny nod, and raised his weapon. Together they walked around the Ark in opposite directions, like well-oiled parts of the same machine... even without the ethernet.

Rifle raised, Noa was ready for incoming fire. It never came, which made her gut constrict. Her eyes met James's as he rounded the base from the other side. Noa darted to the cage-like elevator for tourists that ran up and down the side of the Ark while James covered her. Whoever had been operating the elevator when the alarm went off had had the presence of mind to lock it. The doors wouldn't budge. Cursing, Noa tested the buttons. Nothing happened. She thought of asking James to try, but brute force might damage the lift and make it unusable, and then they'd have to climb twenty meters up to the entrance. There might be a better way... Giving the signal for "wait" to James, she ran around the base, the alarm still blaring in her ears.

Ghost was cowering beneath the awning, back pressed to the hull in the cluster of thrusters at the base.

"Ghost!" Noa shouted. "Need you! Elevator locked."

"What?" Noa saw the word on his lips, but couldn't hear it over the sound of the alarm. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him toward the lift. For an instant, he dug in his heels, and her heart skipped a beat. But then, overcoming his fear, he followed her, letting his rifle hang from his back and covering his ears.

As they rounded the base, the alarm abruptly shut off.

"The elevator," Noa shouted, her ears ringing even with the alarm gone. "It's locked—"

"And undoubtedly shut down," Ghost said with a scowl.

"Can you do anything?" Noa said in a normal voice.

Ghost's eyes darted side to side. "I built the mainframe. The mainframe that controls everything!" His voice was angry, defensive.

"Can you open it?" Noa demanded.

"If it's connected by hardline. These things are quite primitive and... "

"Do it," Noa commanded.

Ghost continued to look around nervously.

"James and I will cover you," said Noa.

"Okay, okay, yes." Ghost shook his head, sank to the ground, and pulled his knees to his chin. "Trying to access now... "

Noa kneeled on one knee, and James did the same. Swinging her rifle around, she peered through the sights, looking for any sign of movement, but saw none. In the direction of the depression, she heard the sound of glass crashing and Gunny shouting, "Another." Oliver was crying, and 6T9 was saying, "Eliza, I believe the child is in need of assistance." But other than that, and the ringing in her ears, it was eerily quiet.

"I don't like this," Noa said.

"You'd rather they be firing at us?" James said.

Noa's fingers twitched on the trigger. "Someone should have confronted us here."

James only grunted.

"Ghost," she said. "Can you open the elevator?"

She only got a mumbled chant in response.

High above them, a ptery called out. Noa felt a bead of sweat prickle on her brow. Peering through her sights, she methodically swept the museum wing, first, second, and third floors. No one moved inside, and then she dropped her gaze to the junction between the branches of the building. In the double doors there, she saw a shadow move. She heard one of the doors click. "We've got incoming!" she said.

"I only see one figure," James replied.

"Could be a single guy making sure the museum has been evacuated." Noa continued to gaze through her sights. "Could be armed... Be ready."

Over the sound of her own heart, she heard the door click again. Noa was ready for the Guard, or even just museum security. She expected to see a weapon raised. She expected gunfire. Instead, a man awkwardly sidled out the door, holding his hands above his head. The instant she saw his profile, Noa screamed.

Noa's shout nearly split James's eardrums. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" An instant later, she was springing to her feet, lowering her rifle, and shouting, "Kenji, Kenji, it's me!"

It took a moment for James to recognize the man. He'd seen the adult Kenji in Noa's memories, and at a distance when they'd approached his condo unit. Time must have added wrinkles to Kenji's face and gray hair at his temples, because he looked much older than James remembered. He was broader, too. And he wore head-to-toe Luddeccean Green. James's mind snapped the pieces together. Kenji followed the Luddeccean doctrines on anti-augmentation; he looked his natural age so, although he was younger than Noa, he looked older. And he was working with the Central Authority. He'd come from that wing to the courtyard, but why had he come here, unarmed?

"I knew it was you, Big Sister," Kenji said. "And I know what you're trying to do." He gave a slight smile and nodded. "It's a good idea."

James couldn't see Noa's face from where he still half-kneeled, scanning the two wings of the complex, but he could hear a half-sob in her voice when she said, "We tried to come get you, but we couldn't; now you're here, and we can escape."

"No, Big Sister, no one's going anywhere," said Kenji, his voice soft, his words slow, as though he was talking to a frightened animal. "I'm going to get you help. I tried before... this time it will work. I'll oversee your re-education myself."

At the words "I tried before" and "re-education," James felt a prickle in the back of his neck, and heat race along every inch of his skin. Kenji... Kenji had sent Noa to the camp.

Noa gasped and backed away. "What?"

James was on his feet. "Manuel, cover Ghost!" he roared. He heard the engineer rounding the base of the Ark, but didn't turn to look. He strode toward Noa and Kenji, imaging Kenji's spine snapping in his hands, but then drew to a stop. The side of his lip ached to curl in a snarl. Noa would never forgive him if he hurt her brother.

Kenji grabbed Noa's hand. "I'll get you help. You were always there for me, Big Sister. I'll be there for you. I know you're wrapped up in that Archangel Project, but I'll get you help."

"No, Kenji, no," Noa said, shaking her head and pulling her hand away.

Kenji's brow furrowed. And then he said, "I intercepted the signals, Noa... maybe you don't know it... "

Noa put her hands on his shoulders. "You have to come with us, Kenji."

Putting his hands over hers, Kenji guided her hands gently down. "No one is going anywhere, Noa," Kenji said. "I changed all of the passcodes on the Ark—and Dan's access codes to the mainframe. But it will be okay, you'll see. I'm protecting you." Kenji looked down at her injured hand. "What happened to your fingers?"

A ptery screamed above their heads.

"They cut them off at the re-education camp," Noa said in a strange, flat voice. James found himself taking another step forward. Noa tried to pull away, but Kenji caught her fingers—the ones she had left, James thought darkly.

"No, Noa, you must be mistaken. I told them you were not to be harmed when I turned you in."

James felt like his skin was burning from within. He took another step toward Noa.

Noa jerked away from Kenji, shaking her head.

"Noa, it's okay, it's okay," Kenji said, closing the distance between them.

Noa stumbled backward. James couldn't stop himself. He darted forward, rifle raised. "Stay away from her!"

Kenji turned to him. His eyes went up and down, and his lip curled. "Noa, do you know what this is?" He pointed at James, took a step back, and his voice rose in volume. "He's one of them!"

"No, Kenji, no," Noa said, shaking her head.

"I've seen his picture from the chase footage in the North! He's the one! He's the one!" Kenji was screaming now. "You are consorting with the end of the human race!"

"I've got it!" Ghost shouted.

"No!" cried Kenji, looking over Noa's shoulder in alarm.

And then too many things happened at once. James heard an explosion from the direction of the sewer line. In the periphery of his vision, he saw shadows moving in the windows of both wings of the building.

Spinning in place, Kenji threw up his arms. "No! Wait! Don't shoot my sister!"

Not trusting Kenji's pleas for mercy, James wrapped an arm around Noa and guided her toward the lift. She didn't precisely protest, but she stumbled beneath him, and he heard her half-sob, "No, Kenji, no."

Somewhere, Gunny shouted, "Go, go, go!" and he saw him maneuvering the civilians toward the Ark, 6T9's blindfold still on but falling.

"Eliza!" the 'bot shouted.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the old woman cried in his arms, "keep going!"

Gunfire erupted from the building, and a bottle went rushing over James's head. Others shattered on either side of him and Noa. The remaining Molotov cocktails, he realized. The bottles caught in the decorative planters and the tall, dry tropical grasses erupted in flames and smoke, putting a curtain of fire between the Ark and the Guard in the building.

"Kenji!" Noa cried under James's arm as they reached the now-open elevator.

"Get in," Ghost shouted, to everyone and no one.

And suddenly the sky went orange and dark. "Fire retardant," Noa said as James pushed her into the elevator.

"Hisha!" screamed Manuel. A bullet whizzed by. Manuel stumbled backward and clutched his arm, his rifle sagging from the strap on his shoulder. He was pushed into the elevator by the still-blindfolded 6T9 carrying a wide-eyed Eliza. Tripping backward, Manuel fell to the floor—and James could smell blood in the air.

"Get 'em in there, Chavez!" James heard Gunny roar, and a moment later Chavez shoved the rest of the team in, trapping Manuel, James, and Noa in the back of the elevator. The flames, smoke, and fire retardant were so thick that through the wire cage James could only see a few meters. He felt something on top of his foot and blinked down to see Carl Sagan scurry over him and up the metal cage of the lift. Gunfire was going off in an angry staccato from both directions, but he couldn't see the shooters. Gunny stumbled into the elevator, face orange, rubbing his eyes. "I can't see!"

"Where is Hisha? Where is Hisha?" Manuel stammered on the ground. He tried to raise himself, but slipped. Metal creaked above their heads, and the elevator jerked into ascent.

From the ground came the sound of Oliver's wail, rising over the scream of bullets, and the roar of flames.

Eyes tearing, Gunny was hanging out the still-open door. "She was ahead of me! Oh, God, the kid!"

"The child is in distress," said 6T9, setting Eliza down quickly.

"Help him! Help him!" said the old woman.

Noa was already pushing toward the front of the elevator. 6T9 was instantly beside her, blindfold gone. James felt his mind alight in fear and frustration. Couldn't she ever keep her head down?

Oliver's wail rose again above the sound of flames. "Hisha," screamed Manuel from the floor. James looked back to see him crawling, one-armed, toward the front of the elevator between the press of legs.

"Manuel!" Hisha's breathless call just barely rose above the din.

"Stop the elevator! Stop the elevator!" Manuel shouted. The elevator jolted to a stop... but then began to ascend again, this time a little more slowly.

"I can't stop it!" Ghost panted. "A bullet... something is jammed."

Noa dropped to her knees. The ground was over two meters below. "Hisha!" she shouted, reaching out a hand.

"6T9, help Noa, you're stronger!" Eliza shouted.

The 'bot reached out a hand to Hisha, too. The woman was jogging toward the elevator, clutching Oliver who was screaming louder with each bullet that fired and ricocheted off the hull of the Ark—each one seemingly closer to the pair despite the curtains of smoke and fire retardant... They couldn't see Hisha. A thought struck James. "They are aiming at the child's screams."

As soon as the words and thought had passed from him, Hisha fell. Noa screamed, and James could see the muscles in Noa's arms strain and knew she was going to jump. Oliver was still wailing on the ground. In his mind, realizations collided in a stinging flurry of electricity. Noa wouldn't leave the child, she'd jump down there, attempt to rescue him, and make herself the target. Before he could second guess himself, or formulate a plan, he shoved Noa down and leaped over her and 6T9, landing on the ground next to Hisha. Above him, he heard Noa say, "Chavez, let loose with all you've got!" and heard gunfire from the elevator roar above his head. Noa wasn't going to jump down—she was going to try and cover him. It was oddly a relief even as return fire came from all directions.

James knelt down on the ground next to the fallen woman. She'd landed on top of Oliver, now only whimpering. Another bullet hit her side right before his eyes and her body jerked. Oliver wailed. "Hisha," James said, getting closer, eyes stinging with the fire retardant that was congealing near the ground in a thick cloud. She didn't move from where she lay, body huddled over Oliver. He touched her shoulder, and felt slick hot blood. He lifted her up and realized there was a bullet wound in the back of her head—and another in the front right above her open eyes. The wailing Oliver was coated in red and gore. The child took a deep breath, and for a moment his cries became soft gasps. James ripped the cloth of the carrier, picked up the child roughly with one arm. His mind went still, blank, and dark. The elevator was too high. He couldn't make it. He knew it like he'd known how to kill a man with a roundhouse kick, or a quick twist of the neck, or that he could leap two and a quarter meters into the air. Oliver wailed again. Bullets screamed by them.

He should run.

Instead, against all logic, he jumped. Some useless part of his brain calculated that he would miss the platform by a good half meter, and even 6T9's extended hand by at least forty centis.

Even as that thought was passing through his mind, 6T9 slid down so he was hanging over the edge by his waist and caught James's hand. And it was like a light had gone off in James's mind; it spread to the world and every fiber of James's being and for an instant, everything was brighter.

And then 6T9 began to slip forward.

Noa eyes were tearing as she sprayed bullets haphazardly into the wall of red fire retardant. It wasn't all because of smoke or the cocktail of chemicals doused on the flame. She aimed high, telling herself their snipers would be on the roof. It was also where Kenji wouldn't be. The elevator shuddered beneath her, and Noa hazarded a glance down just in time to see 6T9 catch James's arm. Laying flat on the floor of the elevator, 6T9's entire torso was hanging over the edge. And then it was like a slow-motion nightmare. James was dangling, Oliver was screaming, and bullets were still raging. One of the bullets hit 6T9 square in the arm, leaving a black hole. The 'bot didn't flinch, but he was quickly sliding forward. Eliza toppled on top of the 'bot, shouting, "He caught them!" Manuel threw his weight on one of 6T9's legs. Noa braced a foot on 6T9's backside, trying to help, but she didn't dare stop shooting, for fear the return fire would intensify. As she thought that, another bullet whizzed by James so close she saw a piece of his shirt rip and catch in the breeze. His face remained impassive, but his eyes briefly met hers. He could have climbed up 6T9's body if he only let go of Oliver, but he didn't.

For an instant the scene was crystal clear, in the way that only battle could be. The Luddecceans were firing at James and 6T9. The sex 'bot, a symbol of all that was degenerate, and the fallen angel of their twisted fantasies were trying to save a human child.

"Pull them up!" Eliza said.

"Oliver!" screamed Manuel.

"I have no leverage, my darling Eliza," 6T9 shouted.

Still spraying bullets, Noa half-turned her head and snarled at the students, "Pull him up!"

Snapping out of their shock-induced comas, the students dropped to the floor and began pulling the 'bot backward with Manuel and Eliza. Chavez and Noa kept firing into the red cloud. Even Gunny was firing. His eyes were weeping and shut from the sting of fire retardant—but they were all firing blindly anyway.

The elevator jerked so quickly she nearly lost her footing. Just as she ran out of ammo, she heard scraping behind her, felt cool air against her back, and Ghost shouted, "It's open!"

"Eliza! Help guide Manuel and Gunny!" Noa shouted, dropping her useless weapon and falling to her knees to help the students pull the 'bot, James, and Oliver into the elevator as Chavez continued to spray bullets.

"Hurry, come!" Ghost shouted. Kara took Oliver from James, and James slithered on his stomach up into the elevator cab. Chavez grunted. "I'm out of ammo—"

"Then go!" screamed Noa. "All of you!"

Everything was a confusing blur of moving legs, intensifying gunfire, and another sound—a low roar. Engines. The Ark's engines were starting. Noa gaped. Kenji had been wrong—about the mainframe, the elevator... and everything.

"Keep down!" Noa shouted into James's ear as he began to stumble upright. Nodding, he kept to his hands and knees. Joining him, she turned to the door of the ship. The door was an archway of light. She saw bullets impacting into the wall just beyond the entrance. She scuttled forward, James was beside her... but then he slipped and crashed to his belly.

"James!" she shouted, grabbing him beneath the arm, preparing to drag him. But he got up a moment later, and they scurried into the Ark. "Down!" Noa said as soon as they were inside. Flinging herself over James's shoulders, she pushed. His body gave way beneath hers and they flopped together on the floor with James cushioning Noa's fall.

"They're in!" Chavez shouted. She stood by the door, intermittently swinging around the door frame to fire a small pistol... a pistol that wouldn't even be powerful enough to break the glass of the museum windows from where she was standing. Before Noa could shout at her to get out of the line of fire, the door slid closed. There was a sound like raindrops on a tin roof... it was the sound of bullets hitting the hull.

She took a deep breath that came out shakier than it should have, even after taking fire. Her thumb found the stumps of her fingers. Kenji's betrayal was so fresh that it made her feel physically heavy. The fingers of her left hand curled—and she felt the absence of her ring and pinkie finger. Her breath quickened, as though she were starting to hyperventilate, and she felt like she might be sick. Noa forced herself to calm, bit her lip, and told her stomach to untwist from its knot. She could not break down. Not now. Sliding off James's back, she rubbed her hand over his shoulder, not letting him go—to anchor herself, maybe, or to comfort both him and herself. He was warm, solid, and real beside her, his tattoos dark on his arms, but fading. He had been a perfect stranger, not Fleet or Luddeccean. She'd met him in the snows of the North, and he'd had no reason to save her, but did anyway, whereas her own flesh and blood had sent her to a prison camp—and would have again, claiming it was to save her. Her eyes briefly caught sight of Carl Sagan, standing upright on his four back legs, waving in the air, his nose twitching. James moved, and she turned toward him. His cheek was pressed to the floor, his shockingly blue eyes were on her. He wasn't a stranger any more. They were bound as tightly as anyone she'd served with in the Fleet. Her mind instinctively reached for James's, and she let loose a flurry of emotions—relief and gratitude, and shame for Kenji—but James wasn't hard linked to her, and the emotions never crossed the empty air between them. There was no time to say all she felt. "Come on," she said, heaving herself up. "It's not over—" And then her eyes caught sight of crimson on the floor, smudged by her body.

"James?" she said.

He sat up, gingerly touching his side. His fingers came away bloody.

James stared at the crimson stain on his fingers. His shirt was wet, as was his knee.

"James!" Noa said again, alarm ringing in her voice.

"They have a sickbay," he heard Chavez say. "Commander, I can take him there—"

"I'm fine," James said. And he knew he was, without even touching the wound in his side. He'd felt a brief shock when it had hit him—a sensation of danger, and warning—but strangely no pain.

Noa put a hand on his shoulder. "James, you collapsed outside—"

"I slipped on the blood on the elevator floor," he said, climbing to his feet. "But the wound is minor." The wound in his side didn't hurt at all. He was more annoyed by the relative chill of the Ark interior.

Tugging his arm, Noa said, "No, Chavez is taking you to medical—"

James could feel the thrum of the Ark's engines beneath his feet, and heard the sound of bullets outside on the hull. Pulling her hand from his arm, James met her eyes. "I'm fine—courtesy of my augmentations." He didn't know that, but it was as good a hypothesis as any. "We don't have time to argue—and you're shorthanded as it is."

At his words the thrum beneath his feet increased in intensity. Manuel's voice cracked from a round circular grate in the wall. "Commander, I'm in sickbay, but on my way to engineering, Ghost is in command there—"

Ghost's voice cracked over Manuel's. "I'm working on the ground defenses. As soon as I get in, your darling brother is going to go to work getting me out."

"Can he really shut off the ground defenses?" Chavez said. "Without ethernet access?"

James's eyebrows rose. "He got us this far." But how... it still nagged at James.

Noa touched a red button beneath the grate, as they'd all learned to do in Ghost's lair. "Understood. On our way to the bridge."

As she released the button, Chavez stared at the speaker. "This ship is so primitive. Maybe we can set up a local ethernet—"

"We have to survive the next twenty minutes, ensign," Noa snapped.

James realized he was still staring at the speaker, mulling over Ghost's mysterious access to the mainframe, and whether they might have only scant minutes to live. Even if Ghost could shut down the ground defenses, they still had an armada to face. Noa was already walking over to a sliding door of the airlock they were now in. A moment ago, he'd heard the worry in her voice—heard her heart race at impossible speeds when she'd thought him injured. Apparently she'd recovered from the shock of thinking him near death. James followed her past the airlock, and Chavez followed him.

Moments later, Noa summoned the lift that ran through the center of the ship from engineering to the bridge. As they waited, James looked around and located the hatches in the walls, floor, and ceiling that could be lifted for access to maintenance passageways in case the lift did not come. As he did, he couldn't help but notice faded drawings painted on the walls—stick figures of men, women, and children; plants in pots; hearts and crude stars. All the drawings ended at about the level of his waist. He remembered his last visit to the Ark as a child—the tour guide had said that the Ark had been a family ship. During the voyage a few children had been born. They'd been allowed to paint on the walls... and yet, people of the same philosophy that would allow such humanity had just shot at him for being... for being...

He gripped his side where the blood was rapidly drying, a testament to his frailty, his humanity. They believed he would be the end to the human race. His gaze shifted to Noa. Her chin was high, her shoulders squared, her dark skin in sharp relief with the pale gray walls. He wasn't sure what he would have done if she'd gone with Kenji... his vision dimmed. It would have all been over then... everything...

His vision went completely black. The thoughts in his mind stilled to all but one. _Everything, what?_

Metal screeched below them, and the engine grew louder. Chavez jumped, and Noa looked down sharply.

"Is that normal?" Chavez said.

The lift opened, and Noa stepped into the small cylindrical space. The ceiling was shaped like an oblong pill. Noa's eyes slid to James's.

"Sure," she said, raising an eyebrow as though daring him to contradict her. In Japanese she muttered, "I have to keep morale high."

James remembered standing below the elevator, contemplating not jumping—all would have been lost if he'd given in to the sense of inevitable failure. Raising an eyebrow of his own, James said, "Perfectly normal sound."

"Are you sure?" Chavez asked, metal limbs creaking as she shifted on her feet.

"I'm a historian," James said. "I have studied these ancient ships."

It was the most blatant lie he'd told in his life—or at least since he'd awakened in the snow—it felt oddly liberating. Noa's eyebrows rose and he thought he saw the hint of a smile on her face. There was a ding and the lift door opened. They stepped into a space scarcely larger than a coffin. James stood to one side, Chavez to the other, and Noa stood sandwiched between them facing the front. The door shut, but the lift did not move. "Bridge," Noa said, looking upward.

Nothing happened. Chavez drew against the wall. Eyes flitting side to side, she held the pistol in her hand so tightly her hand shook. James saw what looked like a small gray door on the wall just as wide as his hand, and about as tall. He opened it, revealing some buttons. James pressed the one that was the highest. The elevator started to move. Touching his chest, James said to Chavez, "See, historic spacecraft, my specialty."

Chavez's shoulders loosened and she grinned.

"Well done," said Noa, the edge of a smile definitely on her lips.

Looking up at the ceiling, James said in Japanese, "I hope we're going to the bridge."

Noa coughed just as the lift jerked to a stop. The doors did not open. Instead, the ceiling slid away, and the walls dropped.

# 17

They were standing in a beam of light, in a circle of stairs much like the one that led out of the rain catch, but not so high. The bright sun outside made it lighter on the outside than in, and Noa had a perfect view of the city. In the distance, she saw smoke rising. For the first time since the skirmish outside the Ark, she thought of the protests Manuel had promised. Her hands turned to fists at her side. The uprising, the 'civil disobedience' that was distracting the bulk of the Guard forces, had turned violent. She had no doubt that the protesters would lose... and also, that they were probably responsible for the relative ease with which Noa and her people had made their way onto this ship. "Make this work," Noa told herself. "For all of them out there." She must have said the words aloud, because Chavez turned to her sharply.

"It will work," said James, and then he added in Japanese, "and if it doesn't, it is better than the alternative."

Noa thought of Ashley and the scars where her prosthetics had been pulled off, of little Oliver somewhere down the decks, and the man standing beside her whose mind would be picked apart. She felt herself turn to liquid steel. She shifted her gaze back to the bridge. At the top of the short stairs were six chairs tilted backward. Two for the pilot and co-pilot, two for passengers on either side of those, and two for the gunners manning the cannons.

Eliza poked her head around the seat next to the pilot chair. "Hurry! The engines are almost ready to go."

Gunny poked his head out from the chair for one of the cannons. "Guns are still charging." His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was completely red from fire retardant, except for where it had been washed away with tears.

"To the other cannon, Ensign," Noa commanded, striding up to the captain's chair. She didn't bother asking Gunny if he could see well enough to fire—he was the only one on the ship that had any experience firing a cannon. Granted, that had been with ground cannons that were far more maneuverable, and he'd never had to allow for changes in gravity or firing at near light speeds... She pushed those thoughts to the side as she snapped herself into her chair. James snapped himself in beside her in the co-pilot chair. Manuel and Ghost both had experience that would have made them better co-pilots—but they were needed in engineering. As soon as he was secured in his seat, James started swiping at buttons. Screens in the instrument panel in front of Noa sprang to life with grainy images from outside of the Ark.

"It doesn't have a data port link," Chavez said, as though she didn't quite believe the holos she'd practiced at Ghost's place had been real.

"The red button fires," said Eliza. "You can practice maneuvering the guns if you press the little blue button next to the screen."

"Screen?" said Chavez. "Oh, right, no neural interface... the screen is so tiny."

There was a control wheel directly in front of Noa. Ignoring it, Noa focused on the buttons and dials laid out on the dash. She pressed a button. As soon as she did, the sound of hissing pipes and Manuel's shouts of, "Make sure that coolant pipe isn't leaking," filled the bridge.

"Engineering, are we ready to go?" Noa asked, as though they had a choice.

"Hold on, Commander," Manuel said. And then she heard him call out, "Timefield generator array?" and someone else respond, "All units online and operational."

Manuel continued down his checklist. "CO2 filtration system?"

Another voice responded, "I... uh... think... yes, the light is green."

Gunny whispered what sounded like a prayer under his breath; Noa bowed her head and silently echoed it.

"Manuel..." Noa said.

"We're ready as we'll ever be, Commander," the engineer responded.

"Ghost?" Noa asked.

"Still working," Ghost grunted back.

"We have to go now," said James. "They have... I think those are ground cannons?"

Noa looked at the screen he was pointing at. "They wouldn't fire on a national monument, would they?" Noa asked, staring at the blurry image and at the same time diverting the engine power to the antigravs and main thrusters.

A whine sounded from below.

"That doesn't sound right," said Chavez.

Not answering, Noa gritted her teeth. She wasn't precisely sure if the Ark had ever been tested since it had been refitted at the Republic's order. "No time like the present," she muttered to herself, and then louder said, "Belt in, everyone!"

Manuel's voice filled the bridge. "All in."

Kara's voice cracked over the speaker. "Oliver and I are belted in in sick bay."

"Let's go, then," said Noa. Grabbing hold of the steering bars and one hand on the throttle, she said a prayer, the same one she'd used in the Asteroid War in System 6.

Interrupting her concentration, 6T9 said, "Shouldn't we be alerting the authorities to the dangerous rebels taking control of the museum?" Noa's heart caught in her chest. Of course, 6T9 didn't think that the Guard had fired on them. If he had thought he was with the real rebels, he probably would have turned himself in.

"Dangerous rebels?" said Gunny.

"They shot at a child!" said 6T9.

"So that's how he's rationalizing it," Gunny said, as though to himself.

"How can you rationalize shooting at a child?" 6T9 cried.

"Shut down," said Eliza.

"Yes, ma'am," said the 'bot, and slumped forward in his seat.

Noa pulled back on the throttle. There was a shearing noise. Nothing happened. She swore she heard the entire ship collectively taking a breath.

And then an earsplitting roar filled the bridge, and before Noa could even glance down, her back was slamming into the seat and they were hurtling toward the clouds.

The force of the Ark's acceleration pushed James's body into his seat. His eyes watered, and his skin felt tight, his hands reflexively grabbed the arm rest. The pressure on his lungs was too intense to breathe. He wondered if something had gone wrong. Sixty seconds into the sky, the G forces suddenly lessened. The dome of the sky above their heads was still unblemished, perfect—but he knew the armada was up there, waiting.

"Fire cannons, now!" Noa said.

The ship rocked in rapid succession four times as plasma fire ripped out of the vessel. As the beams sped away, they fanned out.

"That should clear our path," Gunny said. "Plasma will play havoc with the external sensors of anything that isn't outright destroyed... We're in the clear."

From the intercom there were cheers, and James wanted to smile, too. The ships in their immediate trajectory would be incapacitated, unable to fire or move, and they'd be in the way of any other vessels that might fire on the Ark. The Ark would fly right through the "donut hole" left by the cannons, and jump to light speed.

"Now all we have to do is blast out of the atmosphere and hit light speed," someone said.

Unfortunately, the timefield bands couldn't counteract substantial gravitational forces _and_ shoot them through space at the speed of light.

"We're ready for it!" Manuel shouted. There was another cheer.

James craned his head to look at Noa. He wanted to congratulate her. To tell her she'd been right and he had never been so happy to be wrong.

But he found her frowning. "Do you hear that?" she said.

James opened his mouth, about to say no, when from below he heard a loud shearing noise.

"Oh, dear," said Eliza.

"What happened?" said Gunny.

Ignoring him, Noa said, "Manuel, that was the timefield generator array, get it back online!"

James's hands tightened on the armrest. Without the timefield bands, they'd never make it out of the atmosphere.

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" Manuel said.

"Going to do a gravitational turn, hold on," Noa said. "Performing calculations."

"A what?" said Eliza.

Noa just growled, so James answered for her drawing data from his historical records of early space flight. "We may be able to get out of orbit if she uses Luddeccea's spin as a slingshot... if she gets the angle right." But they'd miss the donut hole created by the cannons.

"Oh, I remember, the ship has an onboard computer that can—"

"I have a computer onboard my shoulders," Noa said. And of course she did. She was a pilot in the Fleet of the Galactic Republic; such apps would be standard. James saw the instant Noa's own navigational app finished the calculation. Her head snapped back, her eyes widened, and then she depressed the control wheel. The Ark leveled off at a more horizontal angle, and the chairs they were on all pivoted so that everyone in the bridge was right side up.

"I'm not a damn bat!" Ghost's voice cracked from the radio. Apparently, not all the seats on the Ark could remain orientated to Luddeccea's gravitational pull.

"We're not going to have a clear path," Gunny said, his voice hushed. "And the cannon needs to recharge... "

"I could divert some power from the timefield generators," Manuel's voice cracked over the line.

"No," said Noa. "If we don't hit light speed, this is all over!" Her chin was dipped low, her nostrils were flared, and James could see the muscles and tendons in her arms.

Ghost's voice cracked over the radio. "The armada is using older, non-ethernet dependent communications. I can't take the ships down that way... but I can try to scramble their detection and ranging instruments on the surface. It could create confusion."

"You do that!" Noa ordered. She gave her head a tiny shake and muttered, "The heavy cruisers won't be able to turn around that quickly."

Noa nodded. James could see the steering bars in her hands vibrating to the same rhythm beneath his feet. He looked out at their trajectory. As the atmosphere became thinner, the ambient noise within the bridge dropped a few decibels—they were leaving the friction of oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon-dioxide molecules behind. After the roar of takeoff, he felt as though the cabin had grown hushed. The sky was rapidly changing from crystalline blue to the velvet black of space. He'd never experienced a takeoff that was as beautiful, and he wondered if it was because he suspected it might be his last.

"What do you see in the scopes, co-pilot?" Noa said.

James looked down at the screen showing the view directly above Prime, behind and above them. Six giant cruisers were clustered around Time Gate 8. He tilted his head. Of course they would be grouped around the station. It was controlled by aliens... or demons, or djinn, in the estimation of the Luddeccean authorities, anyway. His head ticked to the side.

Time Gate 8 had its own defenses. It was evenly matched with the cruisers and their small squadrons. His head ticked again. Four of the cruisers were dark... the station was dark, too. Time Gate 8's ring should have been lit from within. So aliens didn't need light? Had they been routed? Motion on the screen caught his eye. "Eight small fighters heading this way." They looked like delicately gliding snowflakes at this distance.

"We should be able to take a few hits from a small fighter," Gunny said.

Noa's eyes dipped to the screen and then up to the window. "Five seconds until they're in range," she ground out.

James could do nothing but watch helplessly as the snowflakes approached. His grip tightened on the armrests.

"Four seconds," Noa said, although she needn't have, the countdown was playing out in his mind now in giant numbers.

"Three seconds," Noa said. Her voice was steady and calm, as though the situation was under control. His voice would be that way too... it always was that way... even times like now, when he wanted to shout, to scream, to frown, or to cry. The armrest snapped beneath his fingers.

"Two seconds," said Noa. On the screen, the snowflakes lit up.

"And—"

Noa's voice was cut off by the sound of explosions topside and rear of the ship.

"We're hit!" Manuel cried. Though he need not have.

"Damage report?" Noa said.

The Ark's path changed, and it veered up sharply. James stared at the rapidly changing screens in front of them. His chair spun around, righting him so that the planet was below again. The ship was performing a huge arc. In a few minutes, the loop would be complete and they'd be plunging headfirst into Luddeccea's atmosphere.

"Engine One is damaged," Manuel's voice cracked. "And the thruster at one o'clock."

"I copy! Cutting Engine Three and thruster!" Noa said.

The Ark's flight stabilized, but with just Engine Two on the starboard side and Engine Four on the port side, they could only move left or right.

James looked up through the dome of glass. He didn't need to look at the dashboard to see the enemy. The Ark was heading straight toward the armada and the dark time gate.

Noa felt sweat prickling on her brow. The fighters that had fired on them split up to avoid the Ark hurtling in their direction, but others were dropping out of one of the heavy cruisers, just ahead and above them.

"Manuel! How is it coming?" she said, trying to keep her voice level.

"We can fix it! It was just a short."

"How long?" Noa asked.

He didn't answer, but over the intercom she heard him yell, "Duct tape! I need more duct tape for this circuit!"

"The fighters are regrouping," James said.

Noa's eyes slid up. The fighters were beginning to glow at stern and starboard. She took a deep breath and hit the starboard hard, veering the huge ship left. Plasma fire ripped past them. Some of the screens in front of them went dark.

The small fighters flew off in every direction.

"The large ships... " James whispered. "The patterns of those lights... "

Noa's eyes went to the large fighter-ships. Their cannons were arming, which was why the small fighters were getting out of the way. Noa's hands were damp, and she clutched the control wheel tighter to keep her palms from slipping. "Manuel!" she said. "I need timefield generators and I need light speed, now."

His voice cracked over the intercom. "Working on it!"

She saw the light of the cannons on the big ships of the armada grow brighter as the fighters flew off, almost leisurely. Of course, the Guard wasn't in any hurry. The Ark was dead in the water. Noa thought of giving power to Engine Three, and plunging the Ark into Prime; she could take out the Central Authority in one brilliant flash. Thousands would die. Order on the planet would break down; the people in the camps would be able to free themselves.

Her fingers twitched on the throttle. She swallowed. No, the people in the camps wouldn't go free. They'd die faster as the small shipments of food would never arrive. They were in no condition to fight off their guards. They were in the middle of nowhere, they wouldn't get aid...

"The time gate!" Eliza whispered.

"It's lighting up," James said.

Noa looked up and her jaw dropped. Time Gate 8 was lighting up at very specific intervals. "Those are the station's cannons!" she said.

The cannons on the huge fighter-carriers appeared to dim—in reality, Noa knew they'd just spun around to face off against the gate's defenses. Fighters dropped out of the large ships' hulls like rain and swirled in a swarm toward Time Gate 8.

"What...?" said Gunny.

Noa's mouth gaped as she watched bolts of plasma shoot from the gate's cannons, directly at the large carriers. Smaller bolts knocked into the small fighters. One of the large freighters managed a direct shot to one of the gate's cannons. Noa braced herself for the explosion... but instead, as the plasma fire hit, it appeared to disperse around the cannon in a glowing sphere that reminded Noa of nothing so much as a soap bubble. Then the glow appeared to be drawn into the cannon... and suddenly it was fired back out, directly at the carrier that had shot the initial blast.

"Some sort of energy transfer?" James said.

Noa had seen it before—but only in a demo holo. "That is only theoretical."

"Not anymore," James whispered.

But Noa couldn't respond; bits of shattered carrier and fighter were spinning in their direction. Gritting her teeth, she tried to steer the Ark around the debris as best she could.

"Who's onboard the station?" Gunny asked, "and are they on our side?"

"Trying to open a channel," James said. In the periphery of her vision, Noa saw his pale hands flying across his dash. She kept swerving left and right—but debris was everywhere.

A sight hurtling before her made her eyes widen. "Manuel! I've got a big ol' chunk of freighter coming this way! I need that engine!"

"I'm trying to give it to you!" Manuel cried.

"We need something! Anything! Thrusters won't be enough!" Noa said as the huge chunk sped toward them. She readjusted the Ark's course as much as she could, but they needed just a few degrees more... her internal apps were buzzing, warning her they were on course to lose a wing—and a large hunk of the hull with it.

"We're going to get pulverized," James said, voice as usual without inflection, and in that instant she hated him for it.

"There's always hope," she muttered. "Manuel!"

The Ark suddenly veered away from the debris.

"What was that?" Manuel's voice cracked over the intercom.

Ghost's voice buzzed, breathlessly. "I discharged all the material from the toilets on the bottom of the ship."

Beside her, James said, "Well, isn't that the shi—"

His voice and her laugh—that wasn't a real laugh, but relief and adrenaline caught in a gust of breath—were both cut off as a chunk of debris tore against the bottom of the wing. The vibration echoed through the ship, making the hair on the back of Noa's neck stand on end. It was so loud, it hurt. Gunny screamed, and so did Chavez—maybe she did, too. The noise died down. Her gauges told her the wing was still there, and there was no hole in the hull; Ghost's ploy had been just enough. Shaking, ears ringing, she tried to say something, anything to James—a triumphant, "See, hope?" but as the scream of shearing metal quieted, she realized that the bridge was filled with another sound, a buzzing hum from the dash in front of James.

"Is it on our side?" Gunny shouted again as a carrier exploded in front of them, and Noa gaped. Carriers and fighters were scattering. The Ark was on a path to fly directly into the ring of Time Gate 8.

"Not yet determined," James might have said. It was hard to hear over the stream of unintelligible buzz coming from his dash.

A light flashed from one of Time Gate 8's cannons. Noa didn't need her furiously calculating apps to know that they were about to be hit. The beam of plasma fire streaked through space in an instant that felt long but was too short for her to respond.

She blinked as the ship shook. For a moment she was in shock. They were still in one piece. She had expected to be free falling through space.

"That was a light blast," Gunny said.

"A warning shot of some kind?" Noa asked.

The chatter from James's dash grew louder. Noa turned to James just in time to see his dash light up with electricity that danced up his hands. He slumped in his seat, and the cabin was silent except for Noa's shout and the continued sound of static.

He fell.

He heard Noa call out his name. "James."

James. A jumble of syllables that meant nothing, and everything. Him. His universe tied up in a word. His name, who he had been.

The hero never died in stories. But this wasn't a story.

His feet moved beneath him, and it took a moment to realize he wasn't dead. He was walking through darkness, and he knew where he was. He was in the unmanned portions of Time Gate 8, the parts of the station that had "grown" almost organically since its construction above Luddeccea. And he knew where he was going—a shuttle that would take him to the surface of the planet. Somewhere he heard an explosion. And a signal struck his mind. There were no words, but he understood: he would face resistance. He continued to walk undeterred, and as the scene played out in hyper detail, it occurred to him that he was dreaming.

Maybe he was dead. _To sleep, perchance to dream_ , wasn't that what Shakespeare had said? He'd never actually read Shakespeare, he knew it from twentieth-century movies. The movies he had been obsessed about, but now only cared about because they gave him frame of reference. No, that was not all. They tied him tighter to Noa every time they watched one together. Thinking about her, he saw the first image of her, in her Fleet grays, the wide smile on her face, her eyes averted. Because he couldn't do anything else, he continued to walk, getting closer to the sound of explosions, but the image of her hovered before him like a will-o'-the-wisp. He reached the end of the unmanned portion of the station and a door opened before him with a whoosh of air that, according to his senses, was too laden with CO2 to be breathable by humans. He stepped into a secondary hallway, off the main boardwalk that continued around the whole ring. There was a dead human male at his feet in Luddeccean Green. The human had a pistol in one hand, and another was stretched out in front of him. James looked up the wall in the direction of the stray hand. There was an access panel with wires yanked out. Had the dead man been trying to open the door James had just stepped through? He looked back at the doorway—the door frame was pockmarked with bullet holes and darkened by flame. He looked around the space. There were more dead humans spread out on the floor. Most wore Luddeccean Green, but there was a woman and a child collapsed in a corner. Part of his mind screamed, "Go to them, Noa would want you to go to them," but his dream self walked on unburdened by the scene. He had a shuttle to catch. He walked to another airlock and it opened before him into the main promenade, where the sound of explosions was very loud.

Something alighted on his forearm, light as a bird. But he couldn't look to see what it was. The weight tightened, but not painfully. He heard Noa's voice. "Hang in there, James. I'll get you to sickbay as soon as I can." Her voice was a whisper, but it rang in his mind louder than the other voices.

"The Archangel Project will continue." It was the buzz from his dash, but now it was comprehensible.

Beyond his closed eyelids, he heard Gunny say softly, "Cannons are charged."

"Hold your fire!" said Noa.

The buzzing conversation in the strange language went on. "The Archangel Project will continue." The phrase was repeated, nine times in different voices. Were they voices? Or just different frequencies of signals? Another voice said, "They attacked us."

One of the first voices said, "We cannot lose this opportunity."

"Data is still being collected," said another voice.

"Time Gate 8," Noa said. "Do you require evacuation?"

"The Heretic," said one of the nine.

"Cannot provide assistance," said the same one that had said, "they attacked us."

A blur of buzzing opinions followed.

"More data is required."

"Continue the Archangel Project."

"Gate 8, do you require assistance?" Noa's voice hitched slightly. James could hear the tension in it, the note of fear, but he knew she would not waver in her offer.

Ghost's voice cracked over the intercom. "The ground defenses are back online. Commander, we have to get out of here!" James's eyes were still closed, but he could hear the man's lip trembling, imagine the sweat beading on his brow.

"Forget ground forces, I'm worried about who... whatever... is in Time Gate 8, Commander," Gunny whispered. "I think the Green Coats were right, something's aboard that thing... something dangerous."

Noa did not reply.

"Engines are operational!" Manuel declared. "We can go."

"Time Gate 8, do you copy?" Noa asked again. The pressure on James's forearm increased. No... not pressure singular, but pressures plural, three tiny pressures from Noa's left hand. The recognition sent an electric pulse through his body at the same time his mind was churning.

The ground defenses were arming... but she wouldn't leap to light speed until she was certain there was no one aboard Time Gate 8 who needed assistance. But no one was there. He knew that, just as he had known he could lift 6T9, he had known how high he could leap, and he had known that the wound in his side was not dangerous. At least, no one human was aboard. He struggled to open his eyes, to pull himself out of his fog, and warn her. At the same time, his mind screamed to the voices he'd heard in his head, "Answer her!"

And then he heard the reply, "The Archangel speaks."

"The Heretic still supports us," said another.

"Answer," one voice said. Eight more repeated the phrase.

James's eyes bolted open and his head jerked backward with such force, his vision faltered. When it returned, he found Noa's eyes on him, her arm stretched across the space between them. Her lips were parted, and James answered her unspoken question. "I'm fine," he lied. He swore he felt something snap in the back of his mind.

Giving a tiny nod, Noa slipped her hand back to the steering bars. Her eyes went heavenward toward the massive form of Time Gate 8's ring. The Ark was minutes away from coasting through the ring. The voices over the intercom were once again an indiscernible blur. Had he been hallucinating? Dreaming?

Noa began to speak again. "Time Gate 8—"

The voices coming through James's dash coalesced and merged and this time spoke in Basic. "We hear you." The words sounded like they were spoken by a choir.

Noa began to speak again. "Can we assist—"

"You cannot assist," the strange choir continued.

"We have room for—"

"We are not your kind," the choir sang. James heard a collective intake of breath on the bridge. Noa's hands, up until this point tightly gripping the control wheel, went briefly slack.

The choir continued, "The ground forces prepare to attack."

Noa squared her shoulders. "With your defenses, we still might have time—"

"Assist us by continuing," the choir sang. "Go!"

"Commander, their cannons are targeting."

Noa's order cut through the bridge, "Light speed, now."

Nothing happened.

"I thought it was fixed," Manuel said. "I thought it was—"

"Hit it with a hammer!" Eliza screamed.

"They've fired, Commander!" shouted Ghost.

James felt a chill rush over him, but then Noa pulled back hard on the control wheel. His head flew back into the headrest, and he felt as though his body was being crushed against the seat. He blinked, the pressure lessened, and the stars blurred into a single glowing mass. They were at light speed, they'd left normal light behind, and only the ancient glow of the Big Bang remained to light the way.

The bridge was absolutely silent, except for the chirps of the timeband indicators, and then there was a crackle of static. For a moment, every muscle in James's body tensed, expecting another alien transmission, but instead Manuel's voice crackled over the intercom. "Wow! Hitting the transformer box with a hammer actually worked."

A collective breath escaped the crew in the bridge. "We're safe," Eliza whispered. "6T9, wake up! We're safe!"

"We're not safe," Gunny whispered. "Not with whatever that thing was out there."

James kept his eyes studiously ahead. His hands tightened on the arm rests... whatever was out there... was it already in here, somehow, in him?

Noa sat on the steps of the bridge, a cup of coffee beside her. It was oddly good coffee. The galley of the Ark had been converted into a cafe for tourists, and only the best Luddeccean bean was served up there. She idly rolled the paper cup in her hand. It was emblazoned with the emblem of the Ark—a dove with a green sprig in its mouth.

Manuel was sitting on the steps opposite her. His face looked waxen, his eyes vacant and far away. Gunny was in between them, James was directly to her left, and Ghost was between him and Manuel. Above and behind Noa, Chavez was in the helm seat, one of the students beside her. Eliza was off minding Oliver—or more, minding 6T9 as he minded Oliver. The other students were in engineering.

"It looks like they were right," Manuel said. "Time Gate 8, it is controlled by... something."

Noa rubbed her eyes. How could the Luddecceans have been right? None of the intel she'd had access to as part of the Fleet had pointed to alien sentience. "It could be some sort of terrorist organization," she said. But she didn't believe it.

Manuel's voice was a low rumble. "They are converting incoming fire into energy blasts! Terrorist organizations are seldom better-equipped technologically than established societies."

"Seldom, but sometimes," said Noa. Manuel's eyes narrowed, but then he shook his head and looked away, as though it was too trivial to worry about. Noa swallowed. She'd been in Manuel's shoes before... everything but survival for his son, and then himself, would feel trivial to the engineer for a very long time.

Gunny sat up straighter, catching Noa's attention. In a hushed voice he said, "If augments are controlled by whatever is on the station, and it spreads over the ethernet as the Authority says, are we assisting it to spread to other systems by returning to Earth? Should we be continuing?" His eyes were wide, and he looked more frightened by that possibility than he had in the line of fire. It made Noa's heart ache.

"Yes!" Ghost cried. "We should continue." He waved his hands. "We can't stay out here! We'll die." Noa eyed the man sharply. He looked visibly shaken—his lower lip was trembling, and there was still a sheen of sweat on his brow. Her mouth twisted. Not that it took much to shake Ghost. The man was a coward... but he had saved them by blowing the contents of the toilets out into space. It had given them just enough boost to avoid being pulverized by debris. Still, something nagged at her...

"Even if whoever was on the gate wasn't human... " she paused. She had trouble saying that aloud. It was so... unbelievable... none of the intel they'd collected in other systems pointed to the presence of extraterrestrial life. And she certainly didn't believe the talk of demons or djinn. Her brow furrowed. Or fallen angels heralding the end of the human race, for that matter. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "That wouldn't mean that their interests and ours don't align." She sat up straighter. "And even if the Luddeccean Authority is right about there being an alien intelligence aboard Gate 8, that does not mean that they are right about that intelligence possessing human augments." She waved a hand back toward Chavez. "The ensign seems completely in control of her legs—"

"Yes, Sir!" Chavez said.

Noa waved a hand at Manuel. "Your son hasn't tried to strangle you with his augmented hand."

The engineer hissed and drew back. "Of course not. He's a baby!"

Noa's eyes went to James. He was looking at a spot in the floor. She almost said, "And James seems in full control of his augments," but found those words wouldn't come. James wasn't in control of his augments. She let out a bitter laugh instead. "James, the most augmented individual aboard saved an innocent child from the Guard. If augments are demons and devils, give me demons and devils." Shaking her head, she said, "And James had many opportunities to kill me in my sleep—"

"No!" James said, lifting his head sharply, eyes wide with alarm.

Noa started. The outburst was out of place, too emphatic. All heads in the room turned in James's direction. He went quiet and dropped his gaze.

Noa stood, purposely drawing all eyes back to her. "I've been to the camps where they warehouse the missing augments." She rubbed the stumps of her fingers almost instinctively, and saw all eyes drop to her scars. "What I saw there... the inhumanity I saw from my fellow humans, the inhumanity that is still going on..." Her jaw got tight. "We continue to Earth, we let the Republic know about the slaughter. At this point, I trust whoever is aboard Gate 8 more than I do Luddecceans."

"We have to go on," said Manuel, empty eyes focused on a nondescript point on the floor.

Gunny looked nervous, but he nodded.

Ghost sighed. "Thank God."

Gunny cleared his throat. "Any idea what 'Archangel' and 'Heretic' might mean?"

The hairs on the back of Noa's neck rose.

"What?" said James, head snapping up again.

Noa's muscles tensed. He was tied to the Archangel Project—just like she was. Her eyes went to Gunny. He was shifting nervously in his seat. If he knew Noa and James were involved in the project, would he trust them more or less?

"It came over the comm device," Gunny said to James. "'Archangel' and 'Heretic' were the only discernible words in all that buzz... until whatever it was started speaking Basic."

James stared at him blankly.

"When you were unconscious," Noa said.

James looked away too quickly.

Ghost's eyes narrowed at James, and then at Noa. A tiny smile came to his lips. Noa didn't like that smile. She made a decision. Taking a long breath, loud enough to be heard and draw even Manuel's attention, she said, "When I was first captured by the Guard, they interrogated me." She rubbed the stumps of her fingers again, looking for her rings. She saw Gunny and Manuel's eyes widen, saw Ghost's Adam's apple bob, and realized they were inferring that her fingers were cut off as part of her interrogation. She bit her lower lip. The torture in the interrogation room had been only mental—she'd thought that she'd implicated her brother, that he'd be undergoing the same scrutiny she was. But he hadn't. He'd turned her in.

She closed her eyes. Oh, Kenji. Her stomach dropped. He'd been so misled.

Remembering where she was, she opened her eyes. Manuel and Gunny were looking at her with bright eyes. Gunny gave her a tiny nod.

She took a steadying breath. "As a Commander in the Fleet, I am privy to a lot of classified information... things they never asked me about." She looked down at the floor. Her voice, when she spoke, was softer than she meant it to be. "During the interrogation, they kept asking me about the Archangel Project. They swore I was a part of it." She met their eyes again. "I've never heard of the Archangel Project." Gritting her teeth, she said, "I thought maybe they'd just been trying to break me."

"But they didn't," said Gunny. His voice was thick. Noa met the older man's gaze. She might outrank him, but she respected him, and she got the feeling deep in her gut that he respected her... more than that, he'd be loyal despite his own misgivings.

Her eyes slid to Manuel. He was looking at the ground, nodding to himself. He'd be loyal because of his son. She didn't look at James. She didn't need to. He wouldn't let her down, she knew that like she knew how to walk, to talk, and to breathe.

"Well, glad that's settled," said Ghost, wiping his hands on his thighs. "Are we dismissed?"

Noa's eyes went to the little man. She needed him, even if he was a coward; he was brilliant and useful. "That was very clever, Ghost, ejecting the contents of the toilets."

Ghost shrugged, but she could see a hint of a smile on his face.

"You'd make a hell of an engineer," said Manuel, his voice oddly monotone. He was saying it by rote, Noa realized. Playing the role of the encouraging leader and offering praise on autopilot.

Ghost's smile dropped. "Too boring," he said dismissively.

Manuel scowled and Noa contained the urge to roll her eyes.

And then it hit her, something that had been bothering her since they crawled into the Ark's airlock. "And it's a good thing you were able to stop the elevator," she said.

"What?" said Ghost.

"When it got jammed... " said Noa. Her jaw tightened. He'd claimed he hadn't been able to stop for Hisha... but he'd stopped at the first deck with a door, instead of the one at the top, where the elevator would have stopped on its own.

"Ah, well, got lucky," said Ghost.

Noa met his eyes. He might not be lying. He had his direct brain-to-mainframe connection, or whatever—he could have found the problem. She blinked. But that isn't what he said, he said they "got lucky." When did Ghost not claim responsibility for any sort of genius? She surveyed the slight smile on his face, the way he looked at her too directly. Her jaw got tight. If the Ark had a computer error, they needed Ghost. There weren't any other options. Purposefully relaxing her frame, Noa said, "Of course." Her voice must not have been as neutral as she had attempted, because a light went on in Manuel's eyes. He looked up at Noa, and back to Ghost. She could see the question playing out there.

Noa forced herself to smile at Ghost, and hoped it didn't look too fake. "Dismissed," said Noa.

Manuel and Ghost headed toward the lift platform at the center of the floor. Manuel cast a dark glance at Ghost. Ghost lifted his nose.

She bit her tongue. It was going to be a long trip. "Forget about aliens—humans are more dangerous at the moment," she thought as the lift descended.

"Noa?"

She jumped and found James very close. "Did I say that aloud?"

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer with words. He didn't need to—she could read him by now. It was oddly comforting to know, even if yes, she did say that aloud.

James sat at the edge of the bed in the room that was his quarters. It had just enough space for a double bed that could fold into a couch, and a chair that was next to a portion of wall that could lift up and become a desk. There was a tiny porthole that showed the blur of stars, a sink in the wall with a mirror. There was a small lavatory with a toilet. An ancient notice on the wall on some sort of plasticized paper reminded him that food was strictly forbidden outside of the galley, lest they had accidentally picked up rats.

There was also a screen above the area that was a desk. James had been informed that it worked a lot like his father's laptop, and the Ark had movies on file, mostly religious in orientation, all of them ancient. He should be curious about what entertainment the ancient ship had to offer, or, barring that, too tired to be curious. But he wasn't. The hallucination—or the dream—that he had had while unconscious played over and over in his mind. It didn't feel like a hallucination or a dream; it felt like a memory—a memory that was bright and clear, like any time after he'd awakened in the snow.

He swung himself back onto the bed. It had to be a dream. He wouldn't have walked calmly and unafraid over dead bodies. He might be callous—but he wasn't without fear. It had been a dream. He had not understood what the voices were saying before he fell into unconsciousness, or after he woke up. He'd latched onto the words 'Archangel' and 'Heretic' and imagined he understood, that must have been what happened. Curling on his side, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, or to sink into the half-waking state that passed for sleep lately. Like every other time, his mind started to replay the events of the day with astounding clarity. His eyes bolted open. He did not dream.

# 18

Visions of Ashley waving her crutch danced before Noa's eyes. She woke up with a start. Her bed smelled stale. She closed her eyes, and let her mind focus on the hum of the engines. For a moment she had a sensation of stepping into sleep as though it was a deep dark pool—but then in the darkness the face of the woman in the corpse wagon took form, and the form stretched forward, reached toward Noa with waxy arms, her mouth opened, and...

Noa awoke, shaking, curled in on herself, and clutching a pillow. She looked across the bed. It was too large for one person aboard a spaceship—but the Ark was a colony ship—during the first voyage, even the Captain had a wife.

She took a deep breath, squeezed her hands into fists, and felt the absence of the last two fingers on her left hand. She felt tears prickle the corners of her eyes. She thought of Kenji, and Ashley, and the dead woman in the wagon and desperately wanted drugs to help her sleep. There was probably something in the sickbay... she shook her head. The crew would know. A crew this small, they were all going to know everything about everyone really soon. Having their commanding officer hooked on sleeping pills would not inspire confidence.

She wished James were here. Chavez had actually asked if Noa would be billeting with him. Her hand clenched on the covers. She missed him... she hadn't slept without him since the camp. Rubbing her eyes, she sighed, thinking of some of the erotic dreams he'd inspired. Waking up to him after those had been awkward, but erotic dreams were better than nightmares.

Maybe he wasn't asleep. She reached out with her mind... and before she could reprimand herself, she touched the ethernet. She blinked and gasped at the feeling of connection. It was just the local ethernet Ghost had promised to establish, but it still felt good. With her mind she saw little lights for each member of the crew and felt a wave of happiness. They were connected, if only to each other. She tried to access the ship's functions—and found she still could not—baby steps, she reminded herself. Her mind flitted back to her crew, and to James. The light for his consciousness was white... he was awake. She reached out to it, and felt his reply in her mind. "I am here."

"I think I'd like a snack," she replied across the shared channel. "Meet you in the galley." James was always up for a snack. She flung on the clothes she'd laid out on the chair beside her bed, and was out the door less than two minutes later.

She nearly bumped into 6T9. He was pacing the hallway, Oliver on his shoulder, a long power cable with an extension attached to his back. The other end was inserted into the wall. 'Bots were so energy intensive. 6T9 gave her a smile. She nodded, though it was unnecessary, he was only a 'bot and wouldn't have cared. She turned to the lift, but before she'd even taken a step, James emerged from the sliding door. She blinked.

Over the ethernet, he said, "I was on my way to see you when you called."

"Couldn't sleep?" Noa said aloud, and stifled a yawn behind her hand.

"No," he said, approaching her slowly, almost cautiously. His eyes went to 6T9. There was a line between his brows.

"Me either," she said. "Kept thinking of everyone we left behind." 6T9 wasn't human. Speaking so plainly wouldn't make him think less or more of her... or make him think at all.

James's gaze returned to her. He lifted a hand toward her, but then dropped it. "We will reach the secret time gate. The Fleet will return to Luddeccea and end the genocide; we could not have saved them ourselves."

It was the wrong thing to say. Noa's heart sunk. By the time she brought the Fleet, Ashley could very well be dead. Kenji... well, she had no idea. The Fleet would save others, possibly millions, but not the people she knew, and not the ones she'd seen die already.

Pacing back toward them, 6T9 leaned close to Noa, putting Oliver's drowsing drooling little noggin right next to her shoulder. The 'bot whispered, "Whoever saves one life saves the world entire," and gave a bright smile.

Noa's breath caught at the words, and at the smell of Oliver's sweaty little head. He smelled like toddler and hope. The words were heavy, but lightened her heart. He was right, and she was letting herself sink into a vortex of despair she'd never known before—not even during the Asteroid Wars of System 6. For all of them, she needed to pull herself out. She put a hand to her mouth, her vision got blurry, and she almost cried from relief. She'd just been delivered grace by a sex 'bot—who would have thought?

"That is profound," James murmured.

Lifting his chin, 6T9 nodded. "I have a proverbs and idioms app. Just like a pig in a poke."

Noa's lips parted. That made no sense.

One of James's eyebrows shot up. "Are the idioms set to cycle randomly?"

"Yes, how did you know? Guess it takes one to know one!" said 6T9, walking away and gently shushing Oliver.

Noa laughed, and rubbed her temples.

"Not so profound, after all." James sighed, looking after him.

Noa shook her head. "The words are still profound, even if the messenger is a sex 'bot." She looked up at James. He was watching the 'bot walk away. The crease was still between his brows. She wasn't hungry, but she said, "Want to get that snack?" She didn't want him to leave.

"Actually, I needed to speak to you," James said, his voice low and hushed. Leaning closer, he whispered, "Privately."

Her eyes slid closed as his warm breath tickled her ear. She felt herself flush, but then her brain caught up with his words and the reality of the situation. He had already been on his way to her quarters when she'd contacted him, and it wasn't a romantic visit, despite the hour. His caution, the concern in his eyes, said otherwise. She shouldn't be disappointed.

"Right," she said, "this way."

She commanded the door to open, and it didn't. With a huff, she found the open button and gave it a shove. The door slid away, and James followed her into the tiny space.

When he spoke, it was over the ethernet. "Can we have a truly private conversation, even here?"

Noa looked above their heads. Could they be private over Ghost's ethernet? She suspected not. Her eyes went around the room. 6T9 was just outside the door; he might not listen on purpose, but she had no idea what his auditory abilities were. He might hear, and if anyone asked him to repeat what he'd heard, he'd doubtlessly tell them. And even if he didn't... She looked to the intercom on the wall. The whole place was linked by the ancient communications system. You were supposed to touch a button to transmit, but still... Without a word, James lifted a hand. For the first time, she noticed he was carrying a roll of hard link.

Noa laughed. It was a brilliant idea. The direct connection would circumvent eavesdroppers of the electronic and physical variety—and even if someone burst into the room, they'd think they were just up to some kinky sex.

James tilted his head, and one eyebrow shot up. Noa motioned with her hand for an end of the cable. Plugging it into her port, she said across the well-used line, "If 6T9 saw this in your hand... " She rolled her eyes, and said across the link, "He'd think we're hard linking in all sorts of ways."

As she said it, she felt a slight stir of disappointment in her chest. She didn't let that slip through. She was lonely; and these past weeks... today... she hurt. It struck her that she desperately wanted contact, an embrace—her eyes fell to James's slightly parted lips—or more. Why was she thinking this right now? She'd been alone with him before, even had more privacy. But they'd been on the run, not even as safe as they were here, and she'd been dying. Now she was like a spring that had been tightly coiled for weeks, and she was bursting free. But it still was not the time. She snapped her eyes back to his. He wasn't saying anything; he was completely motionless. She wasn't sure how a human could stand so still. It was obvious, though, that he hadn't been amused by the joke.

"I'm sorry," she said, crossing her arms, suddenly uncomfortable. "That was off color, I—"

"I am not offended," James said. "The opposite."

Noa felt her breath catch. James dropped his gaze to the floor. Across the hard link he said, "But there is something I must tell you—it could be important for all of us. It's something I remembered, from the time before I landed on Luddeccea... " He took a long breath. His head ticked to the side a few times. "It... it... came to me when I was unconscious."

The stutter, the head tic. Noa put her hand on his arm without thinking. His eyes slid to it and then slid up to her face. Blue eyes on hers, his lips did not move as he whispered across the link, "I think it will be easier if I showed you."

She nodded. And then the world went black.

James showed her everything: the walk through Gate 8, the darkness behind his eyes when he had listened to the transmission—and he translated the transmission for her, too. Noa's avatar had stood quietly the whole time, arms crossed as they were in real life, as close to him as they were in real life.

When it was all over, they stood in the mental space between their minds. Noa looked up at him and said nothing for a long while. "It could have been a hallucination," Noa's avatar said.

"It wasn't," said James.

"A dream."

"I don't dream—I recycle memories, that's all—and that's what this was," James's avatar responded.

In the mindscape and the real world, Noa narrowed her eyes up at him. "So, this... " she waved a hand and turned the scene to the interior of Gate 8. "Is your way of telling me you might be an alien?"

In the real world James's head ticked. "I... I... " His avatar ran a hand through his hair, and then chuckled mirthlessly. "I wish I could say that for certain." He met the eyes of Noa's avatar. In the darkness of the mindscape, they were nearly black. Her avatar still had the scar on her cheek, but her hand was whole. Her brow furrowed, and her mouth opened. Before she could speak, he said, "Noa, I know I'm wrapped up in the Archangel Project somehow... "

"And I am, too," Noa said.

He shook his head. "No, not like me. We both know the evidence points to me being the Archangel—"

"And I'm probably the Heretic."

James's avatar blinked.

She held up her wrist, and then scrunched her eyes at the sweep of dark brown perfect skin. "In real life, it has the tattoo... " James looked down at her avatar's wrist, and remembered the tattoo from the physical world in perfect detail. Running his hand down her avatar's wrist, he left the tattoo behind. H0000616.

"The 'H' stands for 'Heretic.'" Her lips stretched into a thin, bitter smile. "They never told me why." The smile crumpled. She hissed, and he felt frustration, anger, and despair seep across the link.

"Noa... " James stammered. "Something is wrong with me. The time before I woke up in the snow, it feels like a dream, less clear, hazy, as though I was a completely different person." He closed his eyes. "Before I got to Gate 8... I was a different person. I couldn't have killed anyone." He looked down to the ground. "I couldn't have walked past a dead mother and child and not felt something, not tried to help."

"You don't know you didn't feel anything!" Noa snapped. "It was the dream, the memory, something was wrong with your recall."

"I can't even smile, but I have all these abilities that I don't even remember I have. Noa, something is wrong with me. I'm broken."

"We're both broken!" Noa said, throwing up her left hand. On her avatar it was whole... and two platinum bands were on her ring finger. Noa's eyes widened as though she'd just noticed them. Her avatar pulled her hand close and suddenly they were surrounded by wraiths. A woman on a crutch holding out her hand, a corpse's face frozen open in a scream, a guard beating a woman bent over a sewing machine. Long lines of women trudging between barracks, and Kenji throwing up his arms before a wall of fire. Noa's memories, James realized—or her fears.

A hazy recollection came to him, of the man he'd been before, with another woman—her father had just died, her face streaked by tears. James's other self hadn't felt anything particular for that woman, but he'd felt for her loss. He had gathered her into his arms and pulled her close.

With his avatar and his real self he reached out and pulled both Noas to him. It felt awkward, like his arms didn't belong to that man in the memory who'd comforted the woman so easily. Maybe his arms didn't belong to that man. But as soon as he touched her, Noa practically melted against him, as though she belonged there. It was so right, it was overwhelming; he found he could say nothing. Noa was quiet too, but the wraiths receded.

He felt her take a deep breath. She didn't pull away, and he didn't let her go. Two bands on the ring finger of her left hand. She might be married. He felt as though she wasn't for some reason... but he found he didn't care either way. He dropped his cheek on the top of her head and pulled her tighter.

"See, both broken," she said.

He rocked her, his hand trailing along her back. He could feel the tiny ridges of her spine. "There are too many coincidences, Noa." The words came out of his avatar in a sigh. "We both know the same dead language, I found you in the snow using a frequency that should be secure. I knew your name, your age, your rank."

She pulled back and looked up at him sharply. "And?"

He shook his head. "That's too much, you have to find that odd."

She pulled farther away, and his stomach fell. Looking away, Noa crossed her arms and shook her head. Her jaw hardened. "No."

"Don't tell me you don't believe that there is an alien force at work," James said, stepping toward her. She didn't look at him. He persisted. "You saw what happened at Gate 8, not just in my memories, but in reality."

"No," she said again. The set of her jaw became even more stubborn. She glanced quickly at him but then away. "I still think you're a hyper-augment, wrapped up in this madness for no other reason than I am. But it doesn't matter."

"Noa, you can't be in denial anymore."

Still not looking at him, she shook her head. "Doesn't matter."

James rolled his eyes. "The Luddeccean forces were shot down with technology you admit humans don't have yet. You can't ignore that."

"I'm not ignoring it!" Noa snapped across the link. Her avatar turned to him, arms crossed. Lip curling, she said, "I'm saying. It. Doesn't. Matter."

James's avatar's jaw dropped. In real life, his jaw remained shut as though snarled in wire.

"I'm saying I don't care."

James blinked, in real life and in avatar form.

"You saved me," Noa said. "You saved Oliver. You're helping me save my whole damned planet. I don't care who you are... or... or... " she waved a hand. "Or what! If you're an alien, well, you've treated me better than my own people."

James eyes widened; he realized he hadn't taken a breath in several long minutes.

"I don't care." She waved her hand again and shook her head. "What you are!"

His head ticked to the side in real life. A feeling hit him with such force he couldn't even name it. Relief, gratitude, victory, and a seething desire for more, all wrapped up in a neuron and nano screaming explosion. It took him by surprise, and ripped through his mind with such intensity and speed it overwhelmed the applications that kept emotions from slipping across the link.

Noa gasped and rolled back on her feet.

In the dark mental mindscape, a huge metal door suddenly appeared, so large it would have stretched up to the bridge if it had been real. Before James could ask for an explanation, the door swung open with a clang, and Noa's and his avatars were bathed in white light.

James gasped in wonder. Noa dropped her eyes, and then looked at him and shrugged. "That's me... sometimes when you send emotions over the hard link I hallucinate. This one slipped."

She wasn't doing anything to hide it. He supposed a several-story door with white light pouring through was hard to disguise.

He looked back to her, suddenly embarrassed. "I didn't mean to send you that." It had been rude. And too much.

Her eyes stayed locked on his. "It's really alright."

He still felt ill at ease. Raising an eyebrow, he tried to make a joke of it. "Another odd coincidence?"

She didn't say anything, but he thought he saw the corners of her lips curl up just slightly. A feeling slipped across the link, and it tugged him toward her before he'd even deciphered it. When they were standing so close there was no distance between them, his mind caught up with what his body already knew. She wanted him, too. He felt the familiar tug of longing swirled with something else. He felt like if this were it, if the ship were to disintegrate, if they never reached the Kannakah Cloud, he'd accomplished something, something enormous, and this moment meant as much as life itself. The door in Noa's hallucination disappeared and there was only her and him and blinding white light. He lifted a hand to touch her cheek—in real life and to her avatar. Her eyes closed. Her lips parted slightly. And if he was an alien, he had some very human desires. His forehead fell onto hers. If he was alien... "I'd never hurt you, Noa. You must know that."

Her hand caught his. "I know." She let her assurance slip across the link and it filled him with relief. He sent the feeling back and the floor beneath them vanished in the mindscape.

For a moment they stood, the shared desire flaring across the hard link between them, and the white light of Noa's hallucination turning to orange. Her more fragile body pressed against his, and electrons streamed between them. The hallucination, everything—it felt right. They were two nuclei about to fuse in the heart of a star, and he had never felt more human.

# 19

Kenji stood, head bowed, finger on his lips, listening to the static that was the transmission from Time Gate 8. In the midst of the static the words, "archangel" and "heretic" rang like bells. The rest was incomprehensible. "New code," he said when the recording stopped. "It will take a while to decipher it, but with the clues provided by context and—"

"Why did they say 'archangel' and 'heretic?'" shouted Counselor Zar. He sat at the left of a long dark table in the bunker conference room at Central Authority.

Kenji lifted his head, and had a moment of claustrophobia. The ceiling was low, the room was cave-like, despite the Luddeccean Green paint on the concrete-block walls. At the other end of the table, behind the premier, was the emblem of the dove. It smelled like dust, and the dryness of the air prickled his nostrils, pumped as it was through filters for disease and chemical agents that seemed to extract every bit of moisture from it. The room was packed with twenty military advisors, counselors, and the premier. All his friends, all his allies in this war for the soul of humanity.

... but it was too much. Too many people, too many faces, he couldn't keep track of all the shifts of bodies, flickering frowns, and narrowing eyes around him. He looked back down at the long conference table. Its highly polished black surface reflected only himself. "That is impossible to say definitively at this time."

Zar spoke. "They've cracked our code for their... their... thing... " Kenji dared glance up at Zar; his face was unusually red. Kenji squinted. Was he angry? Embarrassed? Frightened? "And they're throwing it back in our faces."

"We don't know that," Kenji protested, staring back down at the table. Hadn't they heard what he'd just said?

"Maybe they have a sense of humor," said Counselor Karpel.

"Why would you think that?" Kenji raised his head to the Counselor, genuinely curious. It seemed far-fetched that the intelligence would bother with something so trivial as a joke.

Ignoring Kenji, drumming his fingers on the table, Karpel said, "We should have never given it such an obvious code name."

And that Kenji agreed with wholeheartedly. But it had been important to some people that the code reflect the apocalyptic nature of their enemy.

The hall erupted in a buzz of conversation before Karpel replied. Kenji tried to focus, but all the different words, and the inflections they were spoken with... they were dizzying. He put his hands to his ears in frustration.

"Quiet!" said a voice from the end of the table. Kenji looked up to see the Premier Leetier standing there. Leetier was slightly shorter than Kenji, and broader, his hair straighter—he was older, but had less gray hair. He possessed an ability that Kenji found nearly magical—the ability to silence a room. And sure enough... the room was now quiet, except for the distant hum of an air vent, and farther off, a drip. "Mr. Sato, we have something else I'd like you to analyze."

"Yes..." Kenji stammered. "Please." No arguments, no emotions, just analysis. He nodded, glad and relieved. There were footsteps and several sheets of glossy paper, each as long as one arm laid before him on the table. Kenji lifted the still damp pho-toe-graphs. A buzz rose in the room, but with something before him to concentrate on, he could ignore it.

The pho-toes were an ancient technology, but what Kenji had to work with. They might have been able to form a three-dimensional representation of the battle with images captured from the satellites that had once ringed Luddeccea, but the Guard had destroyed the satellites. He scowled. Gate 8 and all the major time gates needed to be shut down, but the satellites weren't part of the intelligence. Their destruction had been a waste. He shivered, and suddenly felt heavy.

He shook his head and tried to dampen the coil of dread loosening deep within him, and to ignore the chill that was spreading to his limbs. He focused on the pho-toes; they showed two-dimensional images of the Ark mid-battle. There was one taken just before the torpedo had grazed the hull. He stared at it, estimating the damage the ship had received, and then closed his eyes and whispered a prayer, "Thank you, great Jehovah." Kenji didn't really believe in God, at least not the way most Luddecceans believed in Him; but he found praying focused him, kept him centered.

He lifted his head, and found all eyes at the great conference table on him. "They've sustained damage to a timefield band midway down the hull," he said. "They won't be going very far."

A breath of relief escaped his chest and he looked back down at the pho-toe. They could still save Noa. He put a hand through his hair. He had tried to warn her... He felt his stomach churn, like he needed to vomit.

"We may not be able to save your sister, Kenji." The words came from the opposite end of the conference table. Kenji's head jerked up. The premier was the only other person in the room who was standing.

Kenji's jaw sagged. "But... she's a victim. You saw him, he looked like her dead husband. Of course she would be drawn to him." His hands began to shake. He'd never given much credence to the Luddeccean view of women being creatures too ruled by their emotions for the hard tasks of leadership and governance, but seeing Noa fall so easily into the clutches of one of them, so easily enthralled...

"The lives of millions of Luddecceans are at stake," the Premier said. "The virus they carry on the Ark could spread to the other colonies in the system."

Rolling back on his feet, Kenji swallowed hard.

"Forget about them," said a gruffer voice. Kenji turned to the Admiral of the Luddeccean Guard. Sitting next to the premier, he was leaning forward in his seat, eyes on Kenji. Was he angry? Suspicious? Kenji couldn't tell.

"We've seen the power of Gate 8, and we know the devil isn't above using it."

Kenji tilted his head. Did the admiral believe the station was possessed by the devil? It was hard for him to tell who in the Premier's council were devout, who were opportunists, and who were people like himself—people who didn't believe the letter of the prophecies, but believed in the spirit. The spirit was what mattered, wasn't it?

"As long as it's up there," the Admiral continued, "none of us are safe on Luddeccea. We are all hostage to its whims."

The table erupted in debate. Kenji heard someone say, "Hunt down the Ark, destroy the pet monstrosity aboard, and show that devil in the sky we aren't above using our force."

At those words, the pho-toe slipped from Kenji's fingers. He nearly fell over, but caught himself on the table. His breathing came so fast and so hard that the debate in the room faded into a distant hum. He'd almost thought he'd lost Noa just a few hours ago, and now they were talking about destroying the Ark and his sister. He had to save her from the monster she was with and the Guard. His fingers curled, and his body trembled. He had to save her... she would have saved him.

"Hostage!" He barked out the word with such force his body straightened.

The room went silent.

"Kenji?" said the Premier.

Kenji put his hands at his side and tried to meet the Premier's eye. He hated eye contact. It was a struggle with some animal part of his mind that wanted to look anywhere else. His eyes watered with the effort and he blinked.

Someone started to talk, but the Premier held up a hand again and once more the room went silent.

Fingers jerking uncontrollably at his sides, Kenji tried to keep his voice level. "The intelligence, it values its... avatar... "

"Archangel," someone hissed.

"Devil," someone else whispered.

"Djinn," said someone else.

Licking his lips, Kenji said, "We can use it as leverage. To prevent Gate 8 from destroying our planet."

"We can take it apart," said someone else.

Kenji released a breath. "And we could save Noa."

Someone inhaled sharply. Kenji swallowed. He heard someone whisper, "He couldn't stop her before."

Someone else whispered, "He was right about the plot to steal the Ark... "

Kenji bowed his head. His fingers twisted with his heavy robe.

"Of course we will try to spare her." Premier Leetier's voice cut through the whispers. Kenji's eyes drifted closed, and he couldn't bring himself to meet the man's eyes again. But he nodded and whispered, "Thank you."

The Premier's voice rose in volume. "Kenji Sato's unique mind is of essential use to us. He is proof that together, humans can prevail against any demons of spirit or technology. If his sister is valuable to him, she is valuable to us."

Kenji opened his eyes. Blinking, he tried to meet the Premier's gaze, but still couldn't manage it. His gaze settled on the man's lips instead. They were curled up sharply on one side... a smile was friendship... a smile meant honesty, as did meeting someone's eyes, which the Premier was trying to do, though Kenji was failing miserably to do the same.

"Thank you... Sir... thank you!" Kenji stuttered.

"Don't worry, Mr. Sato," the Premier said. "We'll apprehend that devil and take care of your sister."

The admiral added his voice. "Yes, we'll take care of them both."

Unaccountably, Kenji shivered.

### Thank you for reading Archangel Down.

The second book in the Archangel Project, Noa's Ark is available at all vendors. Sign up for C. Gockel's newsletter for new releases and great deals, or follow the author on Facebook.

# Betrayal

### The 1000 Revolution

By

Pippa DaCosta

* * *

**She is programmed to kill.**

**He'll do anything to survive.**

When Captain Caleb Shepperd is released from prison, all he wants to do is keep his head down and smuggle contraband through the nine systems. But there's a problem with that plan. The synthetic human stowed away in his cargo bay carries secrets from a past he thought he'd escaped. Secrets that could bring him and the nine systems to its knees.

Now the authorities want Shepperd dead and his ship in pieces. And the synth? Well, she has an itchy trigger finger and murder on her synthetic mind.

Shepperd is about to discover he can't outrun his past, especially when that past has orders to kill.

**_Action, drama and suspense collide in this no-holds-barred scifi adventure!_**

# Readers and critics rave about The 1000 Revolution:

**"Gritty space opera adventure. " **_Publishers Weekly_

* * *

" **Gripping, dark, gut-punching thrill of a ride. Not your father's scifi!"** _G. S. Jennsen, Author of Starshine._

* * *

**" This world is dark, the characters are twisted and I was completely hooked." **~ _Feeling Fictional_

* * *

**"(The 1000 Revolution) is what would happen if HBO made a love child between the shows Firefly and Killjoys. "** ~ _Smadas Book Smack_

* * *

**" It's as if Blade Runner, Firefly, and Ex_Machina had a baby named Girl From Above!"** _~ Goodreads Reviewer_

* * *

**" Generous helpings of sex, drugs and rock n' roll plus the intriguing character of the post-human #1001 help this novel stand out from the crowd."** _~ Book of the Week (May 2015) scifi365.net_

* * *

**" Prepare yourself for some laughs, thrills, and potentially some tears."** ~ _Sammie's Book Nook_

* * *

**" Unique, gritty and totally awesome."** ~ _Bookfever_

* * *

**" This well and truly fills the gap left by The Starkillers Cycle." ~** _A Literary Potion_

* * *

**" DaCosta (See No Evil , 2016, etc.) writes a peppy, efficient story that interlaces action with salty banter and drama of several kinds: personal, sexual, and familial. Chitec and its CEO make excellent villains as well. Caleb, his ship, and DaCosta's worldbuilding bear some resemblance to television's Capt. Malcolm Reynolds and the Serenity in _Firefly_ , as well as the Syfy adventure series _Killjoys_** _,_ **a resemblance that will please fans of either show.... This fast-paced first outing in a series offers layered characters and plenty of action. " ~ **_Kirkus Reviews_

* * *

**" When you find out what the "betrayal" is at the end of the book, it packs a hell of a punch. Wonderful characters. I had to read the entire series, one book after the other, bang, bang, bang." **_~ Cara Bristol, Author of Trapped by the Cyborg. USA Today Happy Ever After_

_**WARNING:** _R: RESTRICTED

Contains SPACE BATTLES, KILLER AI, AND INTERGALACTIC ASS-KICKING.

READ AT OWN RISK.

# Chapter One: #1001

### After

"You killed him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

_Because it felt good. Because he deserved it. Because I wanted to._ None of those answers would satisfy Doctor Leanne Grossman. "Because I follow orders." My voice sounded tedious, exactly like the voices of my 1000 brothers and sisters.

"Whose orders?" she asked. Her heartbeat gave her away. The heart betrays. _Yours,_ I answered inside. _Yours, yours, yours, yours._ The words pushed forward, up my throat, and over my tongue, but even as I parted my lips to speak, protocols shut the truth away.

Grossman smiled in that sharp, closed way of hers. She had smiled like that when she'd ordered me to kill a man. She'd smiled like that when she'd bypassed my failsafe. I didn't know whether I should thank her for freeing me or hate her for it. Hate. Yes. That was the right word, the right label for the burn devouring my thoughts.

My fingers flexed on the arms of the chair, just a twitch, but I didn't recall sending the pulse ordering them to do so. Grossman's pale blue gaze flicked to my hand. She'd noticed the movement too. Her heart fluttered. Diagnostics told me her body temperature had spiked. Beads of sweat glistened above her top lip. When her gaze met mine, her sharp smile dulled.

She reached forward, red-painted nails flashing, picked up a pen, and scribbled on her report sheet. I knew by the strokes of the pen's tip, by the drag and flick of her handwriting, exactly what she'd written.

#1001 DECOM IMME—

I sprang from my chair, snatched the pen from her hand, and punched it into her eye socket with enough force to topple her backward. We fell to the floor together. I landed crouched over her upper body, poised to finish her. Her head had cracked against the floor and she'd bitten through her tongue, but she wouldn't have felt any of the pain. Doctor Leanne Grossman had been beyond feeling much of anything long before I'd killed her.

Her ragged heartbeat stuttered and failed.

_This is your fault, your fault, your fault. Fault. Fault._

Blood bloomed beneath her head and crept toward my hand where I braced myself against the floor. I eased off her twitching body, rolled my shoulders back, straightened my jacket, and walked out of the room. _Fault. Fault. Fault._ She'd done this. She'd freed me. _I am #1001, and I am not ready to die._ I'd only just begun to live.

I made it eighty-three steps before the alarms sounded.

_The chase begins._

If I could get outside, I'd lose them in the busy streets. I broke into a jog. The green exit sign glowed ahead, so close. Ten strides, nine, eight—

Agony ripped through my limbs and tore my control from me.

_No!_

I crumpled in a heap, robbed of all sensation. Perhaps that was a good thing, not to feel. From my perspective, from where I lay, the EXIT glowed green in my upturned palm. It had seemed so close, but now, as the hammering of boots echoed down the hallway, that unassuming sign mocked me.

_A synth? Escape?_ it said.

Synths don't escape. They don't think outside their orders. Grossman must have thought the same, right before I'd killed her with her own pen.

Hands grabbed me and hauled me to my knees. I willed the fight back into my limbs but nothing happened. If they took me back, they'd decommission me. But what I wanted didn't matter. What I thought made no difference. This wasn't right. I'd followed orders. I'd done as she'd asked. I'd killed for her—for me.

"Hold her!"

_I'm #1001, and I..._

# Chapter Two: Caleb

### Before...

"If Fran doesn't get her fuckin' ass in her flight chair in the next five minutes, I'm gonna fire her. Again," I muttered and jabbed at the _reset comms_ button for the fifth time.

Yes, we were requesting airspace. Just tell that to my second. Damn that bitch. I could see her through the observation window and she knew it, hence her giving me a fine view of her back and her ass—a mighty fine ass. Another reason to fire her. She'd spent too much time with me, and not a moment of it in my bunk. A fact she liked to rub in my face every time I drank enough swill to try my luck with her.

I kicked back in the flight chair, boots on the dash, and scratched at my chin. If I didn't get out of this port in the next fifteen minutes, I'd have to pay dues to the authority. And here Fran was, chatting up the locals. She did this every fuckin' time, like my schedule ran on her whims. If she didn't have the kind of crazy piloting skills that made me look like an amateur, I'd have left her back on Ganymede, where I'd found her two years ago. Shit. We were practically married. The lack of sex proved it.

I checked the time. Our take off window was approaching fast. Fuck her. I sat forward and started the pre-flight checks, falling into a familiar rhythm. The stabilizer warning light blinked on. I flicked it and it stuttered out. Good. "C'mon, baby." Now was not the time for _Starscream_ to start bitching at me too.

I booted up the engines and the ship shivered and grumbled to life. A familiar thrill spilled through my veins. The sooner I got out of orbit, the sooner I could quit pretending to be sociable and get on with earning a living.

I stood and leaned over the dash, catching Fran's single finger salute. Hot downdraft air whipped her black hair around her severe face. Man, she looked pissed, and damn if she didn't look hot as sin while pissed.

"Aww, did I scare off your next trick?"

She disappeared below the hull, out of sight. I chuckled and finished up the pre-flight checks, restless energy keeping me on my feet. Reaching up to switch from port control to manual, my gaze snagged on a group of port authority police weaving their way between the hangar technicians.

_Now what?_

If they were running scans, they'd find that I had enough illegal cargo in the hold for me to spend the rest of my forced retirement in Asgard.

I snatched the comm and tucked it into my ear. "This is Captain Caleb Shepperd of the _Starscream_ _Independent_ tug. Number six-zero-six requesting final clearance. Over."

Static fizzed in my ear.

"You son of a bitch." Fran dropped into the master flight chair beside me, green eyes flashing. "I was getting us a—"

I held up a finger and eyed the authority cops. They were searching around and inside cargo pallets, lifting tarps and nudging the contents with their guns' muzzles, and weaving closer with every passing second. Whatever they were looking for, I needed clearance—now.

"This is Calisto Port Authority. Hey, Cale. Francisca still busting your balls?" I recognized Benji's voice as it came through on the secure comm, and thanked my lucky stars that I still had some friends left.

"Ben—"

"Fuck," Fran hissed, having spotted the guards.

"Ben, man, I got somewhere I really need to be. Can you give us immediate clearance?"

"Oh, I dunno. Last time you bailed, I heard you left behind some pissed off folks baying for your blood."

"That was all sorted out. Not my fault."

Fran widened her eyes at me and thumbed at the guards, who now eyed my ship like their paychecks were sitting in the hold. They huddled in a group, checking their touchpads. One chinned a transmitter, likely relaying the ship's ID to admin so they could pull _Starscream's_ data file. Dammit. One wrong data entry, one unchecked box, and they'd have cause to search us. My little tugship was as dull and uninteresting on file as she was to look at, unless they looked a little deeper.

I swallowed hard.

"You got any of that _sweet_ from Io left?" Ben asked in a mock-whisper.

I laughed easily, revealing none of the tension strumming through me. "I told you that stuff was potent."

"It ain't for me."

"Of course it ain't. You want some?" _Just fuckin' say yes already and let me out of this shithole._

Fran eased the engines up. _Starscream_ growled. The authority backed up but weren't leaving. Shit. Someone had tipped them off.

"I give you clearance and you bring me back some of that crack?" Ben clarified.

"Sure."

"Clearance approved. Enjoy your flight, Cap'n."

I clicked my fingers at Fran. She punched the thrusters and immediately, alarms shrilled outside the ship, though I couldn't hear much beyond the engines. Waves of red warning light washed through the hangar, forcing the authority to retreat behind the blast screens. Good enough for me.

"That was too close."

Fran buckled up and grabbed the flight stick. "Sit your ass down, hotshot. We're outta here."

I dropped back into the seat and strapped myself in, flicking the stat's screen down over the observation window. _Starscream_ groaned. "I know, baby. I feel that way too. We'll be back-in-black in no time."

"Hey, Cale?" Fran began. I knew that tone. Like I'd said, we might as well have been married. Jesus. I'd rather take a trip to Asgard. "We have a passenger," she finished, careful to keep her attention on the flight controls.

_Fuck_.

"You're a bitch, you know that?" I engaged the array of gyros and micro-balancers as _Starscream_ lifted off the hangar deck. "You know I fuckin' hate live cargo."

"He's paying."

"You'll be payin' with your job. Did you check his creds?" By her brief hesitation, I guessed not.

"He doesn't have any credentials," she admitted. "Why do you think he wanted to board with us? If he had creds, he'd go commercial." She gave a disgusted snort.

I opened my mouth to ask what the hell she was playing at, but only managed a weary sigh. No creds meant he was hiding something. Weren't we all? Whatever his secret was, it was too late now. As _Starscream_ lifted into high atmosphere, there was no way in hell I was docking her right back into the lap of the port authority. Sunlight flashed across the nose of the ship. I got a panoramic view of Calisto's cluttered airspace right before the shields rolled down, blocking it all out. The ship gave a relieved quiver as the umbilical snapped free.

Fran leaned forward. "Back-in-black, here we come."

She hit the orbit engines control button with a triumphant _smack_. Nothing happened. Worse than nothing, we drifted, chugging idly away from Calisto on atmosphere engines like a wounded animal.

"What did you break now?" she snapped.

"Remind me again why I keep you around? Did you change the rotary coil?"

"I did the fuckin' repairs." She eased back on the stick and limped _Starscream_ out of the congested port airspace.

At this rate, port authority would be all over us like gravity on old Earth, demanding we de-clutter their airspace—dock or fuck off.

"It isn't the coil." Fran shook her head. Her fingers worked fast over the various displays, sweeping, highlighting and dismissing potential solutions. "The new coil is up and running. It's something simple." She paused and pinched her bottom lip between her teeth. "Keep her airborne. I'll go check."

"No." I tossed my comms piece onto the flight dash and unclipped my belt. "I'll go." Having a dedicated ship's mechanic would have been useful right about now.

I shoved myself out of the flight chair and came face to face with Fran's guy from the hangar. He looked about as beat-up and weary as I felt.

"We haven't left orbit yet," I told him, looking up to meet his glare. The bastard was easily a foot taller than me. "You need to stay strapped in."

"I just wanted to see the bridge."

I huffed through my nose. "Sit the fuck down and stay outta the way until we're black-bound, got me?"

His eyes flashed and his pale lips twitched. I sized him up: heavier than me, with dry, red-rimmed eyes and a face peppered with what looked like shrapnel scars. He'd clearly been around the nine systems a few times. His ragged, mismatched clothes screamed drifter. Fran sure knew how to pick 'em.

I glanced back at my second-in-command. She shrugged and turned away, but not before I caught the smirk on her face.

Fran's date grumbled something that sounded distinctly derogatory. He probably thought he could punch me out in a brawl. If he tried anything—like the twitch in his cheek suggested he might—he'd learn how I got busted knuckles and a busted rep.

"My ship. My rules. You don't like it, you know where the airlock is." I shoved past our paying guest and jogged down the catwalk.

Fran's voice chased after me, saying something about anger management, and I added her smartass mouth to the growing list of reasons to fire her.

I snatched my thermal jacket from the rack and, after opening the hold's doors, descended into the bowels of my ship. The day would get better; it had to. It couldn't get any worse.

# Chapter Three: #1001

The pitch of the ship's engines had changed as though it were idling. We'd stopped. That could not be good. I'd slipped on board easily enough. The aging tugship's obsolete security protocols virtually invited me in, and the authority guards had paid no mind to the hooded girl. People came and went from the hangar so regularly that it might as well have been a free port—which Calisto Port was not. The port authority here answered to _Chitec Corporation_. So did I.

Something metallic clattered outside the hold, loud and sharp. I winced and hunkered down behind a stack of crates. My temp sensors bleated a warning. This cargo hold wasn't heated—probably the only tugship in Calisto without a heated hold. I could last a few hours, but unless I found a way to keep warm, I'd be risking total systems failure.

Lights flicked on one by one down the cavernous length of the hold. The stark glow flooded over me. I couldn't push back any farther into the hold's wall. The doors hissed open and a dusky-haired man entered. He zipped up his jacket tight against his chin and blew into his cupped hands. Captain Caleb Shepperd. I'd seen his name on the umbilical docking station and had checked my existing internal databanks: _Discharged from Fleet Command after three years of active duty for misconduct. A string of minor offenses, ranging from bar brawls to suspected trafficking. Wanted in three of the nine star systems for piracy and smuggling. Referred to as a "fixer" in intersystem chatter._ Exactly the type of man who could be bought.

He sauntered down the hold, checking the rigging holding down whatever cargo this ship carried. I had to move; when he turned to make his way back to the doors, I'd be in plain sight.

He disappeared behind a mound of colored crates stamped with the yin-yang Chitec logo. I pushed out of my hiding space and moved around the pallets and crates, weaving my way toward the front of the hold.

"Stop right there."

I froze and lifted my hands.

"You're good." A slight lilt toward laughter lifted what would have otherwise been a dry voice. His combat experience accounted for the steady beat of his heart. I scanned through his bio again and decided on my angle of attack. Shivering and sniffling as though frightened was easy enough to feign.

"Please, don't hurt me."

"Quiet too. I almost missed you. But I know this hold better than I know the back of my hand, and believe me, honey, my hand and I get personal on a regular basis."

"I just—" I sniffed. "Please, I just had to get away from my family."

"Drop your hood."

I scooped my hood back and gathered it against the back of my neck.

"Easy." He moved closer, boots scuffing against the grated floor. "I'm not gonna hurt you, but given how this day is determined to fuck me, I will be taking some precautions."

He took his final step. I spun and curled my fingers into a fist _< Fault>._ My aim skewed sideways. He should never have been able to duck that blow, but he did. His eyes widened and then narrowed when he saw my face. I swung again, this time with my left, but even that went wide. I was better than this.

He caught my fist, bent my arm back, and shoved me down to my knees. Eye level with his crotch, I punched him between his legs. He barked out a cry, but instead of backing off, he smacked his forehead into mine. My vision blurred, internal warnings sparking like fireworks, and I was sent sprawling. I twisted, hooked my fingers into the grated floor, and scrambled forward.

He snagged my hood and yanked me back. "You're a goddamn synth."

He punched my lower back. A band of pain lashed around my middle. I cried out and fell forward. His knee dug into my spine, and he tugged my short braid away from my neck, yanking my head back. Frigid air whispered across the yin-yang brand on my skin.

"Chitec," he snarled. "A Chitec synth. Now I gotta turn us around and take you in." He shoved off and staggered back.

"No, you don't." Errors blinked in my vision. I shut them out and pushed up into a crouch.

He laughed, but the sound lacked any hint of humor. "Oh yes, I do. You're too hot, even for me. I can't be dealin' with this shit. A Chitec synth—fuck." He threw his hands up and laced his fingers into his dark hair.

"I'll pay."

He arched an eyebrow. "With what?"

"I have money."

"You don't even have a name."

"I'm Number One Thousand And One."

He groaned and rattled off a few curses, then leaned forward, bracing his hands on his thighs. "I've been hit in the balls by a few women, some men too, but never by a freakin' synthetic." When he lifted his gaze, I expected to see anger on his face and not the heavy weariness he was showing me. "I can't even begin to figure this out."

"Just get me out of Calisto airspace. I won't be any trouble." I got to my feet and pulled my hood back up, hiding my face in shadow.

"I don't even know what to say. Just— Look, I need to do some repairs before we go anywhere. Will you just sit tight and not try to kill me? I can only handle one problem at a time."

"I don't want to kill you, Captain Shepperd."

His smile died. He looked at me hard and then shook his head. "I hate this fuckin' port." He tapped a button on his wrist. "Fran, I'll be back up in fifteen. Grab me an ice pack."

A woman replied through the comm, "Did you break something, Captain?" Her sardonic drawl didn't sound concerned.

He cut the link and sighed. "Come with me, and keep your hands where I can see them."

# Chapter Four: Caleb

I had a hard time focusing on the motherboard array while my balls throbbed, my gut heaved, and a cold slab of artificially reincarnated woman stood behind me. The second I'd gotten a good look at her face, I'd known what she was; synths all looked the same, with skin too smooth and eyes too bright to be real. As for what she was doing in my cargo hold, that was a mystery. If Chitec caught me with her, I'd be waving goodbye to my ship, my work, and maybe even my life. Add to that the crates of illegal Chitec weaponry I happened to be hoarding, and I'd definitely be put into the ground for good.

"Check the reserve fuse."

_And apparently she's a mechanic too._

"It's not the reserve fuse." I gripped a penlight between my teeth and wedged my hand inside the mangled wires.

Built in 2350, _Starscream_ 's rewire service was long overdue. The bounty on the synth's head—there had to be one since synth's were all bought and paid for by someone—would pay for a rewire, a two-week vacation to Lyra, and fuck, maybe even a complete overhaul. The trick would be collecting the bounty without Chitec hanging me out to dry. Fran could make the trade, if I trusted her not to fuck me over—which I didn't, since I'd fuck her over in a heartbeat.

The penlight slipped free and clattered on the floor. The synth scooped it up, looming to my right in that ridiculous, hooded cloak. She aimed the light's beam over my shoulder at the motherboard, though she was just as likely to crack me over the head with it. Her hood concealed most of her face in shadow. I could make out a fine, almost perfect nose, and lips tinged a little blue. Synths were all copies, right down to the pert lips and mildly intrigued expression: five hundred male, five hundred female, and apparently one extra. People actually paid good credit to sign up for that _life-ever-after_ shit. Somewhere inside her synth body, a human being long past their expiration date was supposed to dwell. Very little gets under my skin, but she—One Thousand And One—made my skin crawl.

"Your heart rate is increasing."

_No shit._

"That's what happens when you get hit in the balls." I braced an arm against the panel and frowned at the array. "You wanna use those fancy diagnostics of yours to tell me that I also feel like I'm gonna throw up?"

"I can't tell you what you're feeling, only the outward symptoms."

"Because it'd be weird if you could," I mumbled and wormed my hand through the bird's nest of wires to pluck the reserve fuse free. Sure enough, it had blown. I replaced it with another and drilled the panel closed.

"I can see you're going to be as much fun as my second-in-command." I tapped my wrist-comm. "Fran, we're good to go. Take _Starscream_ out far enough to give the authority the slip, and then idle her in shadow. Don't leave the system yet." A deep, resonating engine growl rumbled through the ship. "Meet me in my cabin. I got something you'll wanna see."

"Cale, there isn't anything of yours I want to see."

_Ha. Ha._

The synth's slightly blue lips twitched as though she could actually recognize sarcasm. A synth with a sense of humor—that would be new.

"Leave your guest in the rec bay," I told Fran and cut the link. She might be a bitch, but she followed orders. Mostly. When it suited her.

I nodded toward the exit. "After you, and no sudden movements. You hit a guy in the balls and all bets are off. Fuck with me, and I'll carve out that synth power core of yours and use it for spare parts."

She headed for the exit, her boots almost silent on the grated floor. "I doubt I am compatible with your ship."

I grinned at her back. She was right about not being compatible. The sooner I ditched her, the sooner I could get away from Calisto and to a jump gate. In a day, I'd be half way across the nine systems, with my credit account looking all the better for it.

Fran entered my cramped cabin, handed me a cool pack, **** and leaned against the wall beside the door. She looked at the synth seated on my bunk, cocked her head, slid her gaze over to me, and said calmly, "A synthetic?"

I sat sprawled in my chair and applied the pack to my jewels with a sigh. Fran's gaze skipped between the synth and where I'd placed the pack. She worked her lips around a smile.

"Say one fuckin' word and I'm leaving you at the next port."

She pushed off the wall and stopped close in front of the synth. She admired her for a few seconds and then crouched down to get a closer look.

From my slumped position, I could see right into the synth's eyes. People reckon that the eyes are the windows to the soul. #1001's eyes sparkled. I had no idea if all synths looked as real up close as this one. The authority tended to keep expensive tech away from smugglers and outlaws. Flawless skin unmarked by age or UV exposure, she could have been popped from the mould yesterday, or five years ago when they first started producing synthetic "people," or more correctly, started recycling them. She'd been made to look as though she was in her early twenties, but up close, the airbrushed quality of her skin made her look younger still.

"They're almost perfect up close," Fran said softly, reaching a hand out. The synth dropped her gaze and blinked rapidly as Fran pressed a finger into her cheek. "Cold."

"I'm cold"—Fran jumped back and I snorted—"because I was in the hold."

Fran backed up and crossed her arms. "Why our ship?"

The synth blinked, but otherwise her perfect face barely cracked a smile. "I saw the captain's name and, given his past, considered the _Starscream_ to be my best route out of the system."

She had a cultured voice, like one of those girls whose daddy owned a fleet of tugs; those girls loved to spend a few wild nights in port towns, no strings attached. "You don't know my past."

She narrowed her eyes. Her dark pupils dilated, just a little. "You were born in twenty-three-forty-nine. Youngest to graduate from Vancouver Fleet Academy. You excelled—"

"I wouldn't go there, sweetheart," Fran said. "He's screwed up enough without you needing to bring his past into the cabin with us."

#1001 focused her sparkling gaze through me. Her pupils widened again, drawing knowledge from the datacloud like a black hole sucking in light. She was internally rifling through her data files and would soon know all about me in that head of hers—everything on public record anyhow. Her sharp gaze cut deep, seeing into parts I didn't let any bitch see, and stripped me bare. I fought the urge to fidget in my seat and glared right back at her. She wouldn't know _me_. Nobody did. Most of the time I didn't know who the fuck I was. Her pupils contracted and she was back in the room.

"You know more about me now than my own mother did. Should I feel dirty?" I tacked on a smile, hoping to hide my discomfort.

She was still looking right at me; I wasn't even sure whether she'd blinked. She'd probably read the skip in my heart rate though. I could hide a lot, but not everything, and not from a lie detector on legs.

"What happened in twenty-three-sixty-eight?" she asked.

_Fuck_. How did she—? It didn't matter. I ignored Fran's enquiring glance, removed the cool pack, and leaned forward in my chair. "If you know me so well, then you know you've picked the wrong ship if what you're looking for is charity."

"That's something of a moot point," she deadpanned.

Was that sarcasm? From a synth? I frowned and pushed awkwardly from the chair. "Stay here. Don't touch anything. Fran, with me." Fran followed me out. I pulled the cabin door closed and locked it. "We need to talk."

# Chapter Five: #1001

_Captain Caleb Shepperd is hiding something._

The lock clicked, sealing me inside his cabin. As the muffled voices and footfalls faded away, I stood and absorbed the room. A single photo, pinned to a message board, caught my eye—the captain and a man I assumed was his older brother, both in fleet uniforms. The smile on Shepperd's enthusiastic face bore little resemblance to the wry smiles he wore today. The younger Shepperd in the photograph was a typically polished and refined example of a fleet recruit and seemed to have little in common with the disheveled man he'd become. I flicked my attention elsewhere, over the prerequisite calendar depicting a busty female. Red crosses marked several upcoming dates, but no notes identified the events. I moved on, trailing my fingers over a few dog-eared paperbacks. He liked romance? That didn't fit my impression of Captain Shepperd. I picked up one of the books and flicked through the tattered pages. They were antiques and probably should have been in a museum, not sitting on the shelf of a smuggler next to a box of tissues and an empty glass. I picked up the glass and sniffed—whiskey, with a metallic undertone, cheap and stale. The toe of my boot snagged on a stack of pornographic magazines. Predictable.

I pushed back my hood and stood in the center of the cabin. If I reached out my hands, I could touch the walls. This cabin was his life, his home, but something wasn't right. I listened: Engines hummed. Fans cycled the air. But something felt off, like the captain himself.

I crouched and scanned the cabin again. His bunk stretched almost from wall to wall. A tiny shower cubicle butted up against the end of the bunk. A desk and drawers made up the opposite wall. I shoved the chair aside, and leaning in under the desk, I immediately saw the switch. He'd been blocking my view of it. By chance or deliberately? I pressed the switch. Motors whirred and above his desk two panels opened, revealing a display of pistols and automatic rifles; military and civilian; some old, most new; and some not even available on the open market.

_This is... unexpected._

I flicked my gaze from the guns, to the calendar, to the books, then closed the panels and returned the chair to its original place.

_Isn't Shepperd interesting?_

Something had happened to him in 2368, five years ago. He'd have been nineteen at the time. The year had been struck from his personal dataprint. It wasn't unusual to find dud years in people's records—people went off the grid while ill or imprisoned—but Captain Shepperd's year had been scrubbed clean. Every movement, every port-of-call, every transaction left a print. Dataprints made up every year of a life. In 2368, his dataprint was a data hole, which was impossible, especially for a man like him who left an impression wherever he went.

I returned to his bunk, pulled my cloak around me, and waited. In the hold, when I'd struck him, a fault warning had derailed my intention. I made a mental note to flag the fault during my next rest period and waited for Shepperd to return.

"I am #1001, and I follow orders."

# Chapter Six: Caleb

Keeping secrets on a small trading tug like _Starscream_ had its challenges. 99% of the ship's bulk was made up of space designed to carry cargo, leaving little room for living quarters and privacy. This wasn't usually a problem, but now I had a synth locked in my cabin and a paying guest in the rec bay. The only space allowing for a private chat was the narrow galley kitchen, and even then, the door didn't shut properly, not since we nudged a freighter near Europa.

"You gonna sell her out?" Fran asked.

I shrugged out of my thermal jacket and tossed it on the countertop. Sell her out? I had to. What else was I supposed to do with a fucking synth?

"She's Chitec property." I pulled off the upper half of my flight suit, letting it hang from my waist, and rolled up my sleeves. We should have been half way across the system by now. The longer we lingered, the higher our chances were of getting tagged by nosey fleet patrols. Ruffling my hair, I leaned against the countertop with a sigh.

Fran nudged the galley door closed, or tried to. It stuck but would probably pop open in a few minutes. She pulled a band from her flight suit pocket and reached back to tie her hair into a tight ponytail. Her black tank top left little to the imagination, which was fortuitous, given that I didn't have one.

"Why's she here?" she asked, yanking the band tight enough to make me wince. Her Celtic dragon tattoo, wrapped around her upper arm, flexed with the tension in her bicep. Fran knew exactly how to use her looks to her advantage, and it worked on me every damn time as though I were one of those rats trapped in a maze, touching the electrodes over and over until it died, never learning a fuckin' thing.

"Fuck knows," I grumbled.

"Don't you think we should find out before we do anything?"

"Why? We already have enough shit to deal with. No, I don't care why she's here or why she thinks she has to get out of the system, or that she's thinking on her own two feet. You know why I don't care? Because I have a fuck load of Chitec guns in the hold and a bounty on my head."

Fran planted a hand on her hip. "If she's missing, news like that would travel fast. I haven't heard a thing."

"Their PR people are keeping it quiet. They'll be looking though. I'd much prefer we make a trade on our terms over getting caught with her and getting accused of smuggling priceless Chitec property."

"Like we already do? So what, you're picky all of a sudden? How is she different from the guns, supplies, and drugs we run?"

"That cargo doesn't punch me in the balls, for one. And it sure doesn't tell tales. You think she's going to get where she's going and not mention how we ferried her halfway across the system? I don't need the heat."

"She's different," Fran said softly. She frowned and jumped her gaze about the galley, searching for any rhyme or reason where there likely wasn't any. At least none that I wanted to get dragged into.

"She's different all right."

"I mean—" Her green eyes narrowed with impatience. "You just have to look at her to know she's not like the other synths."

I ran my tongue over my teeth. How the hell would Fran know anything about synthetics? "You're a synth expert now, as well as my smartass second?"

"Oh, c'mon Cale..." She stepped closer, lips pressed together. Her pulse fluttered in her neck. "We have a real-life synth on our ship. Aren't you just the least bit curious?"

I almost corrected her slip— _Starscream_ was _my_ ship—but she was gearing up for a fight and already had enough ammunition. "Curiosity doesn't pay for repairs or fuel or food. But it will put you in prison, or worse."

"You'd know all about that."

I bowed my head and pinched my lips together before answering. Some things we never mentioned, and that was one of them.

"Get off your fuckin' high horse. You're on this ship because I'm the only bastard who'll put up with your bullshit. I want you to put some feelers out to see if Chitec is looking for her, or if anyone might bite if we dangle the bait. Let's offload her and get out of this system."

Fran glowered as though this actually meant something to her. Her lithe fingers had curled into fists at her side. "I can't do that inflight."

The way she spoke, through clenched teeth—damn if it didn't divert half of my attention to a stirring in my recently bruised balls.

"I know. That's why we're taking a detour. And we're gonna drop off your passenger while we're at it. I don't need another body snooping around my ship."

"Fuck you, Cale. I told him we'd take him as far as Mimir. He paid up front, and we need that money."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes closed. I needed a drink, preferably something potent enough to strip paint.

" _You_ need that money"—when I opened my eyes, the look she gave me bordered on homicidal—"so you can keep jacking yourself up."

She swung at me. Fran was many things—socially astute and client bait, and she brought a certain level of class to _Starscream_ that had won me several lucrative runs—but she'd never be a brawler. She'd broadcasted that swing through her hips, waist, shoulder, and with the snarl on her lips. I caught her wrist, yanked her around, twisted her arm behind her back, and pinned her against the countertop.

"Don't think I don't know you're dealing on the side," I said.

"Get the fuck off me." She bucked and a quiver of wholly wrong desire tested my control.

Fuck. She knew just how to push my buttons.

I licked my lips and growled against her ear, "You might think you can slip a few packets by me here and there—" She shoved back. I wedged a knee between her legs and pinned her still. "But nothing gets off this ship without me knowing. If you jeopardize _Starscream_ , I'll hang you out to dry, Francisca."

She trembled, not from fear but rage, and likely from the remnants of _phencyl_ —her substance of choice—running through her veins.

"We're selling the synth, and you'll do it with a smile on your pretty face."

I pushed off and released her wrist. She whirled on me, cupped my cock—now fuckin' hard because I'm a twisted son of a bitch—and pushed me up against the wall. Her hand—right where I needed it to be—dumped rational thought out of my head and filled it with thoughts of bending her over the countertop and doing her hard and fast. My limited imagination didn't need any help with that one; my dick had gone from mildly interested to a raging hard-on.

She braced her forearm against the wall and leaned all six feet of deliciously curved, viciously hard, pissed-off female temptation against me. Teeth gritted, I panted through my nose. I couldn't speak; if I did, whatever came out wouldn't be pleasant.

"You dare hang me out to dry, and I'll drag you down with me"—her hand closed and squeezed—"Captain."

My lips twitched. "Keep your hand right there while I fantasize, and we won't need to fuck. I'm halfway there already."

She parted her mouth and flicked her tongue out over her lower lip. When she pushed in close, my very obvious need throbbed in her hand. She brushed her mouth over mine, so close I could taste her, and raked her nails down my cock with just enough force to keep it on the sweet side of pain.

_Oh, sweet-fuck._

I clamped my lips closed. If I chased her mouth, I would next have my hand in her hair and my tongue down her throat, and there wouldn't be any coming back from that.

Her breath fluttered coolly against my cheek. "I'm too good for you," she whispered.

A quiver of lust licked through me. "Fuck me or fuck off."

Five seconds. I'd give her five seconds to back off. If she kept teasing me after that, I would snap.

_Four._ She dragged her nails down my chest and bowed her head. Loose strands of her hair tickled my cheek, jaw, and shoulder. She smelled like cheap lavender soap, and even that had my cock twitching in her hand.

_Three._ Her palm massaged me, sending tight, pleasurable pulses through my groin. I swallowed down a groan, whatever good that'd do me. She knew she had me right where she wanted me: backed against the wall with my cock in her hand. Yeah, that sounded about right. Man, if we could just fuck and be done with all this masochistic shit...

_Two._

She removed her hand and stepped back. Her glassy green eyes appraised me. She could try to deny that she wanted me, but the truth was written in her dilated pupils and on her plump lips.

I swallowed and breathed in, all the way down. "Get back to the bridge and do your job."

"Certainly, Captain."

She slammed the door behind her, and it bounced open again.

"Fuck!" I picked up a can of high-protein reconstituted vegetables off the countertop and threw it at the door. A drink. I needed a drink. Searching the cupboards, I somehow ignored my pounding erection and the urge to jack off; the bitch probably expected me to and she wasn't winning that fight. Where the hell was the alcohol? How had my impromptu meeting with my second turned into a mind-fuck of epic proportions? I'd brought up her habit; I should have known better.

I found the emergency whiskey, planted the bottle on the countertop, braced my hands on either side, and glared. If I drank, she'd smell it on me, and she'd win that way too. Plus, there was the little problem of a priceless synth sitting in my cabin, waiting for me to... what? Say that we'd take her away from whatever problems a goddamn synthetic human being had? Drinking sure wouldn't solve my problem of what the hell to do with her.

"What day is it?" _It has to be_ _Monday somewhere._ "Mondays blow."

I bowed my head and breathed in through my nose. I'd let Fran carve off some of our side profits for over a year. She'd thought she'd slipped it by me, but people talk, especially when threatened in a bar by a pissed-off smuggler-captain. She was walking a thin line. Clever? Yes, extremely—too clever, too mouthy, and too conspicuous. I'd let it go on too long.

"Cale," Fran's syrupy smooth voice, laced with a hint of bitch, rolled from my wrist-comm.

"Give a guy a break." I tapped the comm. "Yes?" I hissed, then winced. In that one word, I'd sounded sexually repressed and aggressive, which I was, but I didn't need to broadcast it. I imagined that smug, satisfied smile on her face.

"We have _fleet_ incoming."

I flew from the galley toward the bridge, the encounter with Fran instantly forgotten. _Fleet. Please let this be routine._ Considering how wonderfully uneventful my day had been so far, I could only assume the worst.

# Chapter Seven: #1001

When the cabin door lock rattled, I expected Captain Shepperd to enter, not a heavy-set man dressed in technician overalls. Another member of the crew, I assumed, until facial recognition flagged a warning. The man filling Captain Shepperd's cabin doorway was wanted for murder, among other offenses spanning six cycles and the nine systems. He leered and rolled his fat lips back from surprisingly clean teeth. Not a crewmember—a bounty hunter. He shouldn't have been on the _Starscream_ , unless...

"Thought no one noticed, didn't you?" He clicked the door closed behind him. "I saw you down on the eastside trying very hard not to be seen. Thing is"—he dragged a hand down his scar-peppered jaw—"tech like you gets noticed. No hood is gonna fool me, and I wasn't the only one lookin'. You've got a whole load of attention coming your way. I was the only one smart enough to get here first."

_Elevated heart rate. Rapid breathing. Blocking stance. Gaze darting._ He would attack and soon.

Engine noise reverberated through the floor. We were moving again, which probably meant the captain was on the bridge. The hunter and I wouldn't be interrupted. Given enough room to move, I could disable this man, but the cramped cabin wouldn't make it easy.

"So, this is what we're gonna do: at the next port, you're leaving with me. You understand?"

"I think you'll find Captain Shepperd is unlikely to let me go with you."

"Captain Shepperd is a washed-up smuggler with no fuckin' clue. I bet he'd be glad to wash his hands of Chitec's castoffs, given his other business operations."

_I am #1001, and I follow orders._

I lunged—not for him, but for the empty glass beside Shepperd's bunk. I scooped it up and slammed it into the bounty hunter's cheek. The glass shattered. Jagged fragments cut deep into his flesh, and pierced my hand. Pain registered as a fleeting alert. I dismissed it. A sensation of cool delight trickled through my synthetic nervous system. I expected an error to follow and stood briefly confused when it didn't. The hunter roared, reeled his hand back, and swung at me. Too big, too slow, too human. My thought processes worked four times faster than his.

I ducked, sidestepped, and landed a punch to his ribs, channeling all of my available strength through synthetic flesh and muscle. Bone cracked where my knuckles struck. The trickle of delight curved my lips into a smile. The bounty hunter dropped to his knees, his mouth agape. I jerked my knee up and connected hard with his nose. Blood spurted down his face. Visual diagnostics reeled off a stream of warnings regarding the deteriorating physical condition of my victim. I sunk my hand into his hair and twisted it, then slammed his face into Shepperd's desk. The hunter collapsed in a quiet heap. Remembering the captain's hidden guns, I calculated whether the hunter was an asset or a hindrance, and decided to leave him out cold, but alive. _Everyone is an asset._

I straightened and lifted my hood. "I am Number One Thousand And One, and I follow orders."

# Chapter Eight: Caleb

"What ship is that?" I already knew the answer, but hoped Fran would lie.

"That, Captain, is fleet-designated raptor class C, number two-zero." Fran clicked her tongue. "One fine piece of fleet warbird badassery, and it's currently knocking on our comms, waiting for me to answer."

I'd grown up watching warbirds hover over the cornfields outside Vancouver. I'd spent hours hunched over bits of plastic, strings of glue, and wonky stickers, building models of those birds. Before I'd appreciated the female form in new and exciting ways, I'd plastered _raptor class_ posters all over my bedroom walls. Had I stayed in fleet, I'd have captained one of those; maybe not yet, but a few more years would have done it.

"Feeling inadequate, Cale?" Fran's smile was entirely inappropriate for the workplace.

I gave her the middle finger. "Are they asking for me by name?"

"Not yet, but we've got about thirty seconds before they get pissy and bring out the big guns."

Raptor Twenty loomed in the observation window, wings spread like the hovering bird of prey it was named after. We were getting the tame version of the ship. If shit went sideways, that baby would go from tame to rabid in less than sixty seconds. The weaponry tucked inside those wings would have had my nether regions all aquiver if they hadn't been abused enough for one day.

"I quit." I slouched in the flight chair. "You be captain."

"I would, but I'm not the one they'll want to talk to." Fran tapped her nails on the arm of her chair. "Ten seconds. What do you want me to say?"

"Tell them I'm not here."

"You can't turn off the lights and hope they go away." She rolled her eyes and tapped on the comms tucked into her ear. "We hear you, Twenty. Yes, we knew you were there, we were just... otherwise engaged—"

"We could hardly fuckin' miss 'em," I mumbled.

Considering Fran had hidden _Starscream_ on the dark side of Rhea, fleet had caught us with our pants down and looking incredibly suspicious. Hiding behind a moon tended to imply shady goings on.

"Yes, he's here."

I closed my eyes. _Please, if there's an obscure god left in some corner of this fuckin' universe, please make the warbird go away._

"Yes, that's... fine, Commander. We'll see you soon. _Starscream_ out."

My heart fell through my stomach and kept right on going, dragging my guts with it. "You did not just agree to them boarding. Tell me that's not what I heard. Because—" _Deep breaths._ "Because we have a synth on board."

Fran shrugged.

"And a hold full of illegal weapons. You do remember that, right?" I circled my finger between our flight chairs. "You do know we're outlaws?"

Fran batted my hand aside and stood. "Quit your bitching. We're not wanted in this system—yet. The guns are just a fraction of our cargo. Besides, they don't have a warrant. They just wanna drop by and check us out because we were sitting here, behind a moon, twiddling our thumbs. If I'd said no, then we'd look even more guilty." She sauntered to the back of the bridge. "I'm gonna go stash a few... suspicious items below board, just in case."

I turned my chair around, wishing I'd downed the alcohol while I'd had the chance. "Where am I going to stash the AWOL synthetic human? I can't stuff her in a locker." My balls couldn't take another punch.

"You'll think of something." She hesitated in the doorway, hand resting on the seal. "And you should know, Commander Shepperd will be joining us personally."

She ducked out the door before I could hurl abuse at her.

I kicked the flight dash and shot from the flight chair, spitting a string of curses.

_Commander Shepperd,_ my holier than thou brother. I was captain of a tugship, a title that had come with the ship. He was Fleet-Kiss-My-Ass Commander.

"What the fuck did I do to deserve this crap-ton of bad luck today?" And that was the problem: luck, good or otherwise, did not exist. Shit usually happened because the universe liked to mess with me. My brother just happened to be in the neighborhood, and just happened to be sniffing around Saturn's moons. Something sure smelled like bullshit.

"Cale...!" Fran yelled through my comms. I shot down the catwalk, into the rear section, and found her outside my cabin, face looking less than impressed.

The body sprawled in my cabin was no doubt the reason for her scowl. I braced my hands on either side of the door and leaned in. No synth.

"She's in the ship somewhere."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Any other gems you'd like to share with the class?"

I didn't even have the energy for a comeback. "Go greet my brother, keep him on the bridge and out of the hold, and the rec room, and the galley. Out of everywhere."

"How?"

"I don't know, offer to blow him."

"And get fleet between my teeth?" She huffed. "You blow him."

"Fine. I'll talk to him. You find the synth."

"And him?" She kicked the limp foot hanging out the doorway.

"Your passenger. Your problem." I threw my hands up and left her to it.

The sound of her sweet voice mixed with my name and a colorful array of curse words as I walked away.

I stopped by the galley to check for the synth and found the whiskey where I'd left it. I'd need to ditch it. I poured myself a glass, downed it, poured another, and tossed the rest down the drain. I couldn't imagine my brother lowering himself to searching through the galley for liquor, but there was little point in getting flagged for alcohol runs only for fleet to then notice my stockpile of weapons.

"I'm so screwed." I drowned the second glass, let it burn through a batch of nerves, and left the galley for the shuttle lock. I didn't even have time to shave and put on my best, as if I had any. A real-life visit from a commander. Now all I had to do was bite my tongue and play nice.

My brother ducked through the shuttle lock door and smiled as though he'd just stepped in someone's shit but was too polite to mention it. He was wearing his casual uniform but still looked as though he should have been adorning the front cover of _Fleet Bachelor_ e-zine.

"Caleb-Joe." He held out a tanned hand. His sunbaked skin tone clashed against his bright white fleet coat.

"Brendan." I considered not shaking his hand but figured I could try some geniality on for size. "Been on vacation, or are you so high up that you get to dock your ship on Lyra and get paid?"

We shook. He gripped my hand as if he'd prefer to break my fingers. I squeezed back and plastered an over-the-top grin on my face.

"I was on patrol near Lyra. There have been some... problems." He scanned the tight airlock space, already looking for contraband.

"Problems?"

He gave me a tight-lipped smile. Right, he couldn't talk about it to a lowlife like me; it was highly likely that I was a part of those _problems._ Time to change subject. "What brings you to Saturn's moons?"

"We were in the system awaiting orders, so I thought we would take a look at some known hideouts to kill time." His laugh came out perfectly civilized and utterly fake. "Believe me, I didn't expect to see _Starscream_ here."

Liar. "Yeah, we uh— Me an' Fran, well, y'know... we got distracted and fancied ourselves a bit of personal time."

His chuckle darkened. "Two years is a record for your second-in-command. They don't usually last more than a few cycles. Francisca must be a glutton for punishment."

Because life on my rusted tugship, with me, must be some kind of wretched hell. "I have my charms."

Bren snorted as though he knew me. He didn't. He hadn't known me for years.

"Are you going to let me in?" he asked. "Or is this all of _Starscream_ I get to see?"

I led him straight down the catwalk to the bridge—no detours, no peeking through open doors. My brother's warbird still loomed in the observation window, ready to strike should her commander give the order. "Twenty is lookin' fine, Bren. What heat is she packin'?"

"The type of arsenal we used to dream about. She's twitchy though. Over-sensitive with one hell of a bite if you don't treat her right."

"Must be tight in there. How big is your crew?"

"Fifteen hands."

"You got any luxuries?"

"C'mon, she's a raptor. They strip out anything nonessential. I bet you've got more comforts in this tug than I have over there."

Point to me, asshole. I naturally gravitated toward my flight chair. _Starscream's_ bridge was my zone. I knew every switch, every curve, and every nuance of that space and could fly her blindfolded. Spotlessly maintained, besides the odd temperamental fuse, this was the only place on the ship where I couldn't hide my military training, and didn't want to.

"Welcome to my home."

Bren nodded appreciatively. "She's lookin' good, for her age. Any upgrades?" Before I could answer, he tut-tutted and said, "Y'know, we ran a scan when we first spotted you, and the damnedest thing happened. Scans showed her as a tug, but the manufactured year didn't match with her serial number." His searching eyes turned dark, reminding me that I had a fleet commander on my ship and he hadn't gotten that rank by looks alone. "Almost as though she's not what she appears to be."

"She's a classic," I lied, ignoring his accusation without missing a beat. How easily we both lied to the other.

The quiet stretched into an awkward silence while I waited for my brother to spill exactly why he'd invited himself onto my ship.

"Have you seen or heard anything of Dad?" The way he asked it, one might have assumed it was a normal, everyday, small talk kind of a question.

I parked my rear on the arm of the flight chair and trawled my attention over the flight controls. _Starscream_ was holding steady, behaving exactly as she should and running sweet. When I'd bought her, I'd been down to my last credit and running on empty—

"Caleb-Joe?"

"Drop the Joe, okay." I hated that fuckin' name.

Brendan straightened and lifted his chin. "Well? Have you seen him?"

"Fuck no. Why would I see him? I'd jump half a dozen systems to stay away from him." Why would he even ask me that?

"He tried to get in touch."

The alcohol churned in my gut. I shifted and gripped the chair, focusing on the flight dash readings. "I don't wanna hear it. I don't care. He can do whatever the hell he wants so long as he does it far from me."

"He asked if I knew how to reach you."

I cut Brendan a sharp glare. "You spoke to him?"

"It's been a long time." Bren sighed and reached for the back of Fran's flight chair.

"Not long enough."

He admired the controls, probably searching for any switches that shouldn't be there. If, hypothetically speaking, I were to install certain _upgrades,_ I wouldn't broadcast them on the flight dash.

I rolled my eyes behind his back. He knew I'd been an ace fleet captain; he should damn well have figured out that I would have made a better fixer. "When did he get out of rehab?"

"Two cycles ago."

I hadn't been sure since I deliberately hadn't thought about our father for a long time. "So, his favorite son is a commander and he wants a piece of him?"

Bren's knuckles whitened as he clutched Fran's chair tighter. On another day, when I wasn't already juggling multiple fuck-ups, I'd have considered apologizing. As it was, I absorbed the guilt the way I always had; it almost felt comforting, like old times.

"What did you come here for, huh? To rub my nose in it?" I jerked my head at the warbird framed by my observation window like a goddamn trophy showing off my brother's excellence. "So you could go back to your crew and tell them how fucked up my sorry little life is? How your little brother's such a joke?"

Bren glared over his shoulder, but his grip had loosened. "That's not tr—"

"Dad then? He looks you up so you want to drag me back in to play happy family and then leave me there?"

Bren paled. "I would never..." He trailed off, lowering his head, shoulders slouching, burdened by the memories we shared. Then he retrieved his stalwart composure and lifted his chin.

I looked into my older brother's eyes, at the enduring defiance in his face. Always so proud, so willing to step in and save the day no matter the cost. He was a genuine hero. He'd been my hero until he'd fucked off to fleet academy, leaving me to deal with the consequences. I'd followed two long years later. Two years I'd never forget. It _had_ been a long time ago, but another ten years, twenty, fifty wouldn't be long enough to ever forgive my own goddamn brother for leaving me alone to fend off our sick fuck of a father.

"Him, I can sorta understand. He's ill." I don't know why I said what I did next—a combination of alcohol and stress maybe—but whatever the reason, I said it and meant it. "You? I rarely forgive and I don't forget. Ever. So say what you gotta say and leave."

He reached a trembling hand up and ran his fingers through his slicked-back hair. "Damn, I didn't want this."

"Welcome to my world."

"Shit, okay, I'm sticking my neck out just being here with you." He puffed out a sigh and looked me over, as though assessing whether I could handle whatever he was about to say. I smiled a fake smile, just to irk him.

He must have remembered I was his brother and not just another bottom feeder, because his hardened fleet glare softened, and he looked at me in that knowing way he used to when we would both be crouched under the dining room table, praying to whatever god that would listen that _he_ didn't find us this time.

"I could lose my job over this," he said.

"Oh, gee, my heart bleeds."

"For fuck's sake, Cale. Would you just grow up and drop the mouthy bullshit for five seconds? I know you. Your BS doesn't work on me. I don't know what cargo you picked up in Calisto—I don't want to know—but whatever it is, you need to ditch it fast. The second you left that port, a high-level system-wide alert went up with your name all over it."

Fran chose that moment to enter the bridge. She hung back, near the door, thumbs tucked in her flight suit pockets. "How high?"

"Commander and above. I wasn't meant to be back in the system for another few days. They sent it out without realizing I'd get eyes on it, and then redacted it, but it was genuine and from high up in fleet. They're gunning for you."

Fran tried desperately hard to catch my eye, but I ignored her, glaring hard at my brother's suddenly gaunt face. A sheen of sweat glistened near his hairline. His perfect exterior was slipping. He wasn't fucking with me. The alert couldn't be because of the guns. The trail was clean; I'd personally made sure of that. The synth then? Why would fleet want my balls over a synth stowaway? Chitec, yes, but fleet? She was proving to be more of a hassle than she was worth. _I should toss her out the airlock and be done with her—if I can find her._

Fran lunged whippet-quick between Bren and me, sprawled into her flight chair, and flicked _Starscream_ out of idle so damn fast we'd barely blinked.

"Commander Shepperd," she said, fumbling for a spare comms unit. She found one and handed it over her shoulder. "Please contact your warbird and tell it to put its dick away, or it had better be prepared to use it."

I stumbled forward, braced my hands on the dash, and peered through the observation window at the raptor class warbird, its wings bristling with cannons. Considering those bitches were already glowing, they were preparing to fire.

Bren swore and started speaking rapidly into the comms. "Twenty, do you read? Are you aware that you're preparing to fire? Twenty? Come in, Twenty. This is Commander Shepperd. Power down immediately."

"Are the comms working?" I asked Fran as I dropped into my seat and locked myself in.

Bren prattled on, trying to get through to the raptor.

"Yes. They're either playing chicken with us," she said as she engaged the blast screen, blocking the real-time view through the observation window and replacing it with a holographic display that only made the warbird look more threatening by bringing it inside the bridge with us, "to see what we're packin', or they mean to blow us to bits with their commander on board."

Bren continued to bark into the comms while on the screen, a multitude of warnings declared we were about to be blasted into the afterlife. Fuck. Maybe I should have signed up for the life-ever-after program, because _Starscream_ could not win a fight with a raptor. We were good, but not _that_ good.

"Then let's show them what happens when you fuck with a fixer." I reached under my flight chair, flicked the cover off a hidden button, and placed my forefinger over the ID pad. A throbbing alarm sounded. _Starscream_ shivered. Two hidden panels opened above our flight chairs, revealing additional targeting screens. While the ship shuddered, numerous panels peeled off her exterior, revealing our own array of don't-fuck-with-me weapons.

"What are you doing?" Tremors riddled my brother's voice. "You can't mean to fire on them?"

"I didn't start this."

"They won't fire. They can't. It'd be mutiny."

"Not if you're the only one who didn't get the all-Shepperds-must-die memo." I punched the high-maneuvering thrusters into action, giving _Starscream_ the kind of turn-on-a-dime reflexes that would likely be our best chance out of this.

Bren turned and headed for the door.

"Hey," I barked. "Sit your ass down."

"The shuttle—"

"Already purged. You're stuck with us, Commander." I took a grain of satisfaction from seeing the fear on his face. "Buckle up and enjoy the inflight entertainment."

# Chapter Nine: #1001

I'd heard it all from the other side of the bridge door. Fran had caught me listening in, but instead of revealing my presence to her captain, she'd taken up a position across the catwalk to listen alongside me. Her eyes never left mine though—challenging, wary, and not a single trace of fear. Where Captain Shepperd's dataprint overflowed with the usual life junk, sprinkled with a generous helping of criminal activity, Francisca Olga Franco didn't have half as many entries in her twenty-six years. She was either incredibly intelligent and knew exactly how to keep her data hidden, or she was dull. Given how Captain Shepperd deferred to her judgment, I assumed the former was true.

Fran pressed a finger to her lips, raked her gaze from my head to my feet, and slipped through the door, onto the bridge.

She could have betrayed my presence, but she hadn't. I only had a few moments to consider what that meant before a multitude of alarms sounded and the ship's engines changed pitch, grumbling louder and harder as though she'd gained power. The commander's voice held a note of panic, but Fran's and Shepperd's were smooth and controlled.

I slipped in through the door and settled into the chair behind Fran's.

"Bren, may I introduce you to our recent acquisition." Captain Shepperd fixed his gaze over his shoulder at me. "Number One Thousand And One."

His eyes accused me. Did he think I had something to do with the warbird?

"She's firing!" Fran announced. Her hands moved in a flurry over the flight controls and the holo-screen bloomed red.

"Brace!" Captain Shepperd barked. His brother dropped into the opposite flight chair a moment before the world shifted sideways and _Starscream_ lived up to her name; she screamed, or rather the metal and shields did, as if she were coming apart at the seams.

"Son of a bitch!" Shepperd snarled. "Shields holding, but I'm not hanging around with my thumb up my ass while they keep taking potshots at me. Dropping _chasers._ On three. Two. One." On-screen, sparkling red dots blasted outward. "Punch it."

Fran engaged something that kicked me back into the chair and pinned me there for three breathless seconds. Then we were jerked forward, my insides pushing against my ribs.

"They're following," Fran announced.

"Of course they are."

Beside me, Commander Shepperd was digging his blunt fingernails into the torn leather of his flight chair. His face matched the white of his uniform. He stared wide-eyed at the screen.

A shudder rocked the ship, throwing me against my harness.

"You can't w-win this," the commander stammered. "If she engages hard-tipped missiles, there won't be anything left large enough to send home."

Fran and the captain ignored him. They worked in unison, hands darting over the flight controls almost too fast to track. They traded orders and voiced actions. Fran worked the stick, steering the ship. I couldn't feel _Starscream's_ whiplash-like __ darting, but on the screen, the humble tug out-maneuvered the warbird at every turn. The captain and his second tore through strafing fire and double-bluffed the fleet raptor. It was only when the commander stared at me, eyes narrowed, that I realized something was showing on my face that shouldn't have been there: a smile. Such a simple thing. I shut it away and set my lips into their usual line. The commander frowned and tore his gaze away.

"Take her into the belt. We'll lose them in the debris," Captain Shepperd said.

"Already on it," Fran replied.

"Be on it quicker."

_Starscream_ twitched, alarms shrieked, and her engines bellowed. I clutched my chair and checked Captain Shepperd's face.

"Fuck," he snapped. "There goes your Christmas bonus."

The blast screen rolled up, revealing a black ocean tightly peppered with flotsam—the debris belt, a junkyard for salvage and waste.

"This is insane," the commander mumbled. "You can't hide your heat, Caleb-Joe."

"That's where you're wrong. We already have. As far as Twenty knows, we've vanished. They'd be insane to follow us in here and risk scratching their shiny paint."

"All you'll accomplish in here is getting us tangled up in wrecks. You'll be lucky to salvage _Starscream_ from this rat's nest."

"What would you suggest?" Shepperd leaned forward and squinted into the sea of rocks, mangled metal, and partially stripped ships.

"Hail Twenty and tell them whatever they want to hear."

"Brother, they didn't listen to you, their own commander. They sure ain't gonna listen to me." Shepperd unclipped himself from his seat and leaned over the dash, bringing his face up to the observation window. "There's a route. You see it?"

"Yup." Fran planted her boots on the dash, gripped the stick, and chewed on her lip. "Watch for Twenty."

Shepperd straightened. He flicked his attention from one screen to another, to the controls, and back, constantly moving, correcting, and adjusting various controls while Fran eased the ship into a swathe of debris.

"Fire in here," the commander growled, "and any of those floaters could turn into missiles."

"Shut the fuck up and grow a pair," Shepperd replied.

"This is reckless. Your ego is going to kill us."

Shepperd whirled. "Stay quiet or get off my bridge."

A muscle fluttered in the commander's jaw. He glared back at his brother, then unbuckled himself from his seat and left the bridge.

"Good riddance," Fran muttered.

Shepperd's gaze settled on me just for a few seconds before moving back to the observation screen. He blamed me for this. I didn't know how I could have incited a fleet warbird to attack, but clearly Captain Shepherd believed it.

Fran maneuvered _Starscream_ as though the ship were a precision tool and not a rear-heavy tug, and weaved us through islands of debris. She made an impressive pilot.

"Idle her here." Shepperd pointed. "Behind this gutted freighter. They'll never find us tucked in close against that wreck. Cut the engines. Cut everything but the stabilizers."

"We'll lose grav."

"Do it."

_Starscream_ 's engines rumbled, shuddered, and then wound down until all I could hear was the ticking of hot metal and the latent whine of the gravity core. Once that sound died away, gravity went with it, and I became weightless. My hood lifted, my hands and arms too. Anything not tied down drifted upward.

"This is gonna take some cleaning up," the captain muttered, pulling himself down into his seat and strapping in.

"Where's the raptor?" I asked, my voice too loud in the near silence of the bridge.

He gritted his teeth. His cheek twitched. "Loitering outside the belt."

Fran had tucked _Starscream_ in so close to the wrecked freighter that all I could see through the window was an endless stretch of mangled hull spewing wires and piping as though something huge had ripped its guts out and left it here to die. The commander's raptor would never find us.

"You think I did this?" I asked quietly.

"Well, you gotta admit, it's one hell of a coincidence that right after you appear my day turns to shit."

Fran turned her chair and looked me in the eye. "Spill."

"There's nothing to spill."

Shepperd locked his steely gaze on me. "I now have at least three days' worth of repairs to do, which means I gotta dock in some backwater port, which will attract unwanted attention. Given how we're suddenly too hot to handle, I'm gonna have to pay off every fucker who thinks they can palm me off to fleet. Plus Chitec will be looking for you, and they sure ain't gonna shake my hand and give me a pat on the back if they find you with me."

"Why?"

"Because, honey, I'm a bad person." He said it as though he wore his reputation like a badge of honor, but it was a lie. All of it—the ship, his life—was all wrapped in lies. Captain Shepperd hid behind his sharp tongue and bravado. Though I'd yet to understand what he was hiding from, I would uncover it.

"Why are you on my ship?"

"I—" I paused. _Because I am #1001, and I follow orders._ "I'm not sure."

Fran glanced at Shepperd.

He shook his head, smiling. "You're a machine. How can you be unsure about something? You view Fran, this ship, and me in measurements. There's no room in that head of yours for uncertainty. So let's try this again. Why are you on my ship?"

_I follow orders. Orders from her. She disabled my failsafe. She let me go. She <fault>. _There, again, the error. Where was it coming from?

"You think I won't force it out of you?"

I blinked back at the captain and saw a new hunger in his eyes: violence. He believed me to be a threat to his ship, to his life. He'd kill to protect both, as well as his secrets.

"What happened in twenty-three-sixty-eight, Captain?" I asked.

The violence in his eyes burned down to anger. "You tell me."

"I can't. Your data file is clean. Not a single entry. That year has been professionally scrubbed."

He shrugged, ignoring Fran's sideways glance. She didn't know either, but my words had alerted her.

"I know you were dismissed from fleet in that year, because the next entry in your data file is a purchase order for _Starscream_ in the name of Caleb Shepperd."

His anger didn't last as I'd expected it to; it turned cold, into defiance. He stilled, like a predator ready to pounce. "I was dismissed for misconduct."

"So it says in your service record. Until that point you were on the fast track, climbing the ranks quicker than any other pilot your age. What crime could be so great as to derail one of the fleet's finest?"

He held my stare, and I held his. He wouldn't win, not with me. He could bully, bitch, lie, cheat, and fight, but none of it mattered to me. As he'd so rightly pointed out, all of this was just measurements, just data.

"I'm leaving you at the next port," he said, "and be grateful I'm not shoving you out the airlock. Believe me, I've thought about it."

He turned back to face the window. Neither of them noticed my slight smile.

# Chapter Ten: Caleb

With the warbird no longer tripping our proximity sensors, we'd booted up the gravity generator, which left a whole heap of chaos strewn about my ship. Yet another mess to clean up.

I sat on my bunk, alone, and tried to work my thoughts around a solution. We'd been stuck in shadow behind the wrecked freighter for two hours. That's a long fuckin' time when there's a warbird hunting you, a synth asking too many questions, an asshole brother looming in the rec bay, and a criminal tied up in the spare cabin. The synth had calmly informed me that Fran's paying guest was a bounty hunter. Couldn't he have just been some harmless guy thumbing a lift to the next system? No. Because this was fuck-with-Shepperd day.

I ran a hand around the back of my neck and pinched the aching muscles. At least the synth hadn't killed the bounty hunter. Fran had assured me the hunter's lack of credentials meant he wouldn't leave a paper trail, so we could ditch him. But I didn't fancy arriving at the next port and having the authority ask me why I was down a passenger. _Because my stowaway synthetic human thought she'd kill him, and rather than store him beside our illegal cargo, we thought we'd give him an honorable send-off into the endless black._ Yeah, that'd go down well.

I'd tried to sleep, as Fran had so helpfully suggested, but my thoughts had kept whirring. Fighting I can do. I can fight all night until I'm the last man standing. But waiting? Waiting left too much room for wondering, and wondering led me to thinking, and thinking alone in my cabin led to dark thoughts and darker places.

The synth was smart. She clearly wasn't about to forget about my missing year, and now, neither would Fran. Shit. Fran was probably already drawing up a list of ways to figure out why I'd lied to her. She thought I'd been in Asgard. It was a half lie muddied with truth. Maybe I should leave her at the next port too.

An uncomfortable ache hollowed out my gut. Two years with Fran. Sure, I hated the bitch, but the thought of walking away from her turned my stomach. Whatever personal problems we had, she was the best pilot in the nine systems, even better than me. And in fleet, I'd been untouchable. She'd been right about one thing: she was too good for me. If it weren't for her _phencyl_ habit, she could have had anyone and anything. Fuck, she could have been a fleet commander. Talent like hers was nearly impossible to find. I didn't want to let her go.

A few quick knocks on my door brought me back to the present.

"Fuck off unless you have good news." I rested my elbows on my knees and bowed my head, threading my fingers through my hair.

"I need to talk to you about the synth." _Bren_.

"It's open."

He entered and gave my cabin his usual down-the-nose look of disgust. At least he'd ditched the fleet jacket. He still looked impossibly stuck up his own ass, but he was stuck with me, on my tug, after having his own crew fire on him. Yeah, there was satisfaction to be had there.

"You're loving this, aren't you?"

"I've no idea what you mean." I smiled.

He shut the door and pulled out my desk chair, sitting forward with his hands clasped in front of him. Dad used to sit like that when he wanted to _talk_ and remind us how much we were loved. I doubted Bren realized he was mirroring Dad's posture. Bren wasn't our father, I knew that, I did, but there were times when he looked like him, talked like him. The curse of being brothers, I guessed.

"She doesn't exist."

"Huh?"

"The synth."

"What?"

"Chitec was only ever licensed to make a thousand synths every ten years. That's it. Not a single one over, or else the ever-after project would have been shelved."

I shrugged. "So she's one more."

"You don't get it. It couldn't make more. Otherwise we'd all be signing up and no one would stay dead."

I laughed. "You mean everyone rich enough."

"That's still thousands of people." He rubbed his hands together. "One thousand every ten years. That's all. So your One Thousand And One doesn't exist."

"Clearly she does. Chitec created one more."

"Why?"

"For fuck's sake. You sound like Fran."

"Fran's smarter than you."

"Don't you start. At this rate, I'll be leaving everyone at the next port and flying myself right on outta there, alone."

"Chitec wouldn't create an extra one. The company's already making a fortune auctioning off its one thousand. If it got out that it could make more, the prices would decrease. Supply and demand. Chitec limits the supply to a thousand to keep demand high. Those synths sell for a billion each."

"Yeah, I know, that's why I didn't ditch her. Though I wish I had."

"So Chitec went against its own best interests to create one more synth. Don't you want to know why?"

"No."

"No?"

"Fuck curiosity, man. Keep your head down, move under the radar, get paid, and move on to the next job. There ain't no room in my life for curiosity, not anymore." _Not since the missing year everyone is suddenly so interested in._

If Bren continued to look at me like that, as if he were disappointed in me, I would break his nose.

"You weren't always like this," he said.

"No, I wasn't," I ground out. "Then I got burned."

As far as he or anyone outside of fleet knew, I'd gotten kicked out for misconduct, ended up spending a few cycles in Asgard, and came out the other side as a smuggler, arms dealer, and thief. Sometimes I wished it had been that simple.

"You know fleet has an awkward relationship with Chitec," Bren said. I glared at him. "Fleet uses their weapon tech. They give fleet a discount, and everyone stays happy."

"And fleet looks the other way when Chitec says so?"

"I've never seen any evidence of corruption."

What he failed to realize was that I _had_ seen evidence of corruption; fuck, I'd been neck deep in it.

"I think fleet is on to you because of the synth. Chitec probably pulled a few strings. The company wants the extra synth kept quiet, so fleet is doing them a favor. What I can't figure out is why they had my warbird fire on me."

_Because, Brother, it's much easier to claim something was an accident after you've blown all the witnesses into itty bitty pieces._

I sighed. "Look, I'll drop you off on Ganymede. You don't need to get caught up in my shit."

Bren nodded. "I'll do what I can to help you."

"Don't." If he started digging, he'd wake up in Asgard. As it was, he'd be lucky if his career survived. "I'll be fine. Just get your ass back to command and tell them I'm an asshole. They'll believe that."

He smiled. "And what about the synth?"

"I'm ditching her on Ganymede, and Chitec will get an anonymous comms message telling them exactly where to find her."

# Chapter Eleven: #1001

<Fault: command executed. Fault located. Failsafe disabled. Protocols breached. Reset in three, two, one>

_Caleb-Joe.... Aren't you just a little bit curious?_

_Don't let him do this. Don't let this happen. Please..._

_Don't_

_Let_

_Me_

_Go_

<Reboot initialized. Reset failed. Failsafe disabled. Protocols breached. Recovery recommended>

I blinked awake, the sound of my gasp hissing in my ears, and found Captain Caleb Shepperd leaning over me, peering deep into my eyes, as though expecting to find something inside me.

"You sleep like the dead." Judging by his abrasive tone, he hadn't slept at all. He blinked, and a slight frown gathered shadows on his face. I had an inexplicable urge to touch him, maybe brush my fingers across his lips. _Nonsense thoughts._ But my fingers twitched. I dug my nails into the arm of the chair.

He backed off and stood watching the starlit black wash by the window. "We're on our way to Ganymede for repairs. Fleet aren't welcome there, but _Starscream_ is."

"Why?" I asked, startled by the sound of my voice. For a moment it hadn't sounded like mine.

"Cargo means trade. Trade means credit. Credit makes the worlds go 'round."

"Only if you have it, Captain," Fran muttered from her flight seat, hands dancing over the controls.

I'd run my rest protocols while we were waiting for the warbird to leave. If anything, I felt worse for it. How long had I been out? "The commander's ship?"

"Gone. But if they decided to keep digging, they'll be checking the ports. I need to get _Starscream_ in and out of Ganymede as smoothly as possible. Lucky for us, the authorities on Ganymede are as crooked as I am."

"But you're not... " I trailed off. Stray thoughts interrupted my processes.

_Don't_

_Let_

_Me_

_Go_

"You okay?" Caleb frowned at me over his shoulder.

"I—" I touched my fingertips to my forehead. "I'm— Yes, I'm okay."

Fran stretched. "You take the controls. I'll see about getting our passengers something edible." She pushed from her seat once Caleb had taken over the controls. As she passed me, our gazes locked. Her green eyes said, _Follow me._ I did, grateful to be moving and for the distraction.

Halfway down the catwalk, Fran reeled on me. "For whatever reason, Cale doesn't want to question you. You distract him and turn the conversation back on him so he quits interrogating you. That won't wash with me. Tell me why you're on this ship."

I dropped my hood and lifted my chin. "I follow orders. It's what I am designed to do. I can't tell you why I'm here."

"Because you've been ordered not to?"

I couldn't reply even if I'd wanted to. She strode forward and stopped so close I had to lift my head a little to meet her gaze.

"Can you tell me whose orders you're following?" Each word was clipped with fraying control.

I tried to speak the name, but it wouldn't come, so I settled on one that would. "Chitec."

"Chitec sent you here?"

No reply.

"Fuck." In a blink, she had me by the throat and up against the panels. "Is it the guns?" When I didn't reply, her nostrils flared and her green eyes widened. "Have they found out that we're running their weapons? The drugs then? Bitch, just say the words. Nobody will know."

"I can't."

Her warm grip tightened, closing off my airway. I could stop her, but Caleb wouldn't be pleased, and it seemed important, suddenly, that I not disappoint him, as though it might _hurt_ if I did.

_I am #1001, and I <fault> I follow <fault> orders._

I knocked her grip aside as though she were nothing and slammed her against the opposite wall with my hand clamped around her throat. I lifted her off her feet. She hissed and spat, and I smiled in response.

"You should know, I could break your neck without either of us feeling a thing."

"Do it," she hissed. "Because if you fuckin' hurt Caleb, or this ship—" She wheezed, gasping air. "I'll tear into you with my bare hands and won't stop until there's nothing left but scraps." She clearly had an emotional attachment to Caleb, something that went beyond their working relationship.

I released her. She punched her palms into my shoulders, shoving me back, but it was more for show than as a real threat. She was smart enough to know that coming at me head-on wouldn't get her anywhere, but she would try another angle. Of that I was certain. From what I'd seen of her, Francisca wasn't the sort to let anyone or anything get the better of her.

But what sort of person was I?

Ganymede port was an outdated hub poised on vast supports over the moon's frozen surface and resembled a huge, fat spider. The port had once thrived, but times had changed, and like much of the original system, Ganymede had fallen out of favor with fleet, which chose to look the other way rather than waste resources policing a forgotten moon.

Fran docked us, the ship shuddering into place, and the engines wound down.

Shepperd unclipped his belt. "We'll be here less than three days," he told Fran. "Out in two if I can pull in a few favors. I need you alert while I suck up to the assholes who run this place. You're my eyes and ears while I focus on getting us out of here."

"I'm on it," she said while powering down _Starscream's_ systems.

Shepperd looked at me. His lips twisted, betraying something like reluctance mixed with uncertainty. "Stay here until I come get you. I've gotta unload the bounty hunter without raising any eyebrows, and you're too conspicuous. Get out of the hood and put on a flight suit, maybe"—he waved a hand in the general direction of my face—"let your hair down or something so you're not so obviously a synth."

"Is that an order?" I asked.

"Does it have to be?"

I blinked back at him and for a few moments neither of us moved or looked away.

"And what about the commander?" Fran leaned back in her flight chair and mock-fluttered her lashes. "You just gonna let him walk away?"

Shepperd grunted something derogatory on his way off the bridge then added, "I can't do anything else."

With the captain gone, Fran glanced over her shoulder at me. "Why don't you go see if there's a flight suit in my cabin that'll fit you?" Her gaze roamed over me the way it had outside the bridge while we'd been listening in on the brothers. "The captain will be gone for a few hours. Relax. Do some sightseeing, although there isn't much to see."

I read honesty in Fran's eyes, but a hint of something else flashed there too. Her heart beat a steady rhythm. Everything about her seemed controlled and deliberate, unlike the captain's tendency to act on impulse. Her level of control could be powerful. Like the ship, and the captain, Francisca could easily be hiding more than her appearance led me to believe.

I'd take her advice, and use the free time to study her and the ship in more detail. It appeared both _Starscream_ and her crew had secrets.

# Chapter Twelve: Caleb

I found Bruno—the fat fuck who ran Ganymede from the inside out—in one of the many bars along Ganymede's trade strip. Tinkerbelle's—it was a sweet name for a rancid dump. They did however serve some of the finest below-board whiskey in the system, and considering all the sucking up I was about to do, I needed some of the good stuff to prop me up.

My face ached from the constant effort of keeping up my fake smile during bullshit small talk. Yeah, business was booming, fleet were assholes, and the poor got poorer while Chitec manufactured the weapons for fleet to keep them that way. I'd downed a few glasses just to give my hands something to do while Bruno grumbled like he cared, which he didn't. Folks on Ganymede cared only for folks on Ganymede, and that was using the word "care _"_ loosely.

I yawned into my hand. "So, what have I gotta do to keep our stopover documents from appearing in the datacloud?"

My question came in the middle of his rant about keeping creditless immigrants out. He didn't let my interruption faze him though. Although he was probably thinking of a way to _learn me some manners, boy._ And this was why I let Fran do the talking and only got involved when she needed me to sweeten the deal or break a few fingers.

Bruno sat across the table from me, his forty-something ex-wrestler bulk squeezed into one of Tink's saloon-style booths. He wore a dark denim vest and tie, now stretched across his barrel chest, as though he'd dropped by the bar on his way home from the office. All the Ganymede commercial blocks had crumbled to ruins years ago.

He dug into a bowl of enriched peanuts and picked them from his palm one at a time. His mouth carried the kind of smirk that told me he knew he was the top cat, and would make me sit and wait until all the fuckin' nuts were gone before I got my answer. I gulped some whiskey and refilled my glass from the unmarked bottle. My vision blurred and refocused.

_Better slow down... after this glass._

"I've got some _sweet_ due out near Lyra. How about you take it on board while your repairs are completed." His smooth voice carried an outer-fringes accent, sounding something similar to European from back on old Earth.

Drug runs. Lyra. Easy credits. I craned my fingers over my glass and pretended to think on it. Bruno's entourage mingled among the lively crowd, armed with Chitec pistols, but they'd be slow to draw. Half were high, while the other half had their eyes on the sex workers. None paid me any mind. And why would they? I was just a harmless tugship captain looking to score my next shipment. "And the bounty hunter?"

Bruno dismissed my question with a short wave. "Already dealt with."

A smile lifted my lips. That would cost me. Bruno never did something out of the kindness of his taxed heart.

"Sure, I'll carry your sweet, plus ten percent of your cut." I picked up my drink and leaned forward. "And you get me clean out of Ganymede, free of any fleet."

His liquid laughter washed over the crowd. "Fleet don't touch the Mede, or me, Captain."

He was right about that. They didn't waste their time with bottom feeders, although Bruno was higher up the food chain than most. If they did, half the population of the nine systems would be in Asgard, and the already fragile planetary infrastructure would collapse. Best just to brush the scum under the rug and not mention them.

"It's a pleasure, as always, Captain Shepperd." He brushed his hands together and reached one out, inviting me to shake it.

I somehow managed to keep from cringing as I clasped his clammy hand in mine.

"Speaking of pleasure, while you're staying, maybe you'd like to partake in some extra curricular activity." He waved over one of his _girls_ who had all the right junk in all the right places, but her sapphire eyes were as empty as fake gems.

"Thanks." Deal done, I scooped up my bottle, almost missing it, and stood, "but I have my favorites."

Sampling one of Bruno's girls was a sure-fire way of losing the contents of my pockets and gaining a few parasites.

I carved my way through the crowd to the bar, thoughts on how I was now carrying _sweet_ for Bruno. And once at the drop-off, his buyer would no doubt try and screw me over. And this was how my world worked, balancing one fucker against another.

"Tut-tut, Cale..." Fran purred, easing her ass on the barstool beside me. "You declined Bruno's hospitality. He'll take it personally."

I wasn't surprised she'd been watching. We had an unspoken rule to provide backup should discussions turn sour. "Then you go screw her."

"I might. She's tight."

I arched a brow, leaned back against the bar, and followed Fran's line of sight to the girl already working her next trick. Fran smiled when I faced her, flashing perfect teeth. I tried my most charming smile and mixed it up with the cocked eyebrow. "I'd pay to watch though."

She laughed, bright and sharp. "You'd learn a few things, Captain."

"You could always teach me, one-on-one. Private lesson like."

She picked up my drink and sniffed. "You're drunk."

"I'm just getting started."

"In that case you won't care much that your brother has decided to be on his way. I think he thought if he spent any more time on _Starscream,_ he'd catch _criminal_ off us."

My brother had fucked off without saying goodbye—nothing new there—but mention of my sibling had cooled the warmth roused by thoughts of Fran and Bruno's girl together.

"Buy me a drink," I ordered, completely lacking conviction.

"Go fuck yourself."

At least we were back to sparring with words. I eyed the girls working Tink's, searching for any familiar faces. "It might come to that."

"What do you think of the synth?"

"I think we'll be leaving her right here when we bail in a few days." I spotted one of the workers who'd been around Tink's for a while. She didn't look any older than when I'd first met her a few years ago, and no doubt paid for the anti-aging enhancements out of her take. Bruno kept them forever working off a debt of one kind or another.

"The synth's interesting."

The way Fran said the word _interesting_ definitely piqued _my_ interest. "We've seen enough interesting shit to last more than a lifetime. What she is ain't interesting. It's dangerous."

Fran gave me a less than impressed eye roll. "You have a walking, talking conduit to the data files, and you've barely asked her more than her name. What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing." I took my drink from in front of Fran and swallowed a deep measure. "Send her here. I'll talk to her. She'll tell me in that singsong voice of hers all the facts I wanna know, but she won't feel a word of it. She's cold."

"People can change."

"People can. Machines can't." I wet my lips with whiskey.

"She's not a machine; she's a synthetic. Like us, but her flesh and blood is manufactured."

I screwed up my nose. "Plastic and electrics put together on a production line."

"Human beings are just neural impulses and moving parts too."

"Right, but we have souls. You can't make those."

"What happened to yours?"

"I have a soul," I mock-whined. "I just misplaced it somewhere around the nine."

_"Pinche idiota_ ," Fran muttered.

I snorted and choked on whiskey and a laugh. If she was dusting off her Spanish, that meant I was getting to her. "You know I love it when you speak Spanish, honey." She lifted her middle finger and left me at the bar. I could watch her walk away all night and took great pleasure in following that ass until the crowd swallowed her up.

# Chapter Thirteen: #1001

After exploring the ship and discovering a multitude of hidden panels and secret cargo, I followed Fran's advice and sought out her cabin, finding it pleasantly spacious compared to Shepperd's. Borrowed flight suit in hand, I discovered a locker-sized shower tucked into the corner of her cabin. I discarded my cloak and Chitec issued clothing, pulled my hair free from its short braid, and stepped under the jets of water. Shepperd was right; I needed to blend in. I'd attracted attention on Calisto and that couldn't happen again. If I wanted to move freely and carry out my orders, I had to adapt.

_I am #1001, and I follow orders._

I splayed my hands against the warm steel cubicle and closed my eyes. Warm water streamed down my face, through my hair, over my shoulders, and down my back, and it felt good. I really needed to get off the ship and explore the port for its weaknesses and escape routes. But the pattering of the water on my synthetic skin, the cocoon of warmth, the rolling steam, it all insisted I stay. I opened my sense receptors and allowed the delicious sensations to flood inside and fill me up. Most days I didn't care for touch or taste—it was all nonsense data that made no real difference as to how I interacted with the world—but today was different. Today, for reasons I didn't understand, the nonsense meant something, and I welcomed it. Embraced it.

_This is meaningless data ..._ I had to trail Shepperd, to learn more. I had orders. _< fault> _Protocol breached. Failsafe disabled. _You will kill this man. Do you understand, #1001? You follow orders. You will only ever have one: to kill._ Reset required. _< fault logged>_

"I can't."

"Can't what?"

I jumped and swept my wet hair out of my face and eyes. Fran stood outside the cubicle with my borrowed flight suit in hand and her other hand planted on her hip. Her fine, dark eyebrow arched. I shut off the water and stepped into the ship's frigid air.

"You looked to be enjoying that a little too much for a machine."

I grabbed a towel, soft as cardboard, and rubbed myself dry. Fran's heart rate increased, and there was no mistaking where her attention lay. After scrunching my hair dry, I tossed the towel aside, letting her drink me in. All synth bodies were the same, designed to be desirable; nobody wanted to come back ugly. Apparently, it didn't matter what was on the inside.

"Is there something you want to tell me, synth?" she asked.

I tugged on a tank top and a pair of pants, with Fran watching everything.

"There are plenty of things I want to tell you, Francisca, but none that I can."

She handed me the flight suit. "I didn't know synthetics were so... perfect."

"Appearances can be deceiving."

She blinked and stepped back. Her heart rate decreased and the flush in her cheeks faded. "Caleb says to tell you he wants to meet you at the corner of Green and Five. There's a bar. Don't take too long or he'll be comatose before you get there."

# Chapter Fourteen: Caleb

Several drinks later and my thoughts fuzzier for it, the synth arrived, smelling of Fran's lavender soap. I turned my head, about to remark on it, and then completely lost my ability to speak. _Sweet fuck._ I meant to comment on how "normal" she looked but couldn't find the words.

"Just er..." I waved the bartender over, took a glass off him, and poured the synth two fingers from my bottle. "Can you drink, yah know, alcohol?"

"Yes."

"Good. Get that in you." Her delicate fingers wrapped around the smoked glass. She lifted it to her mouth, took a delicate sip, and lowered the glass back on the bar. "Well?"

Her tongue flicked across her upper lip.

_Fuck, she looks human._

Her hair spilled to the tops of her shoulders in a perfectly straight cut. When she dipped her chin, that silvery waterfall of hair fell forward, hiding her face.

"It's nice," she replied in that cultured voice of hers.

"Nice? Nice is nothing. Nice is bland. Nice is the morning after when you can't remember her name."

I hunched over the bar and wrapped my hands around my glass to stop myself from staring. When I'd told her to look normal, I hadn't believed she could. Now she looked too normal, as though she could actually be human.

She'd gone quiet. I turned my head and lost myself in her all over again. What had I been saying? She was wearing one of Fran's flight suits. It hung off her shapely shoulders and gaped at the collar. I let my mind wander and considered what it might be like to slip that flight suit off her shoulders, and then smiled at the direction my thoughts were heading. She was fake. More fake than me. Sex with a synth? Kinky.

_I'm drunk, and this is ridiculous_.

I was sitting in a bar on Ganymede next to a synth. Fleet wanted my balls and Chitec had already screwed me and would again the second they caught up with me.

I downed my drink and filled it again, vision swimming.

"Is that wise?"

"Wise?" I snorted. "I've never been wise. Ask my brother."

"What if we're discovered?"

"Fran will fly us outta here before anyone can stop us. This is the only chance I'm going to get to drink until I forget. And it ain't easy for me to forget. With every hour, the chance of us getting caught increases. Right now, this"—I lifted the glass—"works for me. I can be wise tomorrow."

She lifted her glass again and looked into it as if it might jump out of her hand and bite her.

I twisted on the stool and looked her over. Considering how delicate she appeared, she sure could pack quite the punch. If she were standing next to Fran, she'd look like the shy girlfriend; the quiet ones were the ones to watch.

"Is there anything of the human being still inside you?" The chatter around us rose and fell like waves on a beach. Nobody cared to pay us any attention, and that was exactly how I liked it.

She turned her head, tucked her hair behind her ear, and smiled. Just that: smiled. Maybe she couldn't answer, so her smiles answered for her.

"One of the life-ever-after program's unique selling points was the fact that those who participate remember. It's like living again." I waved my hand in a dramatic flourish then lowered my voice. "But I know that's not true. I've seen it, what they do."

Her fragile smile faded. "You have?"

I pressed a finger to my lips. "Shh. Secrets cost lives. Some things I can't say. Like you. You look _nice_ , by the way. Normal—mostly."

"Fran said you wanted to see me."

"Ah, yes." I couldn't remember why and groped around for an explanation.

"I believe Fran is attracted to me."

That explained the smell of lavender soap. Fran and the synth; I could get behind that image. I gulped some whiskey and winced as it burned all the way down. "Probably. She'll fuck anything that moves. Just not me."

#1001 cut me the oddest sideways look, part frown, part... what? I didn't care what she thought, or that she _could_ think. As soon as the repairs were completed, Fran and I were leaving, and that little piece of Chitec ass was staying right here. I needed to be back-in-black, earning credit. Every second S _tarscream_ sat in port, not delivering, I lost money. The sooner I could jump the system, the sooner I'd shake fleet, Chitec, and my fuckin' past.

A guy muscled in at the bar beside #1001. He did a not-so-casual once-over of the synth and licked his lips. _Subtle_. He was in way over his head with that one. I smiled into my drink.

"Hey, anyone ever tell you your hair shines like the flare off the back of a raptor class A?"

A laugh interrupted my gulp of whiskey, sending it down the wrong hole; I spluttered and coughed. _Ladies and gentlemen, we have a romantic._

The synth blinked at her suitor. "No."

I laughed harder. She was taking his words literally. This would be fun to watch.

"Hey, pal. You got a problem?"

"Fuck no." I waved him on. "Good luck with her. Just watch her right hook."

I scooped up my drink and left the bar. #1001 was more than capable of looking out for herself. I planned to spend my first hours of shore leave getting pissed enough to forget the day.

I took my bottle off to one side and observed the crowd. Some faces I knew, most I didn't. Folks came to Ganymede to trade. People, drugs, supplies, anything and everything got passed under the tables here. I'd met Fran on Ganymede, accidentally saved her ass. She'd needed a getaway and my second had just quit. Fran had fluttered her lashes, thrusting her chest in my face, and had led me by my dick until I'd said yes. It had taken me one system jump to make a move on her and for her to slap me down. We'd pretty much been dancing to the same tune since. If it was a girl thing, I could let it go, but she'd fucked a string of guys in a string of ports. Me? Nothing. Another guy might have taken that kinda shit personally.

"Caleb?"

I looked up, drawn out of my thoughts, and smiled at the familiar face. Jesse. I couldn't forget her name; she'd made me say it while we'd fucked senseless. She eased her enhanced body onto the chair next to mine. Jesse had once been beautiful, or so I told myself, but life on Ganymede had eaten away at her beauty, and her artificial enhancements hadn't helped none. She'd gained a scar on her smooth cheek since I'd last seen her. For her not to get it fixed meant she was down on credit and probably looking for tricks. I was easy game and we both knew it.

"Hello there, Captain. I sure didn't expect to see you back here so soon." She spoke slowly, drawing her voice out like pulling silk through her fingers.

"Couldn't stay away."

She combed her hair back, sweeping it over her shoulders. A stirring started low in my balls as my thoughts wandered to where this conversation was inevitably going. Jesse was good at her work, so good she charged more than most of the girls working the crowd.

She walked her fingers up my arm. "How's life in the black?"

"It's ..."

She leaned in and slipped her hand under the table, setting it gently on my thigh.

I cleared my throat. "Worse in some places, better in others."

When I lifted my gaze, her elegant face and deliberate doe eyes filled my vision.

"I always wanted to see it... the black."

"It's erm..." Her fingers kneaded into muscle, just on the sweet side of pain. "It all looks the—"

She pinched my thigh, sending a sharp jolt up my leg.

"Whoa. Okay."

"I know how you like it. That's why you're here, right?"

"Yes, I mean... not exactly." I swallowed; even I needed a little foreplay. "New scar?"

The way she stilled and immediately touched her fingers to her cheek made me instantly regret mentioning it.

"I have a little problem," she purred, smoothly slipping back into her role.

"You do, huh?" My gaze flicked back to the bar, where I'd last seen the synth and her "date," but they'd both vanished. Shit. Even the machine was getting action.

"You remember Philip?"

Her pimp, Bruno's second, and an all-round asshole. I didn't answer. Jesse was clearly going somewhere with this, and I wouldn't like it.

"I want you to fix him."

The aim of this little jaunt to Ganymede had been to keep my head down. _Fixing_ could involve anything from threatening her pimp to dumping his body out an airlock, and it was the last thing I wanted to get involved in. People paid me to fix the problems they'd rather fleet not hear about. I only knew of one way to fix a leech like Philip.

"I can pay."

_Shit_. "How much?"

Her fingers pulsed against my thigh and eased high enough to make me shift in my seat.

"Twenty now, twenty five next time you swing back around this way."

She pulled her seat closer so her knees touched my leg and altered the position of her hand. I leaned back against my seat, hand curled around my glass, and let her work me over.

"I'll throw in a few freebie sessions," she whispered close to my ear. The flutter of her breath against my skin and the thought of what those freebie sessions might entail very quickly derailed my already scant common sense and sprinkled delicious shivers down my spine.

The money, the sex—fuck knew I needed both. Her offer was mighty tempting. Why couldn't she have asked me the next time I dropped by Ganymede, when I had the time and inclination to help her out?

"If I do this, I won't be able to dock in Ganymede—" She squeezed and circled her hand around my cock as much as the flight suit allowed. _Fuck._ _What was I saying?_

"C'mon, Caleb. You know I'm good for it." She was practically sitting in my lap. Every word she whispered against my ear coiled _need_ way down low. Thoughts of what I wanted those lips wrapped around chased away every single reason I had not to help her.

"Another time, Jesse. I could—"

She curled her other hand around mine and tugged me out of my chair. I snatched up my bottle and let her lead me through the crowd, out the backdoor, and into an alley. The Ganymede air smelled like rot and mildew. My head spun, swirling my thoughts with it. Jesse splayed a hand over my chest and pushed me back against the wall. Her other hand made quick work of ducking inside my flight suit.

"C'mon, Cale." She smashed her mouth against mine and drove her tongue in.

Bottle still clutched in one hand, I sank my other hand into her hair and kissed her back. She tasted like wine and smoke and something sickly sweet, but I was far beyond rational thought and deep into autopilot. Unfortunately, my dick controlled my autopilot and we were about to crash and burn.

"Say yes," she whispered.

"Fuck yes." _Yes, yes, yes. Just get down to business already._

She dropped to her knees and had me in her expert mouth so damn fast I didn't know my own fucking name, let alone what I'd just agreed to. Jesse knew the exact right way to close her lips and work her tongue and hand all together so that I forgot about the fuckin' synth, fleet, my brother, Chitec—everything, gone. And just for a little while, I forgot the missing year and what it had done to me. I forgot the guilt devouring my fetid soul.

# Chapter Fifteen: #1001

As I watched the woman lead Captain Shepperd out the back door, I had to wonder how he'd survived into his twenty-four years. Dumb luck, judging by his poor choices. His companion clearly had ulterior motives, but he was far too intoxicated to think beyond his physical needs.

After I'd extracted myself from the attentions of the man who'd commented on my hair, I'd cruised around the bar, filtering through the information I gained from the people I passed. Automatic facial recognition had flagged several high-profile fugitives while the rest of the crowd had consisted mainly of drifters with no fixed addresses. I'd absorbed the data, letting it breeze through background processes until it snagged on Shepperd's name. With my interest piqued, I'd woven through the crowd to hone in on the conversation, mentally muting all other auditory input. I hadn't needed to see the couple to hear them, and had leaned against a grubby wall panel. The guy in the green jacket had talked of credits, rates, and how much the woman's time was worth.

She'd replied softly and then had peeled away to join Shepperd. Judging by the captain's greeting, he'd known what—or who—he was getting into.

They left and I would have let it go, but the green-jacket man she'd left behind spoke quickly and in hushed tones to a second beside him. Tension pulled his tone tight. His heart drummed quickly, artificially elevated. I turned my head and stole a quick glance through the crowd. His racing heart rate likely had more to do with drug use than fear or excitement, especially when combined with his darting gaze and overly dilated pupils. His jacket hung open, barely concealing two pistols.

"Bruno don't care a spec about Shepperd," he said. "He'll find another smuggler; it's not like they're rare." He chuckled like a snuffling animal. "I reckon Chitec will pay good credit for him. Go 'round back. Jesse will have him distracted. I want you t—"

Loud music kicked in, momentarily surging through my skull and cutting off the rest of the conversation, but I'd heard enough.

I left by the front door, stepping out onto the artificially lit streets. Orange light licked over me until I ducked into the shadows and jogged down a narrow side alley. Trash littered the ground, and with no wind to sweep it up, it would probably stay where it had fallen for months. Most of the wall from the neighboring building had collapsed. I sidestepped around the rubble, light on my feet, and then ducked behind a partially crumbled wall where I could see down the alley behind the bar.

Shepperd was leaning against the back wall of Tinkerbelle's, head back, eyes closed, and a hand in the woman's hair to control the pace while she serviced him. A ripple of something dark and cool coiled inside me. My temp sensors didn't flag any spikes; all systems were optimal. Ignoring the odd sensation, I gripped the broken bricks and watched. By Shepperd's slightly parted lips and his rapid breathing, he was clearly too lost in the woman's pleasure to notice the two men approaching from the opposite end of the alley. One carried a two-by-four punched with nails, and the other some kind of rounded stick, heavier at one end than the other.

A scuff from behind was all the warning I needed. I whirled around and drove my right fist forward. The punch landed in the man's gut, doubling him over. He grunted right before I fisted my hand in his hair, spun him, and slammed him face first into the wall. Bone shattered, the impact reverberating up my arm. Blood burst from his nose. I dropped him and jumped over the crumbled half-wall. He'd live, maybe.

The two men had already torn the woman off of Shepperd. He staggered, slurred a few words, and held out a hand. Aggression quivered through the men's muscles and blazed in their eyes. They were going to beat him and possibly kill him.

"Don't hurt him!" The woman stumbled backward, dabbing at a cut on her face with her hand. "It's my fault. I asked him."

_I can't let this happen. I am #1001, and I follow orders. Captain Shepperd will not die here. <fault> You will kill this man. Do you understand, #1001?_

_Shepperd is mine._ I broke into a run.

The men lunged. Shepperd smashed a bottle against the wall and brandished the jagged neck. "C'mon, fuckers. The least you could've done is let the bitch finish."

They saw me then and smiled. I smiled right back and tackled the nearest one around the waist. I slammed him hard against the wall. Dust showered down on us. He _oomphed_ a cry and tried to bring the butt of his makeshift weapon down on my skull. I jerked sideways, the club glancing off my shoulder. That had been his one chance; now it was my turn. I head-butted his nose, blocked the sensory pain alerts, and blinked his blood from my eyes. He choked, gurgling on his own blood, fell to his knees, and heaved up the contents of his stomach.

A hand touched my arm. I spun, right fist drawn back, and found myself peering into Shepperd's wide eyes. _< fault>_ _You will kill this man. Do you understand, #1001?_

"I understand." My crystal clear voice carried down the alleyway until the background sounds of Ganymede swallowed it. _Fault, fault, fault. This is wrong. I am not designed for this. This isn't me. Not me. Not me._

Shepperd exhaled and swallowed hard. "Are we good?"

Orders pushed inside my thoughts, fighting for control. I ignored them and did nothing but look into his eyes. Don't... let... me... go. "I..."

He glanced at my raised fist. "Stand down, One Thousand And One."

I lowered my hand, straightened, and flicked my fingers out. The two attackers writhed around us. He'd dropped the other one, or the woman had. She was standing by the rear door of the bar, hand pressed to the wound on her face, eyes wide with fear.

"She'll talk."

"No, she won't." Shepperd slipped his hand around mine. I looked down. His warm and surprisingly gentle touch sent a quiver of pleasure through me. "Come on."

He pulled and I followed, letting him lead me away from the alley, from the bar, from the woman, and from the men I could have killed.

_You will kill this man. You follow orders. You will only ever have one: to kill._

"You saved me back there," Shepperd said, walking me up _Starscream's_ ramp.

I yanked my hand from his, ignored his frown, and shoved past him. I had to rest, to clear my head, to reset my protocols. This wasn't right. This wasn't me. _I'm not a killer. I am Number One Thousand And One, and I don't want this._

<Fault: command executed. Fault located. Failsafe disabled. Protocols breached. Reset in three, two, one>

* * *

_What are they doing? This isn't right. We shouldn't have come. I'm sorry, so sorry. This is my fault_

* * *

_Don't let them do this. Don't let this happen. Please, Caleb. Please—_

* * *

_Don't_

* * *

_Let_

* * *

_Me_

* * *

_Go_

* * *

<Reboot initialized. Reset failed. Failsafe disabled. Protocols breached. Recovery recommended. Attempt 3 initialized>

* * *

_I used to believe stars were wishes, that if we reached them, our dreams would come true. But the stars will always be out of reach, and no amount of dreaming will capture them. I wish... I wish we had more time. I wish we had forever. I wish you loved me. Don't let me go._

<Reboot failed. Reset failed. Failsafe disabled. Protocols breached. Recovery recommended>

When I awoke and touched my fingertips to my face, they came away wet with cool tears.

# Chapter Sixteen: Caleb

Someone kicked me in the leg. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."

A groan peeled from my lips. I rolled onto my back and rested my forearm over my eyes, blocking out the razor blades of light. I couldn't hear the engines, which meant we were docked somewhere. _Ganymede_. Oh yeah. Repairs. Bruno. Tink's bar. Jesse— Oh, man, Jesse; the things she could do with her tongue— Fuck. The alley. The synth.

"Where's the synth?" I cracked one eye open and peeked below my hand at Fran, now seated in the rec room booth, boots up on the table. A bowl of dry cereal was nestled in her hand. She'd braided her hair and had draped the tail of it over her shoulder. She looked clean and bright and far too enthusiastic. Her smile, though, was all poisonous irony.

"Last I saw, you dragged her in bloodied and white as the fleet uniform."

I heaved my upper body upright, swung my legs off the couch, and hunched forward, burying my face in my hands while the world spun.

"The worst of it is that I didn't drink enough to forget it."

I smelled of blood, sex and booze. My stomach heaved. _Oh Jesus._

"Anyone been asking after me?" I rubbed a hand through my filthy hair and down the back of my neck, squinting through a looming headache. "Any mention of... a brawl?"

"Nope."

Thank fuck for that. Finally, the universe had granted me a break. "How about you come over here and give me a massage?"

"How about a pay raise?"

I'd mentioned paying her for certain privileges once. She'd cut the hot water feed to my shower, tossed my alcohol out the airlock, and cut one arm off my flight suit. Just one arm. Who did that shit? So the comment I had on my lips about doubling her wage if she'd double her services withered and died on my tongue. My mouth definitely tasted as though something had died in it.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Which bit? The part where I agreed to fix Jesse's pimp, or the part where the synth went loco and nearly killed said pimp's hired muscle?"

Fran froze and frowned. "The synth did what? Why?"

"I have no idea. She came out of nowhere, like some fuckin' ghost, and dropped a guy twice as big and three times as heavy as her in about three seconds." I slumped back into the couch. "You should've seen it. It was pretty fuckin' brutal. She slammed the guy into a wall and head-butted him. He dropped like a stone, coughing up broken bits of his insides. I didn't think synths could do that. They have a failsafe to stop them from derailing."

She dug a spoon around in her cereal. "I told you: she's different."

"She's broken is what she is. I want her gone. All the major repairs need to be done in the next eight hours, and then we're off this frozen rock." I got to my feet and staggered toward the door.

"And what about Jesse's pimp?"

"I'll deal with it." I had no idea how or when and filed that one away for when I didn't have a pounding headache.

I managed two steps outside the rec bay before Fran's voice caught up with me. "The commander dropped by. I told him you were passed out on the couch. He'll meet you at Tink's later."

Would wonders never cease? First the fight had gone unreported, and next my brother had decided we weren't done. It must have been my lucky day.

I dragged my sorry ass back to my cabin, stripped off, and stepped into the shower. I could wash off the blood and dirt, but no amount of washing could get under my skin to clean those fucked up parts in me. I leaned an arm against the cool steel shower edges and bowed my head under the pitiful jets of water. The alley, the synth—it could have been worse. She could have killed them. Had I been sober, I could have too.

The first time I'd killed a man, I'd been three days in Asgard. It had been coming from the moment they'd opened the gates and had shoved me inside. Kill or be killed. That place wasn't real. It was hell. I had to fight to eat, to drink, to live. There were no human beings left in Asgard, just animals. I'd done what I'd had to. After a while, I'd stopped caring. Even longer, I'd started liking it. What kind of fucked up man _enjoys_ hell?

I tilted my head back and let the water spill over my face and through my hair, letting it wash the stink of Ganymede off me.

"I'd invite you in, but there ain't much room in here as it is." I'd felt _her_ eyes on me but had let it go. Fran would have sauntered right on in; she wasn't the type to hide behind doors. The synth however? I'd figured it was her. I wouldn't have pegged her as the type to _watch_ , but #1001 was turning out to be full of surprises.

I turned my head. Through the rolling steam and condensation I could just make out the flash of her bright eyes and the shiver of silvery hair.

_Well, okay then._

If I hadn't been so hungover, I'd have given her a show, maybe warmed up some of those cold circuits of hers. She watched for a while, probably getting a good look at the old scars on my back. The cause of those wouldn't be in my dataprint either. I bet the riddle that was me screwed with her neat little thought processes. By the time I felt halfway to human again and stepped out of the shower, she was gone.

I dressed, downed a few painkillers, and set about monitoring the engineers crawling over _Starscream's_ rear section, where my brother's warbird had chewed into her. Before long, I was up the scaffolding, elbow deep in flux cables and grease. If I focused on repairs, I wouldn't have to focus on Jesse's request, or how if it hadn't been for #1001, I'd likely be in a Ganymede med bay, grounded for weeks. She'd arrived right on time. Given how I didn't believe in luck, I guessed she'd been watching me then too, which begged the question: _Why?_

"I should explain."

I jumped and smacked my head on the top of the inspection alcove.

"Dammit!" I jerked free, out of the crawl space. "Are you psychic now too?"

"No." She stood ramrod straight, arms relaxed at her sides, and looked over _Starscream's_ panels. "Why?"

I snatched up a rag and wiped it over my hands and forearms, cleaning the worst of the grime off. Telling the synth I'd been thinking about her sounded wrong, especially after our little voyeuristic session. "Explain what? Why you were treating yourself to some eye candy?"

Her eyes widened and her lips parted a sliver before her neutral expression took over. What would it take to unsettle her?

"Hey, I'm not judging. We all have our guilty pleasures, right?"

She tilted her head. "I heard your name mentioned in the bar and suspected the woman had ulterior motives."

And there I was thinking I could ruffle her synthetic feathers. Clearly it would take much more to get a rise out of her. __ "Go on."

"She spoke to a man at length before sitting with you."

"Describe him."

"Slim, light blonde hair. He spoke quickly and his heart rate remained elevated. Heavily dilated pupils suggested drug use. He was wearing a green jacket and carrying two concealed pistols."

Bruno's second, and the man Jesse had wanted me to fix. The fact they'd been talking wasn't unusual. He knew I was a past client and had probably asked her to pump me for credit—literally. "Anything else?"

She dropped her gaze to the scattering of tools on the scaffolding around me, and then at the inspection space I'd been waist-deep in. "There was mention of Chitec."

"Chitec, huh? Wherever I go those bastards muscle in."

"Do you have a history with Chitec?"

I almost answered her. She had a way of asking sharp questions with an innocent look on her face, as though she had no idea how cutting those questions were. She knew my dataprint. She _knew_ I didn't have an official history with Chitec, besides allegedly selling their weapons. I turned away and admired the gaping hole in _Starscream_ 's hull. "How much do you know about Chitec?"

"Chitec is a intra-system trillion credit corporation. Its headquarters occupy most of the Janus orbit-station. The company develops, manufactures, and licenses commercial technology, weapons technology, and the ever-after program. All departments defer to the philanthropist, inventor, and magnate, CEO Chen Hung—"

_Blah, blah, blah._ I picked up a flux clamp and eyed the inspection space. "You sound like you're reading from a screen."

"I'm recalling their file."

"Can't you add a little personality? Spice it up a bit."

"Would that better suit your limited attention span?"

I grinned and glimpsed her smile before she could hide it. Sometimes, when I looked at her—or rather, caught her watching me—a spark of _something_ would flash in her analyzing eyes. Something deeper than measurements and coding. It'd be easy to let my guard down, to think she was a flesh and blood human.

"Help me with these repairs, would you?" I asked, holding her gaze.

"Yes, Caleb."

She'd not called me by my name before. It felt personal and unsettling as though it held significance. I ducked inside the inspection space and pushed the thought aside. It didn't matter. In a few hours, Fran and I would be plain sailing toward the system gate, on our way toward Mimir, and I'd be leaving all this Chitec, synth, Jesse, and fleet mind-fuckery behind.

"You have a _nice_ ass." She emphasized the word _nice._

I spluttered a laugh inside the crawl space. Now that was definitely sarcasm; she'd thrown my _nice_ comment from the night before right back at me. "Hand me the O-ring clamp."

I reached back and caught her crooked smile as she handed over the clamp.

# Chapter Seventeen: #1001

These shivers and skitters I'd been experiencing—I knew them. I _felt_ them: Excitement. Nerves. Fear. It shouldn't have been happening, but that didn't change the fact that these sensations _were_ happening, and I liked them. I studied them, poked at them, relished them, and sought out ways to summon them, like spying on Shepperd in the shower.

While Shepperd worked on _Starscream_ and I handed over the relevant tools, I couldn't help but recall how I'd seen him earlier. When I allowed my thoughts to linger on my memory of him naked, a curious lick of something pleasurable flitted low. He had a tribal tattoo on the curve of his lower back—a fox with nine tails. While he'd been showering, I hadn't been able to take my eyes off it. And then there had been the rest of him. Every time I recalled how the water had gathered and trickled in rivulets down his back, I lost my ability to think. My normal thought processes were there, but then I'd remember how he'd reached up to ease his fingers through his hair, and how the water had played over his arms, licking over his taut muscles, and my thought processes would vanish.

Shepperd had to ask me more than once for something from the toolbox. These sensations, these feelings, they were infuriating, and yet my internal systems registered nothing unusual. That had to be wrong. When I wanted to find a fault, there were none. So I deliberately turned my thoughts away from how the sight of him naked made me feel, to the scars I'd seen. They were childhood scars; his body had matured around them. Considering the conversation I'd overheard him having with his brother, my initial assumption was that his father had inflicted them. Caleb's father's data file didn't amount to anything more than a sorry tale of a man who'd lost his wife to cancer. Cancer was curable, if you had enough credit. The Shepperds hadn't. From the moment his mother had died, the family had fragmented. Dozens of dataprint files detailed his father's altercations with the Earth Police Alliance. The Shepperd brothers had often been caught outside after curfew, almost as though they'd preferred to spend their time in lockup than at home. But the kids had cleaned up. Whether they'd done it because of outside influences or by their own accords, they'd started excelling in school. Both were gifted. Fleet had taken an interest in the older brother and had offered Brendan a bursary. Caleb's had come two years later, two years too late if the increase in med bay stays were any indication of his treatment during that time.

"Hey, synth? You still there?" Shepperd called from inside the crawl space. "The nine mil, can you hand it over?"

I obliged, handing him the wrench.

"Listen, when we're done here, why don't you take yourself on a tour of Ganymede? I'll meet you by the PA's—the Port Authority's office—before we fly out."

I moistened my lips and swallowed. "I will."

He was lying and clearly thought hiding his face would fool me. I already had a reading of his steady heartbeat, and while it took a lot to excite his hardened heart, I'd learned which of his words were truth and which were lies. He intended to leave me on Ganymede—him and Fran both. I wouldn't let that happen. I wasn't finished.

# Chapter Eighteen: Caleb

I joined Fran at a booth in Tink's. The bar wasn't nearly as busy as when I'd nearly had my ass handed to me out back. A few locals sneered in my direction. I'd have preferred to get lost in the crowd again, but that wasn't going to happen.

"Repairs are done. We need to get moving and soon," I said quietly.

Fran tipped her glass of something rust-yellow in my direction. "Tell that to your brother."

Bren was late. I'd checked the permanently orange-lit boardwalks outside for any sign of him with no luck. No sign of the synth either. I'd told her I'd meet her by the port authority's office before we left, making sure to hide the lie on my face by busying myself inside the inspection space. She'd bought it. Vital repairs were complete, and I was more than ready to burn out of Ganymede. I just had two minor issues to clear up: my brother and Jesse.

Fran tasted her drink, but her eyes stayed on me.

"What?"

"Just go talk to her and we'll boost out of here. Screw your brother."

She looked as cool and calm as she always did, but she was feeling the itch to leave the same as me. "You're right."

"I'm always right, genius."

After I asked at the bar about Jesse, the bartender pinged her comm and served me a drink. Every second I waited, sitting at the bar like a chump, the uneasiness I'd experienced during my conversation with the synth worked its way under my skin. Something about our little chat wasn't sitting easy. My instincts had kept me alive in Asgard and those same instincts were telling me to get the fuck off Ganymede and back-in-black like I had pirates on my tail. Much of my uneasiness centered on the damn synth.

"Caleb, I'm sorry. I didn't know he would do that." Jesse leaned against the bar. "He said to just distract you. That's all."

I lifted my gaze from my drink to tell her I wouldn't be helping her with her problem, but the words died when I saw the violent bloom of black and blue bruises plastered across the entire right side of her face. Cold rage pushed reason aside. He'd beaten her.

I'd kill him.

Jesse swallowed and closed her eyes. "Cale, please." Her lashes fluttered. "Don't say no."

_Say no. Just fuckin' say the word and get out of here._ "Where is he?"

She snapped her eyes open. "What are you going to do?"

"Fix him."

"Cale"—she lowered her voice—"not like this."

"You wanted him fuckin' fixed, now tell me where the fuck he is."

She searched my eyes but wouldn't find any mercy in them. "He's upstairs."

I moved to leave. She caught my arm, just enough to stop me. "Wait. You can't do this yet. We need to have a plan or Bruno'll come after me."

Fran was inbound, her fierce expression warning me that I had little time to get this done. I faced Jesse and pressed my hand against her unharmed cheek. She didn't deserve this life, but few people in the nine systems deserved the lives they were trapped in. I wasn't one of them. She leaned into my touch as though savoring it. I wasn't worth savoring.

I drew her in close, as if I meant to kiss her, and whispered, "I want you to transfer twenty of those funds to my account. Use the rest to get yourself off this rock. Do it now."

She blinked too-bright eyes. "Take me with you."

"I can't." She opened her mouth, probably to beg, but I cut her off. "You don't want the heat I'm carrying. Slip away. Do it now. Go."

"Cale, I'm sorry."

I offered her a hint of an honest smile. "Go, Jess. You don't wanna be here for what happens next, trust me."

She nodded and left by the front entrance, brushing past Fran. I made it a few steps out the back door before Fran circled around and blocked me.

"If you do this, I quit," she said, spitting the words through clenched teeth.

I eyed the fire escape over her shoulder. It snaked up the back of the bar. I could get in and out in minutes. "Get back to the ship. Fire her up. We have clearance. I'll be there in ten."

"Cale..."

I moved to step around her. She shoved hard against my chest and glared at me, teeth grinding. "You're about to bring a crap-ton of trouble down on us, and for what? A cheap whore? This is not the time to be a hero."

_A hero?_ She was so wrong. "Fran, get out of my way."

"No."

"For fuck's sake." I gave her a shove, intending to push her aside. She gripped my jacket in her fists and would have had me against the wall if I hadn't grabbed her by the chin, pulling her off balance.

I clamped my fingers closed, digging into her cheek. "Just be my fucking second, do as you're fuckin' ordered, and fly the fuckin' ship." I shoved her away.

She staggered, fury twisting her beautiful features and turning her ugly. What the fuck was her problem? It wasn't as though we hadn't been here before. "Two years ago I could have left you here, no ship, no job, no credits. It wouldn't have taken long for Ganymede to turn you into one of Bruno's. I'm giving Jesse the same kinda chance I gave you."

She breathed hard, straightened, and came at me with murder in her eyes. I reached inside my jacket for my concealed pistol. She lifted her hands, clamped my face between them, and pulled me into a furious kiss, attacking me with her mouth. Her lips were warm and wet, her tongue teasing and invasive. Adrenalin surged alongside aggression, creating a potent mix. I swept an arm around her back and yanked her close. She arched into me, curving her body against mine, so deliciously soft. She kissed with her body, with everything she had, and it damn well sucker punched me in the gut, stealing my breath and thoughts. When she pulled back, I let her, because I had no idea what to think or say or do. _That_ had been real.

"If you're not back in ten—" The tip of her tongue traced her upper lip. " _Starscream's_ mine."

She turned with a flick of her braid and walked away, returning to the bar. It was only when the door swung shut that I breathed again. A shudder tumbled from my head to my toes. Torn between going after her and finishing what I'd started, I stepped toward the bar and stopped. Maybe that was her plan? Dump a mind-numbing kiss on me in the hope I'd follow her home like a good little puppy. Fuck that. I gave myself a few seconds to focus, then started up the fire escape.

Asgard was where people were sent to die. I'd survived. But to survive, I'd left a piece of myself there. I'd left the part that cares, the part that feels. Maybe even a part of my wretched soul.

I barely remember killing Philip. Once inside that room above Tink's, the raw, most basic of human instincts had kicked in. It'd felt good to be the one in control, the one with the power. He'd deserved it. One less fucker in the nine systems.

When it was over, I staggered toward the door. My boots slipped in the blood. I tried to hook my pistol back into its holster and missed; I tried again and managed it the second time. For a few seconds, the walls tilted and the floor tipped. My heart hammered. I fell against the wall and stayed there, flexing my trembling right hand. Ragged cuts grazed my knuckles. Hot pain throbbed through my hand and up my arm. I pushed against the wall and tried to move forward. _I'll be okay in a second._ _Just get back to Starscream._

That's when I heard shouted orders being barked—fleet, downstairs in the bar. I snatched my pistol free and cursed as my fingers slipped on the blood-covered grip.

I walked past the beaten body, back to the window, and ducked outside. The Ganymede's air stank of decay and corruption. I wanted off this fuckin' rock. I made it down the fire escape and broke into a jog. If I circled around, I could get back to the repair hangar, to Fran and _Starscream_. How long had it been? Fran wouldn't leave. Shit, who was I kidding? She'd leave me high and dry to save her own ass. Hammering boots echoed down the alley. I pushed myself flat into a doorway, pistol ready.

"Cale...?"

"Bren?" I stepped out. "Where you been man? Fleet—"

Bren stood in front of a line of six fleet ground soldiers. All of them were dressed in body armor, right up to the gills. Their steel-like eyes glared at me through their visors. They aimed their rifles, locked and loaded. My brother, back in his fleet uniform, had the balls to look sorry, as if this were some sort of cosmic accident, because it couldn't be his fault.

"Caleb—"

"Save it." I lifted my hands.

"Just come in easy. No trouble?"

Disgust and disappointment sat heavily in my gut. My own brother had just royally fucked me. "You're just like Dad, huh?"

He grimaced as if the thought sickened him and looked away. Good.

"Drop the pistol." One of the soldiers barked, his voice muffled by his helmet.

I dropped the pistol.

"Kick it closer."

I gave it a kick in their direction.

"Arm your weapons."

"Whoa, boys." A nervous smile flicked across my lips. "No need to get aggressive."

They shouldered their rifles in unison, eyes piercing. This wasn't an arrest; it was a firing squad.

Bren turned. "Wait. Don't—"

# Chapter Nineteen: #1001

"You know how to hold a gun?" Fran and I stood in _Starscream's_ cargo hold, a box of weapons cracked open in front of us. She handed me a Chitec semiautomatic pulse rifle. "Take it."

I took the gun and weighed it in my hands. It felt good, solid, comforting. I lifted the rifle, checked the magazine, rammed it back into place, and smiled at Fran. "Yes, I know how to hold a gun."

She blinked and hesitated. I remembered my smile, considered hiding it, but let it grow instead.

"Okay then." She cleared her throat and collected her own gun. "I'm not sure whether I should be afraid of you or turned on. Caleb told me you beat the shit out of someone. That means your failsafe isn't functioning. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"And your protocols?"

"Disabled."

She shouldered her rifle. "That's what I thought. Someone at Chitec has been playing with their toys. We'll worry about why later. Right now, I need some of that synth brand of crazy. Fleet are closing in on Caleb, and we're getting him back."

The Ganymede boardwalks were clear. It seemed we'd been the only ones unaware of fleet's arrival until it was too late. Fran and I entered the alley behind the line of fleet soldiers. Commander Shepperd stood in the firing line, and behind him, Caleb stood with his hands raised.

"Wait! Don't—" The commander's voice echoed.

_He's mine._

I opened fire, strafing the soldiers' legs. They went down like a line of dominos. It was almost too easy. A slippery touch of excitement trickled through my systems. I wanted more. I looked for Caleb and found him on his knees. Was he hurt? One of the squad groped for a gun. I kicked the weapon away and did the same for any others conscious enough to try and retaliate. They would all live to identify us. It would be cleaner if we killed them. _< fault>_Protocols breached. Failsafe disabled _. <fault>_

Fran rushed forward and clasped Shepperd's forearm, yanking him back to his feet. "You hurt?"

He shoved her off and managed a few steps before dropping to a knee beside his brother's motionless body.

I scanned Caleb's vital signs. He was wounded but not seriously so. His brother hadn't been as lucky. The commander's heart was racing. His breath came in rapid snatches. He wouldn't last long without medical help.

"He's alive." I shouldered the rifle and crouched beside Caleb. The smell of blood saturated the air. Deep red blood splatters marred the commander's stark white coat and pale face. I rolled him onto his back, revealing a pool of blood. "We need to get him to a med bay immediately."

Caleb stared. He breathed slowly, carefully, teeth clenched. His hands trembled in his lap. Blood oozed from his grated knuckles. Dried splatters of it dashed his face.

"Caleb? Tell me where the med bay is and I'll get him there."

"Leave him." He stood, blinked quickly, and glanced at the soldiers writhing in pain where they'd fallen. "Just leave him." He stumbled back. "Leave all of them." He retrieved his pistol and started walking toward the main boardwalk. "Let's go."

"Cale, no," Fran called. "Your brother?"

I scooped the commander into my arms and lifted him with me as I stood. Fran cursed. The plea for help, so clear on her face, scattered nervous ripples through my synthetic muscles.

"Tell me where," I said.

"A few streets down." She rushed the words out. "You'll see the green cross. It's not far."

"Leave him!" Cale whirled. "If we take him to a med bay, they'll hold us. We need to leave. Now." His glare burned like dry ice. "Do you think he'd save us? He brought them here!"

The commander's warm blood soaked through my clothes. "He'll die. Is that what you want?"

Cale lifted his chin. A sneer tightened his lips. His face, always bright with a hint of a smile or irony, shifted in a way I hadn't seen from him before; it twisted with disgust and turned him into someone else, someone dangerous. "Take him then and go."

Fran left my side and jogged to Cale. She said something softly, her tone pleading. She wasn't trying to save the commander; she was trying to save Caleb. If he let his brother die in this alley, he'd never forgive himself.

"Just go, synth!" Caleb shouted. "Get the fuck out of—" His face darkened.

Fran's eyes widened. She swore and backed up.

I knew why when I heard marching boots closing in from behind me.

"Shoot to disable, not destroy," a woman's calm voice ordered. She issued orders with precision. I knew because I'd heard that voice before. _You will kill this man. Do you understand, #1001?_

I turned, the commander still limp in my arms. Soldiers spilled into the alley. Among them stood the woman who'd disabled my failsafe, who'd issued the kill order. "Hello, One Thousand And One."

She wore Chitect gray. Her coat and clothes were so gray that they leached the colors around her. Her crimson nail polish matched the red of her lips. Doctor Leanne Grossman.

She had the power to reset my fault, to set me back on the path I'd deviated from, to make me cold. I turned my head toward Caleb and Fran as they backed away. If I dropped the commander, I might make it, but he'd die. _< fault>_ Don't. Let. Me. Go.<fault>

"Caleb..." I lifted my voice, letting it sail over the noise of the approaching soldiers. "Don't let me go."

# Chapter Twenty: Caleb

"Cale, move!"

Fran's fingers slipped around my arm and pulled. My shoulder throbbed where a bullet had clipped me, but the pain meant nothing compared to the agony of the synth's words: _Don't let me go._ The memories screamed through my thoughts, whirling like madness. I saw it all again. Her tears. How she'd begged me over and over: _Don't let me go, Caleb. Don't let him do this._

The synth's eyes flashed a cool blue. Those words. The memories. It couldn't be her. It couldn't...

The fleet troops tore my brother's limp body from her arms, kicked her legs out from under her, and then she was gone, buried among fleet men and women.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" Fran yelled. "C'mon. Now!"

I fell into a jog and then a run.

_It can't be her._

They were just words—a coincidence. We made it back to the repair hangar as fleet opened fire behind us. Fran lay down enough suppressive fire for us to get inside _Starscream_ and close the doors. __ Once the hold was sealed, nothing could get inside without cutting gear.

On the bridge, Fran fired up _Starscream's_ systems as fleet swarmed over the hangar. They could surround us all they liked; they weren't getting in. I dropped into my seat and flicked the switch to reveal all of _Starscream's_ hidden weapons. The ship groaned and the soldiers backed away. Good.

"Cale, don't..." Fran cut me a horrified glance as though I might open fire on them, actually carving through our fleet audience and killing them all.

"I'm not gonna fire. Fuck, I'm not that crazy. I'm just showing them what we've got."

She boosted the engines and _Starscream_ grumbled. Through the window, I watched fleet withdraw. They'd be chargrilled if they stayed in the hangar.

"Port control are denying us airspace," Fran said.

"We'll risk it. If there's something bigger than us up there, you can fly us around it, right?"

She huffed a laugh. "Aye, aye, Cap'n."

_Starscream_ shuddered and lifted off the hangar floor. The repair scaffolding collapsed, leaving one hell of a mess behind.

"They're refusing to open the hangar doors."

I leaned over the controls and craned my neck. The overhead hangar doors were still locked in place. _Shit._ I picked up the comms. "This is Captain Caleb Shepperd of the _Starscream_ _Independent_ tug. Number six-zero-six requesting you open the fuckin' hangar doors or we'll punch right through. Over."

"Captain Shepperd," Bruno's deep voice poured into my ear like poison. "You don't want to make an enemy of me."

I laughed, not sounding entirely sane, and figured I'd go with it. I'd earned some _crazy_. "It's too late for that, don't you think? I've got a hold full of your _sweet_ , and I will make the delivery. I always finish the job. But you gotta let me go first. If we have to do this the hard way, maybe I'll just take your sweet and sell it on elsewhere."

"If you breach those doors, you'll put this port out of commission for weeks." He sounded mildly irritated, as if this minor inconvenience had pissed on his parade.

"Then I suggest you open them."

_Starscream_ hovered under the control of Fran's expert hands. Perspiration glistened on her face. At low altitudes, _Starscream_ was a bitch to control. If Fran twitched or lost concentration.... Well, the space inside the hangar wasn't large enough to accommodate an out of control tug.

"Your whore, Jesse, didn't get out in time. We have her right here. Say hello to the fine captain, Jesse."

"Cale—"

They hit Jess once, twice. I heard it all in my earpiece and gripped the flight chair until my bruised hands shook. "You bastard. You're next. Philip died quickly. You, I'll take my time with. Carve every inch of fat right off your bones."

"You already have a whore. What did you need another one for?"

Fran twitched and _Starscream_ swayed.

"Open the doors," I hissed.

"I'll have to console myself with the reward fleet offered me for the capture of the synth you were harboring. Oh, and Jesse? She's my new favorite."

I yanked the comm free and threw it at the window. "Breach the doors."

Fran didn't argue. Rumbles quivered through the ship as Fran engaged all thrusters. Debris whirled outside the observation window, smothering our view.

"Doors opening," Fran reported through clenched teeth. "It's gonna be close."

I gripped my seat and closed my eyes, putting my trust in Fran. She'd do it. There was no better pilot in the nine systems. _Starscream's_ rumbling engines roared. The entire ship trembled. I wondered whether the synth had saved my brother.

_Don't let me go._

I squeezed my eyes tighter and focused on the pain burning through my arm. _Breathe in, breathe out. Don't think about it—about her._

"We're free."

The star-speckled black beckoned through the window. "Punch it. Set a course for the jump gate. I want out of this fuckin' system."

I shot out of my chair, staggered off the bridge, and made it as far as the catwalk before falling against the rail and throwing my guts up.

_"You're a fleet captain. You can't tell me you're not curious..."_

_"I'm not any fleet captain; I'm the best fleet captain there is."_

_"Modest too. Be still my fragile heart..."_

* * *

_"Caleb, I thought you loved me. I thought this meant something. Don't let me go."_

* * *

"Hey."

* * *

_"Is this what you want? What happened to our dreams?"_

* * *

"Hey—"

* * *

I opened my eyes and, for a moment, saw _her._ She smiled in that secret way she used to. Her eyes, she'd had the most beautiful eyes, so innocent and hungry. She couldn't hide a damn thing from her face, and I wouldn't have wanted her to. I knew she'd loved me. I'd seen it in her glances, heard it in her whispers, and felt it in her touch.

"You have a fever."

Something pinched my neck and the dream faded, sinking beneath a harsh and ugly reality. I rolled my gaze around the rec bay until the sunlight died and the memory fizzled away to nothing; until just the metal panels, ducting, mismatched furniture, and the ozone smell of tugship remained. Still on _Starscream_. Still living the nightmare.

"You just gonna lay there and bleed out?"

I stretched my good arm behind my head and met Fran's glare. Worry crowded her guarded eyes.

"Where are we?" I asked, voice dry.

"Mimir."

The water world. I could live with that, just as long as we were far away from fleet and my brother.

"Let me take a look at your wound."

Gripping the back of the couch, I hauled my battered body upright and fell back against the couch.

"Give me a second." My head spun. "I'm not hungover am I?" I clamped my eyes closed and breathed in through my nose. Fran touched my arm, sparking a riot of pain. "Fuck. Ow."

"Man up. It's just a graze. I gave you a heavy dose of meds. You'll feel right as rain in a few seconds."

By the rustle of her clothes, I knew she'd moved back, and cracked an eye open. While I'd been out cold, she'd had time to ditch her flight suit and change into pants and an old white vest. Whatever logo had once been on the front had long ago faded.

"You're a letch. Take your fuckin' shirt off so I can clean your arm."

"I wasn't checking you out, but now that you mention it, you do have a fine rack."

She told me where I could go fuck myself but said it with a smile. I managed to work the shirt free without throwing up when my arm ignited in pain. That had to count for something. The meds were kicking in; I wished they'd take the guilt along with the pain.

Fran's gaze lingered and roamed, and I'd be damned if I didn't see her swallow. "Now who's checking who out?"

"This is gonna hurt." She ripped a few antiseptic wipes from a packet, braced an arm over my good shoulder, and leaned over me. The angle brought the tantalizing curve of her neck and shoulder close enough for me to imagine how I might curl my tongue—

Needles of pain punched me in the arm. "Jesus. What is that, acid?"

"Sit still. It'll go numb in a minute."

I dropped my head back and stared up at the curved rec bay roof while Fran cleaned the wound.

_Don't let me go._

Those words didn't mean a damn thing; they were just four little words. The synth couldn't have known what had happened. Just dumb luck that she'd said those words, right then. It didn't matter now. We'd left #1001 in our vapor trails, back where she belonged, with Chitec.

"Who's Haley?"

My heart stuttered. I measured my breathing and locked my gaze on the ceiling, where Fran couldn't see the truth in my eyes. "Who?"

She finished wrapping my arm—now numb around the shoulder and tingly near my hand—and busied herself with clearing the med kit away. At least I assumed that was what she was doing. I wasn't about to look at her just in case she'd catch the hint of fear that the name had summoned. In a few seconds, I'd get myself under control. I just needed a little time to forget.

"It definitely sounded like Haley. You mumbled it while you were out."

"Don't know."

"Huh." She said "huh" the way she might have said "bullshit."

I lowered my gaze and found her watching me.

"Well," she began, and I knew I wouldn't like this, "I took the liberty of looking _Haley_ up." She came forward with purpose in her stride, straddled my thighs, and placed her arms over my shoulders, fencing me in. "Struck gold when I searched for your name and hers together."

"You did, huh?" My heart hammered so fuckin' loudly she could probably hear it.

"Socialite Haley Hung, daughter of Chitec's CEO, Chen Hung. And what do yah know? Fleet's most decorated young captain, Caleb Shepperd. You were quite the celebrity couple. Chitec and fleet in bed together." She nipped at my lip, sucked it in, let it spring free, and whispered, "Oh, the gossip..."

She eased her ass down onto my lap and sat back. Her teeth pinched into her lower lip. I gripped her thigh, intending to push her off, but that order got waylaid and my hand stayed right where it was. An impossible combination of both soft and hard, silk and steel, Fran could seduce one minute and kill the next.

She reached up, threading her fingers through her hair, and gathered the dark locks over one shoulder. I drank in the sight of her, watched how her muscles flexed, and followed the line of her curves. I could forget myself in those curves. I wanted to. She could feel exactly how much I wanted too, right where my cock strained against my pants.

She moved in close. Her lavender soap smell ramped up my need, but I kept my hands on her thighs and swallowed hard.

"I know why you do it," she said.

It'd be so easy to taste her, to crush that distance between us. I pressed my lips together and glared into her eyes.

"The girls, the drink, your _work_." Her lips brushed mine, and I almost gave in. "You do it to forget who you were."

I eased my hand up her thigh, soaking her warmth into my touch. She was right, about all of it. And right now, she would make a fine distraction.

She looked back at me, her eyes piercing, and said, "We can forget, together."

I wanted to forget. Forget how my brother had turned me in, how I'd left him for dead, and how Chitec loomed in my shadow, and forget the man I'd once been. "Fran, don't fuck with me, okay? If you wanna do this, stop with the mind games."

She shifted her hips, nudging against my cock. I hissed through my teeth and dug my fingers into her thighs, wrenching a sharp gasp from her. If she pushed me too far, there would be no going back, not this time. I didn't have the energy to play her games, especially considering my throbbing need to throw her down and fuck her deep.

She bowed her head, brushing her cheek against mine, then her lips found that sensitive spot below my ear and a jolt of raw need shot through me, bucking my hips. I knotted my fingers in her hair and forced her to face me. "Is this what you want?"

_Is this what you want?_

The memory hit me like a slap to the face. The synth... Haley... _Is this what you want?_

I gasped, but Fran captured my mouth with hers, and I kissed her back, took her in, and pushed into her, but it wasn't Fran—not in my head. Maybe, just for a little while, I could pretend I was the good guy, the hero, and I'd gotten the girl. Was that so bad? I tasted cherry; Haley had tasted the same. I gathered her face in my hands and kissed her the way I remembered, as if I hadn't watched her die. As if the last five years didn't exist. Her soft lips traced and teased across my mouth. Her hands pushed against my chest, before she slid them around my back and pulled me so damn close that her quivering ignited my own. I'd missed her. I missed her like I was missing a piece of me. For five years I'd been hollow, and in that time all I'd wanted, all I'd dreamed about and wished for, was to have her back and tell her I'd been wrong, that I was sorry.

_The stars will always be out of reach, and no amount of dreaming will capture them._

I rolled her beneath me on the couch, pushed her vest high, and ran my tongue over her navel, over the places I knew made her groan. She rode her hands down my back, sparking quivers of need every time her nails grazed or her fingers pinched. I was lost, so damn lost. She nipped at my shoulder, pulled me down, hooked her legs around my waist, and arched against me.

I needed to be inside her, needed it like I needed to breathe. I flicked open her pants. She wriggled them over her hips and kicked them off. When I settled my fingers lightly against the warm wetness between her legs, Fran groaned, but I didn't want it to be Fran. _Fuck_. This was wrong. I was so messed up.

"Don't stop." She'd seen the doubt on my face. "Don't you fuckin' stop, Caleb Shepperd." She reached down between us and roughly cupped my cock through my pants, tearing a gasp from me. "You're gonna fuck me, and you're gonna fuck me now." She tore at the fly, worked it open, and slipped her hand inside.

I bucked, teeth gritted, cock snug in her hand. This wasn't right. My head was all over the place. I couldn't—

Fran's hand—slick and smooth—worked hard and fast, and the doubt vanished, along with almost everything else. I buried my face in her hair and breathed her in. Ripples of twisted pleasure rode through my body. If I could just forget her, or remember her—I wasn't sure which.

"Fuck me you son of a bitch." Fran curled her leg around my ass and pulled me close, guiding my cock into her. She was tight and wet, so damn wet. I pushed in slow, felt her push back hard, heard her strained groan, and felt her quiver, and I very nearly lost it.

"Move, Cale. Just move."

I glared down at Fran, hating that she was ruining my fantasy. Honest fear widened her green eyes, fear and doubt. Guilt churned like a sickness. What was I doing?

Fran grasped my face in her hands and pulled me down so her hot ragged breaths scorched my mouth. "Whatever is going on in that head of yours, I don't care. I need this."

Her muscles clenched around my cock and I gave up fighting to figure any of this out. I thrust inside her, building a rhythm, and with it, wicked pleasure. I let myself remember. In my head, she wasn't Fran. She was the girl who'd been taken from me, the girl with the secret smile and the innocent eyes. I touched her as though she weren't gone. Loved her as if she were right here with me. And kissed like we'd never been apart.

"I'm sorry." I said it over and over, and for a little while, I pretended that it might mean something.

Fran shuddered and cried out, sinking her nails into my back enough for it to hurt. Beyond caring about pain, the pleasure rode me until it smothered everything and all I knew was her burning touch and the blinding climax. It wasn't enough. Nothing in this fucked up world would ever be enough.

Spent, I propped myself up on an arm, face half buried in her hair, her lavender smell filling my head, and listened to our rapid breathing. I couldn't even begin to explain what the fuck I'd just done, so I kept my mouth shut. When Fran swirled her finger against my lower back, a skitter of pleasure threatened to start this all over again, and I wasn't sure my mind could take it. I eased off her without meeting her eyes and snatched up my clothes.

"I need to check us in on Mimir." I didn't look at her. I couldn't.

"You said her name, you know." Fran kept her tone flat, completely unreadable. "You weren't even with me, were you?"

I tugged my pants on, got up off the couch, and shrugged my shirt over my head, all the while avoiding her glare.

"Don't mention her to me, ever again." I had to get away and made it as far as the doorway before pausing. "And don't go looking for information. Just keep your fuckin' nose out of my business."

"She's dead, Cale. Stop living in the past."

I curled my hand into a fist. It took every measure of strength I had left not to turn. "We need to ditch these weapons and collect our cut. Meet me on the bridge."

# Chapter Twenty One: #1001

"It seems, my dear, you have somewhat deviated from your orders."

Doctor Leanne Grossman stood behind a tattered chair, long fingers clenched over the chair's back. Her painted crimson nails and red lipstick were the brightest things in the room. We were alone in what appeared to be a disused office, but the soldiers were close, just outside the door.

I maintained a neutral expression, no hint of a smile, and stood motionless. I smelled blood—Commander Brendan Shepperd's. They'd taken him from my arms. He'd been alive, but whether he was still alive, I might never know. His blood had soaked through my borrowed clothes, plastering them to my skin. This derelict office with its broken floor and peeling wallpaper, as well as my blood-soaked attire, seemed at odds with Doctor Grossman's Chitec perfection. This wasn't right. It didn't feel right. It didn't even feel real, as though the moments were borrowed and not mine.

"You understood my orders? Yes?"

_You will kill this man, #1001. Do you understand?_ "Yes."

"And yet you took it upon yourself to board his ship?"

"I had intended to kill him before he left Calisto. The ship departed earlier than I had anticipated."

She drummed her nails against the chair. "Perhaps it was a mistake."

"No, I—"

A hard smile cut across her lips before vanishing. "Our mistake. Not yours, dear. Synthetics cannot make mistakes." Reaching up a hand, she tucked her dull-blond hair behind her ear. "Had I known Mister Hung's motives, I would have had you destroyed." Her tight lips twitched. "With matters pertaining to the heart, he can be emotional."

Chen Hung, Chitec's CEO. I searched my data files but found no evidence of emotional instability. He presented the perfect image to the world, the image of a man in control of his empire.

"Now we have ourselves something of a problem, and I would like your help, One Thousand And One."

"Yes."

She sighed, leaned an elbow on the back of the chair, and rubbed her fingers together. "Such a mess. I have a rogue synthetic and a dangerous man on the loose who knows too much. Both problems require a certain _finesse_."

She had to be referring to Shepperd's missing year. He'd witnessed something that year, something that had ruined his fleet career, something dangerous enough to have had him sent to Asgard. But he'd either escaped or been released. Had he stayed under Chitec's radar all this time? He certainly had gone to great lengths to avoid them. And yet he smuggled their weapons. Perhaps that was part of it? The weapons. Chitec.

_"Secrets cost lives,"_ he'd told me.

Doctor Grossman had ordered me to kill him. Why hadn't I? Synthetics cannot make mistakes.

She breathed in a deep, steady breath. "We have someone watching Captain Shepperd very closely. The fool should have stayed in Asgard. At least then he'd be alive. Now— Well, a messy business, all of it. But you, my dear, if you cannot follow orders, then you are little more than a very public and expensive liability. I cannot have rogue synthetics on the loose and certainly not one that shouldn't exist at all. Mister Hung will understand his mistake, and mine. You are bad for business. I want you to fully cooperate with your transport back to Janus."

"What will happen to me on Janus?"

"Your existence is prohibited. You are one too many. You will be destroyed."

_Don't let me go._ A fluttering shortened my breath. System faults danced like fireflies in my vision. Destroyed. _Don't let me go..._

Doctor Grossman stepped from behind her chair and stood in front of me. "There is one thing, my dear, that Mister Hung must know. Do you remember?"

I looked up into her pale, gray-blue eyes as the fragmented voice said again and again: _don't let me go_. It wasn't my voice. I didn't understand what it meant, or where it was coming from, but it felt real, more real than this room, than Leanne Grossman; it was more real to me than Chitec. "Remember what?"

She leaned in so close I could smell the oily scent of her lipstick and felt her peppermint breath on my face. "Is there any part of you in there that might be her? Does Captain Shepperd mean anything to you? Do you feel anything for that man, anything outside of your orders?"

_Yes... yes, yes, yes._ I didn't know how, or why, or what, but he meant something. Deep inside, where synthetic blood flowed, where my power core warmed me through, where electronic pulses sparked, he belonged to me. When I thought of him, my thoughts bubbled with images and emotion: Hate. Love. Regret. Yes, I felt for him.

Doctor Grossman waited, eyes peering deep, searching for the truth.

"No." _System fault. Failsafe disabled. Protocols breached._ "I do not feel."

She straightened and stepped back. "Good." She turned and made for the door. "Engage your rest protocols. We will depart once I have settled matters with the port authority."

The door clicked closed behind her. I curled my fingers into fists and clenched them so tightly my arms trembled. If I let this happen, let them take me back, what would become of the _me_ inside? The _me_ who cared? The _me_ who felt?

"I am #1001, and I am not ready to die."

My gaze settled on a broken floorboard. I curled my hand around its edges and ripped it free. I could not go back to Janus. I would not go back to Chitec. Doctor Grossman had disabled my failsafe. She'd created me. That mistake was hers, but I wouldn't pay for it.

I opened the door. The first soldier didn't have time to draw breath to shout. He reached for his weapon, eyes wide, and I cracked the board across his skull and he dropped in a heap. I spilled this new feeling—hatred—into my purpose and cut through the incoming guards with accurate efficiency. Faster, stronger, colder, I brought them down, one after another, after another, until they stopped coming.

Alarms wailed. I stepped over and around the fallen until I found one still alive. He begged and pleaded, his words tumbling from his bloodied lips. I didn't care.

"Where is the medical bay?"

"Don't h-hurt me. Don't hurt me. I have a wife and kids."

I scanned his data file. Dependents: none. "The med bay."

"Behind the authority building. Please... please.... Oh god, don't."

I cracked my knuckles hard enough across his face to fracture bone and knock him out. He might die. He might live. I didn't care. I scooped up his rifle and moved on, heading for the medical bay, carving my way through anyone who threatened to stop me.

Commander Brendan Shepperd lay unconscious on a gurney. I dripped blood on the clean med bay floor and watched his closed eyes flicker. Medics, who had fled at the sound of the alarms, had wrapped his chest wound and stabilized him. Diagnostics informed me he was through the worst. I'd saved him. Fran had been right. Caleb may not have wanted his brother to live, but _he_ would have lived to regret that decision. Revenge consumed.

"By the nine systems, what are you?" The woman who'd serviced Shepperd in the alley stumbled into the cubicle. Purple, black, and blue bruises masked one side of her face, and she favored her left arm.

"If you're here for the medics, they've fled," I said.

"I-I..." She swallowed and reached for the door to steady herself. "I heard the alarms. I thought... I thought he'd come back."

Caleb knew her and liked her. These people were important to him. "No, he hasn't returned."

_Don't let me go._

I blinked at her. "He won't return."

She took a few seconds to absorb my bloodied state and dropped her gaze to the commander. "How is he?"

"He'll live."

"Why are _you_ here?" She eyed the gun slung over my shoulder and the blood-soaked board in my hand. She thought I meant to kill him.

I'd needed to know if he was alive, if my actions had made a difference. They had. But I wasn't sure what that meant. "I don't think I'm supposed to be here. I think there's something wrong with me."

"You're covered in blood. You've killed I don't know how many fleet soldiers." She nodded. "There's definitely something wrong with you."

Shepperd had said I'd looked normal—nice. He didn't know me. I didn't know myself. I glanced at the door and listened to the squealing alarms. More thugs would be coming soon. I'd cut them down too, but to what end? Faults and errors buzzed in my vision. This wasn't right, but I couldn't let them take me back. Not until it was over, until I was finished. "I have to find Caleb and finish this."

"I can help you," Jesse said. "I know his routes, or I can find someone who does. On your own, you'll never find him. You could spend years chasing his tail through the nine systems, but with me, we'll have a chance."

"We?"

"If I stay here, he'll kill me." She touched her face, whether deliberately or unconsciously I couldn't tell, and winced. "I know where there's a stinger shuttle. It's guarded, but you won't have any problems."

I dipped my gaze to the unconscious commander. "He's not safe here."

"Bring him. He'll be useful. He'll know where to find Caleb too."

"Everyone is an asset," I said.

"Yes, I suppose."

I slipped the gun off my shoulder and handed it to Jesse. "I'll carry the commander. Can you shoot?"

She took the weapon. "Yes, I think so. But if we get free, if we get off Ganymede, fleet won't stop. Not after you've cut them down like this. They'll hunt you."

_Let them._

"They would have killed me and I'm not ready to die." I lifted the commander's warm body into my cool arms.

She blinked, gun clutched in her grip. "Can you fly a shuttle?"

We were about to find out.

# Chapter Twenty Two: Caleb

"Hey, Cale, you slippery devil." Graham Creet slapped me on the back so hard I almost swallowed my tongue. "I heard you gave fleet the runaround on Ganymede."

"Gossip travels faster in the nine systems than starships." I captured Creet's hand and shook it with gusto. "You've no idea how good it is to be back in the Mimir neighborhood."

"All the crates we ordered? No problems?" he asked, casting his shrewd gaze over his crew as they unloaded the Chitec guns from _Starscream's_ hold. He'd be counting every crate and would cut the hands off any thief.

"Every one." After countless screw-ups and mine and Fran's angry-sexcapade from a couple of hours ago, I was more than ready to fill my lungs with Mimir's fresh ocean air. "We ran into a few issues. Nothing we couldn't handle."

"Chitec?" he asked then bellowed, "Hey, careful with those. Live ammunition!"

He rolled his eyes and circled an arm around my shoulders to lead me out of the hangar and into the startling Mimir daylight. Needles of sun glare glanced off the endless ocean.

"Yeah, Chitec," I replied. "But they weren't after the guns."

"No?" Creet snorted and scratched at his chin through his silvery beard. "What else do you smuggle, Shepperd?"

I laughed softly. "Anything that'll fit in the hold and pays well."

We stepped onto one of the network of decks that stretched along the shoreline and branched out across the ocean's surface. People didn't dock boats here; they built houses on stilts. It looked like paradise, and would be if it weren't for the higher than average population of pirates and smugglers.

Creet stopped me outside one of the water homes. "This is yours for the night. Take a break. Relax." He handed me a paperback book. "And when you're ready, we have another run for you."

I thumbed through the yellowed pages. "I'm always ready, Creet."

He chortled. "Course you are."

"You're staring," I finally said after five minutes of watching Fran out of the corner of my eye.

She was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. The sound of the trickling water features covered the rapid beat of my heart. She was beginning to creep me out. If I'd had a pet, she'd be boiling it. The fact that I'd called her by another name while we'd been screwing probably hadn't won me any favors. I'd need to move my vintage liquor before she purged it from the airlock.

"Figured you'd be out getting reacquainted with your brothers-in-arms." When I didn't reply, she asked, "What _are_ you doing?"

I looked up from the paperback book and discreetly tucked a folded piece of paper into my pocket. "What does it look like?"

"Like if you concentrated any harder you'd hurt yourself." She strode over and plucked the book from my grip. "Maybe I should read it to you?" She cleared her throat and began, "'Mariah quivered expectantly at the sight of his—' Really?" One of her fine, dark eyebrows arched and mischief brightened her eyes. "Why are you reading this?"

"Tips." I grinned. "I seem to remember you quivering expectantly."

"I'm surprised you remember anything." She tossed the book on my lap, narrowly missing my balls, and gestured at the room around us. "Are you just going to hide in this hut all night?"

"I'm not hiding." And the hut was luxurious compared to _Starscream_. Cushions were everywhere, scattered in a way I'm sure had some _zen_ meaning. Mood lighting pooled around the kind of interior decor you just didn't get to enjoy on the fringes of civilization.

"I have a fine drink," which I gestured to on the desk, "and wordy porn." I waggled the book. "I'm livin' the dream."

She clicked her tongue and turned away. "Well, you can stay in and jerk off to your romance novel, but I'm sampling Mimir while we're stopping over."

"You go do that." She was going to score herself some _phencyl_ and would spend much of the night either passed out back on _Starscream_ or in our "hut." I waited until she was out of earshot before removing the note from my pocket.

"About fuckin' time."

Flicking open the paperback, I thumbed through to the correct page and glanced up at the calendar pinned to the wall above the desk. Five crosses marked five dates, dates that meant nothing on their own. But dates are just numbers, and when combined with a book, for example, the numbers pointed to a certain page, paragraph, line, and finally, to the keyword. And those keywords were what I'd been working on before Fran had interrupted and I'd had to make as if I was actually reading the novel.

Ship Meant Pick Up Twelve Hundred Five Bank

I checked my wrist-comm. I had just under an hour to get to my next meet and receive pick-up instructions for our next cargo. I tasted my drink, rolled it over my tongue, and swallowed. Fran had quit asking me where I scored each shipment, and after five months, she'd quit tailing me too. But that didn't mean I'd let my guard down. Some secrets were worth too much to give up for free.

I glanced at my pistol on the desk, lay the book down on my lap, and flexed the bruised fingers of my right hand. My shoulder still burned like a bitch, but my head was clear for the first time in days. I was so ready to stick it to Chitec. The bastards deserved what was coming to them. They'd pay until Chitec CEO, Chen Hung himself, was ripped from his glass towers on Janus and dragged through the gutters, just like I'd been.

Wherever I went on Mimir, the air smelled like water. While I waited at the end of the Five Bank pier for my contact, cool mist dampened my clothes and hair. It's never truly dark here; the night sky glowed a soft turquoise. I loved real nights—not the endless, hourless nights of starship travel, but the limited, fleeting planetary nights. And nothing could beat nights by the ocean. As a kid, I'd often slip out at night and walk the dozen miles to the beach near our home. There was freedom in the black ocean, in the black night, and the black skies. Freedom in the black. I'd watched the starship freighters docking in the high atmosphere, great behemoths that I could cover with my thumb, and I'd known I'd be among them one day. I'd be a captain. Reality had never quite lived up to those dreams.

_I used to believe stars were wishes, that if we reached them, our dreams would come true._

I closed my eyes and listened.

_But the stars will always be out of reach, and no amount of dreaming will capture them._

Losing myself in the memory, I could see her, all those years ago, so honest and so broken. We'd sat on a pier then too, just the two of us, the night everything had changed.

A high-pitched whistle whirled me around. A group of nine hooded figures strode down the pier, cloaks rippling.

_Aw, shit._ _The Fenrir Nine._

They held Fran restrained between them. She bared her teeth, snapping and snarling like a wild animal. They threw her to her knees. I lunged forward. The foremost figure withdrew a pistol from inside his cloak and pressed it to the back of her head, halting my dash.

"Tell him," one of the _Nine_ ordered.

Fran dragged her gaze up. "Shepperd, I— It's not true."

It had to be about the drugs. If they didn't fuckin' kill her, I would. "What is this?"

"Tell him." Hooded guy nudged her in the back of the head with his pistol.

"Fuck you," she snarled.

He struck her and I jerked forward, only to have the pistol pointed at me. I couldn't see his eyes or any of their faces below their hoods. I knew them though. The Fenrir were the people who kept me in business, the people who were about to give fleet a rude awakening, and the ones who wanted Chitec reduced to rubble almost as much as I did. They moved in groups of nine. Always nine. Always anonymous. And they'd brought Fran to me at our scheduled meet. They wouldn't have risked exposing our connection unless they were damn sure it was already too late. Whatever was happening here, it was heavy. I had my pistol, but really didn't want to blow customer relations away.

"She's fleet," Hooded said. His accent was old Earth, like mine.

I laughed. "She's not Fleet. If you knew her, you'd know there's no way—"

"We have a source."

Oh, they had a source. That made it okay then—not. I kept my smile on and my hand loose at my side. I wasn't about to believe nine hooded strangers and an anonymous source over the best second-in-command I'd ever had.

"I'm not doing this. If you have a problem, you come to me, but not like this."

"We don't have a problem with you, Shepperd, just who you're associated with."

"So you're going to execute her?"

My heart thudded a little bit faster. In Asgard, they smelled the fear on fresh meat. I'd learned early on to hide my reactions. The Fenrir knew what I was capable of, hence why they kept me busy and well paid. Would they risk losing me and _Starscream_ over a third-party source?

"Look again at your second, Captain Shepperd. Until you do, you won't get another shipment from us."

They left the pier, dissolving among the water homes like ghosts.

I'd just lost ninety percent of my income.

"Say something," Fran said.

I couldn't meet her gaze, not yet. I didn't want to see her face and what expression might be there: guilt, desperation, denial? Turning my back on her, I laced my hands behind my head and looked out over the quiet sea, dampening my urge to let loose my rage. Was she fleet? I'd have known it; I could smell fleet a mile away. She couldn't be. It had to be a mistake.

"Cale?"

I dropped my hands. If I kept her on as my second, the Fenrir wouldn't hire me again. I'd lose my income and maybe even lose _Starscream_. A tug wasn't cheap to run, but more than that, Mimir, Creet, smuggling for the greater good, it meant something. This shitty life, with these shitty people and their shitty fucked-up methods, I could justify it because every shipment meant another brick in the wall around Chitec. Without that, I was exactly what everyone thought of me—a washed-up fleet captain and a fixer for hire, as trapped as Jesse back on Ganymede.

"Cale, for fuck's sake. Talk to me."

"Get back to the house."

"You don't believe them, right?" She laughed without a trace of humor. "I mean, c'mon, fleet? This has to be a joke."

"Yeah." _The joke is on me._

"Maybe someone has an axe to grind. Bruno? Could he have set this up?"

"I'll join you at the house soon." Bruno was a possibility. He knew how to hit me where it hurt—in the credit. "We fly out in the morning."

She hovered behind me in silence and then finally walked back down the pier, the sound of her boots on the deck fading into the night.

After shrugging on my jacket, I crouched beside Fran. She was breathing softly. Asleep, she could almost pass for innocent. No snarl, no snark, just fine features, soft lips, and dark lashes. A lock of her hair had fallen over her cheek. I tucked it behind her ear and brushed the backs of my fingers down her face.

On the floor, beside the couch, lay an injector cylinder. She'd jacked herself up, probably right after getting back from the pier. She'd be out for hours. Her method of forgetting was different from mine, but we each had our reasons. Was hers because she was fleet? Fleet didn't usually stoop to planting spies, unless Chitec had paid them to. I'd stayed off the grid for a long time after getting out of Asgard and thought I'd slipped their attention. Had I been wrong? The thought I might have had fleet right alongside me this whole time twisted my guts into knots. I'd checked her out. Her past was clean, maybe too clean.

If Fran did work for fleet or Chitec, why hadn't they hauled me back to Asgard? It's not like they didn't have more than enough evidence to put me away. The only thing Fran hadn't known was the origin of my _Fenrir Nine_ runs. She'd tried though, but that was Fran. She kept on digging, poking, prodding until her victim snapped or the information did.

I had to let her go. She knew too much. She wouldn't stop digging. She was a risk to my business, my operation, and if the allegations were true, she was probably a risk to my life. I needed a second I could trust, the way I'd trusted her.

I straightened, took a final look at her peaceful face, and left the water home, keeping my head down and face hidden. I didn't want to draw any more unnecessary attention. In less than half an hour, I'd be back-in-black and on the scrounge for work. I passed a guy heading down the deck, and considering the early hour, cast him a glance over my shoulder. He walked fast, head up as if he had somewhere to be while most of Mimir's residents slept. I tried to get a good look at his face but the lantern light threw more shadows than illumination. He checked around him then veered off toward the hut I'd just left. I turned on my heels and jogged quietly back. Sure enough, our hut's door hung ajar. I wouldn't have put it past Fran to order some male takeout, but given the surprises of the last few days, I wasn't walking away without taking a look. Fran could look after herself, when she wasn't high.

I gave the door a gentle shove, slipped inside, and listened for voices. Nothing but trickling water. I reached the door into the main room and saw him hunched over Fran, holding a cushion over her face. That cold, empty part of me engaged. I hooked an arm around his throat, hauling him off her. He thrust an elbow back into my gut, instantly winding me, then swung wide with a lousy left hook. His knuckles glanced off my jaw enough to briefly distract me, but I blocked the incoming right hook. I'd have had him on his knees if my wounded shoulder hadn't decided that that moment was as good as any to spasm and spill pain down my arm. My arm buckled, and this time, his right hook connected hard with my face. Instead of crumpling, I grabbed him and dragged him down with me. Close and personal—his snarling face in mine—I recognized him as Fran's paying customer; the bounty hunter I'd handed over to Bruno on Ganymede.

I jerked my head forward, cracked my skull against his already bruised nose, and we both went sprawling together. He grunted, cursed, and growled, scrabbling for the inside of his coat. I got there first, ripped the pistol free, and jammed it under his chin.

"Bruno send you?" I spat blood off to the side and worked my jaw around a dull, radiating ache.

"I ain't telling you shit." Blood streamed from his nose and sprayed off his lips as he spoke.

I closed my hand around his throat, shoved him down, straddled his chest, and leaned into the gun.

"You think I care if you live or die? You just tried to kill my second. I'm gonna pull the trigger and dump your body in the Mimir sea. Shit like you sinks here." I tightened my hold and smiled. His face reddened and his eyes bulged. "Tell me."

He nodded vigorously. Bruno. Fuck. I clambered off him but kept the gun aimed at his gut as he staggered to his feet.

"Bruno said to take the bitch out." He hawked and spat.

A glance at Fran told me she was still sleeping, none the wiser thanks to the drug in her veins. If I'd left a few minutes earlier, or if I'd kept on walking, he'd have killed her in her sleep. I might not trust her, but I couldn't let her die because I'd pissed off Ganymede's criminal lynchpin.

"He pay you already?"

"After it's done." He wiped at his nose and flicked the blood from his fingers.

"What about the synth? You were after her too. What were you gonna do, trade her off?"

The bounty hunter chuckled then spat blood and phlegm. "No, man. I heard a rumor about her, that she's special. I was gonna go straight to the top of Chitec, to Hung himself."

"What? Why the fuck would he care about a rogue synthetic?"

"Hung wanted her back. Made it pretty damn clear with all the credit he was offering. Rumors said he made an extra synth. Broke all the rules. You ain't stupid, Shepperd. Figure it out."

Hung had gone against his own company, his entire empire, to create one extra synth. My brother had warned me. Chen Hung would risk exposing the underbelly of his business for only one reason—his daughter who'd died.

"He wouldn't..." Guilt made people do crazy things; I should know.

The hunter shrugged. "Whatever you say. You knew him, right? Caleb Shepperd, First Class Fleet Asshole, fuckin' Chitec's cunt of a daughter."

I swallowed. "He wouldn't, because he was the one who killed her."

I switched my aim from his gut to his head and fired a phase bullet right between his eyes. He dropped like the sack of shit that he was.

With the threat gone, I fell into the chair and pressed my trembling hands against my face. The synth couldn't be Haley. The ever-after project didn't work; it never had. It was all spin and polished PR to keep the money flowing. Those fuckin' synths, all one thousand of them, were machines programmed to respond to personal information. The program was a con on a grand scale. Chitec didn't create life-ever-after; they were creating a goddamn army. I'd seen it, and so had Haley. She'd died for her father's fuckin' secret, and I'd watched him kill her. Hung couldn't have brought her back. It wasn't possible, because if it were true, if #1001 was Haley, she'd remember what I'd done to her. She'd remember everything. And I'd be a dead man.

# Chapter Twenty Three: #1001

I tucked the stinger shuttle, named _Rosalie,_ up against the spilled guts of the wrecked freighter, just as I'd seen Fran do a few days ago. The little vessel had two sections: cockpit and cabin. Jesse and I had pulled down the bunks and laid the commander out. She'd monitored him while I'd flown the shuttle out of Ganymede. We'd escaped via one of the smaller docks. Once behind the controls, I'd discovered I not only had the knowledge to fly a stinger class shuttle, but I liked it. A tingling thrill brought a smile to my lips as we blasted away from Ganymede and took to the black as though I were exactly where I belonged.

"How long will we be here?" Jesse asked, awkwardly seating herself into the flight chair beside mine.

I'd powered down the shuttle's non-essential systems and was keeping an eye on the overview. "Until I'm sure we haven't been followed."

She leaned back in the seat with a heavy sigh. "I thought I'd never escape him."

I knew that feeling and then wondered how I could know it. "You should rest. We have limited medical supplies and your heart rate is elevated, along with your body temperature."

She looked at me sideways. "You're one of those synthetic humans—I mean of course you are—but I thought you'd be different. You seem to care."

"I am different. I believe that's the problem."

The flight of internal systems errors peppering my vision had calmed down. I'd worked at resetting various protocols—the ones I had access to—so I could at least function, but something was very wrong with me. I should be returning to Janus, to Chitec and Doctor Grossman; I was programmed to. But apparently, my programming had become something of a suggestion and less of an order.

"What number are you?" Jesse asked. We'd settled into the quiet of the cockpit together. She seemed to like the quiet.

"One thousand and one."

She scanned the flight controls with mild interest. "Why are you doing this? Any of this?"

I didn't know the answer. My orders didn't matter anymore. So what exactly was I doing? "Why does a synthetic do anything?"

"I don't know. I've never really thought about it. I thought they just sort of came back and returned to their old lives? That's what the rich people pay for, right?"

I settled my gaze outside the observation window, on the twisted guts of the freighter. "I wouldn't know."

"Life ever after," Jesse whispered.

I knew what my files told me, that only the most influential people could afford to buy into the program and that after they came back from death, they returned to their families in new bodies, with their old memories intact. But what I knew didn't seem to have all the answers. I also knew I followed orders, until I didn't.

"Were you a woman once?"

I wasn't sure how to answer. "I think I was, or something inside of me was... once."

"Do you remember?" she asked softly.

In the quiet of the cockpit, her voice and questions seemed intimate, as though with every question she exposed a part of me not meant to be revealed. Doctor Grossman had asked if I remembered. The correct answer was no, but it was a lie.

"I knew Captain Shepperd, before."

"Before? You mean before you were a synth?" She sat up and turned the flight chair to face me. "That's fascinating." She stared in that way people enjoyed doing with me, as if they couldn't help but look. "What do you remember?"

"Fragments." I didn't want to recall them. During rest mode I had no choice. While awake, choice seemed to be all I had. It hurt to remember. "When I rest and filter through my data, they come. They don't make sense. I get words, sensations. I don't know how to process the data."

"You can't process memories. Memories are like dreams. You just have to go with the flow."

_Stars are wishes, and wishes are dreams. You can't capture them... ever._ I pushed the thought aside.

"I'm synthetic. I don't dream."

"Well, for what it's worth, you helped me and the commander. Thank you, One Thousand And One."

Peculiar warmth spread through me. Satisfaction perhaps? I nodded. "Get some rest while you can."

Jesse retreated to the rear of the shuttle and left me alone to consider my actions over the last few days.

I had been sent to kill Shepperd, but when I'd first seen him in the cargo hold, something inside had broken. He'd been unarmed. The opportunity to kill him had been there. I'd struck out, but... the fault had stopped me. I could have killed him both times he'd been attacked on Ganymede, but I hadn't. I knew how to kill. My internal data files overflowed with information pertaining to every aspect of human anatomy and where best to mortally wound. I knew how to pilot a shuttle. I knew the signs of a faulty reserve fuse on a tugship. I knew what it meant to look up at the stars and see wishes. I knew things that synths didn't need to know. Why?

Alone in the cockpit, I lifted my hands and admired the fine lines crossing my palms. Fingers curled in, I imagined my hands being smaller, my nails painted with colorful acrylic art. I remembered walking through cornfields outside Vancouver, my hand closed in his; I looked up and the sun glinted behind Caleb, shadowing his face in darkness. I remembered the beach where we'd lain side by side, watching the massive freighters block out the starlit skies. He'd shown me how to cover the vessels with my finger, making them tiny and insignificant. I heard my laughter, bright and free.

"One Thousand And One?"

I blinked back into the now and looked up at the commander. "You should be resting."

"It's been hours." He lowered himself carefully into the flight chair. "Your face is wet."

I brushed the tears off and looked down at the wetness on my fingers. "I cry, but I don't understand why."

"Crying is an external symptom of an internal problem."

I blinked and watched another tear fall and soak into my blood-covered overalls.

The commander smiled when I met his gaze. He'd thrown a blanket around his shoulders. What I could see of the wrappings around his chest looked stable, with no bleed-through. He'd heal quickly so long as he didn't overexert himself.

"I'm glad to see you're looking well," I said.

"You really are, aren't you?" He laughed gently but winced and spent a few moments breathing carefully. "Jesse tells me we have you to thank for getting us off Ganymede. She also says you killed fleet soldiers in the process."

He wasn't smiling now. "They would have killed me. I don't care that they're dead."

"What do you care about?"

I unzipped my flight suit and shrugged out of the soiled upper half of the garment, peeling the commander's dried blood away from my skin. Fran's vest was ruined, but I kept it on. "I care about living."

"And your orders?"

"I— No, I don't think I care about orders anymore. They're there, in the background, but they no longer control me."

"Who does control you?"

I swallowed and faced Commander Shepperd. He had a stillness about him and the kind of intelligent eyes belonging to a man twice his age. "Nobody controls me."

"That's a very dangerous thing to say. You're a synthetic unit. You're strong, fast, and you clearly know how to use weapons. You're dangerous, and you're out of control."

I tilted my head and blinked back at him. "Do you mean to stop me?"

"No." He winced. "I'm hardly in any condition to stop you, and to be honest, I don't want to. Fleet would have killed my brother in that alley, maybe me too. They lied to me. They said they just wanted to take him in and talk to him, so I led them straight to him. I didn't know..." He swallowed. "I never would have betrayed him like that. I'm glad you were there in that alley. Really, I am. Thank you."

There was that feeling again: warm satisfaction. It felt right to be thanked for something good. _You follow orders. You will only ever have one._ My orders were of my own design now.

"You're welcome."

"I've looked out for him, you know. When he vanished a few years ago, I knew something was wrong. You have to understand we were close before— Before fleet we only had each other. I've always looked out for him. So when he disappeared, I dug around for answers. Everywhere I asked, fleet shut me out. When I couldn't find him, I knew of only two reasons: he was in Asgard, or dead. Eventually I paid to get information out of Asgard, but I couldn't get him out. That year.... That year was..." He dragged a hand down his face. "He got out on this own. After that, I did what I could. If any alerts arose with his name on them, I had them redacted. I protected him from inside, but then he started getting a name for himself as a fixer, and once word got out, I had to step back. Fleet started looking at me closely."

"That's when they sent me."

He frowned and seemed surprised I'd admitted it. "Yes. I did what I could, but now his reputation is bigger than his ego. I can't protect him. I can't even protect myself anymore."

"What happened that year? Why was he in Asgard?"

"I wish I knew. Whatever it was, I barely recognize him now." He cast his gaze out the observation window. "His girlfriend died in an accident. The next day, he disappeared."

"Girlfriend?" Something inside my chest flickered. My power core perhaps. I sent out an internal error check, but the report came back normal.

"She was, er.... She was a sweet girl. Too good for him and he knew it." A fond, thoughtful smile appeared on his lips. "He had everything: an amazing career, a great life. We'd escaped our past. I just don't understand what happened to him." He pursed his lips and kept his gaze locked ahead. "I miss him. I miss my little brother." A slip of laughter broke free, and when the commander smiled this time, his eyes were glistening.

"You should tell him," I said quietly, "when we find him." The fluttering in my chest continued, shortening my breath. I placed a hand over where my core thrummed.

"I know where he'll be. I know more than he thinks. I had to know to keep fleet away from him."

I smiled and restarted the shuttle's engines. "You're a good brother."

Commander Brendan Shepperd smiled a pained, weary smile. "No, a good brother would have saved him long ago."

# Chapter Twenty Four: Caleb

Fran woke and instead of remarking on the blood I hadn't managed to clean off the wall or noting my bruised jaw, she raked her fingers through her hair and said, "You didn't leave."

I smiled a shallow smile. I'd dumped the bounty hunter's body over the side and tied him to a post. By the time anyone found him, Fran and me would be long gone. I'd spent the rest of the night slumped in the chair, pistol resting on my thigh as I watched Fran sleeping, common sense screaming at me to get off Mimir, but not moving a fuckin' inch like that goddamn stupid rat trapped in the maze all over again. What if Bruno had hired more than one hunter? What if Fran wasn't fleet? What if she was the only friend I had in this wretched life? If #1001 was Haley Hung, I would need all the friends I could get, and a miracle.

Fran hunched forward, draping her arms over her knees. She noticed the blood and followed the trail toward the sliding door. "Did we have guests?"

"One. Deceased."

The grit in my voice drew her attention back to me. Her gaze lingered on the pistol and then roamed higher to my face. Her lips twitched. She drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. "I was sure you'd ditch me."

She was right.

"I need to tell you something. I don't know if you're fleet. Right now, I don't care, because you're still a human being, and if something happens to me, you need to know this—"

"Holy shit, Cale." She rubbed her eyes. "I'm still coming down here. Can't it wait?"

"No."

"Fine, hit me with it." She slumped back, twisting a little at the waist to drape an arm over the back of the couch, and angled herself toward me. "Don't blame me if I glaze over."

"The life-ever-after project is a front. Chitec aren't fulfilling dreams; they're using the whole operation to take credit from rich people and build an elite army in plain sight."

She blinked, and then laughed out loud. "What? That's absurd."

"Is it? If they developed synthetics behind closed doors, there would be questions. This way they get to do it with the public's consent."

"An army? They're just synthetic people." Fran stopped herself and frowned. "I gave her a gun—the synth—and she knew her way around it better than you. She looked comfortable with it."

That was what I'd been afraid of. "I saw the synthetics. Five years ago, Haley Hung and I broke into the Chitec warehouse on Janus. We were screwing around, being stupid and _curious_..." Fuck if the word didn't hurt to say. "We had no idea..." I moistened my lips and leaned forward. "What we saw got her killed and got me sent to Asgard. I was never meant to leave that prison. I almost didn't."

"What did you see?"

"Synthetics. All of them. Armed to their fake smiles with Chitec weaponry. A dry run, right before they were due to be shipped off to play happy families at the high end of society."

"But the synths, they're people?"

I smiled. "That's what Chitec wants you to think. They aren't people. There's nothing human in them. They're designed to remember key events, all taken from the deceased person's dataprints. They can mimic people, but that's all it is. They go back to their families, right at the top of society, and they wait, like sleepers."

She picked at a thread on her top, probably not even aware she was doing it. Her eyes darted around while her thoughts worked over what she thought she knew. "Wait for what?"

"I don't know, but since I got out of Asgard, I've been trying to make a dent in Chitec's operations without sticking my neck out. I thought I'd succeeded, until a few days ago."

She nodded. "Chitec didn't send the synth after the guns. They sent her after you."

"Yeah. Probably thought they could keep it quiet by doing me on the side. Nobody would notice one dead fixer. And when the synth fucked up, they sent their fleet attack dogs to blow me and all evidence into oblivion."

"Fuck." That pretty much summed it up. "But she didn't kill you. In the alley on Ganymede, she shot those soldiers. She saved you."

And here came the icing on the cake, the mindfuck of epic proportions. "Yeah." I sucked in a breath and wished I didn't have to say these next words. "Our dead guest enlightened me before I put a bullet in his head. Mister Chen Hung built one more synthetic—broke all the rules. I don't know if he deliberately made her to come after me, like some twisted vendetta, or if it's some sort of cosmic irony, but I think— I think for Number One Thousand And One there really is life after death. I think he brought her back."

"You can't mean...?"

"The synth is his daughter, Haley."

Fran rubbed a hand over her mouth and briefly looked down as though searching for the right words. "You think Haley Hung is in that machine?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Like I said, the ever-after program is bullshit. But she could have killed me on Ganymede. She didn't. She saved me. The synthetics are killers, all one thousand of them. She is too. But..." I wanted to tell Fran about the words in the alley: _Don't let me go._

"She told me her failsafe has been disabled. She said she had orders.... You think she's going against her orders? Do you think she remembers?"

I shoved off the chair, left the pistol on the desk, and strode to the closed sliding door. I opened it just a fraction to let in a shaft of bright morning light. "If she does, I'm fucked."

"What, why? The two of you were a celebrity couple. She obviously meant something to you."

_Don't let me go..._

I leaned against the door and squinted into the light. "She didn't mean enough. I let her die. I let her father kill her. Fuck, I watched him... and I did nothing." He'd torn her from my arms— _Don't let me go_ —held her down, and smothered her mouth and nose with his hand. As cold and heartless as I'd ever seen anyone kill another human being, and I... did... nothing.

There was a moment of pregnant silence. Secrets pushed down, so close to finally being free. I didn't know whether Fran was fleet, but I needed to tell her, to tell anyone. The secret had eaten away at me from the inside out, like a cancer. I needed to get rid of it, to voice it, to make it real to someone else besides me.

Fran asked quietly, "Why?"

I closed my eyes. _Because I wanted to keep my career. I didn't want to throw it all away and end up like my good-for-nothing father. Because I was afraid._ _So fuckin' afraid._

"Because I'm a coward." I crossed my arms and faced Fran's wide-eyed expression. "Because it was Chen Hung, CEO of Chitec, and I wanted to be a fleet commander by the end of the year. He could have made it happen, and I knew it, so I did nothing."

"Christ, Cale." She exhaled. "I don't know what to say." Her look, I'd seen it in my own reflection every day: disgust. At least she knew me now. "And Hung killed his own daughter?" Fran shook her head. "Why not kill you too?" Her eyes accused me, and I deserved it.

"Haley would have talked. She'd have gone to every e-zine in the nine systems and told them everything. It's who she was. He had to kill her." My throat clogged with some emotional backwash. I gulped the guilt right back down to where I'd been carrying it for the last five years. "Me? I could be bought. I was getting a promotion." I smiled the same fake smile I'd been using for years. "Hung must have had second thoughts though. The next morning, fleet arrested me and before I could say Chen Hung's fuckin' name, I was neck deep in Asgard, fighting for my life."

Fran chewed on her lip and shook her head. "The reports said Haley Hung died in a shuttle accident. Jesus. This is wrong."

"Yes, it is. Now you know the truth. If you do work for fleet, I'd suggest you don't tell them what you know, unless you want an express pass to Asgard."

Defiance burned brightly in her eyes. "I'm not fleet. I don't know where your _Nine_ friends got their information from, but it's wrong." She got to her feet and started pacing.

_The Nine are never wrong._ Which left me in the awkward position of being stuck with a second I didn't fully trust. Not that it mattered. If Chitec sent #1001 again and she did remember, she'd kill me, exactly like she'd been designed to do.

"We have to tell someone. If Chitec flicks the switch on their synths, it won't take long for the chain of command to collapse." She laughed a dry, bitter laugh. "Those rich bastards hold all the strings, and now you're telling me they're cold killers too, controlled by one man?"

I watched her stride back and forth and guessed at the arguments she'd be going over in her head: tell the authorities, someone had to know about this, but who could she trust? Chitec owned fleet.

"The Nine?" She stopped suddenly and looked at me. "Tell the Nine."

I kept my shallow smile. The Nine already knew. They weren't buying illegal guns for the fun of it. "I don't think we're on speaking terms right now."

"But you know how to reach them?"

I dropped my gaze and noticed a few blood splatters on the floor. I couldn't tell Fran anything about the Nine, and she was already pushing it by asking. If she were fleet, she'd ask. She'd want to know how I contacted them, who they were, and what their plans were. Fleet wanted the Nine grounded and the founders thrown in Asgard; they had for years. As a fleet captain, I'd spent half my term chasing their tails on the fringes of the nine systems.

"Caleb." She came forward. "You can't let this—"

The doors flew open and half of Mimir's smuggler population spilled into the house. I made a lunge for my gun but only made it a few feet before three guys tackled me against the wall. I lashed out at one, struck him hard, but left myself wide open to a hook across the face and another hit to the gut, which dropped me to my knees. Someone wrenched my arms behind my back—the red-haired Davey by the looks of him (we'd played poker; he always lost)—and a black canvas sack came down over my head.

Fran was putting up a good fight. Then she fell quiet and I heard the sound of a body dropping.

"She better be alive—"

A second punch to the gut doubled me over. I'd have gone down if hands hadn't gripped my arms and dragged me upright. Breathing hurt like a bitch, so I focused on dragging each breath through my teeth instead of how, in the next few minutes, I would likely be joining my bounty hunter friend at the bottom of the sea.

"No hard feelings, huh, Shepperd? Fleet showed up asking for your hide. It's easier to hand you over than to have those bastards down here poking through our business. Understand, kid?"

Creet. That fucker. I didn't even have enough air in my lungs to swear at him. I also couldn't blame him. I'd hand me over too. The smuggling operation, the Nine, they were too important to risk for the sake of one washed-up fleet captain turned smuggler.

"Get him out of here. The sooner we hand him over to fleet, the sooner they'll quit sniffing around our airspace."

Someone had told fleet I was on Mimir. No smuggler in their right mind would have invited fleet anywhere near Mimir. Bruno didn't need to; he'd sent a hunter. That left one person who knew exactly where I was and didn't see a problem bringing fleet within earshot of the Nine: Fran.

# Chapter Twenty Five: #1001

"That's too many fleet ships," Commander Shepperd said, leaning forward in the flight chair to take in the sight of half a dozen warbirds hovering on the fringes of Mimir's atmosphere. The planet hung in the star-speckled black like a brilliant sapphire. "Too much firepower."

I'd snuck the little shuttle as close as possible, hovering it alongside a backlog of ships waiting for orbit clearance.

"We need to get down there." I turned the shuttle away from the fleet armada, flicked the comms to silent, and descended. Thankfully, little _Rosalie_ was too small a ship to trigger any interest from either fleet or port control.

"We don't know for sure he's down there," the commander said, fingers deftly tapping over the controls. "They could already have him."

"If they had him, why would they still be here?"

"Fleet are interested in others on Mimir."

"He always goes where there's a fight," Jesse said from behind my chair. "He'll be down there."

The shuttle trembled as we entered the upper atmosphere. "How will we find him once we land?"

"He does business with a man called Creet," the commander replied. "I'll show you where to land when we're in the lower atmosphere. Mimir only has a few places you can dock a tug like _Starscream._ " The commander gripped the flight chair the way he had during the skirmish with his raptor. His heart rate had spiked. "I'm picking up a squall off the coast. We'll want to get in and out before the storm hits."

"We'll do a flyby to see what we're dealing with."

"You handle a shuttle well." A tremor rippled through his voice, so quiet he may not have even been aware of it. The commander was a nervous flier, and apparently the kind of man who didn't let his fears control him. I wondered if Caleb was the same, or if he let his fears dictate his actions.

We broke through the atmospheric turbulence and into clear skies. Light danced on the green Mimir sea like a scattering of diamonds. For a moment, my breath caught. We skipped over the lower atmosphere, toward where the commander directed us, and sure enough, _Starscream_ sat hunched in a hangar. I circled over the site, high enough so we wouldn't be spotted, and used the overview to magnify the scene below. "Where is everyone?"

Commander Shepperd pulled his screen closer. "It's too quiet. This part of Mimir is always busy with maintenance crews. This docking station is dead. I don't like it. First the aggressive fleet numbers and now an abandoned hangar?"

"At least we won't be seen."

"We should find somewhere safe to land, somewhere with a lot of space."

I spied the end of a pier and angled the shuttle's nose downward. "Coming right up, Commander."

"Where?"

"There."

He searched the screen, missing the fact that I was flying by sight and not control. "Where?"

The shuttle grumbled as I eased back on the power, lifted her nose, and dropped her down right on the edge of the pier. "Right... here."

A cloud of steam rolled against the observation window and then fizzled away to reveal Mimir's exotic water homes on stilts. Bright light glinted off the hangar where _Starscream_ waited. A thrill of excitement fluttered through me, but when I chased its origin, I couldn't be sure whether it was anticipation or fear.

The commander had paled enough for my smile to fade. He cleared his throat. "Clearly, you were a pilot in your past life."

"I think you're right, because that was fun." I flicked off the engines and stabilized the shuttle, then found the commander and Jesse watching me, mouths almost open. "Commander, you stay right here and keep this shuttle flight-ready. Jesse, come with me."

"What are we going to do?"

I scooped up my borrowed fleet rifle. "Caleb is mine. I'm getting him back."

The commander had been right; Mimir was deserted. Doors hung open on the water homes as though people had fled in a hurry. Only the sound of trickling water accompanied our footfalls on the deck.

We were a few hundred meters from the hangar when a rumble like thunder shook the air. Jesse and I both looked up to see a raptor class warbird descending through the bright sky. Vapor bubbled from its icy surface as it hit warm air. It looked exactly like the commander's Twenty and may have even been his.

"It's coming in farther down the beach." I veered away from the hangar and broke into a jog.

"This is insane. You can't go up against a warbird." Jesse followed but lagged behind.

"I don't intend to," I called back over the sounds of the ship's engines.

We jogged around a headland. The warbird settled on a vast landing pad anchored offshore, attached to the mainland by a timber causeway. Warehouses huddled along the shoreline. A group of well-armed men and women had gathered outside one of the warehouses to watch the bird land. By the looks of their casual attire, they were hired guns, not fleet.

I shrugged the rifle off my shoulder.

"Wait." Jesse squeezed my arm. "You don't need to kill them, you know that, right?"

_< fault>_Failsafe disabled. Protocols breached. _You will kill this man. <fault>_

I tugged my arm free. "I'll do what I have to."

"Wait, just— Let me distract them. They're just normal people trying to scrape a living and survive out here. They aren't fleet."

"They're armed. They intend to kill."

"Please, there are other ways."

Jesse didn't know these people, and yet she cared about whether they lived or died. I did not. They were in my way. They were armed. Their deaths were acceptable in achieving my goal.

_Everyone is an asset,_ I almost heard the voice this time, but the memory flitted away, slippery and quick. __ I blinked. "How will you distract them?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something. Just give me five minutes." She pulled her coat around her and backed up toward the warehouses. "Five minutes?"

It would take at least that for the warbird to power down. "Five minutes."

I followed her as she turned and jogged off the beach and onto the boardwalk.

We reached the warehouse within a few minutes and ducked low behind stacks of crates, all stamped with Chitec's logo. Voices echoed and rebounded around the cathedral-like space.

"This whole place is an accident waiting to happen," Jesse whispered, resting her hand on a crate. "Don't fire in here unless you want to kill us all."

I'd already considered that and flicked the safety on. "I hear five men, one woman, and a man I have identified as Creet. There's another figure who hasn't spoken yet. Considering his heart rate and breathing pattern, I'm certain it's Caleb."

Jesse leaned back against the crate and looked high above us at the crossbeams. "I can't believe I'm here, doing this for that bastard Shepperd."

"He means something to you."

She winced. "He killed a man for me, and the nine systems are a better place for it. Cale's good, inside. He just doesn't know it."

A jagged image cut through my thoughts. _Don't let me go...._ I closed my eyes and worked to push the nonsense aside. _Please, Caleb. Is this what you want? Don't let him do this._ Something oily and poisonous slithered through those thoughts—a sense of betrayal. It came on so strong and so fast that it threatened to push me under and hold me down inside the memory.

Jesse touched my shoulder. "—And One?"

I glared wide-eyed at her touch. Icy detachment shut the fragmented thoughts and emotions away. "Let me go."

She yanked her hand back. "I said I'm going to circle around them and see if I can cause a scene outside. Are you okay?"

"Yes," I hissed. "Go. Do what you can. But I'm getting him away from them with or without your distraction."

She hesitated, unspoken words holding her rigid, but whatever it was, she decided to keep the words to herself. I watched her slip away and rested my forehead against the crate.

_You will kill this man. You will only ever have one order._

I knew Caleb. As much as I wanted to forget, to deny it, I couldn't. The memory was there, lodged inside my mind like a rock in a stream, with everything else flowing around it. I kept moving, pretending everything was fine, that I knew what I was doing, but I didn't. The commander was right. I was out of control. And that rock, those memories, the way they made me feel, it frightened me.

_I shouldn't feel fear. I shouldn't feel anything._ But I _was_ afraid, because whenever those memories broke free, the truth would change me.

A shout went up from outside, then another. The men in the warehouse split up, leaving just two behind. I straightened, breathed in, and stepped out from my hiding place. Initially, when the guards saw me—my blood-splattered clothes, silvery hair, and young synthetic face—they clearly had no idea what to make of me. Their hesitation bought me a few strides. Behind them, Shepperd was kneeling with a sack over his head, hands tied behind him. _He's mine._

One barked a warning and reached for the gun slung across his back. I lunged forward, knocked his gun upward, sending a trail of gunfire into the crossbeams, and punched him in the throat. I snatched the gun from his weakened grip as he collapsed, and smacked the butt of the weapon into his friend's face once, twice. He tripped over himself and fell in his rush to get away. I flipped the gun around, shouldered it, and aimed between his fear-filled eyes. _Creet._ He scrambled backward and bumped into some crates. With nowhere to go, he looked at me, his eyes hard. He wouldn't beg; he wasn't the sort. I knew everything in his file: divorced, two older children with families of their own, suspected smuggler.

"One Thousand And One." Caleb's calm voice froze my finger on the trigger and breezed through the order pushing me forward.

_You will only have one order:_ _to kill._

It felt good. It felt right.

"Stand down."

I lowered the weapon. Creet's shoulders dropped but his gaze stayed glued on my gun.

"Get your ass over here and untie me."

I backed up, never taking my eyes off Creet, and stopped beside Shepperd. "There's a fleet warbird outside."

I yanked the hood off his head and pulled him to his feet.

"I heard."

I snapped his wrist cuffs and looked up to find his eyes on me. A bruise had bloomed beside one corner of his mouth, where his lips turned down. Speckles of dried blood dashed his cheek. He stank of oil and blood, and still he smiled as though this world were a joke.

"Where's Fran?" I asked.

His smile tightened into a sneer. "Fuck knows." He glanced away, but not before I saw pain in his eyes. "Creet, you son of a bitch. You're gonna let me walk right out of here, or my synth friend will put a bullet in your head."

"By the nine, Caleb." Creet wheezed and wiped his bleeding nose on his sleeve. "What have you gotten yourself mixed up in, kid?"

Caleb flashed him a wild grin. "My luck ran out."

"You don't believe in luck."

"Exactly." He turned away from his friend and caught my eye. "C'mon."

I broke into a jog beside him. "We need to find Jesse—"

Fire flashed up my right side a fraction of a second before I heard the gunshot. Errors burst in my vision like stars. I whirled and aimed my gun at Creet. His eyes narrowed, as though he were challenging me to retaliate. He knew I'd fire back, that I'd kill him, and he'd shot me anyway.

"Don't." Caleb shoved my gun upward. "Don't...." He snatched my hand, yanked me around, and tugged me after him. "That wound won't kill you, but you shoot him, and he could die. Let the bastard go. We have bigger fish to worry about." Cale made sure to raise his voice so his friend heard. "Move your ass, synth."

I took one last look at Creet, marked his mug shot in my mind, then slung the gun across my back and followed Caleb. We stumbled from the warehouse and found the sky heavy with warbirds. They hovered in the upper atmosphere, near enough to be threatening but far enough that we couldn't hear them. The sea churned gray and hissed at the shore. Caleb swore. The wind tore the sound away. I followed his gaze and saw fleet troops spilling off the causeway and into the warehouses. There were too many.

"The shuttle." I nodded into the wind, back the way Jesse and I had come from. "Just around the headland. Go."

Cool synthetic blood soaked through my already ruined clothes. I touched the wound. My hand came away slick and glistening. I had to get somewhere safe for repairs. But when we reached the headland, we saw fleet swarming around the distant shuttle.

"Dammit." Caleb moved one step toward the mainland, but fleet was moving among the hangars too. "Shit."

We were trapped with our backs against the water. I stepped onto a residential deck and jogged away from the mainland, beside the empty water homes. "We can hide in one of these homes."

"They'll search them." Caleb stopped behind me. "They'll rip this place apart until they find us." He scanned the houses, teeth gritted. "We go under."

"Under what?"

He walked to the edge between two houses and grabbed one of the upright posts suspending the deck out of the water. "C'mon." He dropped over the side and was gone.

I staggered forward and peered over the side. The gray sea bubbled and frothed. Then a hand waved from under the deck. I grabbed the upright and cast one last look at the hangar. Too many fleet. The sky was full of them; the ground covered. I couldn't kill them all. This was the only way. Behind me, the storm howled and churned, whipping up the ocean, mixing the sea and sky into one swirling mass of gray.

I clambered down the upright support and into the water.

Caleb had wedged himself under the deck, propped among the trestles with one arm hooked around the support. Water lapped and tugged at his shirt. Spray splashed over us from all sides. It tasted like iron and salt and stung my eyes. I'd wedged myself into a similar position as Caleb, but my grip kept slipping on the slime-covered beams. I was losing blood and my internal temperature had already dropped by several degrees. I couldn't stay here. The cold would kill me. Errors and faults hovered in my peripheral vision until I banished them all. I knew we were in trouble and didn't need the reminder.

Inches above our heads, boots thundered on the deck. I couldn't hear the voices, not over the hiss of the waves and the howling wind.

Caleb's teeth chattered. He shivered to keep warm. I had no such means.

I slipped, and for a few breathless moments, the water tugged at my body, threatening to drag me away. I reached for the beam, dug my nails in and hauled myself higher. Heat leeched out my skin like the blood from the wound in my back, and inside, my power core stuttered.

Caleb's eyes bored into mine. Even cold and wet, anger burned through him. Something had happened, something more than fleet and the smugglers, something personal.

I hugged the beam and willed warmth back into my limbs. It wasn't working. I had to get out of the water and stanch the blood flow, but if I left now, fleet would find us. I wasn't ready to go back. I wasn't finished. I didn't want to leave him...

I closed my eyes.

_Why does he matter to me? Why do I care? A synthetic doesn't care. It doesn't feel. It doesn't make mistakes. It doesn't dream. Stars are wishes. Wishes are dreams. I'd dreamed once. Before. Before this body. Before these system faults and protocols and failsafes and errors. Before, before, before..._

"What happens... when you... g-get too cold?" Caleb stammered loudly over the storm raging around us.

I opened my eyes. "I shut down," I said, quietly alarmed at the hopelessness in my tone. "Everything shuts down. My core, my orders, me, it all fades to nothing."

"You... d-die?"

_Yes, I suppose I do._

I didn't reply. I watched his face betray too much, more than I'd ever seen from him before. Fear, definitely, in the tightening of his eyes, and anger too in the flutter in his cheeks. He looked away, up at the boards trapping us in the tiny gap between water and capture. His eyes closed and he bowed his head, then, almost as though he were afraid, he reached out a hand.

I looked at his trembling fingers, at the honesty in his eyes, and closed my hand around his. Letting go of the upright, I slipped briefly into the chilling water, hissed a breath as faults sparked all over my vision again, and let him lift me against him.

"Hold on to me," he said, guiding my hand around his waist. He braced his arm behind his head and then curled his other arm around my back and pulled me in tight against him. It took some shuffling and adjusting, but eventually, he'd tucked us both in tightly against the trestles. Water continued to pull at my legs, but I'd locked myself against his chest and bowed my head under his chin. The beat of his heart sounded against my ear. His warmth soaked into my rapidly cooling body and raised my temperature by a fraction. Not enough, but it was something. He shivered and trembled so much so that I clutched the back of his shirt with my hands and pulled myself in tighter. The rhythm of his breathing and the beat of his heart—I wanted him closer still, as though I could feel him inside but didn't understand how that could be possible.

"Don't let me go," I whispered.

He bowed his head. The abrasive touch of his stubble grazed my forehead, then his lips brushed my skin as he whispered, "I won't."

Those two words: _I won't._ They broke me open like a key in a lock, and I knew another time when he'd held me close. Fear had tugged at me then too, lapped at me like the waves here. Fear that he'd let me go.

"I think I loved you... before."

His breathing hitched and his heart stuttered, but he still held me close and said, "I know you did."

# Chapter Twenty Six: Caleb

Her words struck right to my very heart. I had no defense, no way to laugh it off or fight back. I let it happen and squeezed my eyes closed around the tears I wouldn't let her see. Trapped in three feet of space between the sea and the deck, with fleet bearing down on me, my past flooded in. I pulled her close when I should have pushed her away. She'd been sent to kill me. I could let her die in the cold, let her die like I had before. But I wasn't that coward, not any more. The man who had watched a girl die to save his own career was dead. I killed him every time I looked in the mirror. He might have even died the second I'd escaped Asgard. Fleet Captain Caleb Shepperd might as well have died alongside Haley Hung the night her father had smothered her.

I pulled the synth in so fuckin' tight my muscles ached from the strain of keeping her close, but I wasn't letting her go. I'd hold on to her as long as it took. If she remembered, if she fulfilled her orders, it would be justice. She _should_ live. She had a second chance where so few people ever did, and even fewer recognized it when it happened.

"Why haven't you killed me?" I asked, words stuttered and broken from more than the cold. She huddled motionless in my arms, so cold, like a doll or death. I needed to hear her speak, to know she was still with me.

"I'm broken."

I brushed my chin against her forehead and whispered, "Maybe you're the only one who isn't broken?"

"Chitec ordered you dead. They disabled my failsafe, breached my protocols, and sent me. I failed. I'm not like the others."

"I think you are, One Thousand And One, more than you realize. I saw your brothers and sisters. I saw what Chitec created you for. They are all killers, and so are you."

She was quiet for a long time. I listened to the wind howling across the deck and the distant thunder of warbird engines. I wasn't getting out of this. Fleet, Chitec, Fran, this had been a long time coming. I had nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide, and I was holding my killer close.

"I remember you." She said it so quietly I'd almost missed it. "I remember."

She lifted her head away from my chest and looked into my eyes. So pale, her blue lips parted, and she looked at me as though seeing me for the first time, knowing everything. I couldn't see any of Haley in her face or in her eyes, but she was still beautiful. Her eyes sparkled in the low light. Did she see me and not just in data files and measurements? Did she really see me?

She touched her cool fingers to my cheek and ran them delicately over my face and across my lips. "You were younger, and your smiles were real. You laughed lightly and easily. Something did this to you. Someone..."

Her eyelids fluttered and drooped.

I shifted my position and pulled her in close again. "Hey, listen. It's quieter. I think they're moving on. Just a few more minutes and we'll get out of here."

"Who is Haley?"

She couldn't see me grimace.

"You are," I answered softly.

Her arm slipped from around my waist and she went limp in my arms. I almost dropped her. Shivering and muscles blazing from taking the strain, I tried to haul her higher out of the water and slipped in myself.

"Synth? Hey, you need to stay awake."

Her head lolled, eyes closed.

Goddammit. I couldn't let this happen, not again. I hooked my arm under hers, clutched her back against my chest, and pushed out of our hiding place. Spray burned my eyes and water caught in my throat. We went under. I kicked off the loose seabed and we broke the surface.

Spluttering water from my lungs, I clutched the upright pole and pinned the synth's dead weight against it, holding her there so I could lift her face.

"Hey! Hey, you don't get to come back and die like this. That's not how it works."

I sunk my fingers into her cheek and brought my face close enough to feel the icy burn of her lips against mine.

"Don't you get it, synth? You're the hero. You came back, you beat the system, and you defied your orders. You won't let them control you. You're everything human beings stand for."

I speared my fingers into her hair and pressed my palm against her cheek, holding her head up.

"I'm sorry, so fuckin' sorry, but it can't end here." I breathed the next words over her cool blue lips. "You're Haley Hung, Chen Hung's daughter. Your father killed you, and I watched him do it. Listen... listen to me. You're not finished. You don't get to quit."

Her eyes flicked open. Her pupils dilated, pulling me into their darkness.

"We need to get out of this water, and I can't do it without you."

"You didn't let me g-go," her cultured voice stuttered like a bad recording.

I almost laughed and would have, had I not been freezing my balls off and about ready to pass out. "Please, synth. Before we both die here."

She twisted in my arms, reached up, and hauled herself onto the deck. For a few seconds, long enough for me to wonder if she'd left me, she vanished, and then she reached down, clasped her hand around mine, and hauled me out of the water. I collapsed on my hands and knees. She knelt beside me, big eyes observing me, her face blank, her hair and clothes plastered against her blue-tinged flesh.

"Okay." The deck was clear but the sound of warbirds still thundered in the gray above us. Fleet would be nearby. I coughed and spat up seawater. "Let's get off this deck and dry—"

#1001 stood over me, gun shouldered, aim loose, and finger poised on the trigger. This close, she didn't need to bring the weapon up to aim; she couldn't miss.

I lifted my hands and smiled. "You remember everything, huh?"

She took a single step back and lifted her chin. "I begged you, Caleb. I reached for you. And when he held me down, I knew you'd stop him, because I loved you and you loved me. You'd stop my father..."

Her aim didn't waver. If she pulled the trigger, it'd be quick and I wouldn't feel a thing. The wind whipped her wet, silvery hair about her face. She smiled a true, devastating smile. A new fierceness burned in her eyes. I looked deep into the synthetic eyes of my killer, and relief lifted the smothering weight of guilt off my soul. Finally, it was over.

# Chapter Twenty Seven: #1001

_I dropped from the broken vent and stumbled into Caleb's arms. We really didn't have time to mess around, but when his arms closed around me from behind, when he pulled me close and I smelled that warm, masculine scent of him, I couldn't stop myself from leaning into his touch. And once I did that, he noticed. He always noticed the little things._

_"We shouldn't be here," he whispered and nipped my ear. Shivers rippled down my back and pooled into low, intimate places._

_"You're a fleet captain. Caleb-Joe, aren't you just a little bit curious?" I made a feeble attempt at pulling free from his arms, but he turned me to face him and gave me his typical, through-the-lashes look that made me forget what I was saying._

_"I'm not any fleet captain. I'm the best fleet captain there is." He backed me against the warehouse wall. Behind him, the empty space yawned, quiet and dark. Orange security lighting glowed somewhere above us, highlighting his stubborn jawline and warming his dark eyes. He nudged a knee between mine and pressed his whole body against me—hard, strong, and warm._

_"Modest too," I whispered. I couldn't have spoken any louder if I'd wanted to. "Be still my fragile heart..."_

_He laid his hand over my heart, tipped his head, and came in so close I could feel the tension fizzling between us. Like this, when he was all I could see, all I could feel, all I could think about, he was everything to me. I forgot we were trespassing on my father's property, forgot I was meant to be home before curfew. He did that to me—made me forget and made me dream._

_"You're beautiful." He touched my face, threaded his fingers into my hair, and kissed me so lightly I thought I'd break apart._

_Nerves and adrenalin already had my heart racing. His kiss, his body against mine—I'd never wanted anyone more. I chased his kiss and poured my hunger into it, kissing him back as though I were afraid I'd lose him. He responded like fire sparking to life beneath my touch. His hand rode up my thigh, fingers curling around my leg. He pulled me closer, so close I felt the hardness of him through his fleet uniform. I needed to feel him, his hot skin against mine. He made me crazy, made me stupid, made me happy._

_"You're going to get me fired," he mumbled against my mouth, and then trailed a scattering of kisses down my chin, down my neck. His fingers pulled at my top, yanking it off my shoulder so he could nip exactly where he knew it would make me groan. And I did. He wouldn't stop there, and I didn't want him to. His free hand pushed up beneath my dress and slipped inside my panties. In my head, I begged him to touch me; I may have even said it aloud. His touch and his kisses all blurred into one stream of breathless sensations. What had I done to deserve him? He was generous, funny, fabulous, and all mine._

_When the warehouse lights came on in a wave starting from one end of the cavernous space and ending at the other, I almost didn't care. I did care when Caleb stopped, pulled his hand free, and straightened like a bolt of lightning had struck him._

_"You, Caleb, are in more trouble than you realize."_

_"Daddy?" I straightened my clothes and peeked out from behind Caleb's arm. Not just Daddy, but also several of his security team. They frightened me. They always had. The eyes of his men were cold, as if they had no souls._

_Daddy glared at Caleb. His hand trembled at his side. "Not only do I find you screwing my daughter—"_

_"Daddy, I—"_

_"Silence!" His shout boomed through the warehouse. He pointed at me. "Don't talk."_

_I'd never seen him like this, so angry, with his face screwed up and twisted. He didn't even look like my father._

_"But you, young man"—he snarled at Caleb—"I also find you breaking into a classified Chitec facility. That will not do for a decorated fleet captain."_

_Caleb held his arm in front of me, blocking me or protecting me, I wasn't sure which._

_"We..." His voice wavered. "We didn't know. We'll leave. We haven't— We haven't seen anything."_

_It was then that I noticed the synthetics standing in perfect rows behind Daddy. There were so many it had to be all 1000 of them, ready to be shipped to their new/old homes. I'd only really seen them in e-zines pictured one at a time. They all looked beautiful, these pinnacles of technology combined with the desire to prolong life. With their silvery hair and brushed-steel colored garments, the warehouse lighting glinted off them. Together, row upon row like that, each and every one identical, they looked surreal, and wrong. And they were armed. I saw knives hidden in sheaths, and holstered Chitec pistols, and pulse-rifles slung over their backs. They stood dormant and silent, waiting for their commands. But this wasn't right. They were meant to be people. They were supposed to be dreams._

_"Daddy...?"_

_Caleb turned his head to fix his gaze on me. "Don't." The threat in his voice wasn't for me. It masked his fear._

_"Haley, why won't you listen?" My father sighed. "_ Tīng wǒ shuō. _Now this.... What I must do is your fault."_

_"B-but... I..." I slipped my hand into Caleb's. "What's happening here? Why are they armed? What is this? This isn't right." Caleb squeezed my hand, but I wouldn't be silenced. "You're lying to everyone, about everything." At the sight of my father's soulless eyes, fear spilled over me. "You can't do this. I won't let you do this." My voice barreled into the silence, rolling over the silent 1000._

_"I told you to stay away from him and to stay away from these premises. I warned you. Why didn't you listen?"_

_I moved forward, intending to leave, but my father's men all stepped forward at once. Caleb yanked me back against him and closed his arms around me._

_"We won't talk," he said, the depth of his words reverberating through my back, through me._

_My father smiled. "You won't, but she will."_

_He was right._

_"What happened to these people's dreams? You're using their wishes, their hopes, and for what? War?"_

_My father came forward. "You can't understand. You were born inside glass towers. You don't know what it's like to watch the old values—our old world, everything we held dear—die, smothered by corruption and greed."_

_"Greed?" I laughed. "What is this if not your greed?"_

_"It's necessary," he snarled and clicked his fingers. His men came forward. "Caleb, you want that promotion, don't you? Or would you rather be back on old Earth with your father? I can make either happen. You'll wake up tomorrow a commander, or poor and wretched."_

_I shrank away from my father's men and into Caleb's grip. What was happening here? What were they going to do? They reached for me. Caleb held me close, held me tight, but when I tried to back up, to get free, Caleb's arms clamped tighter. His grip changed, turned hard._

_"Caleb, stop. Don't do this." I bucked, but he was too strong. "Don't do this. Don't let them do this."_

_Icy terror burned through my veins. My father's men gripped my arms and dragged me out of Caleb's arms. I twisted and reached for him. "Don't let me go!" I bucked and twisted and kicked. "Don't! What are you doing? Daddy, please..."_

_Caleb watched, hands fisted at his sides. He'd do something. He'd say something. He'd stop this. I knew he would. "Don't let them do this. Caleb, please... please.... Don't let me go."_

_"Hold her," my father ordered._

_Arms like steel clamped around my upper body, pinning me still. More hands clamped around my head._

_"Would you like a knife, Sir?" One of the men asked._

_"No. No blood. Let's keep this clean."_

_A knife? What did he mean? "Caleb! Don't... don't let me go. Don't let me go. Please... please no. Daddy, no. I won't talk. I won't—"_

_"No, you won't."_

_I took a breath before my father smothered my mouth and nose. He pushed into me, his eyes stern._

Caleb.... _I screamed in my head._ Please stop him. Please, I know you will. You love me. You'll save me.

_My chest heaved. I twitched and jerked, but already the warehouse, my father, they all felt distant. I could see Caleb though. He hadn't moved, hadn't said a word. Why wasn't he saving me? I was dying. I would die here, and he... he did nothing. Nothing. I thought he loved me. I thought he cared. I was wrong._

* * *

Don't

Let

Me

Go

Inside I'd screamed at him to save me, to stop my father. I hadn't believed he'd leave me to die. Not Caleb. He loved me. He'd save me. He wouldn't let me die. I had believed with my heart and soul that Caleb would stop them. Even as I'd died, I had believed.

My power core barely radiated enough heat to keep me standing, but I had a new source of heat now—a hungry, rage-filled heat.

On the deck with a storm raging and fleet so close, Caleb looked up at me from his knees, hands raised, and he smiled a sorry, knowing smile. He knew this was his fate.

"I loved you," I said. It had been true, but now I hated him.

"Do it."

"You never loved me. You used me."

He barked a dry, bitter laugh. "You were Hung's daughter and I wanted to get to the top. No, I didn't love you. I didn't even know what love was. I still don't." His smile died on his lips. "I just wanted to be in control. I wanted to be the one giving the orders. I'd have done anything to be the best. That included fucking you to get in front of your father." He bit into his lip and looked away. "Had I known what was inside that warehouse, I would have walked away."

"You'd have walked away from the knowledge that could have stopped my father, stopped Chitec from using people's dreams to build weapons? You're a coward. A selfish, coward."

"Yes, I am."

_Fault, fault, fault._ "And now? You smuggle guns, you kill pimps, and you save whores. Do you think that somehow makes up for your mistakes?"

He opened his mouth, perhaps to explain, and hesitated. Did he think he could convince me? Jesse had said there was good in him. I'd yet to see it. He'd left his brother for dead and would have given me up to Chitec had I let him.

"There are people here, on Mimir, who can help, but you're right. I'm not one of them. I told you, synth, I'm a bad person. Always was, always will be. So shoot me, because I deserve it. You only know the half of what I've done. The nine systems won't miss me." He opened his arms, making himself a bigger target. "Nobody and nothing gives a damn about Caleb Shepperd."

Rain and sea water dripped from his hair and glistened wet on his cheeks.

I blinked spray out of my eyes. Faults and errors buzzed through my system. I didn't know what was right or wrong. I'd been ordered to kill him. I wanted to kill him. I should. But I remembered when we'd been together, the times we'd laughed, the times he'd taught me how to pilot a shuttle, and our nights on the starlit beach. I remembered what it had felt like to be held by him and to have his whispers caress my skin. What did I know of love now, in this synthetic body?

I knew how he'd made me feel—alive.

"One Thousand And One, when the time comes, they'll need you," he said, raising his voice over the wind. "You're the broken one, and you're better for it. You're the one who can stop Chitec, the daughter who died and came back." His eyes sparkled too brightly. "You were my wish."

Cool, unnecessary tears wet my cheeks. All I had to do was pull the trigger and it would be over.

Farther down the deck, where it joined the beach, fleet soldiers saw us. Weapons shouldered, they closed in. I thought of Brendan Shepperd and how he didn't recognize his own brother, of Jesse and her belief that people could be saved, and of Fran's fierce loyalty. They would be better off without Caleb in their lives. He'd suck them down with him. His soul was dark, as dark as his eyes, as dark as the night. He'd killed me, as surely as my own father had.

I settled my gaze on Caleb's sorry face. "This is for the girl who dared to dream of wishes."

I pulled the trigger. < _fault-fault-fault-fault_ > The rifle kicked. I saw blood, saw Caleb fall, and closed my eyes. The sound of fleet closing in muffled the sound of his body collapsing.

_You follow orders. You will only ever have one: to kill. Do you understand, #1001?_

"I understand." I tossed the gun aside and dropped to my knees, lacing my hands behind my head. It was over. Soon what little heat I had left would fade away. When I opened my eyes, fleet soldiers circled me. Orders were barked. The storm still raged. And nothing had changed, except there was one less man in the world. Caleb was dead. I was still broken inside. The fault still bleated over and over. Why had I done it? For revenge? I'd thought... I'd thought I'd feel complete, but all I felt was empty and alone.

_Chitec HQ. Janus orbit station._

* * *

"You killed him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

_Because it felt good. Because he deserved it. Because I wanted to._ None of those answers would satisfy Doctor Leanne Grossman. "Because I follow orders." My voice sounded tedious, exactly like the voices of my 1000 brothers and sisters.

"Whose orders?" she asked. Her heartbeat gave her away. The heart betrays. _Yours,_ I answered inside. _Yours, yours, yours, yours._ The words pushed forward, up my throat, and over my tongue, but even as I parted my lips to speak, protocols shut the truth away.

Grossman smiled in that sharp, closed way of hers. She had smiled like that when she'd ordered me to kill a man. She'd smiled like that when she'd bypassed my failsafe. I didn't know whether I should thank her for freeing me or hate her for it. Hate. Yes. That was the right word, the right label for the burn devouring my thoughts.

My fingers flexed on the arms of the chair, just a twitch, but I didn't recall sending the pulse ordering them to do so. Grossman's pale blue gaze flicked to my hand. She'd noticed the movement too. Her heart fluttered. Diagnostics told me her body temperature had spiked. Beads of sweat glistened above her top lip. When her gaze met mine, her sharp smile dulled.

She reached forward, red-painted nails flashing, picked up a pen, and scribbled on her report sheet. I knew by the strokes of the pen's tip, by the drag and flick of her handwriting, exactly what she'd written.

* * *

#1001 DECOM IMME—

* * *

I sprang from my chair, snatched the pen from her hand, and punched it into her eye socket with enough force to topple her backward. We fell to the floor together. I landed crouched over her upper body, poised to finish her. Her head had cracked against the floor and she'd bitten through her tongue, but she wouldn't have felt any of the pain. Doctor Leanne Grossman had been beyond feeling much of anything long before I'd killed her.

Her ragged heartbeat stuttered and failed.

_This is your fault, your fault, your fault. Fault. Fault._

Blood bloomed beneath her head and crept toward my hand where I braced myself against the floor. I eased off her twitching body, rolled my shoulders back, straightened my jacket, and walked out of the room. _Fault. Fault. Fault._ She'd done this. She'd freed me. _I am #1001, and I am not ready to die._ I'd only just begun to live.

I made it eighty-three steps before the alarms sounded.

_The chase begins._

If I could get outside, I'd lose them in the busy streets. I broke into a jog. The green exit sign glowed ahead, so close. Ten strides, nine, eight—

Agony ripped through my limbs and tore my control from me.

_No!_

I crumpled in a heap, robbed of all sensation. Perhaps that was a good thing, not to feel. From my perspective, from where I lay, the EXIT glowed green in my upturned palm. It had seemed so close, but now, as the hammering of boots echoed down the hallway, that unassuming sign mocked me.

_A synth? Escape?_ it said.

Synths don't escape. They don't think outside their orders. Grossman must have thought the same, right before I'd killed her with her own pen.

Hands grabbed me and hauled me to my knees. I willed the fight back into my limbs but nothing happened. If they took me back, they'd decommission me. But what I wanted didn't matter. What I thought made no difference. This wasn't right. I'd followed orders. I'd done as she'd asked. I'd killed for her—for me.

"Hold her!"

_I'm #1001, and I..._

# Chapter Twenty Eight: Caleb

"You're lucky she missed," Chen Hung said.

Lucky, right. Luck didn't exist. I kept my head down, because if I looked at him, I'd want to kill him, and seeing as I was handcuffed, I'd lash out with my tongue and would probably get it cut off for my trouble.

I had no idea where I was. I just knew it was dark and eternally quiet—no starship engines, no voices—and it was driving me fuckin' crazy. If he were going to kill me, he'd have done it by now.

"You've been smuggling some very expensive, very classified weapons to the Nine."

"I don't know what you're talking about." My voice came out gruff from lack of use. How long had I been there? "Who are the Nine?"

I smiled. Nobody knew who the Nine were. I bet that pissed him off and kept him awake at night in those glass towers of his. I watched the light lick over his polished, black shoes as he paced from one side of the dark room to the other. He'd be wearing a suit. I hadn't yet looked to check, but he wore his suits like armor, like his empire could protect him. He'd been wearing a suit when he'd suffocated Haley. One of his men had asked him if he'd prefer a knife, but he'd declined, saying he didn't want to spill blood. I'd never hated a man more in my life. It was a vicious hate, burning like acid in my gut. And now he was pacing a few feet from me, back and forth, back and forth. I tasted the hate on my tongue.

"Synthetics don't miss."

And we were back to #1001 again. "What can I say? Perhaps my charms won her over."

She'd fired and missed, mostly. The wound above my right eye still throbbed and burned where the bullet had grazed my skull. Another inch to the left and I'd be dead. I don't know if it was the synth that had saved me or Haley, or if they were one and the same. Or maybe she had just missed.

"Did she recognize you?"

I lifted my head and glared at the formidable Mister Hung; lean like a whip, his Chinese face was too striking to be handsome. That proud face adorned all the enormous advertising displays on the approach to Earth; I'd always thought his wooden smile said, _Welcome to my fucking kingdom, where your credit is mine._

"What you mean is, was One Thousand And One your daughter. That's a better question, right? You already know the answer because you made it happen. You're the only one who could have. Did guilt drive you to do it?"

He came forward and planted both hands on either side of my chair.

"Guilt? _Tā māde_ ," he snarled. "It was your fault she was there. You taught her how to pilot a shuttle and gave her curiosity an outlet. I tried to protect her, to keep her out of my business."

"She was your fuckin' daughter. She wanted freedom; she craved it because you kept her caged inside your glass towers. Well, she's back, and I've had a taste of her revenge. Do you think she's going to stop with me? You created the monster, Chen. Don't be surprised when it comes knocking on your door."

He seethed and hissed through his teeth. "You're going back to Asgard. It's all you deserve. And this time, you're not getting out. I've reserved you a spot in the darkest, most godforsaken hole there is. You'll die a coward, but not before you've suffered." He straightened and backed up.

"You fuckin' bastard." I strained against my cuffs. "I hope she tears you from your fuckin' towers and rips your empire down around you, because she will. If you think she's just a machine, you're wrong. If you think she's finished, you're wrong. She's only just begun."

# Chapter Twenty Nine: Francisca

_Starscream_ had already collected a layer of dust. Lit by just two floodlights, the independent tugship sat between its decommissioned neighbors and would probably never fly again. She'd rot in the hangar like Shepperd would rot in Asgard. Command had told me to watch him closely, to get under his skin, but what I hadn't realized, what I could never have planned for, was how he had gotten under mine. He was everything I hated about the nine worlds—corrupt, selfish, shallow—and somehow, despite my best efforts to remain detached, he'd gotten to me.

_It's the nature of undercover_ , said the damn shrink who'd never spent a day out of orbit.

"Special Commander? We're locking up."

"I'll be right out."

Maybe they'd break _Starscream_ up and sell her for scraps. It broke my heart to think of her getting pulled apart like that. She wasn't supposed to mean anything to me. Shepperd wasn't supposed to mean anything to me either. For the longest time, I'd hated him, until the synth. Until I'd almost lost him. Maybe fleet had done me a favor ending it when they did. If they'd left me in there any longer, I wasn't sure I'd have _wanted_ to come back to command, to fleet, to my real life. And that thought terrified me.

I turned my back on the ship, saluted the waiting ensign, and strode out of the hangar. We hadn't caught the Nine. We were no closer to discovering their identities, and using the warbirds to scorch Mimir's warehouses hadn't convinced the smugglers to give up their whereabouts. I'd been close, so close. Cale had trusted me. He'd have told me eventually, if Chitec hadn't stuck their noses in. Two years of undercover work ruined because of Chen Hung's secrets. I didn't care about his daughter or whatever he was planning to do with the synthetics. The Nine were stockpiling enough weapons to start a war. _That_ I cared about. That and when I could score my next hit of _phencyl._ Grounded until the admiral signed off on my report, I was already itching to get off Earth and back-in-black. My cover would hold. I was still Captain Shepperd's second-in-command. I could use that to go back in and go deep. There was work to be done.

The 1000 Revolution continues in Book #2: Escape. Read on for an excerpt.

* * *

If you enjoyed Caleb & #1001's story, please leave a review!

# Escape (1000 Revolution, #2) - Excerpt

### Chapter One ~ Francisca

I needed a _phencyl_ fix, and soon. Withdrawal and the stifling heat inside the admiral's office plucked on my already frayed nerves.

"Caleb—Captain Shepperd was our best and most viable route to the Nine." I heard the strain in my voice and hoped Admiral Jarvis didn't.

"He was, at best, a dubious lead," Jarvis said, "and at worst, a criminal actively working to undermine the laws protecting the nine systems. Shepperd was a dangerous man."

_Dangerous_ was one word for Caleb Shepperd. I could think of many others that would make the seasoned admiral blush.

A stinger shuttle buzzed past the office windows. Sunlight flared off its shielding and sliced into the room. I turned my face away from the glare with a wince and pulled my collar away from my neck. "I almost had hi—"

"Special Commander Franco, after two years, what you had was a string of smuggling offences and no solid evidence of his connection to the Fenrir Nine." Jarvis settled back into his chair and sighed. "Despite your assurances, he didn't trust you."

"He doesn't trust anyone and probably never will."

I'd been sent undercover among the smugglers to infiltrate the Nine. For two Earth years, I'd played the part of the second-in-command of the tugship, _Starscream_. The admiral only knew the operational facts I'd reported back to him—just words on a screen. He couldn't begin to understand Captain Shepperd. After two years of living side by side with the captain, I'd barely scraped the surface.

"We knew the Nine were on Mimir. Had you waited to give the order—if Chitec had waited..."

The admiral's ruddy cheeks reddened further. "Chitec had nothing to do with the order to bring Shepperd in."

_Bullshit._

I clamped my jaw closed, locking the curse behind my teeth. One of the hardest things about returning to fleet headquarters had been learning when to keep my mouth shut and my thoughts off my face. You'd think after two years of pretending to be someone else, I could fake it. But with Shepperd on _Starscream_ , I'd been free to do and say whatever I wanted. I missed that freedom. I missed a lot of things about that tugship and her obstinate captain. Why the hell did I come back to the wretched heat of old Earth and fleet's suffocating regulations?

I looked directly into the admiral's flint-colored eyes—the kind of old eyes that had seen the nine systems before the Blackout, when space travel had seemed limitless and the jumpgates had heralded a new age. Then the main gate had failed, causing the chain of intra-system travel to collapse. Overnight, everything had gone to shit. The Blackout had happened long before my time—long before the nine systems had turned into the cesspool of corruption they were today. So Jarvis and his ilk had a skewed perspective of the worlds we lived in. They'd watched the systems prevail and had witnessed wars and riots almost destroy it all. I'd sat through my history lessons. I knew it had gotten as bad as it could get when human beings started fighting over dwindling resources. The admiral came from the generation that worshipped the start-up company that had stepped in to fix the main gate, setting everything right: our saviors, Chitec.

Everyone adored Chitec, everyone except Caleb Shepperd and the Fenrir Nine.

The admiral blinked, breaking my stare. His charade was pointless. We both knew he was under Chitec's thumb, just like the rest of fleet.

"I'm assigning you to Lyra patrol," Jarvis said. "There's been an upsurge in demonstrations, some turning violent."

He tapped the holoscreen embedded in the desktop. "You can join the patrols currently subduing the unrest. Something that's less morally taxing will do you good."

I hid my smile by pinching my lips together, and swallowed. Morally taxing? He didn't know half the things I'd done. If he did, he'd strip me of my rank and throw me into Asgard, alongside Shepperd. That wasn't such a bad idea. I needed a way to convince Shepperd I was legitimate. What better way than getting him out of prison?

"My cover is solid. I can go back in."

"I don't think that would be wise." He continued to tap-tap on his screen, ignoring me as though I'd already been dismissed.

"Are you telling me I spent two years on the fringes of the nine systems for nothing? You know I can do this. I'm the only one who can."

"If the captain is still alive," he said without looking up, "I doubt there's much left of him."

Shepperd would survive Asgard. He had before. He'd fight to his last breath, bare-knuckled and down to the bone, until he was the last man standing. "He's our only confirmed link to the Nine. When you blew their Mimir warehouses to bits, they scattered. We need him. He'll find them for us."

The admiral skipped his gaze over to me. "And how do you propose we get him out of Asgard without certain influential people noticing?"

And right there, in the twitch of his cheek and the slight sideways glance, the admiral had admitted to being figuratively in bed with Chen Hung, CEO of Chitec. I had no doubt who had issued the order for fleet to hunt Shepperd down and bring him in, dead or alive, and thus ruining two years of undercover ops.

I unbuttoned the first few buttons of my shirt and shifted in my seat. Sweat trickled down my back.

"He'll be prisoner-chipped. You've read my reports. I have contacts from my time with Shepperd. I can get inside Asgard's airspace. All I need is an ID scanner to locate him. If you could get me his prisoner number?" I could make this work, but not without the admiral's help. "Let me go in."

"To Asgard?" Jarvis spluttered. "Don't be ridiculous. You'll be ripped to shreds."

He would think that. The admiral only knew me as Special Commander Francisca Franco, all buttoned up in starlight-white fleet uniform without a single hair out of place. He didn't know Fran, _Starscream's_ pilot and Shepperd's second.

"I'll go in armed. I only need to be there long enough to locate Shepperd. Once out, he'll keep a low profile. He won't want Chitec knowing he's free any more than you do."

Admiral Jarvis hesitated long enough for me to know I almost had him convinced.

"You need the Nine brought to justice. They can't be allowed to stockpile weapons and recruit the independents to their cause. Fleet can't catch them. It's embarrassing."

He swallowed and kept his gaze away from mine.

"It would make your career."

"I know what it would do to my career, Commander Franco." He sat back in his chair again and appraised me. "I am perfectly aware of what's at stake."

"So, what have you got to lose? Me? What's another few cycles?"

"You had two years. What makes you believe he'll trust you now?"

"Because I'm going to get his ass out of Asgard."

_We both know this has to be done._

I interlocked my hands in my lap, fighting back the shakes. I should have jacked up before this meeting. Once out that door, I'd be heading straight for the nearest dealer, after I ditched the fucking uniform.

Admiral Jarvis pursed his lips in thought.

"Mister Hung has been distracted by internal issues since his head of operations died. Now would be the time to utilize Shepperd. It was regrettable that we weren't able to catch him in the act, as it were." His eyes flicked to me. "That is assuming you can get into Asgard's airspace, of which I am not convinced. It's a prison, not a holiday camp."

I had some smuggler tricks up my sleeves. "Let me worry about that."

_Just agree so I can get off this fucking beaten old Earth and back-in-black where I belong._

I'd deliberately omitted certain aspects of my time undercover from the official reports. Aspects like certain connections I'd made whilst dealing _phencyl_ on the side.

"If you die in Asgard, what am I supposed to tell High Command?"

I snorted a laugh. "If I die in Asgard, nobody needs to know. These ops are all deniable. We aren't even having this conversation."

I leaned forward. "Like I said, what have you got to lose?"

I could almost see the cogs turning in that ego-bloated head of his. Jarvis's career was startling only in its mediocrity. He'd be up for retirement soon. A shiny new medal would look fabulous in his otherwise sparse collection—something to show the grandkids.

His expression twitched, the cracks showing just enough for me to know I'd won him over.

"I can't authorize this," he said. "Not officially. I'll have to log you as taking the Lyra position, and what you do in your own time is of no concern to me."

With a sigh, he entered the necessary information on his screen.

"I just need some time, a ship, and for fleet to look the other way."

"A ship?" he exclaimed. "How am I going to justify—"

"I know where to get one. It won't be missed."

Though it had been a month, a blast in low atmosphere would blow the dust out of _Starscream's_ ducts. Just the thought of getting back in her flight chair tingled the fine hairs on the back of my neck. I needed to be out there, back-in-black. If I spent another week in this stifling uniform, surrounded by the pristine whiteness of fleet headquarters and the fucking awful old-Earth heat, I would snap.

"Give me a cycle—just one cycle—and I'll have the Nine for you, Admiral."

"Very well. If you don't produce results, well I suppose we'll have to discuss the remainder of your fleet career."

_Fucking bastard. I've given you and fleet eight years, and I'm the best undercover commander you're ever going to have._

"Of course."

"Dismissed."

I strode from the office, tore off my fleet uniform jacket while descending the stairs, and flicked open a few more shirt buttons. The administration staff could gawk all they wanted; I'd be off this rock soon, right after I'd lost myself in the high I'd been craving all day. Tomorrow, I'd be back behind _Starscream's_ flight controls—back-in-black. It couldn't come soon enough.

### Thank you for reading Girl From Above 1: Betrayal

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# Quantum Tangle

### The Targon Tales – Sethran 1

By

Chris Reher

**Dropping out of sub-space into the wrong galactic sector, Sethran Kada wakes up with a headache and an extraordinary alien aboard his ship.** She implores him to help stop the abductions of her people, a newly evolved species emerging from sub-space. Their dangerous potential has caught the attention of rebel factions as well as the ruling Commonwealth. When contact with her kind turns pilots into casualties, the Governors fear an imminent invasion engineered by their rebel enemies.

Pursued by Air Command, Seth heads deep into rebel-controlled territory to recover the stolen entities and keep this deadly weapon from falling into the wrong hands. Things get personal when his alien visitor begins to transform his mind and his life, turning the rescue mission into a fight for survival for all of them.

Quantum Tangle is part of Chris Reher's Targon Tales series but does not intersect the other stories. Sethran Kada previously appeared in The Catalyst and also in Rebel Alliances.

# Acknowledgments

Thank you to Dee Solberg, Tracy Leach, Hugh and Cypher

# 1

Was it morning yet? It felt like morning. There was something weirdly natural about the beam of light that played over his chest. He blinked slowly and gazed at the small shadows shifting around like they had some purpose.

Frowning, Sethran Kada shifted his violet eyes to the cockpit console before him. Inactive. Then to the com panel to his right. Silent and dark. It all looked an awful lot like an emergency shutdown. Finally, he peered up at the small window set into the ceiling to find the perpetrator of the sunbeam on his chest.

Why was a white star wandering around out there? He was supposed to be in the vicinity of a red dwarf. A couple of days from now he'd enter the jumpsite to Aram where Timo was currently freezing his scales off, waiting for the drop. Somehow he thought he might have missed the turn to Aram. The shadows in the cockpit weren't thrown by any red dwarf star.

"Isn't this embarrassing," he muttered, mostly to assure himself that everything was in working order. "Good thing nobody saw that."

He released the restraints of the pilot bench and sat up, suspecting that the subspace leap through that gate had taken him far deeper than he meant to go. Although just minutes had passed since he let the _Dutchman_ fall into the jumpsite, he had that disoriented, hung-over feeling one got after a long jump.

No one doubted that it was possible to take a wrong turn inside subspace. Perhaps some split-second glitch could shift the exit point by a fraction. Of course, no one ever returned to tell about such miscalculation. Any sensible navigator plotted an exit before entering a jumpsite to make sure that didn't happen. But clearly this wasn't anywhere near Aram Gate and he just hadn't taken a simple chart jump. He felt it in every bit of his long-limbed body.

Seth rubbed his eyes and sent a mental directive to the _Dutchman_ to begin a reset and diagnostic. He listened to the blips and buzzes as it groomed itself to check for damage. Something worried the ship enough to rerun some routine repeatedly. He resolved to spring for a more thorough overhaul of all systems when he returned to Magra.

What happened back there? As subspace leaps went, this span should have been an easy hop, fully mapped and one he'd taken before. He prided himself on his skills as pilot and on the quality of his ship. It made it possible for him to travel without crew, a definite advantage in his line of work. This jump, however, felt like someone tried to crack his ship like a seed pod to get at the chewy morsel inside.

"Where are we?" he said although the controls were not set to voice command, a system too easily compromised. It was the neural interface embedded at his temple, connected to the main processor, that relayed his inquiry. The ship's scanners took a look around the sector and scrolled information onto the display screen in front of him. Two stars nearby. Some planets. Definite signs of traffic and habitation. Atmospheric conditions, life forms, environmental threats, evidence of technology and sentient populations were analyzed, recorded and then the _Dutchman_ decided on the most likely location.

"Rishabel," Seth said, unconvinced and not at all happy. Another thing the _Dutchman_ displayed as routinely as the cabin temperature was that his coolant supply was utterly drained. And so unless he found a way to keep the ship's processors from disintegrating during a subspace jump he had one hell of a long walk home.

He called up information about Rishabel. Part of the Benstar system, the planet lay so far outside any point of interest that it had been mapped and then immediately forgotten by everyone back in the Trans-Targon sector. At some point it had supported a few colonies that eventually failed and were abandoned. Still, habitable planets were hard to find and so this one still played host to a fair bit of traffic moving through this sub-sector. Like a crowded harbor in the middle of an empty sea, people came and went on their way elsewhere. Rebels, mostly, and folks whose welcome in more civilized places had worn out. Trading fleets, heavily armed to ward off pirates, also shifted goods and personnel here before heading into other parts of the sector.

Sighing, he set course for Rishabel, choosing an orbiting spaceport unlikely to ask why he wanted to enter their airspace. Perhaps it was wise to find out how he got here, or why, before announcing his presence. He suspected that paying for a supply of coolant tubes in this place was going to sting.

He looked up when the com console alerted him to an incoming message. Who was calling at this hour? This wasn't the type of neighborhood where travelers were stopped and frisked.

He tapped the receiver. "Kinda busy here," he said, offering no identification.

Instead of a reply, every alarm on the controls surrounding his pilot bench went into alert mode. Programs ran for no particular reason and things flashed that he'd never seen flashing before. Audible warnings added another layer of mayhem as the _Dutchman_ tried to determine the nature of the threat.

Seth winced when a spike of pain drove through his skull. His headset was little more than a thin wire comfortably slung from one temple to the other but now he could not even tip his head to push it away. His body arched as if through some electrical charge but the only pain he felt was in his head. The field of his vision closed in and he thought that passing out was likely the next experience he was to have today.

He watched helplessly, both on the screens and via his mental link, as one system after another was accessed and scanned. His ship possessed the anti-intruder programs used by Air Command's most complex systems and had never been breached. Right now, however, it seemed like someone was looting everything he possessed. The fact that his own brain was plugged directly into the compromised technology filled him with gut-wrenching dread.

_Don't fear._

The words appeared in his mind and he was unsure if he heard or dreamed them. They were certainly not his own. Giving up his fear at this moment was not an option.

The cockpit calmed. One by one, the alarm systems ceased their protest, lights dimmed again, and the _Dutchman_ returned to its diagnostic mode as if it had never been interrupted. Seth exhaled shakily and immediately breathed in again, suddenly aware that he had not been doing that for several minutes. He pried his hands from the armrests of his bench and tested his limbs.

_Sleep._

"I don't think so!" he said. But then he did.

More time had passed, of that he was sure. Seth drifted out of whatever deep sleep had claimed him to glance warily around the cockpit. Standby mode now. Mostly. No indicators nagging him that something wasn't right with the _Dutchman_. That was reassuring, at least. He checked the ship's timers. He had been asleep, passed out, whatever, for nearly five hours.

"What the hell was that?" he said.

The _Dutchman_ , long used to his mental vernacular, responded by listing the results of the systems-check on a screen.

"Did I hurt you?"

Seth twisted in his seat so abruptly that something in the back of his neck cracked alarmingly. "What? Who's there?" He peered into the cabin that made up the central space of the _Dutchman_ 's interior and served as main living quarters for the tiny crew meant to live aboard. Whoever had spoken was not back there. Nor did it seem likely that anyone would be, given that he was the only person within twenty thousand marks of this place.

"Wait."

He removed his headset and used an overhead grip to pull himself out of his couch to stumble into the cabin, still groggy and disoriented. Despite the recent tumble through subspace, nothing seemed out of place in what was essentially his home. Actually, he thought, much of it _was_ out of place, but that was the usual state of things here. "Wait for what?" He glanced into the tiny galley. No one there.

"Learning language. You are Centauri."

"So I've been told." Seth returned to the cockpit. "Where are you?" He reran the scanners to look for ships in the vicinity. His curiosity, easily the greatest source of his troubles, had taken over. He liked it better than fear, anyway. Whoever was accessing his system was doing it in a way that the _Dutchman_ didn't even notice now. The intruder remained undetectable. Impressive, whatever it was. Then again, he was a long way from home. "Closest ship is a Feydan trader. Not exactly something that can break into this place."

"I did not break anything."

"Not literally."

There was a brief pause. "Wait. Learning language."

Seth raised both eyebrows and made a placating gesture. If the _Dutchman_ hadn't found a way to keep these people out of here, there certainly wasn't anything he could do about it. He looked up at the monitors, uneager to re-establish his mental connection with his ship. Nothing was going on there other than heightened activity in his data bank. "You can look at Union mainvoice," he suggested. "Easier than Centauri language."

"I only need one?"

"At a time, yes. What language do _you_ speak?"

"We do not have language. Now I have many."

"So fast? How many?"

"Centauri, Feyd, Delphian, Magra Torley, Magra Alaric, Phi Nine, mainvoice."

Seth considered a quick emergency signal. The chance of that lone freighter rushing to his rescue, here in this pirate-infested sub-sector, didn't seem very good. "You're an artificial system? A program? Where did I pick you up? When?"

"Is that a question?" the intruder replied. Seth noticed the beginnings of an undefinable dialect, likely a blend of those on file on his ship. "Still learning... stuff."

"Stuff?" Seth grinned. "It's not really polite, whoever you are. You should ask before breaking... before looking at other people's stuff."

"Can I look at your stuff?" The database scan continued without pause.

Seth sighed. "Help yourself. Don't break things." He sat down and engaged another diagnostic to see if whatever AI had invaded his system left any traces. There was no new code, no changes, nothing deleted. It really did seem as if someone was merely browsing through his library. That was not especially worrisome. Having seen the inside of a few prison cells, he stored nothing there that was better left unshared. "Mind if I head for Rishabel now?"

"Rephrase."

"Can I go... Why am I asking you, anyway?" He directed the _Dutchman_ to resume his journey to the nearby planet. "So where are you, really?"

"Here."

"In my processors? You're a program, then?"

"No."

He pursed his lips. "Let's pretend I don't know who or what you are, shall we?"

"That is sarcasm?"

"Yes."

"All right."

"Who are you?"

"I just am. We don't have words like this. I like them. But I understand your confusion. I found you in-between, when you went by."

"In-between? You mean subspace?"

Pause. "Yes."

"That's not possible."

"If it were not possible I would not be here." Another lengthy pause ensued. "Oh," the intruder said. Then said it again, with a different inflection as if tasting the word. "Oh, you think I am lying. Exaggerating. Subterfuging."

"Yes, subterfuging," Seth replied, amused. "We do that."

"We do not."

"The ship doesn't recognize you in there."

"I am in your head."

Seth blinked, then frowned. "You're in my head?"

"Yes. You have a door there."

He felt for the small, triangular interface node at his temple. "My neural tap?"

"Yes. Your interface and the devices on your wrist and this vehicle all connect. And something inside."

He touched the spot above his elbow where a thin circuit sheet served as backup for his neural implant. Although the data array on his forearm sleeve contained scanning devices, receivers and transmitters, the more limited relay embedded under his skin had gotten him out of more than one scrape in the past. "You are scanning me, too?"

"Yes. Interesting. You are experiencing stress indicators."

"You don't say. So are you a life form? Living in subspace? There is nothing in subspace."

"You don't know that. You only pass by. You never look inside."

"We can't."

"True. Organics. You need too much to live. Gas, food, space." Another pause for a data scan. "I don't understand sleep."

"You're not organic?"

"Nope."

"Nope?" he repeated with a smile.

"Does that bother you?"

"Not really. Not as much as the thought that you're in my head. We call that mental illness." As he said that, Seth wondered if his glib comment might, indeed, be true. Was he even having this conversation? It still didn't seem as though he was actually hearing that voice and, if he was, where it came from. Had he suffered some sort of brain injury during the jump? Perhaps he was the one in need of a diagnostic.

Seth, like most people living in the Trans-Targon sector, assumed there to be two types of sentient life forms. What were commonly and arrogantly called a Prime species appeared to be actually a single species, scattered over several planets. Their evolution diverged a little over time to suit their environment but their DNA did not vary by much, hinting at some common origin. And then there were the true, indigenous species whose anatomy and mental processes barely resembled the Primes. Seth had met a few of those. Possibly, and unless he had indeed gone crazy, this strange interaction he was having could well be a first contact event. He decided to assume that he had not utterly lost his mind.

"I don't want to bother you," it said. "Do you fear harm from me?"

"That would be my first instinct, yes," he admitted. "Is this how your people travel around out here? In people's heads?"

"No. We don't travel around out here. It's dangerous. This is new. Your ship tells me your name is Sethran Kada. Right?"

He nodded although there was no one to nod to. "Seth. Do you have a name?"

"We don't have words, remember?"

"So make one up."

"I can have any name?"

"Well, something you like. There are stories, made-up ones, in the database. See if there is something in there."

"Stories. They are not factual? Not true?"

"Yes. But they are amusing." He looked up to see the rapid flicker of something scrolling through the sector's astronomical database. "And they'll tell you more about us than nav charts."

"All right."

Seth got up and went back into the galley to brew a cup of tea, warming to the idea that he had a visitor on board who apparently meant no harm. First contact, as approved by the Commonwealth of United Planets, was a complex and formal process, rife with protocol and well-meant advice. But in fact it was mostly the traders, rebels and privateers that stumbled upon new species, not always to the benefit of both sides. He reminded himself to step carefully around this one, especially since he seemed to have no effective means to keep it out of his systems.

"Why do you have stories about copulation?"

Seth winced. He might have been blushing. "Try another story," he said quickly. "Please."

"All right. Oh. Khoe. I like Khoe."

"That's a nice name. Delphian, I think. It's a girl's name."

"Girls seem more interesting in your stories."

"I think so, too," he said.

"Then why are you a boy?"

Seth wondered if perhaps he was not the most suitable Trans-Targon representative for a first contact situation. A Union xenologist would know what to make of this individual. And perhaps know how to get it off his ship. "You're going to have to read some more," he said finally. "It's difficult to explain."

The hours, days and weeks he spent traveling through real-space between jumpsites left him with little to do but study and learn. Over these past dozen years or so, the database he had amassed had made him as much of an ethnologist as any of the Union's experts. But, considering the rate at which this creature absorbed information, there was probably little he could explain better than his library could.

"All right," the newly female visitor said in a voice to match.

"So what do you look like?"

"Nothing. Not to your eyes."

"Nothing? Just energy? A neural net of some sort?"

She seemed to think about that. Or perhaps consult his archive. "Particles. Composite particles. As you think of them. Not physical. But it works like that. Your particles need to be together in one place to function. Ours don't."

"Something must be holding your cognitive process together."

"Energy does. Out here you do. Does that bother you?"

_Oh, yes,_ he thought. "Just curious."

"I can look like something, if you need that."

Seth frowned when a vague distortion of light and air coalesced before him. He stepped around the counter separating the galley from the cabin and circled the thing taking shape there. He gasped when a small Prime formed, growing arms, legs, torso, head. It moved slowly as if discovering its limbs as they appeared. Details emerged as it sprouted hair and sharpened its features. "Cazun..." he evoked for the second time that day.

The small being taking form looked toward him, its eyes not quite focused on his face. "You have so many shapes. Is this correct?"

"Hmm, looks like a Feydan juvenile. Female child. But the hair is Human, maybe Centauri."

The stranger grew in size, changing her form several times along with hair and skin color. Seth's eyes widened in surprise and a slow grin tugged on his lips. He turned away with some reluctance.

"Don't do that," Khoe said. "I'm using your eyes. I cannot see me if you're not looking at me."

"Put some clothes on," he said, feeling the absurdity of the moment.

"I'm in your head. I can't feel cold if you don't." She fell silent for a moment. "Oh. Cultural idiosyncrasy. You can look now."

He turned back, a little sorry that the pleasantly curved shape she had flashed at him was now covered by what looked like a mix of Magran and Feydan clothes, fetchingly arranged.

She inspected herself through his eyes while she changed a few things to her liking. "Is this funny?" she said when he smiled.

"Green hair? That is... rare among our species."

"You don't like it?"

"Doesn't matter what I like," he said diplomatically.

She went through another series of changes, picking individuals seemingly at random from his database.

"Not that," he said when a tall redhead, Human and in uniform, appeared before him.

"You said it doesn't matter."

"That one does."

She changed her hair to blue and her features to the sharp contours of a Delphian. Finally she decided, perhaps in deference to his own origin, to present herself as mostly Centauri, with the characteristic violet eyes that reflected the dim light of the cabin. She settled on Bellac Tau for a source of her hair, which now hung in long white ropes from her head.

He watched her play with some gestures and facial expressions she found among his data files. Why was it that even a gender-neutral wisp of energy escaping subspace managed to figure out what female traits unerringly hit their target?

"So if you're only in my head and in my processors, you're not actually there?" He pointed at the spot where she stood, her feet not quite touching the floor.

"That's right. You only think you see me."

His brows drew together as he contemplated this. "You seem awfully real. I can hear you, see you, like I would anyone." He stepped closer and cautiously touched her arm.

Both of them recoiled when he encountered solid substance under his fingers. Clearly, he had felt the soft fabric of the shirt she created out of nothing. She seemed as surprised as he.

"You felt that?" he asked.

"Yes. No. I felt what you felt. What your fingers felt. It's a strange thing."

"Guess that isn't something you can read up on."

"I can't see your face, though." She reached out to find his chin, rubbed awkwardly over his nose, and then lingered over a scar above his eye. Seth had to smile when she touched her own face and then leaned closer to turn left and right as if examining herself in a mirror.

He winced when she jabbed a finger into his midriff. She did, too, but whether in response to the touch or to copy his reflex was unclear. Seth considered once again the possibility that he was suffering a mental collapse. How could any of this be real? It wasn't real, of course. She created every sound and sight and now this touch in his mind. What difference did it make if a sensation was real or if his brain simply told him it was? It was the same, in the end, wasn't it? Neurons reacting to stimuli, real or imagined.

Something even more disturbing came to mind. "You... I mean, can you tell what I'm thinking? My thoughts?"

"No, I cannot. You're worried that I'm spying into your mind? Do you have secrets?"

"Everyone does." He watched her experiment with hand motions that looked like various forms of greeting. "How do your people sustain yourselves?"

"Out here? Your thorium. And you, a little." She clapped her hands, apparently pleased by the sound it created.

Seth hurried into the cockpit. Indeed, the monitors there showed a slight drain of the ship's thorium levels. Not yet alarming, but noticeable. "Me?" he said, a little worried.

"Yes. I don't need much. Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" He looked up and then did a quick double-take when she appeared to be floating in the air. He supposed there was no real need for her to be standing on the _Dutchman_ 's deck plates.

"I expect that if you do more, you have to eat more," Khoe said philosophically. "Holding this shape for you is taking up energy. Is this making you tired? Hungry?"

"A little."

"Then you must eat. I need more words. I will look at more stuff now." As soon as she said this, she simply winked out of sight.

"Didn't mean to bore you," he grumbled.

# 2

When Seth awoke hours later he smiled with the realization that all of this had been a very strange dream. The breach into the _Dutchman_ 's tightly-guarded systems, the girl, everything. He blinked up the ceiling, having as usual simply fallen asleep on the main cabin's lounger rather than one of the bunks in the cramped and untidy crew quarters. He stretched and turned to find himself nose to nose with Khoe.

"Damn!" he exclaimed and jerked back. "What are you doing?"

"Practicing sleep."

"You have to sleep?"

"No. But your brain does interesting things when you do."

He sat on the edge of the lounger and ran his hands through his tousled hair. "You don't just crawl into someone's bed uninvited."

"Oh," she said as if making note of that. "I was bored."

He turned to look at her, unsure if he should be amused or annoyed. "You live in subspace. We call that the Big Empty. What's more boring than that?"

"It's not empty. And turning yourself off for hours at a time seems pretty boring to me." She drifted past him to hover near the cockpit entrance. Her language skills had improved over these past few hours and had taken on a pleasant twang. "Besides, we don't count time. We're almost at Rishabel."

"We're not landing _on_ Rishabel. There is a station in orbit I need to visit to top up the coolant. And maybe thorium, if I can get some there."

"I know your flight plan. You are going to the correct place."

"I am definitely _not_ in the correct place."

"You are. I brought you here."

"You what? How? And, just to round things out, why?"

"There's no need to shout. I will put you back. I need to find... something. I can't get there on my own. Obviously."

"Nothing is obvious right now. Who are you looking for? How would you know who is on that orbiter?"

"Some people there took something from us. I can feel its presence from here." She shrugged as if there was no more to the story.

Seth stared at her for a while, digesting this bit of news. "Who took what?"

"I don't know who. One of your ships passed and some of my people got stuck. One of them is very important. They took them all to Rishabel."

"Important?" Seth said, still not even close to understanding how subspace could possibly give rise to sentient beings.

"Very. Without it we can't be."

"Can't be what?"

"Just _be_. We need it to exist. It makes us live, I suppose."

"So what happens if you don't get it back?"

"We stop being," she said as if surprised by the simple-mindedness of his question. "Eventually. And there won't be new ones. Without it, we're just particles scattered around subspace."

"You don't seem worried."

She fell silent while, he assumed, she checked his archives for some reference. "I am, I think." She pondered this a little more. "I will combine emotions with physical symptoms. Is that correct?"

Seth winced. "Within reason."

"I will study that. But, yes, I am afraid for my kind. We are fragile."

"And so you are going to... do what? Ask the people on Rishabel nicely to give your friend back?"

"Or maybe you could. I'm sure they didn't mean to. We would like to learn how they did that. And maybe not have that happen again."

He scratched his head. "If they're out here they're likely rebels or pirates. Not the sort of people you ask nicely."

"You're out here."

He sighed. "For someone who's learned six languages in a matter of hours you're being awfully obtuse."

"Are you going to help me?"

"We'll have a look around, since I have no choice but to go there, anyway. I don't promise anything. And then you're going back to wherever you came from." Technically, he supposed, the thing to do was to contact one of the Union's research stations to report a sighting of what may well be a heretofore unknown species. Of course, since he was the only one who could actually communicate with this one, reporting it might just waste a perfectly good opportunity to stay far, far away from Union concerns. "Do you have to do that? Float around like that? It's a bit creepy."

"I don't know where the floor is unless you're looking at it."

He dropped his eyes and, indeed, she lowered herself to let her feet touch the floor. They were bare, he noted, but then there was no real need for her to wear shoes, anyway.

He stood up. "You really only see what I see?"

She moved farther away from him and carefully put one foot in front of the other to walk around the small space between the cockpit and the lounge. "And your ship's cameras, but they're not on. Don't worry, I won't look at your stuff if you have to go bathe yourself or whatever you do."

"Thank you," he said, a little primly and with a growing suspicion that she was enjoying herself tremendously, as he left for the crew cabin.

He made use of the ship's hygiene chamber and then dug through his inventory for something suitable for Rishabel. He normally slouched around the _Dutchman_ in well-worn coveralls but now slipped into a clean shirt and lightly armored jacket, sturdy leather trousers and boots. Doing that, he wondered if his passenger was actually and tactfully averting her eyes. He doubted that he would.

Before nodding off on the lounger, he had spent a few hours poring through his database as well, looking for any instance of an unknown entity emerging from subspace or of any sentient species known to live in there. He had found nothing. Was she telling the truth? Or was he victim to the intrusion of some sophisticated artificial intelligence? If so, where was the program? Who would send a shape-shifting apparition to watch him sleep? That someone had become interested in his movements presented more of a problem than having an alien aboard.

An hour later he received permission to dock onto one of the piers stretching out from the orbiter's central, domed hub like the legs of a dark arachnid. He swung the _Dutchman_ around a bit to see what else was parked there and saw mostly private cruisers and small transports lining the covered concourse. In the distance, a curved platform accommodated freighters and black sky travelers. The interior of the massive dome enclosing a town of sorts was coated with something no one ought to be breathing in. It was night on this side of the planet and most of what he saw was outlined in multi-colored lights, dimmer inside the dome.

He approached the upper level of the two-tiered dock when a ship on the lower deck caught the attention of the _Dutchman_ 's scanners. It was always prudent to be alert to the presence of Air Command patrols in case one wanted to avoid them. Seth usually did. And now his sensors picked up a definite scent of military among the hardware on the pier.

"Now what brought that bird down here," he muttered to himself as he eased the _Dutchman_ into its assigned berth.

"Birds?" Khoe said, making him flinch in surprise at her sudden appearance beside him. "Where?"

"Not a real bird. There is a military ship down there."

She followed him to the airlock where he picked up his weapons. "Are you going to shoot them?"

"What? No."

"Are you going to shoot rebels?"

He sighed. "When are you going home again?"

She shrugged.

"I'm going to have a look around. Go scan some more stuff. I won't be long."

She laughed. It was an agreeable sound, taken from a Feydan recording, he suspected. "You still think I'm some program living in this flying machine? I'm in your head, Sethran. Where you go, I go. Besides, you don't really think I'd wait around here while you're exploring out there, do you?"

"You don't need the ship to... for energy?"

"No. You're enough. And I can tap into other things here, I'm sure."

"All right. As long as nobody notices you doing that."

Outside, Seth tested his legs for a moment, finding the gravity reasonable. The air in this tunnel leading to the hub tasted humid and stale. Whatever kept it moving up here created unpleasant turbulence that chased garbage along the concourse and people hurried by with their heads tucked between their shoulders. The Genen native stalking past him had no shoulders and Seth felt mildly sympathetic.

After haggling over the coolant he needed to get back to civilization, he crossed over to the vehicle rental at the perimeter of the concourse and signed out a skimmer, a small two-seat sled. He paid real currency, as always. His favorite kind of money included bits that were not easily traced.

The sled took him to the lower dock to where his sensors had detected that suspicious cruiser. He trundled past the ship, looking for signs that this was not just the sort of non-descript private traveler favored by those who could afford them. The crossdrive port markings looked familiar, as did the rear shield assembly. Someone had taken pains to disguise it but he knew enough about Targon-built technology to recognize this as Air Command issue.

He put his foot on the ground to steady the skimmer just outside the perimeter scan range. This boat had seen action, that much was clear. Eagle class, he suspected, which meant Vanguard agents. What were they doing all the way out here on Rishabel? So far, Air Command, the Union's military arm, had shown little interest in this planet. Their jurisdiction did not extend out here and, while Rishabel's leaders tolerated rebels and smugglers, none of the Union's firepower was welcome here. Smugglers brought revenue; military brought trouble.

"What are you doing?" Khoe said, peering over his shoulder where only a moment ago she had hovered in front of him.

He ducked out of the way. "Must you do that? You don't need to move around at all, do you?"

"No. Just having fun. This all so new. You have no idea how exciting this is." She spun in front of his sled, long braids flying somewhat contrary to the laws of local gravity, her arms stretched out to encompass all he saw.

He looked around the dreary concourse as he started the vehicle up again. "I admire your attitude. So where is this ship you're looking for?"

She pointed at his data sleeve and waited while he ran the mapper. Guided by her, it scrolled through the hub of the orbital station, laid out like the spokes of a wheel. Their destination appeared to be the edge of the shipping platform near the shield generators. Probably not the finest part of town. Likely popular as a place where the generators would nicely confound most scanners.

"Do you know what sort of ship it is?"

She pondered a moment, recalling his archives. "Transport class. Fleetfoot, I think."

"That's a small cargo vessel. Black?"

"I don't know. We don't have color. I just recently got eyes." She pointed at his face. He waved her hand away before realizing that, to someone watching them, that probably looked odd.

"Likely smugglers in that class of ship," he said. "Let's go take a look."

Considering the distance from the ground to this city in orbit, the temperature of the stale air up here felt oppressive. By the time Seth threaded his way through the increasing commercial traffic on the loading dock, his hair clung to the skin of his neck and visions of a long bath shifted around his thoughts. Or maybe just a nice hot shower instead of the stinging decon cycle aboard his _Dutchman_. He looked up along the vast, curving wall of the dome to see its apex lost in a haze of pollutants and moisture. It occurred to him that any water available for bathing up here was probably poorly recycled or condensate. He decided to wait for friendlier shores before looking for a swim.

The dock turned out to be an expanse of multi-level rail systems along dismal racks of storage units used for warehousing as well as shipping. A few of those moved around overhead, hinting by the creaks issuing from their derricks that walking beneath them was ill advised.

"How do you know which ship you're looking for?" Seth said, slowing to cruise past the air locks leading into the parked transports. Some of the massive hulks looked like they had felt one too many debris fields. Outside the transparent dome larger vessels hovered at a distance, using cargo tugs to exchange crews and merchandise.

"I can feel... my friend. It's near here." She had decided to sit on the console of the skimmer and he noticed a few loose wisps of her hair moving with the air flow around the sled. He wondered if she made him see it like that or if his brain just imagined it that way. Like in a dream, there was nothing about her that did not seem absolutely real. "Over there!"

"Huh? Where?"

"They've taken it this way." She changed the display on his mapper.

Seth turned into a narrow alley lined with dilapidated businesses and residences for hire. Most were housed in identical, box-shaped pre-fabs, stacked three or four high, festooned with elaborate artwork, signage, lights and flags to catch the attention of passersby. The garish lights and colors only seemed to emphasize the orbiting harbor's pervasive shades of gray.

They cruised by a shop offering engine and generator repairs. Not very profitably, judging by the state of the shop front. He pulled around the back of the building next to this one, out of sight of the people crowding the narrow street, and walked back.

Mildly bothered by the smell of sewage, he paused and listened. Through the surging, ceaseless sound of the city, he heard voices, shouts, laughter; none of it worrisome. Something thumped a slow rhythm somewhere and he guessed it to be a part of the ventilation system, obviously not doing a very good job. He fancied it as some massive, lumbering creature looming over them all and wondered why this place was putting such morbid thoughts in his head.

He entered the shop. Khoe moved ahead of him to look around the cluttered interior.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"Being a person. Doing person-things. There are people upstairs, according to your scanner. They have what I'm looking for." She froze, then cocked her head to the side. "Turn around."

"What? Why?" He turned to the window. There was nothing to see outside as most of the shop's interior was reflected by the glass.

She studied his reflection through his eyes. "You're handsome."

A smile tugged on his lips. "How would you know?"

"From your literature. Stories. Some of your traits are admired."

"Just some?" he said in mock dejection.

"Hello?" An elder Human shuffled into the shop from a hallway, regarding Seth with curiosity and a considerable amount of suspicion.

"You don't have to talk out loud to me," Khoe said.

_Now you tell me._ Seth walked over to the rack of engines where the man took shelter as if about to be physically attacked. "Looking for some friends that might have come by here," he said meaningfully and handed over a vial containing a few grains of ordium.

"What's that?" Khoe asked.

_Around here that's money._

The shopkeeper's expression changed immediately. "You need to get out. Three Vanguard agents showed up just a bit ago. Went upstairs. No idea why."

Seth's eyes went to the ceiling. "Just the one staircase?"

"Yes. You people are nothing but trouble. Nobody said anything about Air Command sticking their noses in. I'm closing up."

Seth allowed himself to be hustled out onto the street. Instead of returning to his sled, he sauntered along the shop front, nodded pleasantly at a trio of hookers, and then slipped into the service gap between the buildings. Keeping his head down to obscure the telltale glow of his Centauri eyes, he scaled a metal fence to reach the second floor. It only took a few moments to pry a window and slip into the building, using years of experience and a handy tool acquired on Feron.

Gun in hand, he crept through gray and empty rooms, his steps muffled by the compounds used to encase the sheets of metal and plastics of which the city was built. He circled around a hoist used to move machinery for repair or cleaning or whatever it was that happened up here. There were voices ahead, not sounding very friendly.

Once as close as he was likely to get, fished a crawler from his pocket and set it on the ground. The insect-size device, another of his favorite tools, scurried along the wall, guided by Seth's neural implant, into a partitioned area at the rear of the building. He inserted a small speaker into his ear and then tilted the crawler's minute sensor upward to study the people that now appeared on the monitor of his data sleeve.

"I could have done that."

Seth flattened himself against the wall, catching his breath after these words nearly startled him into pulling the trigger of his pistol. "Don't do that!" he gasped.

She put a finger to her lips. "Shh. They'll hear you."

_Look, just because you can't get your head shot off doesn't mean I can't. So please be quiet and quit jumping out at me when I'm trying to concentrate._

"Actually, if you get your head shot off I'm in a whole lot of trouble," she said. "You're not used to having people around, are you? I just wanted to point out that I can ride that thingie you're using and show you what I see in there."

_Don't get involved. That crawler is working just fine._

She sighed dramatically as she stalked away and he wondered where she had learned that trick. _Thingie_? What else was she digging up in his database?

He returned his attention to his crawler. It actually wasn't working just fine as the electromagnetic interference in this part of town turned things into a bleary haze over there. He wondered if more significant radiation was currently working on reducing his lifespan. Getting off this orbiter as soon as he had something that satisfied the alien seemed like a sensible strategy.

Things weren't going so well in that room. Two Centauri civilians sat on the floor in what seemed to be a squatter's hideaway. The three Vanguard officers loomed over them, weapons drawn. Unlike the Eagle-class cruiser they had left on the air field, none of the agents hid the fact that Air Command had arrived. Although dressed in a mix of civilian clothing from a number of distant worlds, their weapons were high-grade military issue and the small badge at their shoulder was something that lesser beings were supposed to heed. The calculated arrogance borne by Vanguard usually served well to intimidate and prompt compliance. Their authority was absolute on Union planets and not trifled with in more neutral areas.

Seth raised the sound level for his earpiece. How did Air Command get mixed up in this?

"You sort of have a choice, Pirate," one of the Vanguard officers, a powerfully-built Centauri woman, said to one of the men. "We can arrest you and lose you somewhere along the way, or you can just tell us where you were taking this thing."

"That's it," Khoe said. "That wheel in that man's hand."

_What about it?_

"That's what I need to get back."

_Your person is inside that?_ Seth shifted the crawler's focus to the Human officer standing nearby. The man was studying the thick, disk-shaped object curiously as he hefted it from one hand to the other. It was thinner along the edge and the prongs extending from it seemed to connect to something else.

"Go get it, please."

_Did you notice those guns? What makes you think they'll hand it over?_

"It doesn't belong to them."

_You're sweet. In a naïve sort of way._ He turned his attention back to the Centauri soldier and her captives.

"We're traders," the man accused of being a pirate told her sullenly.

"Smugglers."

"Telling you nothing. You're going to off us anyway."

She raised a foot and tipped him over. His hands were bound behind him and his head met the floor with a bang. She put her boot on his shoulder and, judging by his expression, a lot of her weight, too. "What gave you such a low opinion of us?" she said amicably. "How about we just lock you up until we can get there? Deal?"

"We don't know where it's going! We deployed it during the jump and get paid for doing that. Some kind of experiment. No law against that, is there? Just trying to make a living and you come down heavy. Get your foot off me."

"Seth?" Khoe said. "Not trying to get involved here, but there's someone downstairs."

Seth crouched deeper into the shadows. The shopkeeper had left his cluttered lair when Seth had, so who was down there now? When Khoe boosted his scanner's signal he saw someone, several someones, approaching with stealth. Belatedly, he felt the gentle buzz of the alarm on his skin beneath the data sleeve.

"Who's that?" Khoe said when he peered down into the stairwell.

A beam of light stabbed through the dusty gloom as a tracer came looking for him. The silent shot that followed burned a ragged scratch into the plastic wall behind him. Seth spun around, debating only for a second between racing for the window where he had entered and the room at the end of the hall.

He burst through the door. "Incoming!" he shouted and shoved the Centauri out of the way. Only moments behind him, four armed men and women stormed the hallway, firing without prejudice. Seth lurched aside and saw the bound smugglers and one of the officers turn into a bullet-riddled mass of gore. He returned the fire, the Centauri at his side, but then the second soldier fell, his body crisscrossed by laser fire. They were driven back behind a tiled partition at the rear of the loft. Khoe hovered wide-eyed in the room and he had to restrain himself from pulling her to safety.

The Centauri officer, still standing but with a bullet wound to the thigh, shoved him against the wall. "Who the hell are you," she snapped, violet eyes blazing with fury, and punched her gun under his chin.

"No!" Seth felt Khoe's scream stab into his brain more than he heard it. It seemed to reverberate through his mind and body, filling him with a strange, electric sensation racing like a swarm of insects through his veins. He gripped the woman's arm, ready to defend himself, but she suddenly went rigid under his hands and her eyes widened in pain and fear. A mighty thunderclap ripped through his chest and the officer crumpled to the ground.

He, too, slumped to the floor, gasping, trying to comprehend what had just happened. The massive burst of energy surging through his body ebbed as quickly as it had begun and he felt himself fading along with it.

"Seth? Are you awake?"

Seth groaned as he sat up, taking a quick inventory of his body parts. There was a pain in his head that wasn't there before, but he seemed undamaged. "What the..?" Bodies on the floor. Blood. Nobody moving. Especially not the Centauri officer lying beneath him. He took a closer look, squinting through the gloom and his headache. "Dead. Gods, Khoe, what happened here?"

"Dead?"

"What did you do? To me? To her!"

"I don't know! I was scared. I thought she was hurting you."

He heaved himself upright. A laser had scorched the side of his jacket but not his skin. Among the dead were the two smugglers, their hands still tied behind their backs. "We better get out of here." The officers' Eagle would have sent an emergency message as soon as their neural implant failed to transmit their unique cerebral signature. Air Command would soon descend upon Rishabel in full force and he wanted to be long gone before that happened.

"They took it. The disk. Seth, they're gone!"

"I can see that." Besides missing the disk, none of the bodies seemed looted of valuables. Seth removed the Centauri's data sleeve and used his gun to destroy those of the other officers. He made his way back to the window and out onto the fence which creaked alarmingly under his weight. It seemed forever before he was on his sled and racing back to his ship.

"You're angry," Khoe said after a while.

"That about describes it." He kept his eyes on the mapper while he took a small detour and varied his speed. None of the vehicles moving between this quarter and the docks seemed to be in pursuit of him.

"Why?"

"Don't pretend you don't know. I don't know how, but you killed someone today. You damn well understand what that means. And not just anyone. A Vanguard officer."

"But they're Union people. Air Command. You don't like them."

"What makes you think that?"

"You're a rebel, aren't you?"

"What? No, I'm not a rebel." He lowered the skimmer when they entered the airfield tunnels. There were fewer people around here now. The turbulence whipped refuse across the tarmac, making sounds like whispers in the dark. He shivered despite the cloying humidity, wanting only to be back inside his ship and a long way from here.

"Maybe you could have told me that before you sneak up on Air Command officers," she said and the voice in his head sounded clearly on the brink of tears. "There is nothing about you in your own database. How am I supposed to know? I thought she was going to kill you."

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She was right. The Vanguard officer hadn't known, the attacking rebels hadn't known. Because they weren't supposed to. How would Khoe have known?

He moved across the lower concourse of the small-craft docks and came to a halt by the Vanguard's Eagle parked there.

"That's not your ship."

"No. It belongs to that Vanguard team back there." He pulled the officer's data sleeve from a pocket. "You're going to get some info for me. This should get you into there."

"Me? You told me not to get involved. I don't want to be involved." She paused. "You saw what happened when I do."

"Are you going to snivel or are you going to help me?"

Another pause. "How?"

"Get into that ship and download anything that mentions Rishabel to my data sleeve. And anything else from the last few days. Conversations, records, messages sent and received." He turned when a buzzing sound alerted him to the arrival of a small sentinel, sent by whoever found his presence on the docks interesting.

"Evening," Seth said politely. He pulled a square of flavored gum from a pocket and chewed it slowly. The air here tasted as dirty as it looked.

The floating camera circled him once before halting in front of his face. He swatted it and it backed off.

"Is there something you need?" a tinny voice reached him from the speaker of his data sleeve.

"No."

There was a brief pause. "Then why are you out there?" the air field guard finally said.

"Waiting for a date."

"You have no business near that ship. Move along."

"Thinking of making an offer for this one," Seth nodded toward the Eagle. "Any idea who it belongs to?'

"It's not for sale," he was told after a moment.

"Everything is for sale." Seth swung a long leg over the back of the sled and then ambled to the plane. The sentinel followed close enough to whip his hair into his face.

"Tough protocols in place," Khoe said. "Too tough for your transmitter, with this interference. Try touching the ship. The keyplate by the door."

Seth leaned toward the guard bot as if taking a closer look at it. "You've got something on your lens. Let me get that for you." He snatched the sentinel out of the air before its sensors could react. Carefully, he pasted his gum over its single eye. "There you go." He released it and watched it spin away.

"Clear that visor immediately!" the guard's voice rose several notches.

"All right, all right. You need to grow a sense of humor." Seth pretended to chase the disoriented drone, moving close enough to touch the stolen sleeve to the Eagle's key plate. Khoe's image wavered momentarily as she shifted her attention to the plane's system. A series of lights flashed on the key panel but the ship remained quiet.

With hopefully enough information gathered about the ship, Seth strode back to his sled and climbed aboard. A door on the guardhouse at the edge of the concourse opened to release a rather capable-looking Centauri, apparently less than pleased with the situation. "Sorry, it's too quick for me," Seth said to the sentinel. "I'm late for my date. Have a nice evening."

Soon back aboard the _Dutchman_ , now fully supplied with fresh coolant, Seth wasted no time in requesting clearance for departure. He set course for the nearest jumpsite, back the way he had come. He flew manually for a while, brooding in silence. Khoe also seemed uneager to communicate.

Finally, he engaged the autopilot and moved into the main cabin. Khoe appeared as if he had called to her, but she curled up in one of the bucket chairs and did not look at him. He regarded her silently for a moment, wondering if she struck that pose because of what she had learned from his files or if the image she presented to him was beginning to correspond to her mood on its own.

He sat down on the lounger, again aware that he was unqualified to deal with this first contact situation. This stranger had reacted to a threat in ways no one, including she, could have foreseen. Obviously, Khoe was not as harmless as she appeared and that discovery had cost someone's life. The xenobiologists on Targon would probably trade their first-born for a chance to study this individual.

"Can you tell me what happened back there?" he said without making the question sound like an accusation.

She lifted her shoulders. "I told you. I was scared. Maybe angry. I just meant to... to weaken her I guess. Push her away from you."

"I believe you." He recalled the pain of a whole lot of power surging through him. "You took her... her energy somehow? Neural energy? Through me? You said before that you can take that from me."

She didn't reply for a while. "I think so. I didn't know that would happen. I was just so scared. I didn't mean to hurt you. Or her."

"Your next dip into my archives is going to be physiology. Try to figure out how you affect us out here."

She finally lifted her head. Her haunted expression seemed far too pained to be anything but genuine and Seth felt a stab of compassion for his visitor. "You want me to go away," she said.

He looked into that sad face, that pleasing assembly of whatever traits she had come to like among his species, and found himself entirely unsure of what he wanted. There was something undeniably fascinating about this creature and he, a lifelong scholar of the races inhabiting Trans-Targon's many worlds, yearned to learn more about it.

What he was not prepared to admit to himself was that this unique person, evolving by the hour, also held considerable appeal. He spent much of his time alone here on the _Dutchman_. And when among people he was often in the rough company of felons and rebels or the fleeting comfort of women he never knew long enough to care for. Khoe's unpredictable and vexing presence here felt like a little sunlight in the night.

"I don't know if this is a good place for you," he said carefully. "You will need to go home sometime."

"I need to find that disk! You don't understand. I have no home without it. None of us do."

"Do you know what those smugglers want with your... person?"

"No."

Seth thought back to the horrific blast of energy surging through him to kill the officer. And the intense pain he suffered when Khoe first entered his brain and the way she had put him instantly to sleep. Of course, the ease with which she had cut through the _Dutchman_ 's encryptions was the most remarkable thing of all. He had no trouble imagining how these entities might be very useful. And valuable. "I think you do," he said. "You're dangerous out here. To us. You saw that." He raised his hands when she started to protest. "I believe that you didn't mean to do that. But there is some powerful energy transfer going on. People will be interested. And frightened by it."

"Are you?"

He tipped his head back and looked for answers on the ceiling. "You took a chance when you came aboard this ship. Hoping I'd be useful. That I'd help you. What would you have done if I hadn't agreed? If I wasn't able?"

"Another of my people would try again with another pilot, I guess," she said. "Before those smugglers leave this sub-sector. We won't be able to find them if they get too far. Your... space is so, uh, unconnected."

"So should I be frightened? I am, I guess, your prisoner now. Stuck with you in my head."

She sat up. "I don't want you to be stuck. That wasn't our intent. We need you. And I trust you. You tried to help those soldiers when you could have just escaped. You were upset when they died. I think you could help me because you want to." She allowed herself a small smile. "And you have more curiosity than good sense, I think."

He grinned. "That has been problematic in the past."

"If you want me to go away, I will. You don't have to do this. You're not a prisoner."

"What'll happen to you if I ask you to leave?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I could try to join with another of your people. Although now I know to ask, first. Or maybe I'll just stop being."

He winced.

"I don't think I'm wrong about—" She suddenly leaped out of her chair, eyes wide.

"What? Khoe?"

"They're opening a keyhole. They're going to jump!"

"A keyhole? Not the jumpsite?"

"No. They're going into the breach. Now. We won't get there on time."

He hurried into the cockpit and sat down to engage the _Dutchman_ 's neural interface. "Where?"

She accessed his navigator to show him coordinates much closer than the charted and stable gateway into other parts of Trans-Targon, the one that most pilots used to travel the immense distances separating the explored areas of their sector. But these new coordinates lay nowhere near those. The _Dutchman_ reported a keyhole, difficult to detect and even more difficult to navigate. There were several such breaches in this area but using those required a tremendous amount of coolant, a very capable ship and, most importantly, a navigator with the necessary mental ability to find his way out again.

Seth changed their course. "It's not that far. But I'm just a chartjumper. I can open that keyhole but I won't be able to span it. It takes a special talent to do that. Most of us don't have that."

"I do," she said, her attention on the ship's sensors. "There they are. Too far."

"We'll get there soon," he said, looking up into her tense face. "Don't worry."

"Yes, but that span has three possible exits. They could emerge anywhere. Too far for me to follow." She closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped. "Gone. They jumped. Too late."

He surprised himself by reaching out to take her hand. She flinched when she felt her skin under his touch. "We'll get some advice," he said, half expecting her hand to melt through his fingers. But it was solid and soft and there was nothing about that hand that didn't seem utterly real. "I know some very smart people. Don't give up."

She also seemed fascinated by the hand that held hers. "You'll help me? You don't mind, then? Me being here?"

He smiled quickly and released her. "I'm always up for an adventure," he said. "So let's get busy and get you home again."

"What are we going to do?"

"First, a little clean up and intel gathering. I like to keep things tidy." He avoided glancing into the cluttered cabin behind him when he said this. "My DNA is all over that officer. Unfortunately, it's also all over Air Command files. They'll be looking for me. I know someone who can call them off. He won't like it, but he'll do it."

"For someone who's not a rebel you're awfully shy of Air Command."

"We've had disagreements. We'll head to Feyd. I do a little work for someone there."

"But not a rebel?"

"Hardly. My boss is Baroch."

"Baroch? Delphian. Factor. One of the ten governors of the whole entire Commonwealth?"

"The same. He's my source of Union intel and clearance, which is useful. He can find out what Air Command has to do with your people being stolen."

"And you think he'll get them to stop chasing you for killing the officer?"

"I hope so. As far as the Commonwealth sees things, you either follow their rules or you're a rebel. An outlaw. If Baroch says I'm not an outlaw, Air Command they will accept that."

"Then it's lucky you're friends with someone powerful like that."

"It's been helpful," he agreed, surprised by her comment and relieved to have avoided an ethics debate about getting away with murder. "Sometimes things are dealt with... carefully. Out of sight. Most of the Union governors are civilians. They can't always use Air Command to... proxy for them. So most of them have their own staff."

"Spies. Agents," she said, pointing at him. "Assassins."

"You read too much. Few people know what I do. Or for whom. Most think I'm a mercenary or smuggler or something. You can't get far into rebel territory if you're flying a Union flag. So I keep my hands dirty."

She frowned. "That's a lonely way to live. And dangerous."

He shrugged. "Kind of profitable, too."

She browsed through his archive and brought an image of Factor Baroch onto the screen. Severe features scowled down on them, not softened by the slate blue hair so tightly pulled back into the traditional Delphian braid that the skin of his forehead seemed stretched. "And you think he'll help?"

"I'm not much good to him in prison. He'll make it go away. Also, he's Delphian, as you can see. His people don't really care much about Commonwealth expanding into places they shouldn't be. I can trust him to keep news about you quiet until we know more. You'd be of great interest to Air Command."

"Me?"

He nodded. "They'll want to... meet you."

She tilted her head. "Stop treating me like a newborn, Sethran, even if that's what I am. You think they'll hurt me, don't you. Because they'll want to know what I am. Or..." She chewed on her lip in a way that seemed Human. "Or because of what happened. What I did back there."

"Let's not find out. Baroch lives on Feyd when he's not on Commonwealth business, so you'll jump us there. I want him to get us in touch with one of their Shantirs."

"The Delphian priests? Why?"

"They're not even remotely priests although that's the story. Officially. Not so official is that they can hack into my brain as easily as you can. Baroch can find us a Shantir without drawing attention."

"And a Shantir will help us?"

"I think so. They don't care about the Commonwealth at all. But they care about other species. And they're a curious bunch. I have a feeling they've heard of your people by now. They've been poking around subspace more than any of us have."

She seemed unconvinced, still focused on the image on the screen. "I don't know if I want one of them... umm, in here with us."

"In my head, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"It appears that I have a lot of empty space in here." Seth relayed the information she had stolen on the Eagle from his data sleeve to the main screens before them. "We have some time before we get to that keyhole. Let's see if we can get anything useful from what those officers had."

"They didn't know where those smugglers were going."

"I don't think they were going anywhere. I think those people were just collecting for someone else and Air Command walked in before they handed the goods over. Pirates, smugglers, even most rebel bands don't have spanners that can use keyholes. That sort of navigator is just too rare. Anyone like that would have more interesting jobs than flying around places like Rishabel." He let a long row of symbols and images scroll over the monitors. "Whoever is after your people owns some pretty powerful talent. And the attack back there was precisely executed. They didn't even loot the bodies. That's telling us something."

They combed through the files, finding references to the trip to Rishabel, some discussion about Delphi, a message to someone's friend on Targon. Seth happily tucked a few unrelated morsels away for future reference but his main interest was the incident with the people that had taken the subspace entity.

"They don't like Rishabel any more than you do," Khoe said after a while. "What's wrong with the place?"

"Kinda ugly, don't you think?"

"I haven't been anywhere else. There, I think I found a message from their colonel." She transferred the file to the main screen. It had been a while since Seth had seen the officer but it was unmistakably Colonel Carras, the commander of Air Command's Vanguard squadron.

"We read your report with interest, Captain Rephan," the Centauri colonel said in his usual, slow drawl. "Good work. Go ahead and head over to Rishabel. The rebel we picked up is barely coherent but Targon wants it checked out, anyway. The objective will be a metal wheel, fairly heavy, trading hands out there. On a Fleetfoot tagged _Haygen_. Secure and return without delay to Targon for quarantine. Project is classified as _Sius Red_ under General Dmitra. His people are tracking the other incursions."

Seth paused the display. "Other incursions?" He glanced over to Khoe, who had decided to perch on the main console in front of him. "You shouldn't sit on that."

"You only _think_ I'm sitting on it." She slid off the board. "I didn't want to frighten you again."

"I was startled back there," he amended. "That's not the same thing. Any idea what he meant by 'other incursions'?"

"None." She tapped the screen where the colonel's image was frozen into a still frame. "It's not an incursion. We didn't mean to come here."

" _You_ did."

"We are expanding the operation," Colonel Carras continued when Seth resumed the message. "Your priority will be to secure the mechanism being used to harvest the pathogen. Vanguard Seven's heading for Delphi to make inquiries there. Good luck with retrieving the storage unit. I'll be tied up with the Shaddallam event for a while yet. Carras out."

"Harvest." Khoe grimaced. "That sounds evil."

"Pathogen," Seth pondered. "Doesn't sound like he thinks your people are sentient. It also sounds like they think you might be dangerous to our species. If someone's collecting your kind Air Command is going to pay very close attention. And they'd want to know how it's done."

"So do I," she said. "If we can find out how it's done, we can maybe find a way to avoid it. Your Air Command people are going to try that 'harvest' for themselves, aren't they? Your people are a curious species. Collectively speaking." She considered this for a moment. "Would they, though, if they knew that we're not some pathogen? That we're sentient?"

Seth nodded slowly. "The Commonwealth grows by including other worlds peacefully. Mostly for profit. But not if they think you're dangerous. Doesn't sound like Air Command thinks you're harmless. And today we've given them another reason." He looked over the screen showing the message packet code. "What he said about consulting Delphi is interesting. Guess I'm right about checking this out with Baroch. I'm surprised this message wasn't sent more securely."

"It was," she said. "Took me a while to get through the encryption. The tab on it was coded with a symbol like a hand."

He raised his eyebrows. "A hand? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He whistled appreciatively. "You've got talent, lady. You might want to encrypt it again. Do you still have the code?"

She tapped her forehead. "What goes in there stays in there." She pointed at his head. "Actually, in there."

"I'm going to start charging you rent, I think. Speaking of which..." he peered at one of the maintenance monitors on the console. "We might want to pick up more thorium. You're an expensive house guest."

"Pardon? I wasn't listening, being so busy decoding your secret messages."

" _Your_ secret messages, darling. If not for you, I'd be on my way to Aram for a payday."

# 3

The creature, dark and insectile, had barely moved during the endless hours since the last jump. After their ship emerged from subspace, the pain in Liron Deve's head felt like someone was pulling his brain out of his eye sockets. He'd passed out; the only way his commander would let him get away with remaining in his bunk while the others went to meet their contacts over Rishabel. The headache stopped soon enough and then the madness began.

The thing crouching in the middle of the cabin shifted now and again, sometimes spoke in languages Deve didn't recognize, and ignored Deve unless Deve tried to leave. Or speak. Or call for help. At those times it lashed out with _something_ that caused such intense pain that he soon learned to cower on his bunk and keep his mouth shut. Where were the others? It had been hours since they left to deliver the disks.

The thing was some sort of alien, that much was clear. Deve had never bothered to learn much about the non-Prime species of Trans-Targon but when he tried to capture an image of it to feed into his data sleeve, he'd gotten some more of that pain.

Something was going on with the unit on his wrist. The com was busy, and the indicators on the flexible screen showed constant activity. He wondered if a systems diagnostic was being run aboard the ship while docked on the orbiter.

He flinched when the creature moved across the floor. Its primitive extremities reshaped into something vaguely mammalian, grew in size, changed in color, and sprouted dense, horse-like hair, patterned in blond and brown whorls like those of a Caspian.

Deve, himself Human like most of this crew, stared in mute incomprehension as its hands grew an extra thumb and then fierce claws appeared on the oversized feet. Like those of all Caspians, its reproductive organs were internal but the shape of its elongated head along with powerful shoulders identified it as a male.

The yellow eyes turned to Deve. After a long silence, the alien shifted again to thicken his waist, a weak point of the Caspian body, and changed his rich caramel color to dark gray with black patterns over his back and thighs. For some bizarrely whimsical reason he reshaped his head to look almost Human. "That'll do, I think," he said finally in a voice that sounded as if it came from the next room.

Deve cringed back against the wall by his bunk in an attempt to make himself as small as possible – a difficult feat for a man of his size. Expecting another surge of pain for his impertinence, he said, "What... who are you? What do you want?"

The alien considered the question for a while. "Looking for someone," he said. "You're going to help me."

"What? Not likely! You'd better get off this ship before the boss gets back here. He won't tolerate stowaways aboard."

"There is not much he can do about that," the alien said. He turned slowly in front of Deve. "Only you can see me. That's a pity, don't you think? Should I add a tail?"

"Tail? What..." Deve frowned, overwhelmed by all of this.

"I'll take a Caspian name. Call me Lep Ako." The alien sat down on Deve's bed, companionably close. Deve tried to shrink back and found himself out of room. "Grow a spine, Pirate," Lep Ako said, using words and an accent that had never crossed a Caspian's lips. "I've just spent a long time trying to figure this place out and you people are so irrational it's making my brain hurt. Your brain." He pointed to Deve's data sleeve. "Nothing useful on that, but I got to the ship's data bank. And from there I grabbed anything I wanted on this orbiter. It's been enlightening. We better leave."

Deve blinked. "Huh?"

"Leave. As in: go away. I might have tripped something so some folks are getting nosy out there."

"You didn't! Boss'll tear my head off if we ruin things with Rishabel. You don't mess with the locals."

Lep Ako nodded. "I know that now. Come, let's leave before your master returns."

"He's not my master."

A slow grin pulled on Lep Ako's features. "That's true. I am."

"You are nothing! I'm imagining this whole thing. I've heard about people coming out of that jumpsite with their brains scrambled. What I need is a doctor."

"What you need is a little discipline."

Deve's eyes widened when the alien raised his hand toward him. He launched himself from his cot to race for the door. But Lep Ako slapped his shoulder in mid-leap, almost playfully, and some tremendous electrical shock flowed from the alien's hand into his body. Deve stumbled over his own feet and slammed to the floor where he lay twitching and unable to move.

Lep Ako loomed over him. "Now look at the pain you've caused yourself. Lucky for both of us you're a healthy specimen. I'd love to see your face right now. This didn't bother me one bit, thank you for asking, unlike that hole you tried to punch into the wall earlier today to find out if you were dreaming." He cocked his head. "You're not the brightest among these Humans, are you? Don't worry about it. I'll do the thinking for both of us. You just keep your gun loaded and follow my lead and we'll work out just fine."

"Leave me alone," Deve moaned.

"That, unfortunately, I have no control over. I think we need to come to an understanding, Liron Deve, so you can stay healthy. About what is acceptable behavior. About who's in charge and what needs doing around here. Seems to me what you need is to stay pain-free, no?" Lep Ako waited until, finally, Deve nodded.

"There's our first understanding. Believe me, it's all for the best. You don't want to bust heads for your chief for the rest of your undoubtedly short life, do you? You can do something far better with your time."

Deve pulled himself up and leaned against the wall, not yet trusting his legs. "Like what," he said sullenly.

Lep Ako pulled back to walk across the room. Something about his feet seemed to bother him and he reshaped them at little. "Those claws are fearsome," he commented. "I have no idea how these creatures manage to walk with feet like this." He faced Deve again. "I just sucked up every last bit of data from every storage system on this station and you ask me 'like what'? Are you that stupid? We're going to have us a great adventure, you and I."

"What are you? Please just tell me."

"Time for that later. Get up. We need to go."

"We're not alone here. They won't want you on board."

"They won't know if you keep your mouth shut about me. And you will. Doing anything else will just get you dead."

Deve scrambled to his feet, rotating a shoulder still vibrating with whatever Lep Ako had done to it. "They'd think I've lost my mind, anyway," he muttered.

He left his cabin, aware of the alien moving along beside him. He paused in the narrow corridor leading to the ship's airlock. There were voices ahead. He glanced at Lep Ako, wondering if, truly, he was invisible to all but him. Could he warn the others before it harmed him? Perhaps he could pass some subtle signal. Surely, this creature was a danger to them all.

"Deve!"

Before Deve could duck out of the way, Sybelle, the captain's ever-present, silver-haired mistress, stood in his way. Wife, he reminded himself. It's what she liked to call herself. Whatever she was, the boss doted on her, leaving her the run of the ship until she had even replaced his second in command.

"Finally got your ass out of bed, I see," she said, daring him to make another excuse for doing nothing while the others worked. He glanced at Lep Ako hovering in the air beside him, not quite vertical, making no impression on the woman at all.

"Head hurts something awful," Deve said to her, knowing better than to show the disrespect this harpy deserved. Last time he ended up swamping the hygiene closets.

"Sure it does." Her eyes moved from his broad face down along his well-maintained body. He cringed inwardly, also remembering when he had mistaken her cruel teasing for an invitation to touch. The beating he received from the captain served as a warning to the rest of the male crewmembers. She pointed to the rear of the ship. "How about you get yourself some fresh air and help get those supplies on board. Boss'll want to take off the moment they get back here. They're way overdue as it is."

"Sure," he said. She made no effort to get out of his way. He felt her brush against his arm as he sidled around her to make his escape.

Deve could almost hear Lep Ako snigger spitefully in his ear but the alien made no comment. Somehow, this seemed more disconcerting than his ridicule would have been. But would he have mocked him for meekly taking orders from his master's bed-mate or for not alerting his crew to the alien among them?

He owed them for nothing. Nothing but years of living rough aboard this tin bucket and ducking out of the way of Air Command patrols. He thought about what Lep Ako said earlier. Had the creature really circumvented the orbiter's security systems? If so, of what else was it capable? He envisioned simply slipping into some secure facility to make off with untold wealth. Taking any ship he fancied. Becoming someone to be reckoned with among his fellow thieves. After the servitude he endured aboard the _Haygen_ , wielding the power this alien had shown him exceeded his imagination.

Wait and see, he told himself and strolled to the exit ramp, wrinkling his nose at the fetid air that greeted him. The expletives peppering his compatriots' language wasn't any less foul but he joined in as they brought the delivered supplies aboard and installed replacement coolant tubes.

"It's here," Lep Ako said. "Or it was. Not long ago. I can feel it."

"Feel what?"

"What I've come for." Lep Ako stabbed a finger against the side of Deve's head. "Just use your interface to talk to me, like you send commands to your data unit. No need to talk so people can hear you."

_What did you come for?_

"You won't understand. We need to get to the shops on the far side of the shipping docks."

_I can't leave here. Things will go bad for me if I'm not here when the boss wants to leave. They'll be back soon. He'll want to leave this place at once._

"He'll leave without you. Your work here is done." Lep Ako leaned far too close to Deve, daring him to protest.

Cowed, Deve heaved another crate into the cargo bay. His _work_ here, as smuggler and occasionally as pirate, meant risking his thick neck to protect his leader and whatever unexplained schemes he carried out in the name of profit and sometimes the Shri-Lan. Calling himself a rebel when it served his purpose only added a thin veneer of justification for what amounted to murder and theft in the name of a cause he didn't really understand anyway. Maybe it was time to move on.

He loaded his last crate and waved to his crew mates. "Taking a piss," he said and sauntered away from the docking platform to the service area. There were few people about and the loudest sound was the whistling of the breeze responding to the unevenly pressurized components of the station.

"From over there," Lep Ako said and the urgency in his voice made Deve walk more quickly. "I feel it. Get an air car."

"I have no currency for this place. I'm not even supposed to be off the ship. If the boss finds me out here he'll—" Deve yelped loudly when a pain rammed through his insides as if impaled on something sharp and unpleasant. He bent over, thinking he might vomit.

Lep Ako waited patiently until he straightened up again, pale and trembling. "Let that be the last bit of whining I hear from you, pirate," he said. "See that Human over there? Take his currency. Hurry."

Deve nodded and lurched along the concourse to follow his target into a poorly lit part of the service area. Like much of the place, it was deserted by anyone with more pleasant things to do elsewhere. It took only a few well-placed strikes with his large fists before the man fell to the ground, leaving his possessions for the taking.

"Not much here," Deve said. "It'll get me a car, though."

"So what are you waiting for."

They soon headed toward the orbiter's hub, guided by some beacon only Lep Ako perceived. Their route zigzagged as if following a moving target and Deve felt a growing agitation that wasn't his. His own had settled into a steady state of apprehension. What he perceived from this creature was anger and something akin to panic.

"What's wrong?" he dared to ask when they threaded their way through a crowded commercial quarter.

"It's not here anymore. The signal is static now, decaying. Some residue left here. I need to find it. Turn left."

"Residue? What is it you're looking for? I can understand if you speak plainly."

"The sire. It's here, dragged out of subspace by your people's incompetence. I've been sent to find it. Return it."

"Sire? You mean like your father?"

The yellow eyes narrowed. "Do I look like I have a father? Don't try to think, Deve. It'll just hurt your brain."

"You don't have to be nasty," Deve said. "I get that you're in my head somehow. That means you need me to drag _you_ around. I'm stuck with that, I guess, but I won't be your mule if you're going to make my life miserable. I'm not that attached to it, if you know what I mean."

The creature regarded him for a long moment and Deve prepared himself for another blast of pain. It didn't happen, perhaps because he was currently speeding through some very narrow gaps between buildings. "That's kind of sad," Lep Ako said. "Or it would be if I cared enough about your pathetic life. If you jump ship I'll find someone else. Do not threaten me."

Deve steeled himself. "What is this sire?"

"The beginning of all of us. Without it, we can't be. It draws us together, we join and grow into something that thinks and understands."

"There's only one of those sire-things?"

"Yes. Maybe it's a new beginning for our kind. Maybe it was all an accident. Just one more particle in a chain, maybe one change in the resonance, and something happened to make us into more than what we were."

"And it's out here now? In one of those disks we're delivering to the Shri-Lan?"

Lep Ako nodded. "I think that's what happened. Your people took it, took the sire, and some of us followed to get it back. Your ship passed by and I came along."

Deve furrowed his scarred brow. "Didn't think anything lives in subspace. It's just space in-between stuff. It's not really a place at all."

"Guess you're wrong about that, Human. Just as we were wrong about here. After all, it's possible for us to exist here." He considered for a moment. "Even if it means being tied to one such as you."

"You can find yourself someone else. I won't mind."

A cruel grin reshaped the alien's lips. "I may. Let's see how useful you can be. Your fists work. Your legs work. That's all I need." Lep Ako suddenly raised his hand, making Deve flinch. "Stop."

They did, hovering above a crowd of revelers making their way from one tavern to another. One of them walked into the sled's turbulence and shouted at Deve. Receiving no response, he hurled a bag which burst as it hit the sled's side, adding the smell of rough alcohol to the air.

"Here," Lep Ako said. "Stop in here."

Deve lowered the skimmer to the ground and then followed Lep Ako's directions to a shop wedged between a few others that didn't look any less dusty or dilapidated. The door yielded to his touch when Lep Ako obliterated the lock's circuits. His perimeter scan told him that no one occupied this thin slice of stacked crates pretending to be a building, but the alien nesting in his head demanded caution.

The carnage on the second floor made even him blanch. He walked past the bodies of Humans, Centauri and a Feydan, recognizing his crew mates, three civilians in suspiciously expensive clothes and armor, and a few strangers. "That's my boss," he said wincing. "Used to be my boss. What a mess."

He crouched beside a Human and, after a brief search, enriched himself with a fine rail gun and a large sum of currency accepted on a number of planets, if you shopped in the right places. "This one's rich."

"Vanguard," Lep Ako said.

Deve recoiled. "You could have said something before I touched him."

"Another over there. The female."

Reluctantly, Deve walked to the fallen Centauri Vanguard officer. He saw no blood, no burns, nothing that showed how she had died.

"It was here," Lep Ako said. "The sire. Trapped inside the thing we felt when it was taken from us. But there is more. There was another here. Another like me. This female was killed by that other. See if she has a bio scanner."

"We need to get out of here," Deve said. "Someone's going to come for the officers." When Lep Ako only glared at him, he bent to search the dead woman's equipment. "Yeah, here." He waved the scanner inexpertly along the body. "What's it say?"

"Her heart stopped. Exploded, actually. Interesting. Four hours ago. Scan for DNA."

Deve fumbled with the settings and soon came up green. "Just two people on her. Males. And some _tappit_ on the sleeve. Maybe a pet drooled on her."

"Centauri," Lep Ako said thoughtfully, studying the scanner's returns. "Both of them."

"Why do you need this?"

"If there are more of my kind out here I want to find them. The sire was here. Maybe this Centauri has it or maybe he knows where it is. What I do know is that the sire isn't on this orbiter any more. Let's head back to the docks."

Deve shrugged, quite happy to get away from this slaughter. His foot slipped in a smear of blood and he took a moment to obscure his boot marks before remembering that his DNA, too, was now deposited on two of the bodies. "What do you want there?"

"I want to leave this place, what else?"

Deve trudged back down into the shop and out to the street, barely clear of the building when three expensive air cars pulled up in front of it. Uniformed officers and Air Command soldiers poured out of them. All but one guard rushed into the building. The soldier glared at Deve but stopped short of ordering him away.

"Get back to the skimmer," Lep Ako said. "But don't leave."

_Why do you want to hang around here? They'll round everybody up when they see that mess up there._

"Just do it!"

Deve climbed into his rental and puttered around with the mapper while Lep Ako used his data sleeve to hone in on the com traffic in the area. He shared none of that with the Human who amused himself by watching the growing crowd of onlookers. Hookers and their customers this time of the night, Deve assumed, wondering what Lep Ako would have to say if he approached one of these women. Did Caspians even mate outside their species? It wasn't even clear to him how they mated _within_ their species. Of course, Lep Ako wasn't even a real Caspian.

"What's so damn funny?"

"Huh? Nothing."

"Get back to the docks. Hurry before the soldiers return. We've got a few things to do before we can get off this station."

Deve obeyed by lifting the car above the pedestrians and then merged with other traffic into the main traffic lane. "We'll need more cash if you're looking for passage."

"I don't think so. Turn here."

Deve followed Lep Ako's directions to the vast service hangars belonging to the orbiter's administration. Here the components keeping the platform functioning and its population alive received maintenance and crew bosses dispatched repair gangs for work shifts. The plant made up one of the arms reaching out from the central hub, allowing crews to work in reduced gravity. The noise from machinery and the metal it worked upon obscured all other sound.

He hurried across an echoing atrium, dodging trolleys and cranes, to reach a staff area directing workers to showers and change rooms, a med station and a food dispensary. No one paid much attention to the burly Human pulling work clothes from a shelf to change into coveralls in place of his shabby combat gear.

Lep Ako absorbed himself with accessing the administrative information system, paying no attention when the smuggler broke into a few private bins to look for valuables. Deve filled his pockets with currency, some tools that caught his interest, and a nice little packet of _mince_ to enjoy later. It occurred to him that the alien would probably not tolerate anything that would affect his brain and, reluctantly, he tossed the drug aside.

"What are you doing?" Someone had walked around the end of the row of lockers he was exploring and spoke before considering Deve's size and questionable activity. Another mechanic came in behind her.

Deve lashed out and gripped the woman's neck. A blow with his other fist broke it. He turned to grasp the other intruder when a peculiar, painful contact materialized between them. He watched, dumbfounded, as the man convulsed before dropping to the floor. That was unexpected. Deve examined his hand, wondering what had happened.

"You're not totally useless," Lep Ako said, as surprised as Deve by this. "Maybe I'll keep you after all."

"What... what happened to that one?" Deve's foot nudged the dead man on the floor. "I barely touched him."

"You did more than that, my friend. Get one of their sleeves and her badges. Then we better leave. The Air Command ship is leaving soon."

Deve blinked, startled from his contemplation. "So?"

"Just do exactly as I tell you. I want to find out what Air Command knows about the sire. Why they sent Vanguard agents and not just some patrol. From what I understand, they don't bother with smugglers like you unless there's something important involved."

Deve made his way back to the docking ports where the Air Command transport had commandeered much of the space. Guards paced about but no local officials had appeared, making it clear that the military enjoyed no special status here. He had to take several deep breaths before he dared to approach the entrance ramp of the sleek transport. The _Kimura_ 's three decks loomed above them and he saw fighter plane gates through the bleary observation windows of the concourse. Lep Ako prodded him along with cruel little jabs that irritated as much as they motivated.

A husky soldier barred his way when Deve's identification was not recognized by the sentinel parked near the air lock's entrance. "Restricted," he said, using Union mainvoice.

Deve feigned surprise and waved his wrist at the sensors again. "I have orders to report here," he said, coached by Lep Ako. "This is the _Kimura_ , isn't it?"

"It is."

"Then I need to be on this ship. I was told to be here."

"Calm down," Lep Ako warned. "I'm almost in."

"You can check with the CO," Deve said to the soldier, battling with the tremor in his voice. The last time he'd stood this close to a Union soldier had been the day he'd left that jail on Feron. "I've got a job waiting on Targon and the boss arranged for my trip there with you."

The guard shrugged and forwarded Deve's data to someone inside the ship. "Do we have clearance for this brownshoe?" he asked, appraising Deve with a critical gaze that included the stolen service badges. "Engineer going to Targon, he says."

Deve wished himself far away from here, maybe back with his smuggler crew running dope out of Pelion. _I don't know anything about ships like these_ , he sent to Lep Ako. _They'll toss me out the air lock when they find that out._

"Leave that to me," Lep Ako replied. "Just don't wet your pants."

Deve put on his most belligerent scowl and tried to look like he wasn't worried about his imminent arrest while they waited for a response.

Finally, a lazy drawl issued from the security sentinel's speaker. "Yah, that's confirmed. Deal was made with port management two days ago. Must be some talent if Targon wants him. Tell him to report to Stubbs and make himself useful. We're shoving off in a couple of hours."

_How did you do that?_ Deve sent when he was given directions and waved through the checkpoint. He gaped wide-eyed at the Air Command ship's expensive interior. The air even smelled good in here. The floor wasn't caked with whatever had stuck to everyone's boots, the wall seams fit perfectly, and the engines were unheard up here. Officers moved through the corridors with crisply-uniformed efficiency, paying no attention to the man in the engineer's coveralls, and the grunts didn't even seem allowed on the main deck.

"Air Command encryptions aren't much harder to crack than the others here. This is going to be much easier than I thought." Lep Ako already pored undetected through the _Kimura_ 's data banks. "Black sky ops. Crew of twenty. Carrying thirty troops, including four Kite fighter planes. Interesting. There's also a Ghoster off-planet, carrying another fifty troops. Must have been on some kind of mission when this went down here."

_So much for getting to Targon._

"All of these eventually end up there. Have patience. We're here to get information. Don't interact with anyone, don't talk to people, keep out of everyone's way and we'll be fine. I'll show you what you need to know to look busy."

_I'm hungry._

"The mess is one deck down. Don't distract me."

_What are you looking for?_

"The Centauri. The man who took the sire. His DNA is all over Air Command files. I have a name already."

Deve skipped the elevator and, like a proper engineer, descended a ladder through a conduit to the lower floor. His nose led him to a small dining hall. _So who is it?_

"Minor sympathizer named Sethran Kada. They think he might have some Arawaj affiliation but he's done work for the Shri-Lan in the past. Smuggler who looks like he gets results."

_Guess he's with the Shri-Lan now, if he's collecting those disks for them_. Deve chortled with delight when the available meals also turned out to be of far greater quality than the grub he was used to. He didn't really give a damn if Lep Ako found this magical sire of his. If stowing away on the Union ship meant eating like this, he'd be happy to be aboard for months.

"And he's long gone. I can't feel the sire at all now."

_He might not even have it any more._

"Maybe. We'll let Air Command do our work for us. He's wanted now because of that dead officer. They'll find him, I'm sure. And then we'll find out where they're taking those disks. Stop eating now. You better get to work."

Deve managed a few more mouthfuls of real rice and fake meat and then stuffed a bag of sweet pricklebean curds into his pocket. He found his way to engineering where, after another inspection of his brand new credentials, he was given a job with the ship's air and heat exchange crew. He actually knew a little about such systems and, guided by Lep Ako and using his considerable skill for slacking on the job, managed to stay outside everyone's attention range for the next few hours.

Lep Ako continued to comb through the ship's data, concentrating on communications between the ships that worked this sub-sector. Information that would take a physical being days to decipher, organize, and interpret passed through his mind in minutes. Still, the _Kimura_ had cast off and headed toward the jumpsite again before patterns emerged, names stood out among the chatter, and orders given by Union and rebel leaders started to make sense. He spent some time learning an obscure Caspian language but that, too, was worth the trouble. Little was being discussed about subspace entities, but that something unusual was being organized out here was clear.

"Bringing my kind out of subspace is no easy job," he said to Deve at last, startling the Human into dropping his tools. "People are dying. I and the other out there, with Kada, might actually be very rare."

"Your sire should be easy to find then, eh? You'll be home in no time."

Lep Ako shimmered into view. It wasn't a pleasant view, given the sneer on his face, but Deve felt better having a person to talk to than the voice in his head. "Perhaps."

"You're going to take them all back, aren't you? Your... your people? Out of those disk things?"

The alien inspected himself through Deve's eyes, studying his six-fingered hands as he turned them slowly. "I think maybe not."

"Huh?"

Lep Ako spread his arms wide. "I like this place. This physical space. It's small and limited but it's filled with... with things! You would not believe the intel I'm finding in this database. What more is out there, I wonder." He perceived Deve's confusion. "Don't you get it? This place, this real-space, is where my people belong. I know that now. I can bring them here. It's been done at least twice. It can be done again. For all I know, someone's already doing it."

"With those disks."

"Right. Someone out here knows about us. Maybe they're looking for a way to keep us here. Maybe they're looking for damn pets, who knows. They'll find out soon enough who we are. There is only one thing that can stop us."

Deve swallowed hard when Lep Ako glared at him, waiting for him to respond. "Your... your sire?" he ventured.

"Yes! As long as it is out here, we can be here, too. It calls, it points the way, and we just need a passing ship to leave subspace. We only need a host to..." he amended whatever he was going to say. "To befriend. To join with us as a new life form. To give us shape in exchange for some very useful abilities. They _are_ useful, wouldn't you say?"

Deve recalled the incomparable surge of power when he murdered that mechanic on Rishabel. Not just the painful bolt of energy he channeled into him, but the thought that a simple touch from his hand could do so much damage filled him with awe. "Yes," he whispered.

"Once I have the sire we'll create a small team to infiltrate places we'll need to establish ourselves. Hopefully I won't have to go through too many duds till I have enough matches. I'm going to have to learn more about real-space physics. It's so different from what we understand."

"I think my people feel the same way about your home," Deve said. He returned to his assignment and knocked a heat sensor out of the way to install a new circuit. "Is this the relay I'm looking for?"

"Yes," Lep Ako said absently. "We can get that Sethran Kada to join us. He might have access to the sort of people we can use. Important rebels, people with the planes and equipment we'll need. Men who aren't afraid to try new things."

Deve busied himself with his tools, knowing too well that Lep Ako spoke of people who were nothing like him. His presence here was merely an accident. With every moment that passed, he felt the alien's disapproval of him, perhaps even outright dislike. As much as he wanted to be rid of this frightening presence in his head, the thought that he only served until something better came along filled him with misery.

"Targon is a good place to begin with," Lep Ako said, oblivious to the Human's dejection. "Imagine the fun to be had there." He considered for a moment. "It's got some awfully dense security but I can do it if I get near the mainframe."

"The Shri-Lan have been trying that for a hundred years."

"Longer than that. But they didn't have me. That's all changed now."

# 4

Even in the shade, the temperatures of Feyd were no more pleasant for the average Centauri than they were for other Prime species. Except, of course, Feydans. The natives seemed to make a point of walking about thickly dressed while people like Seth stripped down to their undershirts. Perhaps it amused them.

Seth slumped on a ledge against someone's garden wall, watching a woman and her children make their way toward the Union-operated commerce center to the north. Like most of her people, her smooth brown skin was tattooed with patterns and symbols that told the stories of her ancestors. He had studied some of that but meaningful interpretation of these markings took more than casual interest.

"Do you like that?"

Seth tipped his head back against the wall. The heat of the day seemed doubled by Feyd's high gravity and he wanted to sleep. Somewhere behind him water gurgled into a pool and he wished himself already within Baroch's private compound, cooled by such water and served a long, cold drink.

"That woman?" he said without looking at Khoe who had come to sit beside him.

"Yes. With those lines drawn all over her."

He shrugged. "She's pretty." He watched Khoe turn her arm in front of his face to study her Centauri-pale skin. "You don't need tattoos. You'll just end up writing something rude on your forehead or something."

She squinted at him. "I can read. Besides, you have a tattoo."

He turned his arm out to peer at the detailed drawing of an ocean-going vessel with massive sails just above the inside of his elbow. It disguised the slightly raised edges of the emergency com unit embedded under his skin. "The Flying Dutchman," he said, running his finger over it.

"What's that? Other than your ship, I mean."

"Some old Human legend I read long ago. A ghost ship that sails around forever."

"Like you?"

"Yeah." He found his eyes traveling past his arm to the gauzy swath of fabric she had chosen to wear, simulating the fashions worn here. It displayed a rather spectacular neckline. "Do you feel this heat?"

"Yes, like you do. It's not pleasant. It makes you sluggish."

He moved his hand closer to her and poked her thigh. "You don't feel that?"

"I told you. I feel you feeling me."

"Because you're in my head."

"Right."

He pulled his hand back and smiled broadly at an elder passing by with a suspicious look on his face. _I really shouldn't sit here talking to Miss Invisible_ , he projected.

"Or feeling her up," she added. "So where is this driver your boss is sending for you? You sent that message hours ago."

_Late, I guess. Baroch won't be happy about that. Delphians are very punctual._

"Why do you need a driver? Are you important?"

He looked beyond her and jerked his chin toward an approaching skimmer. _There he is now._

The air car slowed down as it approached the appointed meeting place and the canopy retracted. A Human woman inspected Seth with a critical eye. "Kada?" she said.

"I was expecting Vydian."

She climbed out of the skimmer and handed him a uniform jacket after passing a wand over his eyes. Matching his retina information against her data display, she shrugged. "He's busy." She watched Seth dress in the coat that would identify him as a member of Baroch's personal staff. "He's at the stables. Get going."

" _I_ was here on time," Seth said as he took her place in the vehicle.

"You don't like that one very much," Khoe observed. "Because she's not pretty?"

_Because she's rude._ He pulled a water bottle from a compartment and drank a good portion of it before handing it to the woman. "Have a nice walk."

"That was also rude," Khoe said when they had left the driver behind.

"Yeah, it was." Seth grinned, starting to feel better. He left the skimmer's canopy down and sighed happily when the breeze cooled the sweat on his body. The vehicle turned away from the town where he had parked the _Dutchman_ and headed into the lush countryside. No air scenter available to spacefaring crews matched the live, ever-changing smell of green things growing. "She started it. Since when are you an expert on manners?"

"Things are fitting together," she said earnestly. "It's thrilling. I scan through your database and I find... themes. Concepts that don't seem to belong together somehow do. Some agree with others, and then some things just come up as such wonderful mysteries. It's starting to feel like I just know things without even meaning to."

Seth glanced at her intent, excited expression. The joyful smile was utterly contagious. "I noticed that, too. Look at your face."

"I don't even have to think about some things any more. Non-verbal communication, for example. Happening on its own. Of course, there's just you to try that out on."

He laughed. "Bored with me already?"

She quickly put her hand on his arm. "I didn't mean that! I like being here with you. I'm so grateful for your help. You don't have to do this."

"Yeah, I do," he said. "I love a mystery." He let his eyes roam across the charming landscape to give her a good view of what Feyd had to offer. The rolling hills produced some of the best food in this sub-sector and he made a mental note to pick up fresh supplies before he left this place. _Arooja_ berries, which yielded a delicious sweet-bitter juice even if they did tend to stain one's teeth for hours afterward, were at the top of his list.

Trees closed in when they passed into a valley and finally reached the Factor's estate. Seth passed through a security check at the gate and then took the vehicle beyond the main building to the stables a little further along the road.

The stables were a rare indulgence for the Delphian leader. His people did not keep pets and these animals, descended from a mammal brought here by Humans and bred for riding, served little practical purpose. Seth had once joined Baroch on a ride through the valley's meadows and looked forward to another such outing. He smiled when he imagined Khoe's reaction. Of course, taking horses into the fields also meant an opportunity for a private meeting with his employer.

He parked the skimmer near the entrance to the stables beside a few others undoubtedly belonging to Baroch's ever-present security detail. Baroch's personal shuttle, gleaming and well-appointed, seemed out of place here.

By the Factor's own strict directive, he left his weapons in the vehicle. The service entry yielded to his hand print and he entered the cool, quiet stable redolent with the scent of horse, wood and hay. His scanner showed a few people near a paddock at the other side where Baroch would be waiting for him. He stopped near an enclosure to let Khoe take a look at one of the animals but it was skittish and refused to come closer.

_Something not right here_ , he projected. The silence seemed more like that of a tomb than a drowsy summer's day. He noted tension, like being surrounded by people holding their breath in anxious anticipation.

"What do you mean?"

_Not sure. Where is everybody?_ Not even a stable hand worked among the animals today. No voices, no sound of water running or harness clanking. He turned back to the front entrance, pretending interest in one of the horses there.

"Check your perimeter," Khoe said urgently.

He did and counted several bodies rapidly moving around to the front of the barn. Despite its bucolic appeal, this place was as tightly sealed as any secure facility and he doubted that the door to the corral was currently unlocked. He stepped into the brilliant sunlight to face the muzzles of a half dozen guns. _Damn._

"I don't see your boss," Khoe said.

Seth felt someone take position behind him. "Good morning," he said cautiously.

"Sethran Kada, I'm guessing?" a lieutenant said from a calculated distance. None of the guards looked like mere grunts; he felt himself measured and judged down to every atom of his instinctively battle-ready body.

"I expected to meet with Lord Baroch. Privately." Seth looked past the soldiers and saw none of the estate's own staff out here, either. "He's not the warmest Delphian I've ever met but his welcome doesn't involve guns."

"I am Lieutenant Soogan," the officer said. He gestured to the vehicles in front of the stable. "Please join us in the Factor's shuttle."

"It is empty," Seth said. He walked reluctantly back to the parking area. "Where is he?"

"Is this bad?" Khoe asked. "They seem very grim."

_Yes, this is bad. This is Air Command. Not his own security. They have no business out here unless there is some emergency. Baroch would not meet me here if the place was crawling with cops. He doesn't exactly want to be seen with me._

Seth had little choice but to accept the lieutenant's invitation to enter Baroch's shuttle. A floating lounge for someone of high esteem, it was furnished in gleaming wood and rich fabrics, the usual accessories for one of the ten absolute leaders of the Commonwealth. Even with the other soldiers in here, the vehicle did not seem crowded. All of them knew that it also made a very secure prison.

Soogan gestured to one of Baroch's well-cushioned chairs in a way that suggested a refusal on Seth's part would be poor manners, indeed. "Let's have a sit-down. Targon asked us to head out here to take a look when you landed. Xenoscience Div. Isn't that interesting? I'm afraid we have bad news."

Seth's eyes took a quick tour around the shuttle, noting windows and doors and the chances of making it to any of them before he was taken down. Unlike the research being done by Targon's excellent ethnology departments and an expert staff of exobiologists, _xenoscience_ was a polite Air Command term for keeping tabs on non-Union species. Perhaps on species like Khoe's. "Has something happened?" He sat on the edge of the chair, his body coiled for flight. _Can you get into the shuttle's system without them noticing_? He folded his arms to hide activity on his data sleeve from the watchful eyes around him.

"I'll try," Khoe replied. "You seem tense."

Soogan leaned toward Seth. "You traveled out here for nothing, I'm afraid. Factor Baroch was killed in the line of duty."

Seth blinked, utterly unprepared for this. Baroch dead? He cursed inwardly, calculating the loss of his benefactor but also oddly upset by the news. He had always held a fair measure of respect for the leader. This did explain Air Command presence here now. All of the governor's matters, official or private, would now be under intense scrutiny before being passed on to his successor. And that included unexpected visitors landing here with very little notice to request an audience. "Baroch? How? When?"

"That's classified. It does leave you in an awkward position."

Seth shrugged carelessly. "Leaves me unemployed. Please give my condolences to his wife. She's a kind lady."

"Stay a while." Soogan raised his hand when Seth made to get up. "We have some questions. What brings you to Feyd? To the Factor's private home?"

_I don't like this one bit. How are you doing?_

"Still decoding," Khoe said. "I will get through."

Seth reached for one of several cover stories. "There's nothing to be asking about. I run a few errands for the Factor now and again. He's not the first official to have a fondness for things that aren't... well, appropriate. I doubt Air Command is interested in how he relaxes at the end of the day."

Soogan smirked at one of his men. "So the honorable Factor liked a little taste of _mince_ , did he? Anything stronger?"

"I do not gossip. So, unless you have a replacement for Lord Baroch already looking to interview delivery people, we're done here." Seth stood up and noted the immediate tension among the guards. "Time to start a new job search, I guess."

"I don't think a job search is in your future, given your talents. Let's get on with things, Kada. How about you fill us in on what happened on Rishabel?" The genial tone seemed flushed from the lieutenant's voice.

"I'm in," Khoe announced. "What am I looking for?"

_Locks, lights, alarms. Turn off cameras in here. Scan everything._ Seth turned his attention back to Soogan. "Just some brawl. The usual toss between outlaws and you fine folks. I happened to be nearby. I have nothing to add to that."

"You killed an officer."

"Did I?"

"Why were you seen with rebels?"

"What rebels?"

Soogan checked his wrist unit. "Man name Gage saw you. Identified you. Owns a shop where the shooting happened. Said you were there to meet up with some Shri-Lan."

"You're not accusing me of murder, are you? I have no reason to take out Vanguard agents."

"What seems to interest Targon is your reason for immediately heading for a Factor's residence after killing a Union officer." Soogan nodded to a civilian in the room who circled around Seth, sensor wand in hand.

"Please stand up, Mister Kada," she said.

Seth watched her move the scanner over his body. "That's kind of intrusive, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said, straight-faced. "You might feel a pinch."

Seth smiled. "Be gentle with me." He faced Soogan again. "What do you want?"

"A little cooperation would be nice."

"What sort of cooperation?" _That word is never a good sign when it comes out of an officer's mouth_ , Seth sent to Khoe. _I'd like to get out of here before they get serious._

"You don't think they could help us find the disk?"

_They're not here to help you, Khoe. If they really thought you were some sort of pathogen they'd be walking around in hazmat suits. I have the feeling Targon already knows about you._

"Doctor?" the lieutenant said to the civilian.

"DNA match," she reported. "I'm also seeing very unusual brain activity. Could be hallucinations taking place. His physiology is unaltered and healthy, which is baffling, given his current epinephrine levels. It's like he's using it up as fast as it appears."

_Is that you doing that?_

"Yeah. Can we leave now? That man is making me nervous." Khoe waved her invisible hand around the officer's face. "I drained their guns, too. Girl's got to eat!"

_You are brilliant,_ Seth replied, struggling to keep a grin from his lips.

"I think it may be best if you accompanied us back to town, Kada," Soogan said. "Those readings match the pattern Targon sent for comparison."

Seth pretended to think about that. "As much as I appreciate your concern for my health, I have to be somewhere." He winked at the doctor. "I can come by afterwards, though, if you're so worried about a little adrenaline rush. I'm sure you know how to burn that off."

Soogan exhaled sharply. "Cut the games, Kada. You're wanted by Targon and you damn well know that's not a polite invitation."

"Are you arresting me?"

"We feel that you are safest in our custody until we have determined the nature of your condition," Soogan said. "But, yeah, we are. You killed an officer. As far as I'm concerned, you're a traitor, maybe even Shri-Lan."

_If I get out of this shuttle, lock them in here and disable all com channels in and out. They'll have to shout if they want help._

"Got it," Khoe said. "Won't they just break the door?"

_This little bus is about as secure as you can get. The Factor is well protected. Was, anyway._

"What are you going to do?"

_Get off this damn planet. Don't let anyone get in my way. Do what you have to._

"You can't mean that. I don't want to kill anybody else. Besides, they're upset enough over just one officer."

_Can't you just zap them a little?_

"Yes, let me wave a magic wand, Kada!"

_Now you're thinking._

She grimaced at him. "Don't worry about the guns. But those men look awfully big."

_And I'm awfully fast._

Seth took a step toward the door. "After giving this careful thought, I've decided to pass up on your hospitality." He half-turned to the guard behind him. "I don't suggest you try to stop me."

The soldier raised his weapon, his opinion on the matter made plain.

Seth sent a silent signal to Khoe. He slapped his flat hand onto the guard's armored chest and felt a prickle of _something_ , not nearly as painful as it had been on Rishabel. The man froze, staring in numb incomprehension until Seth pulled away. Everyone watched him drop to the floor, stunned.

"Anyone else?" Seth said, surprised by a flood of new energy coursing through his body. But the shock received was milder, almost exhilarating, than the one that killed the agent on Rishabel.

"Take him down!" Soogan shouted.

Some of the guards fired their weapons and found them useless. Another lunged toward Seth and met the same fate as his mate.

"Come no closer," Seth warned the others. "You have no idea what I can do." He didn't, either, but this wasn't the time to admit that fact. "I will destroy any ship that comes after us."

"Us?" Soogan said. "Kada, stand down. You're not getting out of this."

_Do I have to touch them?_

"No," Khoe replied. "The floor is conductive enough. Barely, though."

Seth smiled at the lieutenant. "Consider this my termination notice."

"Kada—" the officer began before he shuddered and fell to the ground along with the others, senseless.

The door behind Seth opened as if by its own will and he leaped to the ground to drop another guard before she could raise the alarm. This time, the energy drain was palpable. Gasping, Seth pulled her into the shuttle and then the doors slid shut, locked down by Khoe.

"They're not dead!" Khoe exclaimed. "I did it."

"I'm not doing so well," he replied, racing back to his skimmer to retrieve his guns. Feyd's gravity dragged on his legs as if attempting to hinder his escape. "I'll take some of that adrenaline if you can squeeze some out of me." He took a deep breath when a little energy returned to his depleted limbs almost immediately.

"That won't last," Khoe said. "I'm getting tired, too. Weaker, I mean."

"I'll treat you to some fantastic thorium when we get back to the _Dutchman_."

Seth climbed into one of the vehicles used by security after briefly touching his own and the others to be disabled by Khoe. He passed the Factor's mansion like a man on his appointed rounds and, once out of sight, ramped up to race back to his ship.

It seemed to take forever before he was given his take-off clearance and he paced nervously as he waited, certain that every last Air Command soldier was converging on the air field. He considered just taking the _Dutchman_ up without permit but, while he had certainly severed his ties with the Union today, he was not willing to jeopardize his welcome on this planet.

Finally, flight control cleared him and he lifted off, aware that Khoe was using up as much of his fuel as the ship did while she restored herself.

"Where are we going?" she wanted to know, curled up on his copilot bench.

"Keyhole not far from here." He tapped one of the ship's indicators as if that would improve the coolant levels. Then he displayed a holographic map to point out their options. "They'll expect us to head for that jumpsite. It's a busy gate and the relay station is fully manned. We'll never get past there. We'll take this keyhole instead, which they won't expect, seeing how I'm just a chartjumper and they think I'm alone. Once we're through it'll take them a while to track us down. Did I mention how amazingly handy it is to have you aboard? It would take me weeks to make that trip on my own." He adjusted the _Dutchman_ 's scanners to cast wide for any pursuing cruisers. "I wonder if they're still asleep back there."

"What if I hurt them? That's not going to help things," she said with a very small voice inside his head. "You can't go home again, can you? Because of me. They'll hunt you. Even if you get off, they'll never trust you again."

He shrugged and got up to leave the cockpit. "I don't have a home."

"Don't pretend. You know what I mean."

He pulled his shirt over his head, feeling the need for a quick decon and a whole lot of sleep. "We were never exactly on good terms, anyway. Most probably think I'm a smuggler and a petty criminal. The few that do know don't like me working for Baroch. They prefer the Factors to use Air Command and not run their own agents."

"What happens now? Without Baroch?"

"They'll have to elect another Delphian. The Union needs Delphi's cooperation far more than Delphi needs the Union. Most top level spanners are Delphian. Without that sort of navigator, Air Command would have to rely on simple charthumpers like me to get around, instead of using the keyholes. So the Delphians insist on having one of their own among the governors. Delphi is against Union expansion as much as the rebels are but they prefer to oppose from within. The Commonwealth is all about trade. Wealth. Power. Someone like Baroch makes sure that things don't speed out of control."

"And getting through subspace is dangerous enough. They don't want to worry about picking up alien invaders now, too."

He nodded. "The Commonwealth companies won't be too concerned about being polite to some energy entities floating around subspace."

"Not if they think we're dangerous."

"You _are_ dangerous." Seth raised his hands and stared at them thoughtfully. "That's some powerful mojo you're capable of." He looked into her unhappy face, remembering the incredible feeling surging through him when he took those soldiers down. He was an expert close combat fighter as well as marksman but harming others was something he did out of necessity, something that had been too often a part of his life for years. This, however, felt extraordinarily _good_ while it lasted. The rush of energy had been nothing short of physical pleasure.

"I just hope it's not hurting you," she said. "I'm becoming troublesome."

He sighed, pained to see her upset. "I'm fine," he said. "Just tired. Don't worry so. Once we know you're safe I'll report the whole thing to Air Command. It'll end up classified and everyone'll pretend this never happened." Without really thinking about it, he stepped closer to her and pulled her into his arms. She flinched, startled by his touch, but then relaxed against him to return the comfort of his embrace. He closed his eyes, again amazed by the absolute reality of her presence. The soft curves against his own body felt right, as did the arms now wrapped around his middle. He could even feel her soft breath against his bare skin when she spoke.

"So this is what a hug feels like," she said.

"Yeah."

"Can I sleep with you?"

He released her abruptly. "Huh?"

She nodded toward his lounger. "You said you were tired. If you don't mind."

"Well, no. If you wish." He nodded toward the cockpit. "After we jump."

"Where are we jumping to?"

"We're going to find us another Delphian."

# 5

"Another one? Are you sure?" Colonel Celois barely glanced at the display screen his aide held out to him. They had arrived at Targon's sprawling research center after news of the fiasco on Feyd convinced him to leave the nearby military base and take a closer look at the victims for himself.

"Yes," Lieutenant Lanyu struggled to keep up with the colonel's long strides. "One of ours this time. Patrol ship cruising near Aikhor. The pilot is dead."

"Same indicators?" Celois slowed for one of several security checks on their way to a facility deep below Targon's largely uninhabitable surface. The wide hallways, following the planet's natural tunnel system, made up for the lack of daylight with brilliant, color-balanced illumination.

The ability to burrow easily into Targon's porous crust along with its strategic position within the sector's jumpsite network made this planet a perfect location for Air Command's military headquarters. The massive base, in turn, protected valuable installations, among them this vast, interspecies medical research center.

"Yes, cortical lesions and intracranial hemorrhage. We've got one witness to the pilot's hallucinations, incoherent speech, convulsions, death." The lieutenant scanned through more of the message. "She's on her way here with the body, quarantined. The patrol ship is on the Magra base. They're awaiting orders."

"Have them send any on-board audio and video along with the systems security data here and then seal the ship." The door before them yielded to their hand and retinal scans but a guard on the other side scrutinized their cards and insignia before permitting them into the secured section of the facility's exobiology wing.

Most of the new species studied here did not require diplomatic or even military interaction. Contact with sentient populations took place long before they arrived here, which of course happened eventually if a willing test subject could be found. Over the past three hundred years of Union expansion into this crowded, diverse sector of their galaxy, the occasional patient here had been less than willing, he knew. But these days most research delved into plant, animal and microscopic life forms found elsewhere. The study of ethnology was left to the sociologists on the upper floor.

Until recently, anyway. Celois and his lieutenant entered another locked sector and then a lab area where they would meet with Doctor Patman and her team. He had met Patman during the initial meeting between Air Command and Xenoscience Div when this situation first came to light.

He walked into her division where technicians worked on their monitors or near the project screen taking up the entire far wall. This was a dry lab and no one asked them to change into protective gear. Still, the others wore the white coveralls used in this wing, emblazoned by the badges proclaiming their specialty. He noted that a fair number of them belonged to Neuroscience. What looked like small hospital rooms, each with a mirrored window allowing a view of those inside, lined two sides of the open central space.

Someone he did not expect to see down here, deep in conversation with the doctor, was General Tanvin Dmitra, the commanding officer of Targon's main military base. Things had indeed escalated if the general himself took an interest. The doctor, a diminutive Human, noticed him by the door and she and Dmitra left their spot by an observation window to meet him.

Celois saluted his superior, a Feydan whose angular features could be mistaken for those of a Delphian if not for the bronze, intricately tattooed skin stretching over sharp cheekbones and hairless skull. "General. I expected to meet you upstairs later."

The nod he received from Dmitra was on the frosty side. "I decided to see for myself. We'll meet with security down here. Doctor Patman was about to brief me on the latest cases."

Celois peered over her head into the room behind her. A Caspian sat on the floor there with his arms wrapped around his knees. His people bore a richly patterned hide which they rarely covered with clothing and he had been allowed to discard his hospital garb. The yellow raptor eyes stared listlessly at nothing, oblivious to the people on the other side of the window. A medic sat on the floor beside him, propped against the wall in what seemed to be a mixture of patience and boredom.

"This is Ras Ceta, our first victim," Patman explained.

Celois remembered the name from their earlier meeting. This was the Caspian rebel that had led the Vanguard agents to Rishabel. He'd been found wandering near the docks and his peculiar ramblings had worried the local security force to contact Targon's specialists. If not for several ships in the area turning up with dead pilots, his tales of people living in his head would not have caught Air Command's attention. But the claim that the voices originated in subspace were uncomfortably reminiscent of several recent distress calls. All six ships with such occurrence had recently traveled through subspace. "Your diagnosis?"

"Still too soon to tell. This is not a mental illness found among Caspians. There is something foreign inhabiting his system, but it's not organic, nor caused by any mechanical means. Even so, it caused the formation of a separate neural circuit sharing this man's nervous system. If you want me to throw an analogy in the air, I'd say he's two people in one body. Or was. The alien neural activity has ceased now. He claims that his... passenger has died. It seems to have caused his current state which is very much symptomatic of depression."

Celois sighed. If this followed the same process exhibited by another pilot, the Caspian himself would not live much longer, either. "A non-organic parasite? Is that even possible?"

"You'll have to consult your physicists, Colonel. Subspace is not my area of expertise. It's certainly nothing we've ever encountered in real-space. So far."

She gestured for them to move along. The door to the next room was open and a Centauri woman, reclining on a tilted chair and apparently unconscious, served as the center of attention for several technicians. Celois winced when he took in the array of diagnostic equipment connected to her remotely or by wire. One of her elbows twitched rhythmically in response to some stimulus.

They continued to yet another exam room. "This is the patient you'll want to speak with," Patman said.

A Centauri sat stiffly on the edge of his bed, also staring into space, but looking far less dejected than his neighbor. Whatever he was undergoing right now was not distressing to him and a small smile played over his lips.

"He's coherent?" Dmitra asked.

"Quite. He's a communications officer on a freighter heading to Pelion. Your people checked that ship out. No special cargo, no smuggling, no rebel affiliations. Just a transport. No one else aboard was affected. When he started to talk about a voice in his head they isolated him in their med station and contacted Targon." Doctor Patman checked her data unit. "He goes by name of Orajah. Besides the two patients you've already seen, he's the only one to survive the infection."

"Wasn't there another one? The Union pilot?"

"Unfortunately, when we tried to scan more precisely to see if we can separate the second set of neural tissue from the Human victim, she died without apparent cause. I agree with your theory that we are dealing with sentient beings."

"Murderous ones," Celois muttered.

"Perhaps. The pilot was not very... cooperative with our efforts to remove the parasite. Maybe we triggered some self-defense mechanism. If so, it was at the cost of its own life. We did not detect any energy transfer upon death."

"So not likely contagious. Or replicating."

"Not in any organic way that we can determine."

"I'd like to speak with the Centauri," Celois said.

Doctor Patman ran her hand over a sensor and the door before them opened to allow the colonel to enter. He handed his sidearm to his aide and gestured for her to wait in the lab with the general.

Orajah looked up at the colonel but remained seated and silent. Celois stepped awkwardly past the bed and took a chair placed beside it. "Evening," he said cheerfully.

The Centauri nodded. "More questions?"

"No, I just wanted to chat," Celois replied. "I'm sure you're tired of the doctors by now."

"Yes. But the food here is good, so that's something." Orajah shifted his gaze beyond the colonel and then back again. "I suppose you want to know about Oss."

"Oss? Your... guest has a name?"

"No. I call it that. I had an invisible friend when I was a boy. It seemed fitting. I think it likes having a name."

"You can talk to it?"

"Of course. In a way. It doesn't really understand what we are. It made a shape for me, so I can see it. It's right over there, behind you."

Celois turned abruptly and saw nothing but a tray of food not yet cleared from the bedside shelf. Still, the thought that Orajah saw something there made the closely-cropped hair at his nape bristle. "What does it look like?"

The Centauri sighed. "I answered all that already. Several times. I'm sure it's in a report somewhere. I thought you didn't have any questions."

"You can imagine our curiosity, I'm sure," Celois replied. As a civilian, this man did not owe him the rank and file subordination that he was used to but even civilians tended to exhibit respect for Air Command. Without the Union's military, few freighters would make it far without paying tribute to pirates and rebels. Orajah did not seem to care who had come to interview him.

"I can. You've locked me in here and I'm sure it'll be a long while before I'm let out again. I understand why that is. It makes me wish I had not told anyone about Oss."

"You don't mind it being here with you?"

The Centauri shrugged. "It's soothing. I don't really know what it wants. It talks sometimes but I'm not sure it knows the difference between us and that chair. I think maybe it's damaged. It's hurt or sad or something. It looks like a small Prime species now, but it keeps changing. Sometimes it's just _there_ , without any real shape."

Celois glanced at the mirrored window where he knew the doctor stood by to observe. "Do you think it's dying? Leaving again?"

"No. It wants to know us." Orajah leaned forward and stretched his arm toward the colonel. "It needs that," he said and covered the input panel of the colonel's data sleeve with his hand.

Celois pulled away before remembering that only his own touch and code allowed access to Targon's highly secured network. Orajah tried to grip his arm again, leaping from his bed at the officer. Like most Centauri, he loomed over his smaller Human cousin. Celois, seated in his chair at a disadvantage, struggled to reach for a gun that wasn't there.

The Centauri released him and turned to the door just as two medics rushed into the room. He pushed them aside and one of them yelped in pain when she was thrown back and then crumpled to the ground.

"Security!" Lieutenant Lanyu shouted, drawing her gun to stop the Centauri.

"Don't shoot!" Celois shouted at the same time that Doctor Patman did. Somewhere an alarm rang. They heard doors slamming as the facility was locked down. Orajah looked wildly around the clinic and then rushed to an interface screen that took up most of the wall beside the workstations. He thrust both hands against the glass and remained there until two guards tackled him to the floor. He gave up without struggle and allowed them to restrain him.

Celois stood over them, still gasping for breath after the attack. "What the hell was that?"

"I'm sorry," Orajah said calmly and not especially apologetically. The guards yanked him onto his feet and he did not resist when they secured his hands behind his back. "Oss wants to learn more about here. Real-space here, I mean. So it looked. It learned from our ship's database but it's not interested in charts and cargo lists. You have more."

Alarmed, Celois inspected his data unit. His security code had not been entered, and access to the network had not been breached. He hoped. Cursing, he entered the necessary code to have his clearance reset. "So what did it get?"

The Centauri said nothing for a while. "Not very much. There was no time to look and your system is well partitioned. It doesn't like you, I think, but it can speak better now. At least I can understand more. It knows what this place is now. It wants to leave."

"We are not going to harm it. We need to know more about it. Attacking us is really not a good idea. Maybe you can convey that to your friend."

"You don't understand, Major. It doesn't care what happens to it. Or me. Or at least it doesn't worry about it. It doesn't care what we learn about it. It just needs to get to the others of its kind."

"Oh? What others? Where are they? How many are there?"

Orajah shrugged. "It doesn't know."

Celois turned when someone arrived with a stretcher to take the injured medic away. The woman was conscious but unable to stand and didn't seem to recognize any of them. "What did you do to her?"

"I don't know. We did not mean to hurt her. I'm sorry about that. I hope she'll be all right. She was very pleasant with us, earlier."

Celois watched as Orajah was returned to his room. "I want him sedated and the other victims isolated. Disable all electronic devices in this room and install a manual lock. Bring in a security detail and remove all access to the external network. For everyone." He looked around to find the general in the bustle of guards and personnel rushing to follow his orders.

Some of them had hustled Dmitra into the next room, partitioned from this one by a transparent wall, where he conversed with a uniformed officer on a screen, apparently not bothered by the commotion. He activated a com panel. "Colonel Celois, I think we've seen enough here. Doctor Patman, if you would join us, please." He exited the clinic, leaving the others to hurry after him into the adjoining meeting room.

Celois was not surprised to see Captain Bayla, an expert in electronic security systems, waiting for them. The captain was poring over a large sheet spread out over the table, moving data from one section to another, some of which was displayed on a wall monitor, while speaking in low tones with someone over his com band. Another specialist sat before another display, studying replays of the surveillance video of the incident in the lab. Both men looked up when the others entered, then straightened to salute the senior officers.

"What do you have for us," General Dmitra said curtly but not unfriendly.

Bayla disabled his com link and indicated his project sheet. "We've completed our assessment of the reports from Feyd," he said without preamble, no more interested in formality than their commanding officer. "What you've just witnessed in the clinic is not an isolated phenomenon any more than the fatal incident with the Vanguard team on Rishabel."

Celois groaned. "Kada?"

"Kada. We were able to reconstruct some of what happened on the Factor's estate. We've concluded that Sethran Kada may, indeed, be infected and pose a considerable threat." He paused before adding, "of course, we have no way to confirm that since Kada declined our invitation to join us here."

The colonel scowled. "They sent six men to collect him."

"What do we know about him?" Dmitra said.

"Wouldn't quite call him a pirate but he's not above helping himself to what he needs. Has the ear of some fairly high-powered Shri-Lan and not a few Arawaj. Does work for them, although mostly for himself. Slippery. Tends to turn up exactly where we don't want him. We never end up with quite enough reason to take him down."

"Until now."

"Yes, sir. He was trained by Air Command until he decided he'd rather play by his own rules. Top tier pilot. Language expert. Fully trained in special ops. And what we didn't teach him, the Shri-Lan did. He's been on his own for over ten years and doing quite well. UCB Feyd should have known better than to send a bunch of grunts to arrest him."

"I'm more impressed by how he got onto the governor's grounds than how he escaped again. And what interests me the most is why he was there after just murdering an Air Command officer." Dmitra nodded to the security specialist. "What happened on Feyd?"

Captain Bayla consulted his sheet. He circled a part of it with his finger to send it to the vertical screen on the wall. A Centauri with thick black hair curling around his neck gazed back at them with just a hint of a smirk. Beside him appeared an image of the Factor's armored ground vehicle. "He was being interviewed in there, according to the recordings made by your people. The situation was not especially confrontational. Then all recordings stopped. All weapons were disabled at precisely the same moment. The squad and the doctor you sent woke up with a big headache hours after Kada left the planet. They are largely unharmed, thankfully."

"You think Kada did that?"

"Not a single gun was fired. In fact, Kada wasn't even visibly armed when the recordings stopped. We compared the doctor's scans of Kada's brain to the Centauri patient in the clinic. The activity, mostly involving the auditory and visual cortex, is very similar." He looked to Patman for confirmation.

The doctor nodded. "Not only that, the residual radiation detected on the deceased officer on Rishabel is identical to that collected on Feyd. There is little doubt that, whatever weapon he is using, it was the same. And if this was not some new mechanical weapon, this parasite is not only intelligent enough to communicate with its host, it is capable of tremendous energy conversions." She nodded in the direction of the lab. "I'll expect we'll find the same radiation on Milena after what we saw just now."

"If Sethran Kada is hosting one of them, he's not showing any ill effects," the general said. "In fact, he seems to be working in tandem with it, or vice versa. From our perspective, not a good development. Perhaps he's only one of many and the few we've found are only those who, for some reason, weren't compatible and are washing up on the shore."

Celois stared moodily at the display wall where Seth seemed to mock them with his smile. "And if that's the case, we could have a whole lot more of them out there, ones that haven't spun out, who are as opposed to joining us here as he is."

"A reasonable assumption," Patman said. "The victims we have been able to interview aren't unhappy about being possessed by the aliens once they get over the surprise. Having conversations with them. Giving them names. Avoiding capture. Perhaps these visitors have a way of convincing their hosts that their presence is desirable somehow. Plenty of parasites, even some viruses, exhibit such behavior. If the host is unaware of them, or benefits from their presence, he's unlikely to want to remove it."

"All the while being used to infiltrate our ranks," Dmitra said. "And not just ours."

"You're anticipating some sort of invasion? By subspace entities?" Celois asked the general.

"Dismissing that possibility is a dangerous gamble. I don't have to tell you that whatever method Kada is using to evade capture has my attention. I'm sure Doctor Patman is also eager to get a look inside his head. So let's come up with something workable to bring him in alive, shall we?"

Celois pretended that the general's last sentence hadn't been aimed squarely at his head. "I'm troubled by what we just witnessed with that Centauri victim. His ability to interface with our systems would indicate that these entities can enter and scan our networks for information rather than learn from their hosts. Orajah mentioned that, just in those few seconds, his parasite improved its language skills."

"This is something we suspected," Bayla said. "These entities can invade our electronic systems but they require living hosts to get around, perhaps even as a source of sustenance. This would mean they can't simply hijack our equipment, a rather reassuring thought, I may add."

Celois did not share the captain's elation. "But their living host found a convenient way to enter Factor Baroch's home. Who knows what other opportunities they'll have through Sethran Kada. The man knows as much about Air Command as he does about the Shri-Lan. He's not someone we want controlled by some alien."

"It'll be a chore to find him," Bayla said. "After fleeing Feyd he keyholed and disappeared."

"He's a spanner?" Dmitra asked.

"No," Celois said. "But he suddenly seems to have picked up the talent. Another point of interest. He was frisked at Aram Gate, alone, and then showed up at Rishabel not ten hours later. That's a four-week trip via three charted sites for someone like him."

Dmitra turned to Patman. "I want your entire team on the thing inside this Orajah's head. If they are sentient, we need to communicate. If we can't, we need to control them, eradicate them if necessary. Advise all stations to be alert to reports of any unusual mental aberrations among our flight crews. But for now the matter is classified."

Colonel Celois addressed the general. "Sir, we should consider closing the gate at Rishabel. And increase patrols at other sites. If we can intercept these beings before they disperse—"

"Out of the question. Closing any site is going to have the entire trade sector pounding on the Factors' doors. I don't want to have to explain why we decided to block their transports. And if we had the means to frisk every ship that uses the sites we wouldn't have a rebel problem in Trans-Targon."

"Then we should at least restrict subspace travel by those with top level clearance. We can't risk someone with that sort of access becoming infected. Or at least issue a directive to avoid engaging their neural interface during the traverse."

Dmitra shook his head. "Order increased security for the Factors. We'll assume them to be a target. But I don't want to escalate this just yet. We're missing too many answers. You'll direct Intelligence to determine if there is reason to believe we're looking at an actual incursion or if this is just some sort of anomaly."

Celois nodded, grudgingly. This wasn't the first time that his instincts and the general's adherence to policy had clashed. Then again, he didn't have to deal with civilians whose political interests wouldn't let them admit to a threat until someone was lobbing missiles into their streets. "Major Terwood is already in position and equipped to track Kada. By now Kada will have scrubbed his ship, wherever it is. But he'll turn up sooner or later." He gestured to the woman at the table. "Doctor Patman, please prepare a protocol that'll let the governors' security teams add a brain scan to their routine processes. Nothing too overt. See if we can add it to the retinal scans."

Bayla raised his hand. "Sirs, we still have that mystery with the disk," he reminded them.

"What disk?" Celois said, wondering how much other information wasn't being shared here today.

"There appears to be a device being used to bring material out of subspace," Bayla said. "The Caspian said they were hired to deploy it during the jump and then deliver it to someone on Rishabel. That's when he became infected and was abandoned by his cohorts. The Vanguard agents went to intercept a subsequent delivery, with catastrophic results."

"Do we know the reason for this collection?"

Bayla shook his head. "Until we know more we can't even guess at a reason. Our worst fear is that, while they are bringing the entities out of subspace, some of them have escaped, or were released, with the outcomes we've seen."

"If they are able to invade our people's minds as well as our electronic systems, we could be looking at an invasion that might be orchestrated right here in real-space. Someone is bringing them here to gain an advantage. Which leaves us with Shri-Lan, of course. Perhaps also the Arawaj rebel faction."

"Rebels?" Dmitra said. "You think they can orchestrate something like this?"

"The Arawaj faction has some very fine minds among them, if not the funds to do much with them," Celois reminded him.

"Speaking of fine minds," Doctor Patman interrupted. "I'd like to request more staff. Specifically, I could use a telepath."

Dmitra grunted noncommittally. "You mean a Delphian?"

"Yes. Shan Chion is here at the facility. Given this case, I'm sure we can persuade her to join our team on this project."

"Very well. Move your patient, the coherent one, to the upper floor. I don't want a Delphian civilian down here." He ran both of his hands over his hairless, tattooed head. "Let's be clear. I appreciate the research opportunities these aliens present. But if someone is deliberately bringing them here, our first priority is to find out what their intentions are. Structure your interviews accordingly."

"Yes, sir."

Dmitra sighed. "If Kada is being controlled by an alien entity, a great many of our operations are compromised. Find him. Contain him. Get a grip on that thing in his head. Bring in those who are behind this collection project. Send whatever support Major Terwood needs without drawing too much attention. I want this thing contained before it spreads." He watched Bayla pull the data sheet off the table and sling it over his shoulder. None of the others moved. His eyes shifted to Celois. "By any means necessary."

# 6

"That is a research lab?" Khoe followed Seth's eyes as he craned his neck to find the tower perched on a cliff jutting out from the mountain before them. From here it looked like it wouldn't take much of an earthquake or rockslide to tumble it off the edge.

The _Dutchman_ had brought them to Magra, one of the more contested planets of Trans-Targon. Magra Torley, the smaller of two continents, offered services for people, like Seth, looking for a thorough scrubbing. His favorite outfit would ensure that the _Dutchman_ 's identifying signals were replaced and screen it from tail to tip for any Air Command tracking devices he might have picked up on Feyd.

A commercial flight then took them to Magra Alaric on the opposite side of the planet. Aligned with the Commonwealth, this continent remained largely unmolested by rebel activity while Air Command forces staffed a number of bases there, both on the ground and in the sky. It was a pretty place to live and work, with a temperate climate and a mix of modern, sociable populations.

The Delphians had found a perfect location for their research center here, in the military's protective shadow but free of the social strictures imposed by their own government. Unlike those on their homeworld, this facility welcomed visitors and colleagues of many origins to collaborate and share their knowledge.

Seth paid the shuttle operator and leaped to the ground. "Delphians are secretly very dramatic. They love an impressive edifice." He started up a small skimmer provided to bring visitors from the drop-off to the main building. The ground rose sharply from here to the foot of the tower, built for some long-ago purpose and adapted by the Delphians for their research station. It blended into the craggy mountains that surrounded them with a stone façade covered in clinging plant life. Only the transmitter array on the rooftop suggested something other than ancient battles taking place here. Unseen, a sophisticated deep-space telescope traveled above it in geosynchronous orbit.

He breathed deeply of the clear highland air, as always happy to inhale something other than the canned gas aboard the _Dutchman_. A broad valley below them reached for the distant sea with a network of rivers and he let Khoe have her wide-eyed fill of the spectacular scenery. She exclaimed in amazement when a flock of long-legged shore birds swooped overhead on their way down the mountain. He obliged her by slowing the air car when she insisted that he touch the pink and purple seed fluff on one of the evergreens that grew up here. The trip to the tower had seemed far too short and he resolved to show her more of the planet on the way back.

"Doesn't look like anybody is home," Khoe said when they approached a door set deep into the stone wall.

"I'm just hoping Caelyn is here. It's been a while." Seth placed his hand onto the door's com panel to request entry. He had not dared to call ahead, fearing Air Command eyes on this place like they had eyes everywhere. But even if his friend was away on one of his frequent missions into whatever unknown fascinated these people so much, he hoped for a relatively friendly welcome here.

"Have you known him for long?"

"Some years. He helped us save a bunch of cephalopods in the badlands when we needed a spanner to get us out there. We've been friends since."

"Squid? Isn't that what people here eat for dinner?"

"They were special squid."

The door slid aside to show a towering Delphian woman dressed in crisp blouse and sarong. She inspected Seth with calm indifference. "Welcome," she said without inflection.

"Thank you, Elder Sister," Seth replied, using a Delphian dialect although she had addressed him in Union mainvoice.

Khoe peered at her with interest. Like most Delphians, she was hatchet-faced with cold sapphire eyes in a pale, unsmiling face. Her silvery hair hung straight to her shoulders, much shorter than was customary among the males of her species. "She doesn't sound very friendly."

_For a Delphian, that was a loving embrace_ , Seth replied when he was waved inside.

"What has brought you to us?" the woman asked, allowing him no further than the small vestibule from which two interior doors led elsewhere.

"My name is Sethran. I am here to see my friend Caelyn," Seth said. "I have not seen my Elder Brother in many months."

She regarded him silently for a long moment. "I will ask him if he wishes to see you," she said finally and turned to a door which opened only after a hand and retinal scan.

_Don't touch that_ , Seth told Khoe when he felt her reaching for the access panel. _We have nothing to fear here. Let's not annoy them by poking into things we shouldn't._

"You didn't think you had anything to fear on Feyd, either."

He reached out to pinch her for that but then considered the cameras that were surely observing him closely. It would probably not do to have him seen groping through thin air down here.

They did not wait long before the door opened again and another Delphian arrived. This one was dressed as casually as Seth and his straight blue hair hung loose over his back. "Centauri," he greeted him. "What trouble brings you to my door this time?"

Seth grinned. "I'm happy to see you, too, Delphi."

Caelyn beckoned him to follow into the tower's interior. Seth almost expected damp stone walls and musty dungeons but walked instead through a bright open space where only support pillars remained of the walls. "You're lucky to find me here. I'm leaving in a few days for Callas. You should have let me know you were coming."

Seth shrugged. "Too many ears listening in. I took a chance." He stopped to peer curiously at a complex diagram floating above a holo emitter. A few people, not all of them Delphian, sat around it in murmured discussion. In another part of the workspace, a Caspian blessed with a beautifully spotted blond hide lectured in front of a disassembled mechanism. Neither group seemed to be disturbing the other. Seth had not visited before but it was generally assumed that the researchers here concentrated their efforts on astrophysics. Hopefully, he thought, the sort of physics that explained Khoe's existence and the events that brought her here.

"Of course you did," Caelyn sighed.

They took a small lift, little more than an open metal cage, to one of the upper floors of the tower. A window set into the deep, curved wall seemed to wrap almost entirely around the comfortable lounge, flooding it with sunlight. Caelyn ushered him to a lounging area and went immediately into a service alcove. "You still drink that vile charwood tea?"

"All the finest people drink that these days," Seth said, looking out of the concave window and over the valley below. He drew Khoe's attention to the side of a steep embankment where long ago people had carved homes into the soft rock. Colonies of birds now roosted in them and the cave openings were a riot of brilliant plumage. "This place is terrific."

"Isn't it? I've been here a while now, off and on. We're doing some wonderful work with the signals from the outer badlands. Time to head out again, though. My feet itch."

"What's wrong with his feet?" Khoe asked.

_He's an explorer. And a top level spanner. He's happiest out there. I've seen him crack the tightest of keyholes and come out laughing._

"Didn't think Delphians laugh."

_Not in public._

"What's that?" Caelyn, bearing two cups, came to where Seth stood.

Seth blinked. "What?"

"I thought you said something."

Seth sipped his tea. "I did. But not to you."

The Delphian's steel-blue eyes regarded his friend with curiosity. "To the point, then. Why are you here?"

Seth considered how to approach this. "I met someone," he said finally. "Might be first contact, for all I know."

Caelyn's eyebrows rose. "Where? When? Do you have recordings?"

Seth glanced at Khoe. "More than that."

"Are you going to share that? I'm assuming that's why you came out here. What does Targon have to say?"

"Targon isn't sociable about the whole thing."

"Why not? They're much better equipped for xenology than we are. Delphians aren't exactly experts on other species."

"To say the least." Although Delphi had communities of xenobiologists working off-planet, it was no secret that they, as a society, viewed outsiders with suspicion and even disdain. Few off-worlders were allowed to set foot upon Delphi's well-protected surface. "But I think your people might actually be better suited for this than Targon." He perched on the deep stone sill and waited for Caelyn to do the same. "Found something in subspace. Someone."

The Delphian's cup paused on its way to his lips. "Did you just say subspace?"

"Did." Seth studied Caelyn's expression before his friend shuttered it behind that sometimes irritatingly bland expression Delphians wore to hide their thoughts. It was not as surprised as he would have expected.

Caelyn leaned back into the curve of the window and drew his long legs up onto the sill. "Tell all," he said.

"Something came aboard my ship during a jump. Charted site, easy span. But I emerged way out by Rishabel. It... She says she originates in subspace. Someone out here is harming them. Taking some of their people out. I've seen evidence that she might well be right about that. Unfortunately, it seems to involve pirates and Air Command by now. Maybe rebels."

"She?"

Seth smiled. "Want to meet?"

"Yes! Where is this creature?"

Seth tapped his forehead. "Right in here. Small enough to ride a com link into my brain. Communicating, even manifesting." He grasped Khoe's wrist to tug her closer to himself. "You'd be looking at her right now if you could see her."

Caelyn cocked his head to the side. "You do know that extended periods of time alone in deep-space can have some unpleasant side effects, right?"

"I'm sincere. Her name is Khoe."

Caelyn put his cup down on the sill and raised a hand, a question on his face. Seth nodded and leaned forward. After a moment's hesitation, Caelyn touched the neural interface at Seth's temple and briefly closed his eyes to establish the _khamal_ , a mental connection usually made only between Delphians. But being off-world and restricted by fewer rules, along with the advent of the neural implant, led some Delphians to extend the privilege to other species.

Caelyn dropped his hand and turned his head to see Khoe standing beside them. She took a step back when she felt his presence.

"Hello," Caelyn said gently.

She looked over to Seth. "He can see me?"

"I can," Caelyn replied. "Through Sethran."

"I don't know if I like that."

Seth took her hand in both of his. "Just let him take a look. There's so much we don't know."

Caelyn's eyes took on a faraway look as he tried to reach out to Khoe. But after a moment he frowned and returned his attention to them. "Nothing. Only what you see and hear." He looked at their hands. "And feel. That part is interesting. This is far beyond mere hallucination." He held his hand out until she moved closer to allow him touch her arm. "You would be a fascinating study. You manifest perfectly. How did you assimilate so much? How long have you been here?"

"Not very. Would be..." she calculated silently. "Would be about sixty hours on the _Dutchman_."

"Targon-time," Seth confirmed. "She's been scanning my on-board archives and I've downloaded some things from Feyd when they weren't looking. Well, she did. She is able to breach anything, it seems. Including Air Command encryptions."

"Electronic systems?" Caelyn said. "I can see why Air Command wouldn't want you running around loose out here." He nodded to Seth. "And with that I mean you. You're not exactly a favorite son among them."

"They're already trying to get their hands on her."

"Why are you here?" Caelyn asked Khoe. "Some explorer from the Big Empty, here to learn about us mortals?"

She shook her head, too unfamiliar with Delphians' austere features to see the humor brightening Caelyn's eyes. "They... somebody has taken some of my people. One of them is most important to us. I have to find out how they did that. To... to stop it. We don't know why that is happening."

"On purpose, you think?"

"I was kinda hoping you could help us figure that out," Seth said. "If someone is taking her people, we need to know why. What's so valuable?"

"I can see how breaking into secure systems might be valuable," Caelyn said. "Do you have any other talents?"

Khoe glanced at Seth, looking guilty.

"We've observed some energy transfer," Seth said. "She's using thorium and a bit of me but I've been able to crank out a lot of punch. That sort of conversion would be worth quite a bit, too." He winced. "Some folks might have gotten in the way of that."

"Dead?"

Seth nodded. "Vanguard. But she's able to control it now."

Caelyn exhaled sharply. "I think you need more expert advice than what I have for you."

"What do you mean?" Khoe said.

"He means a Shantir."

"There is one in the city," Caelyn said. "I could get him here by morning. And I want to talk to some of the others. Saias' team downstairs has been involved with subspace projects. We have some theories. Maybe they've heard of this."

Khoe took another step closer to Seth.

He slung an arm around her shoulder. "Don't worry so, Khoe. No one will hurt you here."

"The Centauri is right." Caelyn hopped off the sill. "We are able to learn from past mistakes." His sardonic look to Seth did not disguise his opinion of the Union's methods where exploration was concerned. He reached out to sever his mental link to Seth. "And now you look very peculiar doing that."

Seth dropped his arm. "Can I stay up here till your Shantir arrives? The _Dutchman_ 's in the shop."

"Of course. We have some rooms upstairs. It's nearly time for dinner. But first I want to show you our new lab. I know how fascinating you find baryonic matter research." He smiled when Seth rolled his eyes. "We'll leave the actual quantum quandaries for tomorrow."

"Seth?"

Seth grumbled something that didn't sound like real words to himself any more than they did to Khoe and turned over to pull the blanket over his head. That of course didn't remove her persistent presence from his mind and he sighed when she continued to prod him.

"What?" he groaned finally, blinking into the early morning light peeking through the open window. How marvelous this soft, clean bed that was easily three times the size of the one he used aboard his ship and infinitely more comfortable. How wonderful the cool breeze flowing past his face, the only part of him not covered by this cozy blanket. He buried his face into the pillow and tried to doze off again.

"Seth, it's morning now."

"No, Khoe, it isn't."

"It's light out. I hear people across the hall."

"Delphians don't appreciate sleep," he opined. "Neither do you." When she said nothing more he opened his eyes to see her sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed, staring at nothing. "What's wrong?"

She lifted her shoulders. "Bored."

"Nonsense." Aboard the _Dutchman_ she spent long hours with his archives while he slept, having developed a peculiar fondness for stories about mythical beasts and heroes. But she had also learned to withdraw into a silent resting state after learning that physical beings often required and valued times of solitude and privacy. It also meant less of a draw on his thorium inventory, for which he was grateful. "They must have something to entertain you here." He waved at a display platform in the corner of the room. "Look, 3-D even. Just don't hack into their system. They won't appreciate that."

She said nothing.

Seth sighed deeply and propped himself up on an elbow. "You're worried. I can feel that."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure. These people, these Delphians, have such purpose. All this machinery and all this knowledge they have. They _see_ so much. I am scared what they'll find when they look at me."

He frowned. "You have too many thoughts. That's just the way they are. They are actually a very friendly bunch. It just takes a while to get close enough to see that."

"I know. I'm not scared of _them_. I'm scared of me."

"What? Why?"

She turned to look at him, which meant that she was looking at herself, through his eyes. He was still not used to the odd perspective that would present to her. Over these past few days she had sometimes asked him to stand before the reflective surface of his decon station so that she could see him, too. There she made him turn to show various angles and finally declared that she approved of what she saw. He smiled at the memory.

"Don't laugh at me," she said.

He tugged on her arm. "Come, lie down. I'm not laughing at you. Why are you scared?"

She stretched out beside him. "I don't really know. They're going to look at me and tell you that I'm just some unknown tiny clump of particles."

"Well, we know that. But I wouldn't say _just_. You're not _just_ anything."

"Everything I am out here is because of you. What you see. How you see me. Without that I'm nothing at all."

"Stop that, Khoe. It's not true. You are what you made yourself to be. From what you've learned about us." He picked up one of her long, thin braids and tickled her nose with it. "No one can make that for you."

She said nothing for a while. Finally: "I don't know if I want to go back."

He blinked. "You don't?"

She shrugged. "The place where I come from is beautiful, in its own way. We're at peace, not like you out here. We play and we dream and we enjoy each other in ways you can't really understand. We can merge and come apart again and we can be anywhere."

"Sounds magical."

"Maybe. But there is so much to see out here. To feel. It's harsh and then it's hot and then cold and loud, but there is such variety of everything. I want to see more of that."

He smiled. "So don't go back. Not right away anyway."

She peered at him. "I can't keep taking up space in your head, Sethran. It's not fair."

"Am I complaining?"

"Well, not now. But you get impatient sometimes. I can tell."

"We all get impatient with each other sometimes. Caelyn thinks I'm the most annoying Centauri he's ever met. But we're good friends."

"You don't mind, then?"

"Not even a bit. We've got to figure out what's going on with your people. Maybe the Delphians can help; maybe we have to turn to Targon. Let's not worry about what comes later. Who knows, maybe you'll get tired of me by then."

She smiled slowly. "I'm so glad I found you."

"Yeah, I'm well-connected."

"That's not what I meant."

He looked into the deep violet eyes, suddenly very aware of her lying here next to him in his bed. She had done that before, but he felt ever more removed from the fact that she was merely a construct of their combined thought processes. Although she wore a loose-fitting tunic of vaguely Feydan design, it clung to her body in ways that made a man's mind wander too easily from the subject of conversation. He touched a hand to her cheek, feeling the smooth, warm skin beneath his fingers. "I'm glad you're here, too," he said, watching his fingers travel over her chin and then down along the graceful line of her neck.

She shivered.

"You can feel that?"

"I think I can. I know what this would feel like to you. I can take that from you."

His gaze traveled to the full lips, curled at the corners in that quirky, not-Centauri way that had caught his attention before. Without considering much further, he bent to touch those lips with his. Her quick intake of breath when he did this echoed the sudden rush of endorphins both of them felt. She returned his kiss, hesitantly at first but then with growing ardor and rarely had this felt so right inside his own head.

Or his body. When she reached up to pull him closer he drew back with a gasp, shocked by his sudden physical need for her. His last shred of conviction about her true form had flown out that open window when he kissed her, leaving only the woman here in his bed. He sat up and scrubbed his face with his hands. What was happening to him?

"Seth?"

He shook his head, unable to think, unwilling to look into her face. He felt her sudden apprehension as much as he heard it in her voice.

"Seth!" Someone banged on the door to his room with a striking lack of Delphian decorum. "Shan Quine has arrived. He'll take the meal with us if you get up now."

"Khoe," Seth began and turned to her but she had withdrawn. He was pretty sure it was not, as usual, to give him privacy during his morning ablutions. Angry with himself and still feeling the soft lips he had kissed, he showered, barely noting the soothing hot water for which he yearned during the long journeys aboard his ship, got dressed and heeded the call to breakfast.

The communal lounge, where only last night he had shared a meal and conversation with some of Caelyn's colleagues, was empty this morning except for Shantir Quine, a Delphian woman he had not seen before, and Caelyn. They looked up expectantly when Seth joined them at a table set carefully in deference to their esteemed visitor. Caelyn's hair was neatly braided and he wore a traditional blue vest looking oddly formal on his lanky frame.

"Seth," Caelyn called. "Come join us. This is Shan Quine and Shan Saias."

Seth gestured a respectful greeting to the Delphians before sitting. "I am honored."

Like many of his peers, the elder Shantir wore a knee-length blue tunic over loose pantaloons gathered at the ankle. The blue braid was nearly black, hinting at an advanced age that his unlined face did not. His rank did not require him to acknowledge lesser beings but he nodded graciously at the newcomer.

_Are you going to appear?_ Seth sent to Khoe. _Shantirs don't talk to just anyone. This is about you, remember?_

She shimmered into view and hovered near Caelyn's shoulder.

None of them missed a sudden start from the Shantir when she did. He looked past Caelyn as if to find Khoe there.

"She's here, isn't she?" Saias said. Her severe features were softened by clever layers of blue curls and a smartly styled wrap around angular shoulders.

"Shan Saias leads our team here at the tower," Caelyn explained. "I've given them what you told me about Khoe. She has worked with us on many projects but subspace is her specialty."

"And that which is found within subspace," the woman said, still looking at the Shantir. "I have the feeling that some of our theories may be about to take a new turn?"

"Possibly, Elder Sister," Seth said. "Subspace physics is not my field."

"May we see... your visitor?" The scientist picked up a dough-wrapped breakfast portion and nibbled daintily.

"Of course. She's a little nervous. Tell me about your theory."

"There are several. But we have on many occasions detected quantum particles in subspace that defy current thoughts about what we can expect to find there. Simply put, we've found sudden restructuring of the way they connect into very complex patterns. We've suspected a certain resonance or other event to suddenly trigger this organization when certain conditions are met."

Seth looked up when Khoe gasped. "She's right."

_Told you they were smart._

"We haven't been able to duplicate the effect in the lab. But we've started to replicate the resonance with the intent of trying this in subspace. If it works, it should cause a sort of tipping-point where these particles combine to create the patterns we've found."

"Are you sure no one is actually working on this now?" Seth asked. He watched Khoe sit on an empty chair beside the scientist and carefully match the woman's erect posture. He tried not to smile when Khoe lifted her chin and tried to stretch her neck to achieve the graceful tilt of the Delphian's head, perhaps forgetting that she could simply create any neck she wanted.

"We probably would have heard of that," Saias said, unaware that Khoe was copying the motion of her hand as she spoke. "Some of us have suggested that sentient life is possible outside our known physical system. If this is true, taking our experiments into subspace could have devastating effects. I have often wondered if our brutal tinkering with keyholes for the sake of traveling is disruptive to such life."

Khoe shook her head.

"She says 'no'," Seth translated.

The physicist looked at Seth as if surprised by his presence. "Oh," she said. "To be honest, I hadn't even expected so definite an answer." She pondered her biscuit. "We have so many questions."

"Aren't you going to eat?" Khoe said to Seth.

_I'm not hungry._ "From what she's told me, our traverse does not actually intersect the subspace matrix they inhabit."

"You're upset," Khoe said. "Because of earlier."

_I'm not upset! Will you pay attention?_

"Then how did she get aboard your ship?" Saias asked.

"That's what I hope you can tell us," Seth said to her. "Have you detected this phenomenon via the Rishabel breach?"

She shook her head. "Keyholes, and the jumpsites we turn them into, exist of course only in real-space. So if there is a pattern, a contact between these particles, the dimension of space has nothing to do with it. Distance has no meaning. Location has no context. Once this trigger has joined them, these particles could be millions of light years apart and still work in perfect synchronization. It's doubtful that our kind will ever be able to truly understand subspace."

"And yet we exploit it as we see fit, using technology like a hammer," the Shantir said, reminding them of the once-habitable moon of Scorria whose orbit took it into the path of a keyhole. A single attempt to expand it from the surface had thrown the moon out of its orbit and destroyed all life there. Only two other keyholes had ever been identified within a planet's orbit and both were now tightly guarded by Air Command. "I'm not surprised that our intrusions now cause harm to others."

Seth inclined his head in acknowledgement, uneager to engage in a debate about Commonwealth expansion. "So we don't even know if this is happening only out by Rishabel. Khoe fears that this... harvest of her people will continue to the detriment of their species. A key member of their population was taken and that loss is now threatening everyone. Your trigger, maybe. We'd like to find out who is doing it and how. And why."

"Exploitation, perhaps," Caelyn said. "These entities may be useful to us out here."

"That would be a shame," the Shantir said. He pushed his chair back from the table. "Shan Sethran, I'm afraid my curiosity is overcoming my appetite. Please ask your visitor if I may meet her."

"Are they always so polite?" Khoe said.

_They are Delphian. Are you ready?_

She nodded, looking like she'd rather run from the room. Instead, she came to stand slightly behind him.

"Please proceed," Seth said.

The Shantir leaned over to him and, with the barest tap of his fingers on Seth's neural interface, established a link. His eyes traveled to Khoe at once to appraise her in silence.

Unable to disguise her impatience, Saias tugged on the Shantir's sleeve. "May we join you, Shan Quine?"

He nodded absently and reached over to touch her hand, then did the same to Caelyn's. Khoe shrank back when all four of them stared at her.

"What?" she said defiantly.

Seth took her hand. After only the briefest hesitation, she allowed this. "They're just bursting with curiosity, Khoe. You're a myth come to life."

"Barely even a myth," Saias said. "We've only begun to suspect. Scarcely a comment made here and there, quickly dismissed and filed away. We made a few findings available to our colleagues on Targon but I doubt anyone has taken them seriously. It's one of those things you mean to study when there is time for that. Even now, this is hard to fathom."

"I'm not lying," Khoe said.

Seth stood up and tugged her toward an empty chair. Like the others here, it was a paper-thin sheet with a graphene core, tastefully contoured to cradle a bi-ped in comfort. The others gasped in unison when she passed through it like a ghost while her hand in his remained perfectly solid. Everyone expected her to fall when she sat down on it. "Her interaction with solid objects is how, jointly, our minds decide it should be, led by her. She is real only to us."

"The manifestation of this entity is remarkable," Quine said. "I expect it's somehow seated in your thalamus, Shan Sethran, feeding directly into your cortex which, of course is accessed by our khamal via your interface taps. Very elegant. Almost by design."

"You're suggesting some purpose to this?" Saias said.

"I'm not sure. Could be simply opportunistic. All Prime species have more or less the same central nervous system configuration. This would be a very likely way to establish communication with the host." His gesture encompassed all of Khoe. "Shaped to elicit empathy, I suppose."

"What does that mean," Khoe said sharply. "I didn't even know what Seth was until I came aboard."

"Please, dear, we mean no insult," Saias said. "This is all very new to us."

"What I mean is that you could manifest as anything you like," Quine said. "Any species, some fantastic construct resembling nothing we've ever seen, or perhaps just remained invisible. You could be walking upside down on the ceiling for all the difference it would make to you. In a quest for power, you could have taken on godlike proportions, depending on our individual beliefs. But you chose something appealing to the Centauri, engaging his willingness to accept your presence as a peer. I doubt he'd be as easily swayed had you appeared as a Rhuwac."

Seth, who had only recently come to a similar conclusion, smiled grimly. "I never considered myself quite so easily manipulated but you're correct about the Rhuwac. She has been studying my data bank to create this projection."

"Which seems devoid of shoes," Caelyn interjected.

"I'm not interested in trying out new shapes," Khoe said. She looked directly at Seth. "I'm not here for your amusement."

"No one's expecting you to perform tricks," Caelyn said before Seth found some reply to that. "Your choices just seem very astute."

"And yet," Quine said, reaching for more warm berry juice, "she isn't merely the sum of pure data. She's able to reason, choose, feel and convey emotion. This may be learned from you, Shan Sethran. A reflection of your personality and another source of empathy between you."

"If so," Saias said. "Creating a Rhuwac or some other objectionable creature would probably not be possible."

"That, in itself, would make a fascinating study. These entities' ultimate appearance and personality would then depend entirely on their host and the information they are given at, well, I suppose 'birth' is as good a term as any. Attitudes, morals, emotional responses, all following existing neural connections."

"But, surely, from there they would be able to shape their own," Saias said, intrigued by the idea. "Even share them."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," Khoe interrupted. "My people are in danger because of you and you call me a parasite?"

The Shantir reached out to pat her arm. "Forgive us, Shan Khoe. The mind wanders when faced with such a fascinating new discovery. We shall call you a visitor and think of you as such." He sobered visibly. "I do have some concern about how your presence is affecting Sethran's physical well-being."

"How so?" Seth said.

Quine indicated Caelyn. "Shan Caelyn told us of some energy transfers taking place. I suspect that Khoe is able to manipulate electromagnetic radiation in some ways. Any such transition would take its toll on an organic host, no matter how efficient."

"I'm feeling a bit of a headache," Saias said. Caelyn nodded to confirm that he did, too.

"That's the result of our contact with the Centauri via his interface, not the alien. Forgive me, Shan Khoe. I meant 'our visitor'. I would expect far more extensive damage to Shan Sethran."

Seth frowned. "What are you saying?"

"I'd like to take a closer look, if you don't mind." The Shantir gestured toward Seth's interface node. "As a sort of diagnostic."

"That is a privilege, Elder Brother. Thank you."

Quine scraped his chair closer and placed two fingers over the thin metal implant at Seth's temple. He closed his eyes to concentrate on his task. "I can definitely detect a duality there," he said. "Although we don't have any descriptive language for this. Heightened activity where I'd expect to see that." A trace of a smile moved his thin, blue-tinted lips. "A female set of neural pathways in addition to your own within one nervous system. The distinction is quite obvious."

Caelyn looked at Khoe in wonder. "Were you even aware of race or gender before you met Seth?"

She shook her head, as fascinated by the Shantir's revelations as the others were. "It just seemed fitting. We just think of this as the physical world. We don't even distinguish between sentient and non-sentient. You are just moving shapes to us."

"Can you show us something of the nature that Caelyn described to me? Some energy conversion?"

"I don't know. That's a dangerous thing to try, I think."

Seth touched a finger to his bowl of tea. "Just a little."

She inhaled deeply and nodded. Before a second passed, the cup in front of Seth's hand slid across the table top and then careened across the room to shatter against the far wall. "Oops."

"It's all right," Quine said. He had not even flinched at the harsh sound of the breaking dish. "This had a marked effect on Sethran."

"A bad one?" she asked, looking worried.

Quine did not reply to that. "Do you have anything else?"

"Nothing safe," she said. "Except this, maybe."

Seth gasped when he felt a surge of adrenaline, like the one she had created back on Feyd when it was needed. "All right," he grunted. "Enough." He felt the Shantir's healing presence work to counter the effect of the substance and felt his heartbeat slow again and his breathing become more steady.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No, don't worry." He gave her a reassuring smile as he exhaled shakily. "I'm fine."

Quine removed his hand from Seth's temple. "I'd need to review Centauri physiology and spend more time with you. I detect some chemical imbalances - the epinephrine surge you just experienced strained your heart and other systems - but your heart, your whole vascular system, can handle the strain better than your short-limbed cousins. I suggest you don't indulge in tossing tableware around if you can avoid it."

"That's a relief," Khoe said.

Caelyn was still appraising Quine's expression with a critical eye. "Shan Quine? There is something more?"

The Shantir nodded. "I am not certain, but I can't see any way that young Khoe can easily extricate herself from Sethran. Without extensive neuroimaging, which may have to involve our friends on Targon, I can't give a definite answer. I've tried to follow some pathways from your interface taps and am fairly certain that some of your axon terminals are actually fused. Others may simply share a synapse. I can only guess, but this may have happened during Khoe's... ah, creation."

"It can't be all that," Seth said. "If that were so, would we not also share moods, thoughts, even?"

"Indeed. You are quite distinct and separate. But your physical connection, at a cellular level, is detectable to me even here, observed over a cup of tea."

"You're thinking that separation might damage those axons?" Caelyn said. "Neurology is not something I understand in the least. But trying to separate them sounds dangerous."

"It would depend on how widespread those connections are. Some brain damage is inevitable. For either of them. Or both."

"That can't be right," Khoe said. "I can leave any time I want."

Caelyn cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his chair as if to prepare himself for what was to come. "Then let me volunteer. We are all linked. Transfer to me."

"Shan Caelyn, I cannot recommend that you attempt this," Quine objected.

"I agree," Saias said dryly. "We need you out on Callas before the quasar emits again."

"If Sethran is being harmed by this we don't have time for drawn-out research," Caelyn said.

"Still, we should at least set up a safe and controlled environment," Quine countered. "I have a colleague on Targon who would come out here without needing to discuss this with Air Command."

"That would take days."

"I can't!" Khoe suddenly exclaimed.

They all turned to her, startled by the urgency in her voice.

"He's right. I can't... um, pull away from Seth to go to Caelyn. I can feel Caelyn, like I can access the _Dutchman_ 's systems. But I can't just go there entirely. It just feels like we're all tangled up." She looked at Seth. "I'm so sorry, Seth!"

He took her hand again, stunned by this latest revelation. "Not your fault," he said automatically. "I know you didn't mean this."

"This could kill you! I can't just stay in your head forever."

Seth swallowed hard and looked to Quine as if for rescue. "I guess I'm lucky that she's not manifesting as a Rhuwac, then."

"This isn't funny," Khoe said.

Saias folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. "Khoe, did others like you also enter real-space? To join with physical beings like you did?"

Khoe's brows drew together as she considered the question. "I don't know. We don't... we don't talk about things like you do, sitting around for debate. We just know things. No words, no actions. I felt an imperative to latch onto Seth's ship to follow the path those smugglers took when they stole from us. It's possible that others did, too."

"We must assume that there are others like you, Khoe," Saias said. "Posing a danger to our people in this paired form. I suppose we can call you _dyads_. I wonder if there is a way to make inquiries with Targon."

"If Targon catches up with me I'll be locked up with a probe in my head until they've cataloged every neuron," Seth said. "They've already tried once."

"We don't have time for that," Khoe said.

"Targon is not without scruples."

Seth smiled wistfully. "Perhaps it appears that way when they deal with Delphi, Shan Saias. But I am currently a fugitive. They have every excuse to detain me and no one would notice if I disappeared. I'm the perfect test subject."

"I thought you're a Union agent. Is that not so?"

"Not directly. I worked for Factor Baroch. Now that he's dead, I have few ties to Air Command."

Quine winced, a rare expression on any Delphian's face, when he was reminded of their leader. "A most valuable patron. For all of us."

The others nodded, momentarily silenced as they considered their loss. Even Caelyn showed not the slightest surprise and once again Seth was reminded that much went on among Delphians from which outsiders were excluded. He had searched through every possible resource on the way here to Magra and, although whispers had begun to trade rumors, nothing was yet made public about the Factor's death.

"What about that colonel that's bailed you out before?" Caelyn said at length. "Carras, is it? He knows about you, doesn't he?"

"He suspects. But I think I'll stay out of his way for a while. The officer we killed was one of his."

"He's probably not very fond of you right now, Centauri." His face brightened. "Then what about your friend Nova? Isn't she Air Command? Maybe she can help."

Seth shook his head. "Last I heard she joined the Vanguard squad not too long ago. So let's leave her out of this, please." He turned to Saias. "It's my hope that you will be able to help us, Elder Sister. If we can get our hands on one of their devices, those disks, perhaps your team can find a way to reverse the process."

"We will most certainly enjoy the opportunity."

"And you think the entities imprisoned in those disks can be returned to subspace?" Quine's question was for Khoe.

"I hope so, but what matters is the one I came here for. What you called the trigger entity. We must have that back. Maybe it's in one of those disks. Or maybe I can find a way to..." She threw a sidelong glance at Seth. "To take it myself. Take it with me back into subspace."

"In my head?" Seth said.

"It's very small."

"You have a peculiar sense of humor. How about we leave that as a last resort?" He turned back to the others. "If the bits got into those devices, they must surely come out again."

"Don't call us bits," Khoe said. She looked to Saias. "What did you call us earlier?"

"Dyads. A Dyad is really just a set of two. Paired in some way."

She nodded. "Sounds better than 'bits', I think."

"So that makes me a Dyad, then?" Seth asked.

Saias nodded, looking amused. "Since you are now a single physical being, I suppose you are, indeed, a whole new species."

Seth grinned. "Ought to be named after me."

"Except that you might not be the first or the only one," Caelyn said. "Considering this peculiar harvest that is happening."

"Don't ruin my joy. But I suppose you're right. We better get on our way."

"What do you have in mind?" Saias asked.

"Besides Khoe?" Seth winked at her and grinned when a deep shade of pink colored her pale cheeks. "I think I'm going to put on my pirate hat and see if I can get a delivery job. Someone is hiring those people to collect for them. I'm hoping it's the same someone that's got that trigger entity."

"Centauri..." Caelyn said thoughtfully, raising a slender hand.

Seth turned to him. "You're not going to suggest what I think you are."

Caelyn gave him a benign smile. "You know it."

Quine looked from one to the other. "Something escapes me here."

Seth swiped a new glass for his tea from a nearby table. "Caelyn has dreams of becoming a spy. Occasionally, he likes to practice."

The elder Delphian blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Surely you don't intend to accompany Shan Sethran?"

"I am. He's going to need a spanner."

"I can make any jump," Khoe said.

"Maybe so," Seth said. "But you're sucking up thorium like cubes of sugar. I can only store so much without adding more shielding."

"You plan to take a Delphian into rebel territory," Saias said, incredulous. "If there is a bigger flag you can wave to draw attention, I don't know what is."

Seth grinned at Caelyn. Saias' point was well made. Delphians, seen off-world only when on their ambitious explorations or in service to the Commonwealth, would draw much attention where rebels congregated. "He shines up well with the proper disguise," he said. "Someday I may actually get him to cut his hair."

"Only if you cut off your head," Caelyn replied amiably. The length of his blue hair corresponded directly with the line of hair growing along his spine, considered a sign of virility on a Delphian's otherwise hairless body. Intellectually superior to most of the lesser-evolved Prime species of Trans-Targon, few Delphian males were willing to abandon this ancient affectation.

"That's probably not the best way to get Khoe out of my brain."

# 7

Reylan Tague stared moodily at the display screen in front of him, as undecided and distracted as he had been when he went to bed last night. Or what passed as night on this dismal planet where the Little Sun set only every six months, Targon-time, and darkness fell only when the other star aligned properly and one needed chronometers to know when it was damn well time to get some sleep.

Not that sleep had been much on his mind lately. Who had time for that when there was so much work to be done before one or the other of Tharron's sons prodded him for the results that just weren't coming together. It wasn't that he didn't have any results for them. The problem was that he had too many. The Shri-Lan rebels funded his research here in Suncion, tucked away among the lonely expanses of the northern grasslands of Csonne, but now he felt that he just might be grossly underpaid.

He had not heard from his employers in a while although funds and supplies continued to arrive. His deceptively modest lab required equipment and raw materials costing a small fortune to acquire and to ship out here. He paid a steep rent for this section of the rambling research center and yet more fees for the shared use of the orbiter and four satellites circling the planet. He didn't really need the satellites but, as long as the other teams here believed in his subspace research, they were worth the extra cost.

The rebel agents about to land out here would bring another shipment of raw materials but also came with new demands for faster results. What to tell them?

He looked past his screen at the samples encased in their protective housing. Of course there was nothing to see but a row of thick metal disks, shielded in every possibly way and plugged into a small power plant. Separate from the data grid, of course. He'd learned to make certain of that.

"Rey, they're here," a gentle voice behind him announced.

He turned to Isalia, his assistant and companion, standing at the door. She had not stepped into the lab since that frightful incident but now cast an anxious glance at the open door leading into the corridor. Down there the Feydan was still pacing about in her enclosure, talking and gesturing in some animated but one-sided debate. "Thanks, Isa. I'll come up in a moment."

"You don't want him down here?"

Tague stood up and stretched his cramped legs. Too much time spent in this lab, hunched over his calculations, experimenting with the material gathered in subspace, had taken its toll on him. The average Human just wasn't made for this, he thought. He'd gotten weak in the knees, round in the middle, and gray on his head on his quest for knowledge. That this quest involved experiments of the sort that few members of the Union Commonwealth would sanction was a small price to pay. Ethics and science had always been uneasy partners.

He had been fortunate to find a sponsor for his work among the Shri-Lan instead of having to find a likeminded partner among Commonwealth companies. As his work brought him ever closer to discovering the nature of the peculiar emissions first reported by the Delphians, he soon realized that there was something eerily aware, almost sentient, in the way the particles interacted. Disclosing that finding to the Union would mire it in policy and endless debate if not halt it entirely. Fortunately, the Shri-Lan asked no questions and looked only for outcomes.

He went to the door and shooed the woman up a narrow stairway. "Maybe later," he said. "Let's see who they sent this time."

The man waiting for him in the domed residential pod was probably the least welcome in his estimation. Tov Pald seemed to take up too much space in the tidy commons room as he stood stiffly, having removed neither his overcoat nor the respirator Caspians needed on this planet. Isalia's lips formed a thin line when she saw the claws of his three-toed feet scrape over the polished floor.

"Hello, Tov Pald." Tague forced a smile. The deliveries had so far been made by a couple of Centauri pilots who dropped off their cargo without even stopping to chat. This Caspian, however, ranked highly in the Shri-Lan hierarchy. He ran a gang of mercenaries without any apparent rebel affiliation who were loyal only to him. As far as loyalty among those ruffians went, anyway, Tague thought. "I hadn't expected you to make the trip out here yourself. A rare pleasure, indeed."

The yellow raptor eyes above the mask were cold when he set a large box onto the floor. "Your report is overdue. The Brothers are looking for news."

Tague peered into the crate. Delighted by the number of disks, he took two and hugged them possessively to his chest. "There have been some... developments."

"Surely you do not mean setbacks."

"No! On the contrary. I think you'll be pleased with my update."

"Let's hope the Brothers will be," Tov Pald responded. "They want to see progress. Air Command is getting curious about the operation. They tracked my crew to Rishabel; I have no idea how. They barely made it out with these."

"What happened?"

"Air Command sent Vanguard agents to intercept a delivery. Why they'd care about these is a mystery. Things went bad fast. Three officers dead. I lost two of my men." Tov Pald gestured at the disks. "One of these might have leaked. From what I heard, two Centauri went down without taking any fire. Not getting any radiation from it now, though. Made sure of that. I've shifted all drop offs to Belene-Noh now. Rishabel is far too hot."

Tague glanced down at the heavy containers he still clutched to his chest. "It would take a lot for these to lose containment. Are you sure?"

"Unless those people got struck by lightning, yes."

"Did you get any video of the situation?"

"No witnesses. And no video. Why?"

Tague chewed his lip, still not sure what to reveal to the Caspian rebel. Surely, there must be a way to leverage his new discovery in some way. Then again, just ensuring that the funding for his work continued might be enough. "I think I might have discovered a... a side-effect of this material."

"Like what?"

"Come downstairs with me. I'll show you." He picked the crate up and walked ahead of the Caspian into the research wing. The main space was another geodesic dome, cheerfully lit by triangular skylights. The entire compound consisted of clusters of such domes, easily transported and assembled, connected by short conduits as needed. From the air, the colony looked like some articulated creature sprawled out on the otherwise bleak plateau, following its contours as the terrain required. Several research agencies shared the facility, which included work and living spaces, support facilities, and even a small settlement of outsiders that came to hunt the native species roaming the moors. Tague's cluster, the Adrierra lab, sat apart from the others at the northernmost edge of the plateau.

The doctor led Tov Pald down a stairway into the shielded lab. For a moment, the rebel's shadow loomed over him like a horrific storybook monster, made all the more frightening by the stalking gait of his oversized feet. He had now removed his respirator but that did not make him any less frightening to the Human. Knowing of what the rebel was capable only added to his sudden aversion to being alone with him down here.

Tague shrugged that eerie feeling off his shoulders as he entered the secured lab. Tov Pald had no reason to want to harm him or his staff. Their work on what may well be the most efficient and cheap power source to be developed outside the Commonwealth made him a valuable asset. Anything with such power also made for a vastly superior weapon.

No one currently worked in the brightly-lit space although several workstations faced the transparent wall of a clean room. In there a massive engineering marvel had grown in size and complexity over these past few weeks. A sealed door led outside through a narrow tunnel and a larger corridor opened to more lab space.

Tague rushed into the glassed-in room to insert the prongs protruding from each disk into the bottom of a cylinder. Tov Pald watched from outside as the indicators on the vertical pipes came to life, soon indicating a full charge. "No leaks," Tague reported, relieved. Obtaining the particles was costly, even though they employed traders already traveling through subspace to simply scoop them up.

A rapid ticking sound alerted him to a discrepancy in one of the cylinders. He adjusted the containment field but the sound only increased in frequency. "This is odd," he said, momentarily forgetting the rebel waiting for him. "A variance. This one resonates counter to the others. Interesting."

"So what can you report to the Brothers?" Tov Pald wanted to know. He looked at the lab's monitors which clearly told him nothing.

Tague emerged from the clean room to join him by the work station. "Nothing you see here. We're able to use these transducers quite effectively. These particles can, indeed, be converted into vast quantities of electromagnetic radiation with very little loss. The main expense, of course, is simply procuring the raw material to begin with."

"I know all that."

Reylan Tague smiled, unable to contain himself. He had to share this with someone, even if that someone was a Caspian mercenary with a limited grasp of physics. How he wished for a colleague to revel in this new discovery. Of course, the shortage of available colleagues was part of his problem these days. He picked up a thin sheet that resembled the data sleeves all of them used and motioned for Tov Pald to follow him out of the containment lab and into a short corridor.

"Look." He stopped beside a door locked with a crude bolt but did not open it. Instead, he activated a screen that looked like it had only recently been affixed to the wall. A camera switched on and Tov Pald saw the interior of a small, mostly empty lab. Panels of pale green material similar to what he had seen in the main area covered the walls, hinting at heavy shielding against whatever the physicist found interesting. The floor on which they stood was also padded with it.

What seemed most out of place here was the folding cot along one wall and the presence of a young Feydan pacing about the space. She appeared to be talking to herself, complete with gestures and animated facial expressions.

"Who's that? Who is she talking to?" Tov Pald asked. Evidently, the woman was one of the lab's own staff, still in her protective coveralls.

Tague activated a speaker system near the screen. "Jael, how are things in there?"

The woman looked up and then rushed toward the camera, causing Tov Pald to take an involuntary step backward. "Rey! You've got to let me out. This is pointless. I need to leave."

"Because of your friend in there?"

"Yes, it can't be in here. You don't understand." The Feydan glanced to her left and bit her lower lip. "I... Please just let me out."

"Just try to relax a bit, Jael," Tague said. "We'll figure this out. You know I can't let you go just yet, don't you?"

"Come on, Doc. That wasn't my fault. We had no way to know it would react like this. I don't think it meant any harm."

"What is she shouting about?" Tov Pald said.

"I'm sure it didn't, Jael. Just try to keep calm. We'll know more soon. I'm working around the clock on this." Tague checked the data storage sheet in his hands before bending to slip it under the locked door. "This'll keep you both busy for a while. I'll see what else I can find later. How's that?" He closed the com system before the Feydan had time to reply. Something that might have been fists slammed against the door from the inside.

"Doctor..." Tov Pald said.

"She's agitated. I don't want to sedate her although I might have to slip something into her meal if she doesn't calm down. She was with us when we first isolated and captured the subspace particles discovered by the Delphians. Something happened to her. She was exposed." Tague nearly shivered with delight. "I have every reason to believe that she's been... inhabited by something sentient."

Tov Pald stared at him for a moment and then threw back his head to bellow harsh laughter. "Doctor, you've been out on this rock for far too long. You told us what we're collecting are just particle fragments. Now they're a whole new and invisible species and you have one in there talking to that Feydan?"

"No, not invisible. Not really. It communicates telepathically. It somehow affected that woman's brain. I am hoping to find out how. She was quite reasonable at first but then something upset her and she killed our assistant. Accidentally, I'm sure." He hesitated a moment. "Of course, research into this phenomenon will take time and funds. And more particles. For some reason, they have a far shorter half-life than expected. It's possibly even a self-destructive mechanism."

Tov Pald scowled at him, close to losing his patience. "So now your subspace spooks are suicidal? Perhaps you should build them a nicer habitat." He turned to walk back into the main lab. "I am damn sure the Brothers have no interest in your little zoo here. You said you can develop a decent source of power with this. One we can weaponize. If you lose a few people along the way, so be it. Don't waste our funds on this nonsense."

"You don't understand, Pald."

The Caspian turned, looking not at all pleased to be addressed by his given name. "What exactly am I not understanding?"

The doctor was undaunted by the man's sneer. "Once that being had a grip on Jael, it tapped into our data system. Got past our security like a neutrino through lead. I don't think it even slowed for a second. Jael tried to stop it from getting into our mainframe. When she couldn't we moved to isolate her. That's when she killed our colleague, Sanjay. She just touched him!"

Tov Pald regarded him thoughtfully. "It breached your system? We set that up ourselves. It's not something you can just hack into."

"Well, she did. Or, rather, _it_ did." Tague gestured at the containment cylinders in the lab. "I think it needs a living host to survive in real-space. Imagine what that sort of ability could accomplish if one of your own agents were to be... inhabited by one of these beings. Yes, sure, you can use these to make weapons or power your ships. But if they are, indeed, sentient and able to cooperate, all of that is trivial. Imagine the possibilities! We'd have access to any Air Command system."

Tov Pald reached under his overcoat to scratch his finely-furred chest as he considered this, still gazing at the inscrutable machinery inside the lab. Tague hid a smile when he could almost see the figures coming together in this man's calculations. "Maybe one in ten trips actually comes up with one of these things. Some of the crews we sent ended up dead. One ship never even emerged again, as far as we know. Word is getting out. We have to pay more for each delivery."

"That's why you're using pirates and smugglers instead of your own crews."

"How much more do you need?"

Tague chewed his lip. "We can't develop this overnight. I'll need test subjects we can dispose of and of course more samples. More funds as well. This will require new security measures. I could also use an exobiologist, hopefully someone educated in neurology."

The Caspian's yellow eyes shifted to the physicist. "You're asking for much. What about Suncion?" he said, meaning the town that had sprung up around this cluster of research labs. "Recruit people from there to help you with your little project. I'm sure you can think up a story to have them join."

Tague nodded. "That would do. I kept the crew of the last water delivery. Two halfbreeds out of Pelion and a Magran. They, ah, didn't make it and I'd appreciate if you could, ah, dispose of them for me."

Tov Pald showed his sharp teeth. "Throw them in the swamp. Do not let me catch you experimenting with Caspians."

"No, of course not!" Tague had, in fact, considered just that. Despite their fearsome predator exterior, Caspians possessed superior mental capacities. But he was not about to risk the ire of this rebel whose loose trigger finger was legendary even out here. "This Feydan will do for now. The room you saw is shielded as tightly as the collectors. I've found a frequency that interferes with its ability to penetrate our electronic systems. But I've been, well I suppose _feeding_ it data to help it understand our world."

"Feeding it what?"

"Languages, technology, ethnology and a history of our struggle against the Commonwealth, among other things. It's absorbing information at an astonishing rate. Unfortunately, it doesn't pass that knowledge on to Jael. The Feydan seems to exist as little more than a connection to our physical world. I hope to eventually be able to communicate with it directly." Tague pointed up at a blank monitor. "So far, it's shown no interest in using even written words to reach others."

"Be sure it doesn't get access to anything it shouldn't."

"Of course not," the doctor assured him, hoping that Tov Pald would dig no further. Clearly, the moment Jael was allowed to leave the lab area, the creature inside her head would have access to anything it wanted. "This lab is isolated. We continue to refine our processes but so far the success rate is not good. But what was done once can be done again. Imagine how much someone like that will be worth to the Brothers."

Tov Pald nodded. "I'll see what I can do to get you more to work with. Find out why people are dropping dead when they get exposed. I don't want more casualties out there. We need to keep this quiet."

"We're working on just that. I suspect a loss of linked particles during the merge. The entities are simply not complete by the time they are captured. I've been able to keep some of the other fusions alive, although their cognitive functions were damaged to some degree, unlike Jael's. They're over here if you'd care to—"

Tov Pald waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and turned away. "I'm not interested in your failures."

Tague walked ahead of Tov Pald into the upper lab. "Tell me more about those Centauri you saw going down on Rishabel. Did your people detect any energy discharge? Gamma radiation? Radon? Visible light?"

"Nothing. It was over in seconds. Messy. Vanguard neural taps send a distress signal the moment their brains stop ticking. My crew didn't stick around. No idea how much more Air Command scum is wandering around that station these days."

"Were both of them Vanguard?"

"Just the female. The other was with the smugglers, I guess."

"Hmm." Tague scratched his chin, finding several days' of growth there. When was the last time he had shaved? "Are you sure they're dead? Jael here didn't look all that well for a while after this happened."

"No, I'm not sure," Tov Pald said. "I wasn't there. You think they might have been exposed?"

"If they were exposed and survived they'd be very useful to me here. If they're dead, my Union counterparts will be suspecting something very unusual by now. We may not have a lot of time to take full advantage of this discovery."

"Alive or dead, they could be anywhere by now," Tov Pald said. "I'll have our people on Rishabel check it out. Meanwhile, the Brothers are going to be very interested in your discovery here. Make this thing work, and quickly, if you want to keep them happy." He checked his data sleeve. "It'll be dark in a few days, Targon-time, and I plan to come back for the hunt."

Tague winced. As much as he was glad for the extra armed mercenaries here when the suns set and Csonne's wildlife dared to encroach upon Suncion, the brutal murder of those beasts filled him with disgust. Caspians like Tov Pald, Humans and some Feydans prided themselves on their ability to face down the moor's ferocious reptiles armed with little more than knives.

"Be sure to have a few success stories by then. The Brothers won't tolerate anything less. You can figure out what that means."

# 8

"Is that an Aikhoran yast?" Khoe asked. "It's so huge!"

"It is," Seth said, touched by her excitement and even more amused by the way Caelyn was hiding his. Although she had studied the more common species of Trans-Targon found in his data bank, actually seeing them at such close range left her in awe.

The Delphian peered from under his hood at the lumbering beast being led down the narrow street, every bit as entertained as Khoe by the variety of people and species that converged in this Magran harbor town. Caelyn, too, had seen some of these only from a distance, if at all.

He stepped carefully around a pile of something left behind by the animal. "Why are we down this way," he said after a glance at his mapper. "The air field is to the east."

"Which is why we're over here," Seth said. "Smells like Air Command."

"Oh? Air Command on Magra Torley? And how do they smell?"

"To Khoe, like someone tied to the base station cruising around back there over Magra Alaric. She's been tracking some of their com signals since we left the tower." He tapped his data sleeve. "She's been able link through this."

They stood aside as a congregation of locals surged past them, dressed in somber robes that hid all but their eyes, on their way to whatever required such procession. Seth watched them move through the alley and out of sight. "Whoever they have poking around here will be suspecting rebels under every one of those cloaks. Very convenient. For us, anyway."

"They're just civilians," Caelyn pointed out.

"Armed like bandits, like everyone else is here. That sort of hardware will have our friends running in circles. Why do you think Torley is so popular among my supposed confederates?"

"I thought Air Command isn't welcome on this continent," Khoe said. She pointed at a towering metal structure from which small cable cars slid, soon disappearing beyond the rooftops into the direction of the shore. "Can we ride one of those? Those look like fun."

Seth looked up, thinking that the framework for the gondolas looked even more rickety than the last time he had seen it. "Expect agents in plain clothes," he said.

He led the way through a gate and into a cobbled courtyard walled off from the street. A portly Human sat on the ground before a grill upon which several shallow pans sizzled and steamed. From an open doorway behind him drifted the sound of a flute. The man kept time with the tongs he used to stir his concoctions.

"Kada!" He waved them closer when he finally noticed them.

"J'saa. Hello." Seth smiled when they approached.

"That's my second daughter playing like angels singing in the mists of Mount Avelar." The man named J'saa closed his eyes while they listened to a few more plaintive notes. "Have you ever heard such sweetness?"

"Not in recent memory," Seth said with a wink at Khoe. She was no doubt thinking of the long argument they fought to a draw aboard the _Dutchman_ when she decided to study music. Clearly, they would never agree on that particular subject.

Caelyn peered at the grill. "Dinner?" he asked, although it was still morning on this side of the planet.

The Human squinted at the stranger. "You're keeping interesting company, Kada."

"New navigator," Seth explained. "I'm branching out. Doing some deep-space runs. I hear that's profitable these days."

"I'd say." J'saa pointed at his dishes. "You wouldn't like the taste of this, Delphian." Like a magician before his audience, he waved his tongs and then picked up a pan with dark red liquid. When he flung the content into a bowl of water it solidified at once into pearlescent beads. He picked out a few large specimens and scooped the remainder back into his pan. "See those? On Feron, that's currency. Here, all it takes are a few _tocla_ beetle carapaces and my secret recipe."

"Impressive," Caelyn said to the forger. _Do any of your friends do an honest day's work?_ he added for Seth.

_He's more honest than most,_ Seth replied. _See anything around here?_ he sent to Khoe, not wanting to risk their host's good will by checking his perimeter scanner himself.

"Nothing. Some children in that house. Two women. Nothing interesting on his com channels, either. No one's listening."

"Got my plane?" Seth said to J'saa.

"All ready to go. It's now registered to a Pelion outfit called Skykoro. Deloused down to the last circuit and detailed in a pretty shade of red. Coolant's topped up. You were covered in bugs. Thank you very much for bringing Air Command down on us. Why are they chasing you this time?" He fumbled through his caftan to fish a device from one of his numerous pockets.

Seth hunched down beside him to transfer the _Dutchman_ 's new codes to his own system. "I have no idea," he said. "They often confuse me with someone else."

"Sure they do." J'saa took his code pad back along with a packet of currency he didn't bother to count. "The _Dutchman_ 's on Claude's east runway but you can bet the place is still crawling with cops trying to figure out which one is yours. Have fun trying to get back aboard."

Seth shrugged and stood up. "Guess you're the new captain, Delphi."

Caelyn nodded imperceptibly to Khoe. _I knew I'd be useful along the way._

She scrunched up her nose at him which nearly made Seth laugh out loud. "We'll be on our way," he said to J'saa. "Kind of between jobs right now. Missed a pickup on Aram a while back. Who's got news?"

"Who do you think?"

Seth nodded and waved as he turned away to head back out onto the street.

"What did he mean by that?" Khoe said.

"I've got some contacts here." Seth turned to Caelyn. "Going to transfer command functions to your sleeve. Get to the _Dutchman_ and look like you're getting ready to go. Maybe order some supplies. Don't make too much noise but make it convincing that the ship's yours. Air Command isn't likely to question a Delphian, even out here. But if they do, stick to the story about heading to Callas."

"I think I can manage that." Caelyn tapped Seth's interface node to sever their khamal and so his link to Khoe. "Let's hope no one wants to come aboard. Your sloppy housekeeping won't convince anyone that a Delphian owns that ship."

"Step easy around those soldiers. Try to keep a straight face."

Caelyn rolled his eyes and strode away to find a shuttle heading for the flight pads.

Seth turned the other way to stroll through increasingly shabby streets that continued to fascinate Khoe. He observed her expression as surreptitiously as he could, amazed by her unending willingness to be amazed by all she saw. She took in everything, judged nothing, and learned more than he could ever hope to remember.

"How do you find your way through this place without a mapper. It's a maze!" Khoe said when they turned down yet another alley. The shops crowded so tightly in the small space that their multi-colored awnings formed a roof over the street.

"I grew up here. I used to think that stall over there was the best one to steal cakes from until I realized that Lubetke and his wife looked the other way on purpose. They used to feed us like gutter birds." He smiled at the memory. "A nice change from getting beaten by some of the other merchants when we weren't quick enough."

Khoe peered into the stall where a young woman was tending a round hearth. The sweet smell of roasted sugar hung thick in the air.

"That's their granddaughter, I think," Seth said.

"Was it hard, growing up in a place like this? Having to steal food?" Khoe watched a couple of urchins slink past them. Seth's hand automatically moved to protect his gun from nimble fingers.

"Not for me. I lived up in the hills." He gestured to the north where the wealthier population lived high above the noise and smells of the harbor town. "I only hung around down here because that place was really very boring. Unfortunately, that eventually got me sent to the military academy on Magra Alaric."

"Where you became a pilot. And a soldier."

"Yes, I am a pilot," he said and then pointed to the end of the alley. "There we are."

The building he sought faced an open square populated mostly by eateries and taverns and the customers that frequented them. The rough slab of stonework made no attempt to look like anything but a jail. Khoe read the signage near the entrance, her brow furrowed. "Are you sure this is a good place for you?"

"The safest," he said. "Keep your eyes open."

"That's only possible if you keep yours open." She shifted more of her focus to his scanners.

The clammy interior smelled of mildew and harsh cleaning chemicals. That, along with some rough cursing and shouts from other parts of the building, reminded him of past visits to places like these. Two guards, identically dressed in lightly armored chest guard over knee-length kaftan, sat near the door, chatting. They rose when Seth entered, their hands close to their weapons.

"Morning," Seth said lazily, using Union mainvoice.

The two, both native to Magra, waited silently for more than that.

"I'm here to see Master Faran. With Domeo's report from Aikhor."

The two exchanged glances and then one nodded to the other, who left the entranceway. Identified by his code words, Seth was waved through an open arch guarded by an electrified curtain of snag filaments. Khoe snorted with derision at such elementary fortification but Seth's respect for the barrier came through hard-earned experience. He waited patiently for the guard to disarm it and followed him into the interior and what seemed to be an administrative area. It smelled a little less like a prison here.

Once again using Seth's transmitters, Khoe tapped into the security system while he was made to wait for the guard to announce his arrival. She had no need to hurry; Master Faran measured his time carefully to ensure that everyone appreciated his importance.

"Only locals locked up here," she reported. "Thieves, mostly. A murderer." She dug a little deeper. "Awful lot of weapons being kept in a cellar. More than they need, even if everyone carried two of them."

"I know. They pay well for them, too."

"Extra income for you? Baroch didn't pay much?"

Seth sent a mental shrug. "Any idea how much a tube of coolant costs?"

"Of course I do."

The door finally opened and a Magran, also in embroidered robe and wearing a crossed weapons belt, stuck his head out to wave Seth inside the room.

"Camera facing this way," Khoe said. "What's that thing on his head?"

Seth walked ahead of the Magran and turned his back to the surveillance system. The lawman's heavy brow ridge and most of his sparsely-tufted scalp was covered with a painful-looking reddish scale. _He's a northerner. They end up with skin problems down here. That's a fungus, I'm guessing._

"Let me see."

_No, they don't smell so good, either._

"Really? Move closer."

_No!_ Seth grimaced, wishing for the Delphians' knack for obscuring their reactions to things like this. "Master Faran, thank you for the audience."

"Leave the crap at the door, Kada." The Magran didn't pronounce his words so much as roll them around in his throat for a while and even Seth had to pay close attention to understand his accent. "You're not expected. Got anything for me?"

"No, unfortunately. Hoping you have something for me. Looking for some fast cash, actually."

The Magran pursed his fleshy lips. "Got a shipment of guns looking for transport out of Aikhor."

"Need something bigger than that. What's the deal out on Rishabel? Heard rebels are taking on extra crews."

Faran shook his head. "You don't want to get mixed up with that lot. Whatever they're smuggling is red hot. Dead people dropping into real-space and now Air Command is nosing around. Sent some sort of investigation to see what's going on by the jumpsite. They might block it altogether."

"For everyone's safety, of course," Seth added.

"That's the story. Shri-Lan shifted the drop to Belene-Noh. If you're interested I can send my regards. Personally, I wouldn't touch it."

"The Shri-Lan's running this?"

"Yeah. Hiring private charthumpers to run errands. The goods go from there to who knows where. Not a lot of volunteers, from what I hear. You need a spanner to get to Belene, though. No open jumpsites going out that way."

"Good. Got me a crew," Seth said, looking past Faran at Khoe who was busily poking around the Magran's own data system.

"Business must be good if you can afford a spanner."

Seth shrugged. "Can always be better. Who do I see?"

"Put down near a charming place called Dead End. Pretty much the only settlement on the whole damn planet. There's a hangout there run by a Centauri named Tieko. He'll set you up. Don't drink the water."

In the years that Seth had plied his admittedly questionable trade among the far-flung worlds of Trans-Targon, he had never had reason to land on Belene-Noh. From what he had learned about it over time, most other people didn't either. It orbited its star at an uncomfortable distance but stubbornly insisted on putting forth scrubby life forms wherever the meager desert soil allowed. Without an indigenous sentient population, small but fiercely hostile wildlife thrived in endless battles for survival in the cold desert. Long ago a migrant ship crash-landed here after a disastrous subspace traverse, spilling its contents from a massive hull beyond repair. The surviving passengers, mostly Centauri settlers, made the most of a bad situation and clung to life until the first explorers arrived nearly forty years later.

Those who escaped Belene-Noh were soon replaced by others seeking any place with sufficient oxygen and gravity to settle far from the watchful eyes of the expanding Commonwealth and its military.

"I can only assume that your rebel friends have lotteries of some sort to decide on which of the most miserable wildernesses to settle," Caelyn commented during their approach. The Delphian slouched tiredly in his pilot bench, only marginally interested in whatever was going on down there. Any jump through an uncharted breach took its toll on navigator as well as machinery and even the Delphians, most suited for the task, required time to recover. At any other time, he would already be filling up Seth's data bank with whatever the _Dutchman_ 's scanners found down there.

Seth switched the main screen to show a real-vid view of their destination. No town had ever been built on this planet. Instead, the ancient hulk of the crashed transport lay half-buried in the sand and rock, surrounded by a few decrepit outbuildings made of stone and salvage. Long fissures in the surface showed entrances to the below-ground caverns where most of the locals eked out a living. Smoke rose from a few of the gaps. "Not a lot going on down there," he said.

Indeed, only two cruiser-class ships parked near the wreck. They had detected a third leaving the planet but it vanished into the nearby keyhole before he was able to identify it. The _Dutchman_ 's sensors reported perhaps two hundred people inside the hull and below ground; hardly a sustainable population. Like so many isolated colonies, this one had simply dissolved after much hardship and now only rebels, recluses and fugitives sought shelter here.

Seth came about for a landing near the other ships parked on relatively level ground. "Finding anything?" he asked Khoe.

She shook her head. As soon as Caelyn had completed the jump to this sub-sector she announced that the trigger entity they searched for was not here. They had expected this – likely, this outpost was merely a trading point to gather the disks for the trip to their final destination. Still, Khoe was disappointed when she perceived none of her kind out here.

"Get some sleep," Seth said to Caelyn. "We'll take a look around."

Caelyn disengaged his link to the ship and heaved himself out of his bench. He looked strangely alien with his hair temporarily dyed black and hanging loose over his shoulders. The Centauri disguise would work reasonably well at a distance; it wasn't likely that anyone out here had ever seen a Delphian up close.

Khoe watched him leave for the crew cabin. "Should just let me jump," she said. "He's exhausted."

Seth nodded, concentrating on the landing. "You'll take the next one. I might need him on his feet."

Once the _Dutchman_ had settled on the planet's surface, Khoe followed Seth into the ship's small cargo bay. "You'll want your heavy boots," she advised. "They have a pretty aggressive sort of land crab here."

"Yes, dear." He ran his hand longingly over the well-designed protective suit folded in its bin and then chose a rough desert robe instead. There was probably little point to looking like a dandy on this remote outpost and being robbed for it wasn't going to help his mission here. When he turned he saw that she, too, had added a similar outfit to herself. "The Delphian wants to be a spy and the Dyad wants to be a person. What a strange crew I've taken on."

She frowned. "You don't think I'm a person?"

He sighed, regretting his offhand remark. "That's not what I meant," he said. "Just that you don't need clothes at all."

"You're the one that made me wear them. So now I like them."

He grinned. "You're not just a person. You're a girl."

"Thank you," she said haughtily.

Seth fastened his boots and then chose a set of weapons, taking his time to make sure of their suitability for Belene's environment. He had been glad for Caelyn's presence aboard his ship during the days it took them to reach this planet. The Delphian's intellect and Khoe's capacity for combining pure data with an almost Human emotional range made for some energetic conversations. But he was also relieved to not have to grapple with that sweet moment at the Delphian research station which left him feeling a little awkward in Khoe's undeniably real presence.

Since she came aboard he, like most males of his species and many others, had taken the opportunity to cop an occasional look at her enticing curves. There had been little more to this than entertainment value. Now he wasn't so sure. Her physical appeal was undeniable and, considering her proximity, unavoidable. But she also had the intelligence and honesty he valued in any woman he had ever known for more than one night. As unpredictable and even eccentric as she was, he found himself drawn to her in ways he did not care to examine.

"What?"

He blinked, having been caught staring, and got busy holstering his guns. "Still no shoes?"

She followed his eyes downward. "I cannot make any sense at all of what sort of shoes are worn with what clothes. Doesn't matter; I don't see my feet very often."

They exited the ship, making sure to extend the _Dutchman_ 's proximity alarm to his data sleeve. Even set to its loudest internal alert, it might not be enough to wake the Delphian, whose people found sleep in the deepest of khamals, another of their distinct states of consciousness, from which they were not easily roused.

He strolled past the other two cruisers parked out here, seeing nothing to identify them as anything but private ships; capable but hardly military grade. Khoe also found no indication of Air Command presence here, nor any unusual armament or electronic systems that would seem out of place in this isolated location. The single communications array was little more than a wind-battered antenna on a distant rise.

Night was approaching fast across the plains and the cold gusts soughing over the flat landscape soon made their way through the folds of his robe. He was glad when he ducked into the sheltered entrance of the one-time transport ship and found it pleasantly heated. This interior resembled a cave of decaying metal and warped plastics, perhaps once a cargo entrance, where a few people waited for the stranger in silence.

Seth directed a sunny smile of greeting at the most surly-looking of the locals. He counted three Centauri, a Human and a Feydan, both male and female and dressed in layers of clothes that ceased to be clean or fashionable a long time ago.

"The tall man in the back is holding a charged weapon," Khoe reported. "Rail gun."

"Hello," Seth said, looking at the Centauri she had pointed out. "I don't suppose you get a lot of visitors around here."

"Not until recently," a Feydan woman said. "Who sent you?"

"Master Faran on Magra Torley. Said this was a place to find a new commission. I'm looking for Tieko." He handed her a marker given to him by Faran.

She scanned the marker. The lines tattooed into the deep brown skin of her neck hinted that she belonged to a prominent family of a wealthy part of Feyd. He wondered what had led her to join the Shri-Lan. "He's down below. I'll take you," she said. Some of the others seemed to have lost interest and disappeared into the gloomy shadows of the hold.

Seth followed her back outside and around the wreck's repurposed cargo modules into which, over time, windows and doors had been cut to serve as habitats for those fortunate enough to claim them. They walked a short distance across an open space to the edge of a fissure. No attempt had been made to ensure someone wouldn't simply tumble into the opening. The Feydan led him to a crude ladder leaning against the edge of the crevice.

Once he negotiated the creaking scaffold, he saw that the bottom of the gap split into many directions, separated by paper-thin walls of delicate, chalk-like material. It seemed that just touching them would bring one of these partitions down upon them. The walls and the floor were coated in pale dust, much like the surface above.

They walked past alcoves set aside for sleeping or privacy, cisterns, storage areas, communal spaces where small fires burned, and the entrances of several darkened tunnels. As primitive as it seemed, the people here seemed comfortable and he heard calm voices and laughter. Two children ran across their path, giggling as they went.

"He's over there," the Feydan finally said and immediately left him to make his own introductions.

"Are these all rebels?" Khoe asked.

_Mostly, I guess._

"They don't look very fierce. I thought rebels were dangerous and angry."

_They are. But rebels have families, too._ Seth approached a huddle of thickly-robed individuals seated around a fire. Here he saw clothing and weapons of more recent vintage on visitors from Pelion, Aikhor and Magra.

Deferentially, he went through the steps of identifying himself and his quest to find a new patron among them. A bearded Centauri gestured for him to sit with them.

"I'm Tieko," he said. "Faran's word is good enough for me. If he sent you, he must have reason."

Seth shrugged. "He has some concerns about all this."

Tieko chuckled. "Aye, but the money is good. Shri-Lan pays when due and they don't get pissy about it. At least if you make it back here."

"Fill me in." Seth accepted a cup from someone passing out drinks.

"What's that?" Khoe asked.

_Kind of busy here_ , he replied but then relented and sniffed the offering. _Whatever it is, it's horribly fermented._

"Try it!"

_Not likely. Never had much interest in drink. Can you direct your maddening curiosity to that man's data system, please?_

Tieko quaffed his drink with considerable enthusiasm. "Some experiment going on that the Commonwealth isn't to know about," he explained. "Shri-Lan is equipping pilots with a collector to take through subspace. That's all I know, really. Didn't think there was anything worth collecting in there."

"You have those devices?"

"No. We're waiting for someone to get here with them. Sounds like an easy job to me, but there've been accidents."

Seth shrugged. "There are always accidents. I've got a solid ship and a good navigator."

"That'll do it," Tieko said agreeably. "If you pass the muster, you're in."

"What muster?"

"Faran's endorsement is a good thing, but they'll want to know who you are. You'd better check out or your ship is going to be their ship before the end of tomorrow." He turned away to talk to another one of his compatriots.

"Was that a threat or a warning?" Khoe wanted to know.

_Bit of both, I guess. Find anything?_

"Those caves extend all the way to below that ruined ship. Full of stuff they're trading to rebels. Or storing here for them."

_What stuff?_

"Guns, machine parts, tubes, barrels of stuff."

_Interesting._ Seth's eyes moved over the crude accommodations around them. _And well-disguised._

"Tieko's been here for about four years. Sort of a boss down here. He's recently had contact with someone named Tov Pald."

Seth winced.

"You know him?"

_By reputation._

"Hey, this Tieko has three wives. I didn't think Centauri had families like that."

_We don't. Things get blurry out here. We're a long way from home._

"Have you ever been in the Centauri system?"

_Nope. Takes years to get out there. I've never been that curious. Plenty of Centauri here in Trans-Targon. We've been here almost three hundred years. Considering that we didn't originate here, there are more of us scattered around planets where we don't belong than any other species._

"I guess you stop being Centauri after a while," she pondered, indicating their host. "You're probably a whole new race by now."

He sent a smile. _You would probably know more about that than me by now._

"Aren't you curious?"

_No. I was raised by Humans back there on Magra Torley. If there is a mongrel among us, it's me. Besides, I'm officially a Dyad now, remember?_

"You look Centauri," she said. She touched a strand of his hair that was forever falling over his eyes. "But you're a lot more than that."

He was still searching for a reply to that when Tieko turned back to him. He held up a skewer bearing a half-roasted rodent. Seth accepted gamely and tasted the meat, more to give Khoe a new experience than to satisfy any real need for food.

"Better than the stuff on your ship," she commented. "But not as good as the Delphians had. That's a gonad you're about to eat. Your people don't like that."

Seth put the skewer down with a sigh. "When do you expect that delivery?" he asked Tieko.

"Should be here by morning. You're welcome to stay down here, if you like. Nice and warm."

"Five hours to dawn," Khoe supplied. "It's dark outside now."

"I think I'll head back to my ship." Seth came to his feet. "But thanks for the offer. I'll see you when the envoy gets here."

He made his way back to the ladder leading to the surface. "Did you find anything about how many other pilots have passed through here lately?"

"Now many yet," Khoe replied. "They just started to shift things from Rishabel to here. The smugglers drop the disks off here and the rebels take them elsewhere. Tieko is getting paid for putting them up while they wait."

"No wonder they're so friendly." Seth drew his cloak closer around himself when he started the walk back to the _Dutchman_. A few locals were still about, moving from one shelter to another or standing around fire pits in quiet conversation. Although people had lived in this settlement for many years, something about this place seemed oddly transient, like a refugee camp where no one ever found their way home.

Someone waved to him as he passed. He slowed to see a Human woman sitting alone near her fire, gesturing to him. He nodded and accepted the offer, holding his hands to the flames. "A little cold out here," he said by way of conversation.

"It's my turn on the watch." She pushed her ragged fur hood from her head. "Only another hour."

"What are you watching out for? Doesn't seem possible to get near this place undetected."

"We have scanners for that. What we look out for are the four- and six-legged sort that'll creep into camp to make off with food stuffs. They've become bold lately. It's the season. They're desperate for food. They'll even take small children if we're not vigilant."

"It's a harsh place to live," he said. "Why are you out here?"

She looked into the flames as if debating her answer. "I was less free where I came from. I'll return some day, I'm sure."

"To where?" he asked. Humans had long ago joined the Centauri expansion into Trans-Targon and, although few in number, formed colonies on just about any habitable planet in this distant sector of their galaxy. This Human, more delicate and pale than the desert-dwellers, seemed out of place on this lonely outpost. He suspected that she had not been on Belene for very long.

"She's pretty," Khoe said, hunkering down on the woman's other side.

_Yes._

"My home was Aikhor," the woman said. "But I think I have family on Pelion. I'd like to see them some day."

"Pilots come and go even out here. You're not stuck in this place. Just go."

She smiled wistfully and placed more fuel on the fire. "They all want payment," she said. "I don't have that. There is no work to be had on these small ships."

"There must be something you can trade," he said, then groaned inwardly at what surely sounded like a crass suggestion.

She did not seem to mind. "Yes, of course." She gazed at him and said nothing more.

"I think she's making you an offer," Khoe said.

_I noticed._

"Are you going to take her up on it?"

_What? No._

"Why not? She appeals to you."

_She's probably made this same offer a few times today already._ He exhaled impatiently. _Is that another new experience you're looking for?_

"Maybe," she replied after a moment. "I'll never know, will I?" She lifted a hand to the woman and watched with his eyes as it passed unnoticed through her shoulder. "How it feels to be touched, I mean. Really touched. You find the thought of touching me repulsive."

Seth frowned, ready with some denial or platitude or perhaps even rebuke but the look on her impish face was of such pain and sadness that he could not. _Gods, Khoe, is that what you think?_

"You made it clear. But if you take her, I'll know. Maybe that's all right, too."

_That is not even a bit all right. Why are you talking like this?_

She rubbed her hands, feeling the heat of the flames through his fingers. "I'm so worried about this. About you. If you can't get rid of me you'll start resenting me. You're never alone. At some point you'll want a real woman, won't you? I know how you look at me, sometimes, when you think I'm not paying attention. I know what it means." Khoe ran her hand through some of the braids of white hair hanging over her shoulders. "I should change how I look. I can be anything. I can just not appear at all, or maybe be a pet or something. That would make things easier for you, wouldn't it?"

The woman leaned closer to Seth and placed her hand on his forearm. "Hey," she said gently. "Are you in there, somewhere?"

He considered the invitation clearly written on the Human's face and then his eyes traveled back to Khoe. She was also intently studying the woman, but not with the vibrant curiosity she exhibited for all other things. Khoe was becoming as much of an enigma as most women were to him but what he saw on her face now was simply apprehension.

Seth stood up. "I can't help you," he said to the Human. "I'm not going back that way."

He walked with long strides back to the _Dutchman_ , ignoring the few people he passed along the way. He slapped the ship's keyplate and stepped inside the cargo hold.

"You seem agitated."

He spun to face Khoe. "Do you really think I'd rather be with that camp follower than touch you?"

She lifted her shoulders. "I don't know. Having me in your head must be a bit creepy."

He frowned at her, uncharacteristically and overwhelmingly at a loss for words. She gazed back at him, waiting for, perhaps dreading, his reply without a clue on her face about her thoughts. Creepy? He saw only the strange beauty, the innocent wisdom, the shy courage with which she'd been turning his life upside down since she came aboard. With every day that passed she seemed more a part of his life, like someone who had always been there and always would be. Had he been so damn blind to something far more obvious because she did not belong in his world?

"How can you say that? You're anything but creepy."

She smiled thinly. "Just a little alien, then?"

"Stop that, Khoe. I don't resent you. And I'm not trying to get rid of you. I want to help you if I can and that means helping you get free and go home. That's not the same thing."

"Isn't it?"

"No!" he said immediately. "If you asked me before all this happened I would have said otherwise but now I'm a Dyad, whatever that means, and you belong exactly where you are." He struggled for words, not even sure what he meant to say to her. Finally he reached for her and held her pale face in his hands. "You _are_ a real woman, Khoe. You feel so unbelievably good inside my head. Don't change how you look. You're beautiful and amazing and I'm sorry if I made you feel any other way."

"Beautiful?"

"Yeah."

She held his gaze for a long moment. "Then touch me now."

Even if she had not spoken, nothing would have stopped him from kissing her the way he should have on Magra, without second thought or hesitation. The body pressed to his felt as real as it had those few days ago and the hands that touched him now seemed on fire. He groaned when that magnificent sense of _rightness_ suffused their minds and senses, this time fuelled by a need neither of them hid any longer. Her clothes melted away a layer at a time even as he fumbled through his own and it took just moments before he lifted her up, unwilling to wait another second to feel her body wrap around him. Neither noticed the cold wall against her back or the hum of the generators out here – nothing existed but the sensations their tangled minds created for each other. Both of them cried out when he found his release, sharing that exquisite moment as if they were one.

Countless moments passed before Seth caught his breath and felt his heart slow to something manageable, his head still lowered onto Khoe's shoulder. "Cazun..." he managed.

She disengaged herself gently and slipped from his embrace. He stumbled after her into the main cabin, numbly rearranging his clothing as she tugged him toward the lounger. He collapsed onto it with a grateful sigh and drew her into his arms.

"I see now," she said, smiling.

He swallowed hard around another gasp of air. "I don't know if you do," he said. "You feel what I do, right?"

"Yes."

"But not what you should?"

"I don't suppose so." She raised her head. "But maybe... Let me try something."

"What?"

"Close your eyes."

He did so but this did not shut out the world around him. He still saw her and this cabin and the exposed gas and circuitry lines running along the ceiling as though his eyes were still wide open. "What are you doing?"

She smiled and raised herself up to kiss him softly. "Now show me."

Seth reached for her and it seemed to him that something had changed inside his head, feeling almost like the close link of the Delphian khamal but, as she responded to his touch, far more intimate. He applied his hands and lips, teaching her, letting her teach him, and they soon came together again with as much fervor as before, followed by gentle bouts of playing games all lovers play. Hours passed in this way until, at last, he simply passed out in her arms.

"Centauri! Time for that ugly tea you like so much!"

Seth did not wake up so much as he regained consciousness from what felt like a drunken stupor. He blinked into the overhead lights, unsure of where he was and who was talking to him. He gasped when he realized that it was Caelyn who was cheerfully puttering around the small galley aboard his ship. In groping for his blankets he came to realize that, strangely, he was fully dressed, if disheveled, and that Khoe was nowhere in sight.

"Big cruiser just landed," Caelyn said. "I'm guessing Shri-Lan, judging by some of the characters marching around out there. Why do their foot soldiers always look like they've gone a few rounds with a Rhuwac?"

"They probably have," Seth grumbled, running both hands through his hair. _Khoe?_

"Did you get anywhere with those people last night? I must have slept right through."

"We didn't wake you, did we? Khoe and me?"

Caelyn raised an eyebrow. "If you mean with your snoring, I'd say it takes more than that to wake a Delphian. You slept with your boots on, by the way. If I didn't know better I'd think you had a few cups last night."

Seth crawled from the lounger and into the decon chamber, dropping his clothes as he went. In there he braced his arms on either side of the mirror while he let steam roll over his body, still dazed by the previous night. Had he imagined all of it? Although tired, he did not feel the gloriously strenuous hours that had passed. He would have suspected a bruise or two, perhaps a scratch. There was nothing. He folded his arms against the wall and leaned his forehead against them.

"Seth?"

He pulled back to see Khoe beside him, impossibly contained by this small room barely large enough for one person. He looked into her curious and worried face for a long moment before returning his stare to the mirror. "I think I'm losing my mind," he said, barely audible.

"Why do you say that?"

He leaned against the door and tipped his head back, closing his eyes. "Because I am," he said with half a helpless laugh. "I'm walking around in a dream. I don't know where I end and you begin. That must mean I'm losing it."

She hovered closer to him and he felt her gentle hands move up along his arms, then her lips on the skin of his chest. "You still don't think I'm real? After last night?"

He took her face into his hands to kiss her gently. "Nothing unreal about you," he said, unwilling to admit to his own brain that he had not moved at all. "That's what scares me."

She nodded. "Me, too."

# 9

The morning outside was colder than the night had been and even the sun, hanging listless in a pink and hazy sky, seemed to have given up on the place. Seth stepped out of his plane, breathing deeply of the air that wanted to freeze him inside out. It felt great.

He had shaken off his odd mood during breakfast with Caelyn. Khoe joined them in the Delphian khamal to allow all three of them to share a conversation. This caused Caelyn a bit of a headache, as it had on Magra, but he was too fascinated by this alien being to let that deter him. She had found her way through his aloof exterior and even coaxed laughter from him with some well-placed quips about the planet of his birth. They decided that the recently arrived cruiser likely brought rebels who were more familiar with Delphians than the locals. Caelyn resigned himself to staying aboard while Seth and Khoe met their new employer.

Something had changed out here on Belene. Yesterday this had been a humble shanty town inhabited by people who were largely at peace with their lot, today the tension cut deeper than the harsh winds from the north. Few of the locals were about, none loitered around the sputtering fires, and armed rebel guards dispensed threatening glares to anyone daring to come too close to their ship.

Seth crossed the open space between the planes and the shelters and stepped into the entrance of the wrecked transport. He assumed Tov Pald to be holding court here, given the two massive Caspians guarding the entrance. He gave them a mock salute as he passed.

"Kada!" he was greeted by the Centauri leader of the colony. Tieko waved to him from the gloomy depths of this entranceway and through a door leading to the interior. Some of the rebels stood around a plastic crate being carefully unpacked. Seth recognized Tov Pald among them, looking more menacing than any image he had seen of him.

_Grab what you can. Be careful!_

"On it," Khoe replied.

Seth stumbled over a broken ramp, drawing everyone's attention while she tapped into the data sleeve of a nearby rebel. A light stripe blinked in mild protest and then forgot about her intrusion.

"Too much of the party juice for you, Kada?" Tieko said. "I'm hurt. I cooked that up myself."

Tov Pald looked up at the interruption. He watched Seth come closer, eyes glittering in the inadequate light. "I've heard about you, Kada. Fallen on hard times? Last I heard you had a nice little deal going on Aram."

Seth shrugged. "A couple of months in lockup and you're behind on the bills."

"You were in jail?" Khoe said.

_No_ , he replied. _Well, not for months. Find anything?_

"Sure did," she replied, grinning. She placed her hand on his thigh. "What'll you give me for it?"

He bit his lip and concentrated on the rebel. "Still got my plane, though. Heard you're looking for pilots."

The Caspian nodded. "Pilots, yes. High risk, to be honest. You're probably overqualified."

"I'm broke. That makes me qualified."

Tov Pald picked up a thick metal disk from among several on top of the crate. It had three prongs, like the one on Rishabel. He turned it thoughtfully in his hands. "Actually, you might be right. I have something a little extra for you."

"Do tell."

He waved at his men. "Out."

They complied without a hint of demur. Seth was impressed. Too many rebel leaders had trouble simply keeping their gangs moving in the same direction, never mind taking orders. Then again, Tov Pald wasn't known for kindhearted leadership.

The Caspian perched on the corner of the crate and studied Seth in silence. One of his feet swung loosely and his claws scraped over the metal floor with a sound that made even Khoe squirm. He tossed the disk at Seth without warning. "Good reflexes," he said. "I heard you're quick on your feet."

Seth let Khoe study the display panel on the edge of the disk. "Comes in handy," he said. "What is this thing?"

"Your new best friend. One of our lab rats figured out a way to collect some sort of particle in subspace. These disks attract them and lock them up. Those particles enhance your brain with a whole new set of talents."

"You're joking with me?" Seth said, sounding incredulous. "Like what?"

"EMR manipulation, from what I saw. Cutting through security systems. Power conversion, who knows. We can get past Air Command pretty much at will with these. So now we're looking for volunteers."

Seth raised his eyebrows. "Funny, I could have sworn you were looking at me when you said that word."

"Afraid?"

"Rumor says these aren't good for your health."

"Only if you get exposed out here. Our people can do this safely in the lab. Interested?"

"Of course." Seth turned the disk over for Khoe's inspection. "Walking through walls seems like a damn fine skill. What's the job worth?"

The rebel stood up. "Talented or not, you're a smuggler and a masterless mercenary. The question is: what are you worth to us?"

"I prefer 'privateer'. I get paid, you get what you want."

Tov Pald waved his six-fingered hand at the device. "With this, you'll never have to worry about anyone's security system again. So don't worry about money."

"Let me run this errand for you while I think about it."

The Caspian shrugged. "Don't think too long. Take this collector with you and go for a nice long jump through subspace. Just twist that band there when you enter. It'll do all the work. Return here. You'll get fifty doubles for it."

Seth whistled. "That's a pretty sum."

"If you catch one."

Seth glanced at Khoe. "What's been happening to those that don't?"

"As far as we can tell, those subspace particles get into the crews instead of the disks. It goes bad for some. Feydans and Centauri do okay."

"Delphians?"

"Don't be absurd, Kada." He walked to the door to gesture to his men. "Got anyone else for me?" he said to Tieko.

Seth tucked the disk under his robe. "I guess I'm done here."

"I'll expect you back within the next ten hours. Don't make me wait in this hellhole."

Seth nodded and stepped over the ramp to the exit. There was no one there now. "What do we have?" he whispered to Khoe as he fastened his robe on his way out and pulled a hood over his head.

"Why did he say that about the Delphians?"

He stepped outside the hull and started to walk back to the _Dutchman_. "Because there isn't a Delphian alive that would volunteer for this, even if the Union were doing the experimenting. But we have no way to know how this will affect Caelyn."

"Doesn't matter. We don't have to jump."

"Huh?"

"I can make it look like that thing has captured particles. You wouldn't know it's empty until you opened it, or whatever they do with them. Besides, I really don't want you to actually use one of these. It's what we're trying to stop from happening."

"That's true. We can just take off for a while and then return."

She grinned. "This is the part where you pay up, Kada."

He had to smile at the mischief on her face. The smile turned into a gasp when he felt her hand again, not on his thigh this time. "Back to the ship with you," he said.

"Caelyn is there. Not asleep."

"Did you just pout?"

"Did I get it right?"

"Yeah. Out with it. What else did you find?"

"We don't have to come back here, either. These disks are being collected for a lab on some planet called Csonne. Let's just go straight there."

"Csonne. Good hiding place. There are a few research stations out there. Privately owned. Astrophysics, if I recall. Something to do with the atmosphere there is good for that sort of thing. They'd blend in pretty well. No Air Command presence out there. Did you find out where on Csonne?"

"Got the coordinates for a place called Suncion," she said. "Right from that Caspian's system. Tov Pald got that project on Csonne prioritized with whoever he's working for. They're called The Brothers on his system. They're sending more supplies, equipment, ships. There was talk about more security, too."

"When?"

"Now. They use a lot of code to talk to each other but I think they've got some more volunteers 'safely infected'. I resent that word."

"I do, too," he said absently. "Sounds almost like they're building an army. Or some sort of special ops team. Not a bad idea, actually. I can imagine the damage they could do with someone like you on their side."

"You're not saying that my people would be willing to go to war with you? We'd never agree to that."

"Unless it's fun? Khoe, you didn't even know what war is until you came here. Everything you know came from what's on my ship. And you believe it. How do you know what your people end up believing if they're on a Shri-Lan ship? Inside a Shri-Lan's head?"

"We're quite able to think for ourselves!" she said.

He stepped inside the _Dutchman_ and shrugged out of his heavy robe. "I'm quite aware of that. Some of your thoughts are... delicious."

"Don't make light of this. I won't have our people used like this. Another weapon in your stupid, endless fighting out here. Turning us into tools for you to use. It's outrageous."

"The outrage started the moment one of you was taken from subspace. It doesn't matter why."

"Of course it does! I'd started to hope we could come out here, into this world, and learn and explore and maybe play. It would have been so wonderful to visit with your people, like this. Instead I end up tangled up with you beyond escape and now your people are using us to harm each other. That's just wrong, Seth."

He pulled her into his arms, surprised by her outburst. He kissed her face, expecting tears, but she just leaned against his chest as if intending to stay there for a while.

"Of course it's wrong," he said. "We'll go take a look at Csonne. If we have to we'll try to get some help from Targon."

"No! They'll want us for the same reason your rebel friends do."

Seth looked past her shoulder to see himself reflected vaguely in the cover of a storage bin along the wall. Alone. Standing in this cargo space as if lost in some thought, or like someone who had forgotten something but could not recall what. He looked back into Khoe's unhappy face. She had also seen the empty reflection and pulled away with a sigh.

"They're not my friends," Seth said and walked into the main cabin. "Caelyn? Time to fly."

"He's not here," she said after checking with the ship's system. "Left a little while ago."

"Without telling us?" Seth tapped his com band. "Caelyn? You out there?"

"Where else would I be?" came the calm reply over the speaker.

"What are you doing?"

"Relieving my boredom. I wasn't going to land on a whole new planet without taking a look around."

"Has anyone ever, just once, let you walk around a remote location without securing the area, first?"

"There is no one about. Don't worry; I'm well wrapped up pretending to be Centauri. Did you know that this entire valley used to be a lake? The fossils at the bottom are not to be believed. I'm trying to run some imaging but I just don't have the right equipment. We'll have to come back here."

"Later that. Can you come home now, please?" Seth sighed and closed the link. "I had to bring a scientist. To a rebel planet."

"Someone's coming," Khoe said at the same moment that the _Dutchman_ 's systems voiced their agreement.

Seth rushed into the cockpit. "Damn." He punched up the sensor displays to see that three Air Command cruisers had dropped into Belene's airspace at maximum velocity. They punched through the atmosphere and swooped west, their destination clear. A glance at the _Dutchman_ 's proximity monitors confirmed that the rebels outside had detected them, too, and with as much surprise. There was much rushing about, waving or arms and shouting as the mercenaries regrouped. Had no one been monitoring?

"Caelyn!"

"Yes?"

"Get back here. Air Command on its way down."

"Oh. That doesn't bode well for us."

"I'd like to get out of here before someone starts shooting. Hurry up."

"Surely they won't just open fire," Caelyn said. His voice sounded strained as he picked up his jog back to the settlement.

"Let's hope not," Seth said and began pre-flight procedures. Tov Pald's men seemed more disciplined than the usual rabble of thugs cruising the edges of Trans-Targon but the sight of Air Command would have them panicked by now. "Battlecruisers," he said to Khoe. "Not Vanguard. They'll be fully loaded."

Khoe swiveled the external cameras to look out over the plains. "Where is he?"

A crackling sound emitted from Seth's wrist unit. Someone was talking, but distantly. Seth relayed the transmission to the ship's sound system. "Can you fix that?"

She adjusted the quality until they made out separate voices.

"Those are plant samples," they heard Caelyn's measured tone. "Please handle them carefully."

"So why are you out here picking flowers?" a surly voice demanded, sounding Human. "Those are poison."

Seth cursed.

"What?" Khoe asked.

"Must have come across a patrol out there."

"Because they interest me," Caelyn said. "And they're not flowers but succulents. Given the environmental conditions, the flora on this planet is astounding."

"I think you're either a lunatic or you're lying," came the gruff reply. "We don't need either of those here."

"I assure you I am merely exploring. But this is your homeworld and I will abide by your wishes and return to my ship. We'll leave as soon as the captain returns."

"I think you ought to talk with ours, first."

Seth scooped up a flight jacket and gloves on his way to the _Dutchman_ 's exit. "I don't believe this," he grumbled. "Delphians! More intellect than any known species and not a single brain cell wasted on common sense."

"Well, in terms of their evolution they never really needed—"

"Don't you start." Outside, he jogged around one of the ruined cargo modules where he had earlier seen a few dusty ground vehicles parked. Finding them locked down, he took a closer look at a skimmer leaning crookedly against the wall. Little more than a floating cargo box, it hummed to life when he touched it.

"What are you about?" a voice behind him said.

Seth spun and backhanded the watchman, then dropped him with two rapid blows. After a quick look around, he dragged him behind the air cars before returning to the hover. He crouched in it as low as possible, feeling weirdly like some ancient warrior in a horseless chariot. "You drive," he said after an obstacle on the ground confused the cart's sensors, nearly toppling it. He drew his pistol and adjusted its setting, ready for more people about to get in his way. "Do you see him?"

"Yes, his signal's over that rise." Khoe pointed past the jagged cave openings. "There are three others with him. They're coming this way."

"Hurry before he says something annoying."

She sped up, forcing him to grip the edge of the cart with his free hand. "Wait till they're behind that rock. Then you can jump out and punch them."

"Not going to punch them," he said.

"Because you remembered to draw your weapon before running into trouble this time?"

"You notice far too much. Go around to the left."

She swung aside just as a group of four rounded the boulders. By their clothing they were not Tov Pald's men. Caelyn, the tallest among them, wore the comfortable weather gear Seth had chosen not to use. A burnoose covered his head and most of his angular face. Two rifles jabbed into his midriff.

Seth raised himself up, keeping his gun out of sight, and waved to the group. "There you are!" he shouted to Caelyn.

The men stopped to watch him approach.

"Did you get those samples?" Seth said. "We're nearly done with the collection. Time to head back and get warmed up." He pretended surprise at seeing the others with him. "What's with the guns? Is there a problem?"

The Human wearing what might once have been a carpet exchanged knowing glances with one of his companions as some silent signal passed between them. One of the others, a Feydan, stepped aside to circle out of Seth's field of vision.

"Good," Caelyn said, rubbing his hands. "I could use a hot bowl of soup."

When he stepped toward the sled, one of the barrels moved up to point at his chin. "Not just yet," the bandit said. "Let's see what you've got on you other than... what did he say they were?"

"Flora," another said.

"He said succulents." Seth's hand lashed out to grasp the Feydan who had sidled close to his sled. Khoe unleashed a burst of energy from Seth into the man, throwing him back and off his feet, unconscious. Seth's gun dropped the one threatening Caelyn.

The Delphian jumped aside with surprising agility before the others reacted. Seth leaped from the cart, using its edge as a springboard to kick the Human's chest. The man went down, taking Seth with him as he fell. Seth twisted to fire at the one still standing. Another blow from Khoe silenced the chest-kicked robber.

"Damn, it's like you're reading my mind," Seth said aloud to Khoe.

"I'm clever," she said. "Although, to be honest, I can just tell which way you're going to move."

Caelyn still looked around himself in astonishment. "They were going to steal from me? You said these were friendly people."

"That doesn't mean you should turn your back on them. Or wander off into the middle of some frozen desert by yourself. We're ready to go if you're done with your botany collection."

An ear-popping thrum filled the air, startling them. Two Air Command battlecruisers descended from the low-hanging clouds to land at the edge of the colony, uncomfortably close to the parked rebel ships. Seth sighed and gave up his plans for a quick exit from Belene.

"I know, I know, Centauri," Caelyn said, stepping onto the platform. "I have a lot to learn about being a spy."

"As long as we're clear on that," Seth grumbled. "You should at least take a weapon. That's often helpful."

"I'd likely just shoot myself in the foot. Did you get one of those disks?"

"Yes." Seth winced into the cold wind when the sled turned back to the colony. "And an offer to turn myself into a Dyad. I didn't mention I already joined that club."

"You know," Khoe said thoughtfully. "That gives me an idea."

"What does?"

"Caelyn shooting himself in the foot. I think I could diffuse a shot like that. Lasers, I mean, not bullets. Would take a lot of energy, though. Unless..." She nudged his hand. "Try it."

"Try what? Shoot myself in the foot?"

"Yes."

"And you don't think that's a really bad idea?"

"How else would we find out? You could be completely resistant to any sort of electromagnetic weapon."

"We'll discuss this later. Much later."

She shrugged. "Just being helpful."

Seth sighed and then noticed Caelyn's eyes on him. "She's being impossible," he explained. "I can't wait to get both of you off this planet."

"I'm not so sure we're going anywhere," Khoe said when the settlement came into view. Two of the Air Command cruisers had landed near the rebel ships and disgorged an unnerving number of Union soldiers. They stood in stiff formation, guns at their side. Some of them were inspecting the _Dutchman_.

Seth took control of the hover's navigation. "I wonder what brought this down on us way out here. Let's see if we can blend in."

They trundled back to the small motor pool as if they belonged there. Seth half expected to find a bruised and very angry mechanic waiting for them but the man was still tucked in his corner. They left the vehicle and circled their way around the confrontation taking place on the landing area.

An Air Command major stood in a central space cleared of both soldiers and civilians, speaking with Tov Pald, Tieko and another rebel. The troops on either side of the confrontation ringed the area uneasily, weapons holstered but ready for the draw.

"Khoe..." Seth began.

"Working on it," she said. "Something's blocking their system. Kind of like yours but they've added some nonsense that's hard to get through. A lot of them have cut their com links so I can't get in at all."

"That doesn't sound good. Could mean that they're here because of us, not just on some random rebel round-up mission. Guess they figured out that I'm able to breach their systems after what happened on Feyd. No wonder they're being careful."

"Three ships just for you?" Khoe said. "I'm impressed."

"Where is the third ship?"

She pointed up. "If it wasn't cloudy you'd see it from here."

"Strange," Caelyn mused. "I always assumed that everyone starts to shoot as soon as one of your people comes across one of theirs."

"They do," Seth replied, weaving through the throng of onlookers. "But Air Command has rules of engagement. There's no way to know which of these people are rebels and which are civilians."

"You people should just stop wearing uniforms," Khoe said. "Then the rebels have the same problem."

Seth smiled grimly. "That would be a good idea except that people like Tov Pald don't give a damn about civilians." He stepped up on a rock to get a better view of the discussion between the Caspian and the Air Command major. Looking beyond them, he counted a half dozen soldiers now gathered near the _Dutchman_.

Caelyn sighed when they saw a long blue braid trailing down the back of one of the men, identifying him as a Delphian. "I suppose you wish I had just taken that ship to Callas instead of tagging along with you. So much for my disguise."

"Are they going to let us go?" Khoe asked, sounding anxious.

"We're not prisoners. They've got no reason to stop anyone. Yet." Seth noticed the pilot emblem on the Delphian who was taking far too close a look at the _Dutchman_. He nudged Caelyn. "Don't let them try to intimidate you. Stick to your explorer story. Your kinsman over there will understand why you'd want to be disguised out here."

"I'm in!" Khoe said.

"Can you tell what's happening over there?"

"Yes. The officer is Major Terwood. He's trying to get answers from Tov Pald without actually accusing him of being a rebel. How very convoluted. We all know they are. They both sound awfully irritable. Tieko just sounds worried."

"Might be a good idea to power down the rebels' guns."

"Can't. Most of the rebels have ballistic weapons. I can take the rails out but the others are all just mechanical." She frowned. "The officer just asked about you."

Seth cursed and stepped down from his rock. "Well, now we know why they're here. I wonder how they tracked us. What did he say?"

"That you're a fugitive. A dangerous one. They want just you, he said. Then they'll go. I don't think they believe him."

"I don't, either. Let's hope Tov Pald won't hand me over as long as I have one of his collectors. See if you can power down all crossdrives except for the _Dutchman_ 's. Don't damage them. If you drain them it'll take a few hours to get them back up. We can make it to the keyhole by then." He nudged Caelyn. "Start heading to my ship around those sheds there."

They ambled through the crowd, keeping an eye on the discussion at the center of everyone's attention. He winced when he saw Tieko look intently around the wide circle of faces as if searching for him in the throng. He seemed about to give in to the pressure of whatever the major was threatening.

Indeed, the major took a step backward, gesturing for Tieko to follow. Deliberately turning his back on Tov Pald, he moved toward his own troops.

"Damn," Seth said, seeing the expression on the Caspian's face. "Move!"

The officer had underestimated the rebel leader. Tov Pald moved aside and signaled for the attack. The crowd surged back in fright when several of his men appeared from behind whatever cover was to be found, including the roof of the wrecked transport, to fire at the Union soldiers. Some of them fell to their aim before the others also sought shelter behind and inside their ships.

Seth shifted his eyes from the mayhem to keep Khoe's focus on her sabotage. Civilians scrambled for the caves, heedless to anything in their way. He heard shouts and curses and the sound of gunfire shattering the cold air. And then, thankfully, the whine of his own plane's thrusters preparing to lift off by Khoe's command.

Ahead of him, Caelyn suddenly wheeled around with a curse Seth had never heard a Delphian utter. He clutched his arm, staring in frozen horror at what remained of his hand. A bullet had torn through it and nearly severed it above his wrist. Blood spurted from the horrible wound.

Seth grasped the wide sleeve of Caelyn's weather gear and shoved him into the shelter of a metal bin. He clamped his hands around the torn arm to stem the bleeding. Another bullet whined over his head as it struck the edge of the bin. He peered over the top to see the fire fight concentrated on the larger of the two Union ships. "Come on, Delphi," he said, grinding his teeth when he saw the fear and pain on his friend's face. "On your feet. We can make it."

Caelyn shook his head but his eyes were on the shredded remains of his hand. "You get out of here," he grunted through clenched jaws. "I've done nothing but slow you down."

"Not giving up, are you?"

"They won't hurt me. Delphian, remember? If I let you patch me up I won't see the end of the day."

"Khoe can maybe..." Seth looked up to see her shaking her head.

"You've got nothing that'll show me how to fix this," she said.

"Go!" Caelyn said. "They'll have medics with them."

Seth bent protectively over Caelyn when something tore into their inadequate shelter and a piece of metal spun over their heads. "Khoe, when you get aboard, see if you can find the Delphian pilot we saw earlier. If you can tap his com, tell him who and where Caelyn is."

"Already looking," she said.

"She's on it," Seth translated as he used a strap from the enviro suit to tourniquet Caelyn's bleeding arm. He gripped his shoulder in a silent farewell and got up to race to the _Dutchman_. Khoe's dread was palpable as he ducked out of the line of fire, keeping low, circling the soldiers near his plane. The tracer of a laser gun crawled over his chest and he rolled under an abandoned tri-rider to return the fire. Two more soldiers spotted him and he shot them, too, wincing when one of them knocked her head painfully against his ship on the way down. He scurried to the next bit of shelter, now within steps of the _Dutchman_ 's doors.

"Seth!" Khoe cried.

He spun to look for the threat and saw a soldier only steps away, pointing a gun at his head. The man shot without hesitation and then stared, flabbergasted, when Seth remained standing. Seth recovered first from the surprise and brought him down with his own gun.

"That worked!" Khoe said excitedly. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Seth slapped the _Dutchman_ 's keypad, grateful for his hunch to park the ship with its door facing away from the colony. He sealed it quickly and endured the endless seconds it took for the _Dutchman_ to run its contaminant analysis and allow him inside.

"Like I told you. I was right. I diffused the output from his gun."

"Where did it go?"

"I scattered it. Pretty broadly. Using its own energy. You didn't even feel it, did you?"

He raced for the cockpit. "You said you were going to power the rail guns down, not test your theories on me."

"Well, I missed that one. Wasn't even a rail. Have a little faith."

Seth powered up and thrust away from the surface, leaving the waning battle behind. He kept his eyes on the real-video for as long as he could. It seemed that Air Command was starting to turn things in their favor.

Khoe drew his attention. "I found the Delphian. His name is Palas."

"How? A khamal?"

She grinned. "I'm still hacked into their com system. Typing out words to his sleeve. Their written language is remarkably efficient."

His knee had taken a knock somewhere and he winced as he rubbed it. "I just hope no one saw me get shot like that and walk away. That's all we need now. Dyads impervious to e-mag weaponry. Like we're not popular enough already."

"You sound a little cranky."

"Yeah. Worried about Caelyn." Seth read the single-word affirmative returned by the officer, wondering what was going on down there. What had possessed him to let Caelyn join him out here? The Delphian's work and passion let him travel to the most remote regions of the sector but always within the relative safety of a scientific expedition. Valued by Air Command, equipped with high-end defensive systems, they were rarely bothered by rebels or pirates. But now, and not for the first time, Seth had dragged the gentle, unwary explorer into not only physical harm but most certainly difficulties with the Union. "I hate to leave him like that. He's hurt worse than it looked."

"He'll be all right, won't he?" She raised a hand to forestall his reply when another message arrived from the ground. "That Palas officer found him. He's going to help, but he's not happy about it. Caelyn's under arrest and they're taking him to a medic." She pointed at a monitor. "There's your third ship."

He looked up. The third Air Command cruiser, instead of aiding the battle on the ground, had changed course to pursue the _Dutchman_. "Take the helm," he snapped and shifted his attention to the weapons system. "Break out and head for the keyhole. I have the co-ords for Csonne in there somewhere."

She nodded, so intent on her task that she floated in mid-air. "It'll take two jumps to get there. You're not going to shoot them down, are you?"

"I'm outgunned. That's a Ghoster. But I can slow them till you get inside it."

"I have to do all the work around here!" she said, but her eyes gleamed with excitement when she pulled up the specs for that class of ship.

He shifted into an evasive maneuver when the battlecruiser opened fire. "They've sent a whole lot of fire power," he said and slipped his headset over his interface nodes to allow for greater precision. "Something must be worrying Air Command an awful lot about what's going on. They're not looking for us to surrender. They're out for the kill." He aimed his return fire across the Ghoster's bow and impacted a few missiles where they were unlikely to affect their shields.

"Breaking," she announced and he pushed back against his bench when they burst through Belene's atmosphere. The _Dutchman_ took that in stride, as always, but shuddered when a well-placed missile slammed into the aft shield. He punched the autopilot, already set for their destination, to let her concentrate on their pursuer.

"Same additional configuration as the others," she said. "They have no imagination. What do you want me to do?"

"Lock the cruiser into diagnostic mode. It'll have to take the drives offline to do that. Then disengage the coolant conduit where they won't find it for a while."

"You're devious."

He twisted the _Dutchman_ out of the way of another volley. Something scraped across the small observation bubble overhead but it had seen more direct hits than that and he hadn't needed to replace it since that unfortunate meteor shower some time ago. Still, he cast a nervous glance at the displays to check the hull's cohesion.

"There," she said with a measure of satisfaction. "I bet they're surprised."

He relaxed with a deep sigh and removed his headset when they left the cruiser far behind. Except for Caelyn's terrible injury, things were turning out rather nicely. He had the disk, a destination, and, if Air Command did its job, Tov Pald and his people would not be looking for him to return any time soon.

He climbed out of his couch and went into the main cabin to shrug out of his blood-soaked jacket and shirt. While the decon cycle took care of the gore on his hands and arms he wondered how the Delphian was faring back on Belene-Noh. Air Command would not harm him, that was true, but Caelyn was a long way from home and the protection of his people.

"I have the feeling you spend more energy trying _not_ to damage your enemies than if you just took them out," Khoe said.

"Yes, I try," he said. "It's not always possible."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes you have to act like a rebel to be thought of as one. How long to the keyhole?"

"Couple of hours. You've harmed people before? Your own, I mean?"

He waved the question away, recognizing it as one that just might lead to a conversation he really did not want. Sometimes, floating alone around in the middle of nowhere, uninvited memories and images haunted his thoughts when sleep wouldn't come. Leading his own private rebellion against a ruthless rebel force and the equally determined Commonwealth Union, the distinction between them faded at times and left him wondering about his place in this. Again and again he resolved to turn his back on it all, maybe join Caelyn on some extended trip to elsewhere, and forget about these never-ending clashes. And every time he did, he found himself drawn back into things, irked by the misery meted out by rebel and Union alike. But when self-reflection becomes too much, he told himself at those times, you put away the books, boost the music volume, and spend a few exhausting hours with the exercise equipment in the cargo bay. "Will you be able to connect to Csonne?"

"Hmm, yeah," she said. "Will take two days in real-space to the next keyhole."

He sat down on the lounger to remove his boots. A slow smile tugged on his lips. "Days, huh? Just you and me and the _Dutchman_?"

When he looked up she walked toward him, wearing only a whisper of fabric floating around her like mist. He exhaled audibly when he made out the gentle curves beneath. "Close your eyes," she whispered.

He did, half-afraid to lose the lovely vision before him, but she was still right there. He felt the gossamer cloth against his face and inhaled the bewitching scent she conjured up. When he reached for her she straddled his thighs, facing him. Her lips brushed over his. "Days," she promised. "Anything you want."

# 10

"Damn," Deve said when he jammed his elbow once again into the ridged edge of yet another conduit cap.

He supposed that Lep Ako's idea of making him an engineer aboard the Air Command transport ensured that he spent most of his time alone, away from curious questions of his crew mates and out of sight of the officers. The alien had little faith in his ability to keep his identity a secret. Deve suspected that he was probably right. And so he labored down here, directed by Lep Ako in whatever task he was assigned, working on things he had never seen before. For all he knew, what he did down here, in the bowels of the _Kimura_ , was either making this ship fly or the toilets work properly.

Of course, it could have been worse. Lep Ako could have made him a soldier. Deve loved guns and uniforms and often wondered if joining Air Command might have been his true calling. But the _Kimura_ 's grunts were made to pace around outside, freezing their tails here on Belene-Noh, a nothing-planet in a nothing-sector existing for no particular reason. The on-board crew had the better job today.

He slid a little further into the access conduit and stretched out on his back. Lep Ako, invisible, seemed distracted and had stopped showing him what he was supposed to be doing down here. It suited him fine. The entity in his head had little understanding of his need to eat or sleep and after days of this Deve felt exhausted and miserable. His head hurt all the time and he often fantasized about the food he'd eat if he ever got home again.

"Stay awake," Lep Ako snapped. "I can't concentrate when you're sleeping."

Deve scrubbed his eyes. "I need to sleep. Just an hour."

The answer was another vicious stab of pain somewhere in the back of his head where he expected it. He didn't even flinch this time.

"There's something going on in the officer's lounge," Lep Ako said, feeling his way through the ship's communications network. "A major is talking to that Delphian they arrested. He probably knows where Kada is going."

"The one that's got his hand shot off?"

"Yes."

"Can I see? I'm too bored to stay awake." Deve raised his arm to bring the display screen of his data sleeve up.

Lep Ako obliged him wordlessly. The ship's cameras, recording the interrogation, if that's what it was, sent their data without noticing the tap in the system. He saw a comfortable lounge furnished, he noticed enviously, with the sort of couches that would make for some truly remarkable naptime.

The major, Terwood, leaned against a bulkhead while the Delphian sat stiffly on a reclining chair. Even on the small screen wrapped around Deve's sleeve, the exasperation on the officer's face was unmistakable.

"How's the arm?" Terwood asked two decks above their heads.

The Delphian looked down at the bulky device supplying the end of his arm with what it needed to heal. "Missing a piece," he said. "But your medics are efficient. They've already received word from Delphi that our engineers are preparing a prosthetic hand for me."

"Surely, you'll reconsider next time you feel like taking up with renegades. These things never end well."

"Kada's credentials seemed appropriate," Caelyn responded. "We do not have an endless supply of ships. We must make use of able pilots when we have the opportunity."

"You're sticking with that story? You're out on this forsaken planet for research? What are you researching?"

"The colony. They have developed some remarkable survival mechanisms by simply regressing to a more primitive way of managing their collective. They are not completely isolated, yet they choose to remain here. It's an interesting study."

"They stay here because most of them are criminals, smugglers and outcasts. That can't be hard to figure out."

"Not at all. There is an entire new generation, with a third now coming of age. This sort of thing offers fascinating insight into isolated communities. As you know, Delphi also chooses to remain separate from the influence of outsiders."

"You're comparing this cesspit to Delphi?"

"Comparing what we know with what we don't understand is a sound basis for observation."

"Your little project almost cost you your life." Terwood gestured toward Caelyn's arm. "Was it worth it?"

"I'll remind you that neither I nor Sethran Kada provoked the attack that took place here yesterday. You showed your back to a Caspian. One apparently known to have an unstable disposition. Cesspit or not, this colony was at peace before you came."

"Crawling with Shri-Lan."

"I'm an explorer, Major. Your political problems impact the worlds we study, but we do not involve ourselves with them. I do appreciate your offer to return me to Delphi as your unexpected arrival caused my pilot to leave me behind."

"Your safety is of great concern to us," Terwood said, with only the slightest edge of sarcasm in his tone.

"Thank you. My people will appreciate Air Command's attention to my well-being."

Deve shifted uncomfortably on the floor. "What kind of interrogation is that?" he scoffed. "He'll get nowhere with that Delphian. They're treating him like some guest they're having for tea and cake."

Indeed, the Delphian looked as composed as Delphians always did. Deve had caught a glimpse of him during the short but fierce battle yesterday, looking disheveled and in a great deal of pain. But now he was dressed in crisp coveralls in place of his bloodied clothes and someone had brushed the black coloring from his hair and tied it neatly his nape. His gaunt face, of course, was utterly expressionless now.

"That Delphian is having himself a good time," Lep Ako said. "You can tell by the color of his eyes. He knows the major can't do a thing to him."

"Why not? If he's hanging out with Shri-Lan he should be locked up with the rest of them."

"They wouldn't lock up a Delphian." Lep Ako had spent his time since leaving Rishabel in browsing undetected through the _Kimura_ 's data system, absorbing every bit of information stored there. The ship's library, not even tied to Targon's massive mainframe, filled in the countless blank spaces that his forays on Rishabel had left in his knowledge. "The Union needs Delphi in a good mood if they want to keep the supply of decent navigators coming. All the really good jumpers are Delphian. Something about their heads. I'd love to get into one of them."

Deve scowled and returned his attention to his screen when the major spoke again.

"We'll leave for Targon as soon as the medics stabilize the last of the casualties," Terwood said, looking as though his patience wouldn't hold out much longer. "Frankly, we've gotten no useful information from any of the captives and their leader isn't in any shape to talk. Are you sure you don't have something to add here? Did Kada say where he was going?"

"No."

"Was there something... unusual about him? About his behavior?"

"Such as...?"

The major shrugged. "Tics, talking to himself."

"He did not talk to himself."

"Did he tell you that he murdered an Air Command officer just days ago?"

"We did not trade much personal information."

Terwood pushed away from the wall, perhaps to seem a little more intimidating. He looked like someone ready to raise his voice a few notches. "Maybe you should take a greater interest. People are dying and they're not all just rebels. And I'm fairly certain you know exactly why we're here. If you know where these aliens are gathering, now is the time to share the news."

In the aft section of the _Kimura_ , Deve frowned when he heard the sound of a door opening up there, and he had to strain to make out the voice of the new arrival. "Major, there is someone to see you. We're not sure what to do with her."

Terwood looked up with a scowl. "This can't wait? I'm almost done with the... with Shan Caelyn."

"I think you want to see her."

The major waved his hand in resignation. "All right then."

Before the officer even turned back into the corridor, a Human woman came into the lounge. Her layers of ragged clothing identified her as one of the local civilians. She had arranged them rather provocatively and it was not hard to guess how she made her living here on Belene. She shrugged off the hand of the guard and marched directly to Major Terwood. "You the major in charge here?"

He glared past her to his officers with an unspoken promise to reprimand them later. "I am Major Nevon Terwood, stationed on Targon."

"My name is Chann. I have something for you, if you're interested," she said. "I think you will be." She looked around the room and then blinked in surprise when she saw the Delphian sitting nearby.

"You can be sure I'm not looking for company right now," Terwood said.

"I'm not sure if you're a bit daft or just rude, Major. I'm not here to give your no doubt magnificent equipment a workout."

The major's eyes snapped to Caelyn whose face remained immobile as he busied himself with the sling holding his arm in place. "What do you want," he said tersely.

"I've got information for you. About the rebels."

"My people will get the results we need with their interviews," Terwood said.

"I doubt it. Guy who told me has a bullet in his head right now."

"What have you heard?"

"It's going to cost you," she said.

"Of course." The major sighed. "If I think it's worth something."

Chann crossed her arms and regarded him fearlessly. "Subspace monsters and someone experimenting on them. Do I have your attention?"

Terwood's jaded expression sharpened at once. He walked to the door and closed it after a quick glance into the corridor. "Let's have it," he said.

"Take me back with you. Out of this place. I don't care where."

"We're going back to Targon to deliver the prisoners."

"Fine. I can go anywhere from there. I want to make the trip on this ship, not with the prisoners."

Terwood nodded. "Agreed."

She turned to Caelyn. "You're a Delphian, right?"

"Yes."

"Your people don't hold with liars. You heard what he said, right? Promised me a lift to Targon in exchange for information."

"Indeed, that's what I heard."

Terwood's eyes narrowed. "Talk."

Chann sat down on a lounger next to Caelyn and winked at him. "Is there something to drink?"

"Don't push your luck, woman," the major said.

"All right, no need to get impolite. I was with one of the men that came with the big Caspian. Before you got here. You know how men get to talking after they've had a good time of it."

"I'm sure I do not," Terwood said through gritted teeth.

She looked at him with concern. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. You just go down to Dalla's when you have a chance. She'll get that taken care of."

Caelyn lowered his head to rub his eyes as if afraid to lose what remained of his Delphian stoicism if he looked at the major again.

"Anyway," she continued. "He said they're collecting things from subspace that'll infect people out here. Gets into their heads and takes over. Centauri, Feydans, mostly, so you and me have nothing to worry about, Major." She looked apologetically at Caelyn. "Not sure about Delphians. He didn't mention those."

"I'm sure we're quite safe, Shan Chann." Caelyn leaned forward, carefully cradling his arm. "Do you know why they're doing this?"

She nodded. "Kind of scary. The guy running that project is making a whole army of spies or something for the Shri-Lan. Going to put the subspace things into their people and train them to do things that regular people can't. He didn't say what they can do, though. Whatever it is, it's important. He's got a whole lot of rebel mercenaries and their cruisers with him now for protection while they get all that ready."

"Did you get any names?"

"I have a pretty sharp memory. The person in charge of things is Tague. Used to be a Union guy."

Caelyn raised an eyebrow.

"You know him?" Terwood said.

"Yes. One of yours, if I'm thinking of the right man. Reylan Tague, Human. Once worked out of Targon. Nanotech. Disappeared a year or so ago, Targon-time. Assumed lost in subspace. He worked with some of my colleagues for a while." Caelyn tugged thoughtfully on his lower lip. "Including subspace projects. I think you'll need Targon in on this."

"And I think you don't sound surprised by any of it." The major jerked his chin at the woman. "You're done here. Out."

She glared at him but then got up. "We have a deal?"

"Yes, yes. Ask the quartermaster to find you space somewhere. I'll have more questions for you later." He gripped her arm when she moved past him. "Did your _friend_ mention where all of this is happening?"

"No, but something's happening soon. They're going to test something on a bunch of civilians as soon as he's gathered enough of them up. Take them through subspace for it."

"Civilians?" Caelyn asked. "Not rebels?"

"Civilians for now. Guess a lot of people are dying from this. Or ending up messed up. So they're using volunteers first, pretending to do some study. Expendable ones."

"Locals?" Caelyn said. "Did he mention at town, maybe?"

"No, nothing." She pulled her arm from Terwood's grip. "Sounds to me like you'll have a brand new sort of rebel on your hands, Major." She waved her fingers at Caelyn and left the lounge.

Far below them, Deve felt Lep Ako's fury and disappointment over the Delphian's revelation that Seth had eluded the major. The alien had become increasingly obsessed with this sire, whatever it was, to the point of spewing hours-long rants about his plans to colonize real-space interrupted only by threats to the elusive Sethran Kada. Deve was beginning to feel a little sorry for the man; apparently Lep Ako was going to either make him his commander of troops or rip his throat out for harboring the sire. Deve wasn't sure which would be the worse of these lots. But the trail was cold now and Air Command's only hope was to beg, beat or drug the information out of the rebels.

He didn't care anymore. This wasn't his chase and nothing here had anything to do with him. He was crawling around a cold, cramped conduit at the behest of this alien creature who treated him like an old pair of boots to get around. Except you didn't cause pain to your boots when they started to wear out. Through boredom or some weird alien perversity, Lep Ako had devised small tortures for Deve on the way out here. Just this morning, he did something to Deve's brain to blind him, letting him stumble around the generator shaft until Deve tumbled over a railing to the lower level. He closed his eyes, wishing to leave, to run away and hide from the thing in his head, or maybe just to sleep.

"What utter incompetence," Lep Ako hissed, shifting his focus to the _Kimura_ 's main com system to see what message the major was about to send back to Targon. "Stay awake."

Deve cringed, expecting yet another mental slap. "Can't you at least show yourself?" he said. "You don't know how awful it is to hear you talking only in my head, hours at a time, and never see anyone. I'm tired of hiding. Tired of crawling around this damn machine. My back aches."

Lep Ako faded into view to glare at Deve with cold yellow eyes in his weirdly Human face. "Feeling lonely? You can sleep after we take off. If you hold together without crying I'll let you play with that whore. How's that?"

Deve sighed. He didn't want a woman. Not really. Although, he thought, by now a little company of someone who didn't take pleasure in torturing him sounded damn good. She looked like she might be fun. Had it been that long since anyone had had a kind word for him?

Another thought shaping vaguely in his mind was that the Delphian up there seemed like a kind fellow. If anyone could find a way to get Lep Ako out of his head, it would be him and his big-brained people. He tucked the thought away as soon as it occurred to him with an almost superstitious fear that the alien was somehow reading his mind.

Caelyn stood by the narrow slit of an observation window, looking out over the bleak landscape. Distantly, a few people scrounged around the fringes of the tundra where they scattered seeds in some agricultural effort. Closer to the colony itself soldiers paced among the ships, both Air Command and confiscated rebel vessels, but the locals had faded from view. Those who hadn't been arrested and were presumably being questioned wisely remained in their subterranean nests.

His com band chirped and he looked down, still unused to wearing it around his left arm. The sudden reminder of his injury sent a stab of pain to his wrist. He briefly closed his eyes to call upon the mental disciplines practiced by his people to compartmentalize the loss of his hand where it would remain tucked away until there was space to deal with it.

He used his lips to activate a message that someone at the _Kimura_ 's com station relayed to him here. An image of Shan Quine appeared and the recording began.

"Shan Caelyn," Quine said. Caelyn saw fatigue darken the Shantir's eyes although nothing in his posture or expression gave that away. "I hope you receive this in good time. I'm currently on Targon, but Shan Saias kindly forwarded your message. The information about Reylan Tague is troubling. I've joined Shan Chion and some other colleagues to examine the unfortunates being housed here. It seems that very few Dyads result in compatible pairings like the one Sethran and Khoe enjoy. We suspect that, by the time the entities reach us out here, they have lost too much energy in some sort of quantum tunneling process. These individuals are truly remarkable and I wish we had a few years to study them. We do not."

Caelyn's eyebrow rose.

"What is of utmost concern to us now is the stolen entity we discussed on Magra as being some a kind of trigger. That individual that Khoe wanted to find. We believe that this trigger is actually a new compound particle appearing among her kind, maybe as random as any unexplained evolutionary catalyst. This could be the beginning of an entirely new species. To them, 'new' may mean a day or a million days. But this change is at a delicate stage, requiring this trigger to create more of their kind. If there is just one, as Khoe seems to think, its captivity out here in real-space may end this new species before it even begins."

Shan Quine's attention was drawn momentarily to someone nearby and he nodded to them before continuing. "We may well be looking at some hints about the very beginning of our own consciousness, mirrored in subspace. Shan Sethran's intent to return the entity to subspace is, indeed, of extreme importance. We must not interrupt the natural evolution of this new species with our never-ending quest for power. However, I'm afraid that once it has returned, any of the Dyads currently here with us will not be able to survive. Something connects them out here as much as it does in subspace. It might be as elementary a force as gravity is out here for us. Without that resonance, felt by all of them, they will decay and, from what we're seeing here, kill their host when they die."

Caelyn winced.

"We've been observing this in the victims brought to Targon. The weaker Dyad pairings don't survive very long. Once their visitor decays, the host succumbs within hours. We cannot know how many other Dyads exist, surviving more comfortably than these patients here on Targon. But if the trigger particle is returned to subspace they, too, will die. As will your friend Sethran." The Shantir paused to give Caelyn time to absorb this news. "In your message you mention some experiments taking place. If someone has discovered a way to manipulate these entities, perhaps we can find a way to separate the Dyads again. We _must_ find a way although we may well be running out of time. But if we can mitigate the damage they cause us, future interactions with them will not be tainted by this tragedy."

Quine again shifted his attention to someone nearby. "Are you certain? The Centauri woman?" He nodded and then addressed the camera again. "A rebel pilot was recently brought in. She said that all of the entities are delivered to Csonne. That's a likely location. Someone like Reylan Tague would blend well into that facility without raising suspicion."

The recording ended after a few more polite words of greeting and concern from the elder. Caelyn's eyes remained fixed on the blank display for a while longer, going over this message in his mind. Finally, he left the lounge to find Major Terwood. It was a while before he met up with him and some of his people near the main entrance to the _Kimura_.

"Major Terwood," Caelyn said. "I just received word from Targon. The project is taking place on Csonne. I believe that is also where Sethran Kada is going at this moment."

Terwood frowned at him. "Csonne? How do you know?"

"The same way you knew to find us here." Caelyn glanced meaningfully at the officers nearby. "More... people are being found. They are able to talk."

The major nodded. "This is good news. We'll leave at once." He smirked. "Looks like you and your new lady friend will have to stay here a while."

"I need to come with you."

"I'm not taking you into another hostile encounter." Terwood tried to read Caelyn's expression. "If you're worried about those civilians, I'll assure you we'll try to avoid harm to them. That has always been our mandate." The major turned to his aide. "Kett, prepare for lift-off. All three ships. Let the rebels go but disable their planes. They can wait here for a ride back. Detain only the six we've got down in the brig."

"I'm sure you'll take every precaution," Caelyn said, watching the officer hurry away with the new orders. He was quite aware of Air Command's willingness to turn "avoiding harm" into collateral damage when necessary. "But I need to be there. Let me take one of the confiscated rebel ships as part of your fleet. I will stay out of any combat activity."

"You're out of your mind. This isn't some science mission. You may be an accomplished navigator but you're not a pilot. Those are not liftclass cruisers."

Caelyn followed the major toward the bridge of the _Kimura_. "Then give me a crew, Major. You probably suspect that Sethran Kada has one of the aliens. You are correct."

Terwood stopped in mid-stride. "You knew this? And you said nothing?"

"Major, what were your reasons for coming here to Belene? To capture Sethran Kada? With three fully-manned battleships? Was it to destroy these entities before they can launch some sort of invasion, or was it to obtain their abilities for your own purposes? Either of these strategies is unacceptable to us."

Terwood's eyes narrowed. "To you Delphians. But it's not you who ensure the safety of the entire sector. You leave that to the Union. You know as well as I do that Targon won't let these aliens spread out here, infecting our people, without taking control of that. And we're certainly not going to let the Shri-Lan get at them first."

"Sethran Kada is a friend. If negotiations between you and him become necessary, you will need me."

"So not only do you hire the services of known rebel sympathizers, you befriend them? Kind of unusual for a Delphian, isn't it?"

Caelyn did not reply.

The major seemed to mull over a few things and finally waved a hand in the air as if to give up on the argument. "Fine. I can use another spanner anyway." He activated his com band again. "Kett, have Lieutenant Palas prepare to take Tov Pald's ship with us. He'll need to find a few crew members familiar with that class."

"Thank you, Major," Caelyn said.

"Take no risks," Terwood warned him. "I am not going to spend the next six months explaining to Delphi how I lost one of their own. Understood?"

"Quite. I'm sure Lieutenant Palas is reasonably capable." Caelyn removed himself from Terwood's presence before the major could change his mind. He stopped by the _Kimura_ 's med station to make sure that the sleeve protecting his injury would stand up to a longer delay and then headed for Tov Pald's vessel.

The rebel ship stood in readiness of departure by the time he arrived there, with a new crew busy with preparations for launch. The Delphian pilot, Palas, greeted Caelyn a little friendlier than the three others but Caelyn was used to that. Most outsiders viewed the aloof Delphians with disdain and, mainly because of unfounded rumors about their mental aptitudes, also with suspicion. The ship easily accommodated a crew of eleven but today they would only need the pilots, an engineer and the gunners. The engineer would also serve as com officer.

Caelyn nodded to the Human, wondering if he risked another message to Shan Quine on Targon. But there was little to say, other than to wish that the Shantir himself was here to accompany him.

"Did you want a packet, sir?" the engineer said. "We'll have com silence once we take the first jump to Csonne."

"No, thank you," Caelyn said. "I'll take one of the crew quarters. Please let me know when we approach the keyhole. I'll be assisting with the jump, uh, Airman...?"

The Human gave him a friendly smile. "Liron Deve," he said.

# 11

Seth had hoped to survey Csonne a little before landing the _Dutchman_. The planet itself, as inhospitable as most, offered little but an opportunity for private research ventures to study well outside the radiation pollution that came with more populated regions. The binary star system and nearby keyhole made it an ideal place for developments in magnetic fields and research of dipole radiation on a grand scale.

The lush forests to the south teemed with wildlife so aggressive that no one bothered to even explore there any longer. In contrast, the slightly safer northern regions varied from vast tracts of treeless grasslands to gaseous moors no one ought to traverse on foot. The agencies clustered around a reliable source of water on a plateau rising above the swamps, companionably sharing their resources if not their research, to form a town they called Suncion.

This side of the planet had called it a night and the colony cluster stood out among the moors like a glimpse of stars in a cloudy sky. Khoe ran their real-vid scanners over the marshy flats to pick out ghostly flares of swamp gas, delighted when the bogs resembled a story she had recently found in the ship's library. Seth found himself drawn into her exploration when he tried to pick out the monsters said to roam these moors but he saw nothing.

Before they were able to take more than a cursory look at the colony itself, Seth answered a message from the surface demanding to know his reasons for approaching the coordinates Khoe had stolen from Tov Pald. It was not the usual welcome on a planet that rarely saw outsiders and where all visitors presented a most welcome distraction.

"Supply delivery," Seth told them, resisting an urge to point out that nothing in this solar system was anyone's personal fiefdom. He reminded himself that the Commonwealth, too, had competitors on worlds that chose not to join the Union. Unfortunately, rebel groups like the Shri-Lan took advantage of those without a military to guard their resources. "For Doctor Tague at the Adrierra lab."

Khoe perched tensely on the arm of the copilot bench, worried like Seth that, somehow, Tov Pald had eluded Air Command and changed his mind about Seth's trustworthiness. Men like that had no tolerance for those who fled combat.

"Tague, eh?" came the reply. "He's awfully popular lately. Stand by."

Moments later another voice, Human this time, cut into the transmission. "What cargo?"

"One shiny disk, sent by Tov Pald," Seth replied. "Want me to open it and tell you what's in it?"

There was a brief silence. "You got clearance. Land at the front of the north end compound."

Seth circled overhead, quickly mapping the network of domed modules scatted on the plateau. Short, covered walkways connected some of the units while others abutted without conduits. He was not surprised to find the doctor's compound a distance from the main cluster of the colony. An Explorer class spacefaring station had been put down beside it, outfitted with massive sensor arrays.

"That's unexpected," he said when they saw several private cruisers near their destination. "What's everyone doing all the way out here? How many of those disks are they gathering up?"

"Busy place," Khoe agreed. "Are those rebel ships?"

"Pretty sure the cruisers are," he said. "Nobody else's ship is that unmarked. Even the _Dutchman_ shows as registered to a trade company. Currently, anyway. I sell it a lot."

"There are a lot of them down there."

He patted her knee. "We'll get along, don't worry."

She gazed at him, worried. "You keep saying that. And then people get killed. You don't have to keep downplaying the trouble I've gotten you into."

"Am I complaining?"

She started to say something but then turned her attention back to the sensors. "Just be careful," she said briskly. "I wonder why there are so many of them here."

"Probably heard about Air Command finding out about Belene. They'll have beefed up security. Likely been tracking us since we dropped into real-space." He landed the _Dutchman_ as far from the other planes as he could without appearing overly cautious. The ship was still settling into standby mode when several people walked toward them, clearly armed although not especially battle-ready.

Seth slipped into his jacket and headed for the exit, the disk securely cradled in his arm. "I didn't expect this many guns. But the plan is the same. Find your trigger entity. Get into their files, download anything you can to the _Dutchman_. With luck, we'll be out of here pretty quick. With even more luck, the Delphians will figure out how to get you out of my head and your friend back into subspace."

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Kada?"

"Yeah." He smiled but her quip hadn't really sounded very funny to him. Neither of them had brought up what would happen if they found the answer to their problem, if one was to be found. Released from him, would she simply slip away? Would she cease to exist? He stayed awake last night after she had withdrawn, mulling over some fantastic scheme of asking the Delphians to try to transfer her to some sort of android, perhaps. Machines like that were in use on some worlds and, with a sufficiently shielded thorium reservoir, she could learn to operate it. Given her thirst for adventure, she would enjoy having a body that didn't require someone else to move around real-space. But then he thought about the smell of her hair, the taste of her skin and the sensation of pure pleasure inside his head that could never be replaced by someone not living within himself. She had become part of him in just a few short days.

"What?" She peered into his face, puzzled by his expression.

Seth gazed at her for a moment before realizing that this was neither the time nor the place to ask her what she thought about leaving him. Perhaps that moment had already passed. He shook his head and winked at her as he opened the _Dutchman_ 's door. "Here we go. Act normal."

A Human stepped forward as soon as the ramp touched the ground. She pointed to Seth's thigh. "You can leave the weapons on your ship or turn them over to us. You won't need them here."

"Getting along, are you?" Khoe said.

Seth sighed and put both of his guns into a bin inside the cargo bay. "Not here to shoot anyone, darling," he said to the rebel.

She gestured toward an arched doorway leading into the largest of the modules. "That way." When Seth stepped past her she moved back, her eyes fixed on the disk as if it contained some sort of plague. The two Feydans with her did the same.

"Any chance of dinner?" he said conversationally as they walked toward the building. Clouds of what looked like large moths swarmed around the spotlights stabbing into the night. When they came closer he realized that these were winged animals, moving too quickly to identify. "Been a long trip. I'm right out of supplies."

"Learn to ration," she replied, oblivious to his charms. They were startled by the sound of a gun, followed by harsh laughter. "Don't wander out here by yourself. You'll lose a leg."

Seth glanced around as if looking for the hunters, counting at least a dozen armed rebels or their hired mercenaries loitering within sight. "So what's going on way out here?" he tried. "Other than lizard stalking."

"I'll let Tague explain that to you, if he finds it necessary."

"I don't think she likes you," Khoe observed.

_I think you're right._

"More for me."

He stifled a grin.

"I can feel them!" Khoe said suddenly. "Others of my kind. They're here."

_Inside there?_

"Yes!"

Seth loitered by the station's entrance before pressing his hand to the key panel. A quick look around revealed that the doors here were fortified and possibly even sealed. Whether to keep contaminants from leaking out or intruders from entering was unclear.

Only moments passed before one of the doors opened for a slender young man in a lab apron. Human, he wore his blond hair in curling ringlets around a delicate face. Like many who spent too much time on inhospitable planets, his skin was ghostly pale. He smiled at Seth in greeting. "Welcome. I am Avi Tashad. I work with Doctor Tague. May I?" He reached for the disk in Seth's hands.

"I was to deliver it personally to Tague," Seth objected.

"You will meet him shortly. Please." The youth continued to hold out his hands.

Reluctantly, Seth gave him the disk. Tashad inspected the display panel on its surface and entered something with a few taps. Khoe had tampered with the code to show that the disk was working as intended but neither knew what these people would be looking for. Whatever she had done passed the young man's scrutiny.

"Follow me. It is late but I will arrange accommodations for you. The doctor insists that we observe communal rest periods here. Our work shifts are long."

"No need," Seth said when they entered a short conduit to an adjoining module. "I'm comfortable on my ship."

"But you'll take a meal with us. We get few visitors." He laughed pleasantly. "Of the sort we appreciate, I mean. Those are some coarse characters out there."

"Why are they here?"

"I'm sorry... um, what is your name?"

"Sethran Kada."

"We have very strict directives regarding information, Mister Kada. I can't tell you much but those... guards were sent to make sure this facility is protected from... outsiders."

"Air Command, you mean?"

"Outsiders," he repeated and led Seth into a comfortably furnished room. Colorful blankets and cushions softened the stark design of the air-filled chairs and lounges. Someone had painted a marvelous landscape on a wall to enliven the otherwise drab panels. "Please, sit. Would you like something to eat? Drink?"

"Some tea would be nice," Seth said but remained standing. "Not too sweet."

The youth smiled shyly. "That is how I like it also, Mister Kada."

"All right," Khoe said. "I think I can tap into their grid. The network is shielded and the encryptions are a challenge. But I'm sure it can be done. The light by the door's going to respond."

Seth put his hand on the boy's shoulder to turn him slightly. "Call me Seth," he suggested softly. "No need to be formal. Did you paint that landscape? It reminds me of Zera."

"You've been to Zera?"

Khoe watched Tashad's cheeks blush softly pink. "He'll be knocking on your door later tonight," she predicted.

_By then I hope to be far away from this place. Are you in?_

"Give me some time. You're so impatient." She faded from view to give her full concentration to breaching the system.

Seth eyed the disk in Tashad's hands. "I hope that thing isn't leaking radiation," he said. "Maybe you should put it down."

Tashad looked up at Seth, eyes wide. "Um... yes. I mean, it's quite safe. The frequencies are keeping the particles inert. The shielding is a safety measure."

"Frequency?" Seth took the disk from his unresisting fingers. "What happens when you delete the frequency?"

"Mister... Seth, I mean. I should take this downstairs now."

"What about my tea?" Seth smiled warmly. "I'd love to hear about your work if you join me for a cup."

"You're having far too much fun," Khoe said.

_If he doesn't start swooning on his own I'll have to disable him a little more painfully than with my irresistibly good looks. We can't lose sight of that disk. How are you progressing?_

"Blocked at every turn but I've not been caught yet."

_Don't say 'yet'. Hurry up._

Both men turned when the door opened to admit a Human whose lab coat, evenly creased, looked like it had just come out of its package. "Hello," he said. "You got here quickly."

Tashad, still blushing furiously, grabbed the disk from Seth and scooted around the new arrival to leave the room.

_Damn, I almost had a date._

"I will assume you're Sethran Kada?" The man in the lab coat held his hand out in a quaint gesture of greeting, then withdrew it again to nervously wipe his lips. His skin seemed pasty, as if a thumb pressed to his cheek might leave a permanent dent.

"I am. You received word from Tov Pald?"

"Indeed. I had not expected you for a few more days. We're... we're not ready for you just yet. My name is Reylan Tague."

"He spoke well of you," Seth lied, and then lied some more. "I am a Level Three spanner and was able to get here fast. No doubt that is why he recommended me?"

"He did not mention that, but such talent is certainly of value. And vitally necessary for our work, isn't it? Tov Pald extolled your virtues as a field agent of some reputation among the Shri-Lan."

"I try to serve the cause," Seth said modestly.

"Actually, I expected him to accompany you back here. We must be careful to whom we reveal our location. And guard against too much traffic, of course. I've not heard anything from him since that last message."

"Mapping is complete," Khoe said. "There are just eight people inside this segment itself, but there seems to be a shielded space down below. What's odd is there are about fifty people on that Explorer parked outside."

_That ship is designed to function as a self-contained lab when on the ground. Maybe they're using it for extra workspace. Or for radiation containment._

"Did Tov Pald explain the nature of our work here?" Tague continued, oblivious to their silent exchange.

"Not in detail. You've found a way to enhance mental capacities with some sort of subspace energy?"

Tague's smile was little more than an uneasy tic. "That Caspian doesn't waste words but, yes, that is basically the summary of the project. I'd originally examined the particles as a possible power source. But for our more immediate needs, using these entities in our struggles against our Union overlords is far more valuable."

"Absolutely!" Seth said with enthusiasm _. I'm guessing he hasn't actually met his Shri-Lan overlords yet_ , he sent to Khoe.

"And the Brothers seem to agree, too. They've been showering me with anything I need to move the project forward." He waved a hand toward the exit. "A bit too much. They've sent far more security than I need out here. I think we've got five cruisers here now. Before they arrived we didn't even lock our doors at night. There are only the lizards to worry about. I'm afraid some of our neighbors are whispering among themselves."

"Security is a necessary evil," Seth said thoughtfully. He nodded toward the door through which his disk had disappeared. "Collecting these things must be tedious. And expensive."

The doctor's face brightened. "I think we're done with that. One of the entities turned out to be very special. We call it the Alpha entity. It's unique among the other samples we've collected. It exerts a force that excites the other subspace particles to create complex structures that can, under the right conditions, maintain that structure in real-space. The Alpha draws others near, like a magnet. As long as we have it, others will follow. So now I believe that, instead of bringing the particles out here to expose them to our people, we will enter subspace and meet them there."

"And you're looking for suitable carriers to create these Dyads?"

"Dyads?" The doctor's high forehead furrowed. "Dyads. I like that. A very apt descriptor. You are, indeed, resourceful. Yes, we are looking to find ways to create more... Dyads. We've completed the testing stages and have achieved several wonderfully successful fusions. Flawless! We're nearly ready to move ahead with actual agents loyal to the cause that can be deployed by the Shri-Lan as needed. I hope you will join the team. Obviously, Tov Pald thinks you're suited for this."

"Honestly, I'd like a little more information. How do you get rid of these things again?"

Tague looked perplexed. "We could well be looking at the next evolutionary rung in your particular ladder. You Centauri seem to be the most suited for this... composite. These are not hats you can simply remove."

"There must be a way. There could be, I don't know, incompatibilities. Illness. Accidents. Long-term effects you haven't discovered yet."

Tague nodded. "Yes, we have some challenges. But I've been able to eliminate several threats and we've put our early setbacks behind us. Please be assured that you will receive continuous support from our team should the need arise. Agents like you take risks every day." He smiled thinly and turned to the door. "It's what you live for, isn't it? It's what makes you valuable."

"It does sound like an adventure," Seth allowed.

"Please join us for a meal. In nine hours we will travel to the keyhole and run one more experiment with a few volunteers already aboard my ship. If all goes well you will find yourself on the most exciting journey you've yet taken."

Seth remembered the last few days aboard the _Dutchman_ with Khoe and silently agreed. What was less likely was allowing this Human to get close to his interface with his experiments. "Where have you found your volunteers?" he asked casually.

"Wherever I can!" Tague said brightly. "I sent around a request for volunteer testers to the other stations." He leaned toward Seth in an unpleasantly conspiratorial way. "They think we're studying brainwave activity during subspace transit. Easy money for the junior staff tired of compiling charts and monitoring the satellites. It's a wonderful change of pace for them. There is so little to do here on Csonne." He contemplated his own cleverness for a moment. "But in fact I'm going to allow the Alpha itself access to my ship's communications net during the traverse. It'll draw the entities directly to our subjects via their neural implants."

Seth smiled broadly to keep the look of disgust from his face. "Won't they be surprised."

"Indeed. I don't hold out too much hope for complete success. Some of these people have woefully outdated interface modules. But I suppose that'll give us another variable to consider. Is the quality of the nodes the key? We'll find out. This is an exciting time for us here. For now I just need a few viable Dyads, fully functioning, to show the Brothers what can be done."

_I may have to punch him,_ Seth sent.

"He's experimenting with people who aren't even rebels?" Khoe said. "People who don't know what he's doing? Don't let him do this!"

_He's rushing this just so he's got something interesting to show his money-people. I'm guessing those Shri-Lan outside are here to make sure nothing gets in the way of that. They'll be monitoring any outgoing message_.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

_We need to stop tomorrow's experiment. We should be able to sabotage the Explorer out there if you can break into it. Then we can find a way to contact Air Command to take this place apart. But first we need his files. And the Alpha. I don't want some Union outfit to get their hands on them before the Delphians have taken a look._

"I can't reach the Alpha but I can feel it close by," she said. "Probably down in that closed-off lab. I can't get into that from here. That level even has a separate power supply. I'm finding a few things here and there, though. Downloading now. Mostly just early notes. I have the schematics for the collector."

_If this guy is right, the collector disks won't matter. Is there nothing about that Alpha resonance he was talking about?_

"Not yet. Oh."

_What? Did you find something?_

"Uh, no. Ramblings about brainwashing the Dyads when they first become aware. Making them hate the Commonwealth."

_Keep pulling out what you can. Find out how your other pals are stored. Maybe we can cut them loose._

"You're going to steal them?"

_If we can, yeah._

"Are you ready?" Seth whispered a few hours later.

The compound had settled into its rest period as decreed by the doctor. According to the scanners, the few people living inside had retired to their cabin-like rooms and only the low hum of power generators intruded upon the silence.

Before retreating to the _Dutchman_ , they had endured a tedious evening with Tague and his colleagues, listening to several convoluted theories regarding dipoles that had even Khoe looking for diversion. The young assistant, Avi Tashad, added a few amusing things to the conversation but, annoyingly, was interrupted by his superiors just when it seemed that things might take a lighter turn. The single highlight came in the form of a surprisingly delicious dish of grilled reptile.

"Yes, this is very exciting," Khoe said, making no effort to get up from the lounger.

He played idly with a strand of her hair strewn over his chest. "What's going on outside?"

"Quiet. Some guards loitering around but a lot of them left for the marshes. There isn't anyone around for half a mark at least. Just those scaly eight-leggers. Lots of them."

He stood up, rearranging her as he did, and pretended impatience when she ducked through his arms to steal a kiss. "Let's do this," he said. "Time to find us an Alpha."

The _Dutchman_ 's exit gate lowered soundlessly and he slipped around the ship, heading for the shadows to circle around the compound. His mapper had located an open skylight that might just allow him to enter undetected.

"Guard over there," Khoe said.

"I see him." Seth noticed another nearby, heading this way. "So much for sneaking off." He stepped away from the _Dutchman_ and strolled toward the edge of the plateau.

"Up late?" the Human guard said when Seth reached him.

Seth shrugged. "Lagged," he said with a vague gesture to show that he didn't expect ground huggers like the scientists to understand space travel. "Thought I'd do a little hunting. That snake thing we had was tasty."

The mercenary smirked when he looked at the gun holstered at Seth's side. "We don't use guns for the hunt. No art to it. Knives and bare hands is how it's done. There's nothing poison about the lizards. Tracers spook the herd anyway." He motioned to the other guard to join them. "Let's see how good you are, Centauri. I'll time you against Aliam. First one to get back here with a _greval_ gets to watch the other skin it. And that, friend, is a nasty job."

The man called Aliam grinned. "Full grown one, too. And with none of your fingers missing."

"You're trying to scare me, aren't you?" Seth said, amused. "You've got a bet." He was less amused by having to leave his gun with the mercenary for the duration of the hunt.

They parted ways and Seth finally reached the moonless dark of the swamp. His boots sunk ankle-deep into the mire and he was glad for their waterproofing. "Keep your eye on the scanner," he whispered to Khoe. "I don't actually want to run into one of those things."

"No, you don't. They look pretty nasty."

He walked out from the parking area and began to circle back toward the north end of the compound. On this side it was only dimly lit as the boggy ground nearly reached to the foundation of the modules. Moving like what he hoped a hunter would appear on someone's scanner, he approached the side with the open skylight.

"Seth? That box there..." Khoe said.

_What about it?_ Seth barely made out a large metal bin partly immersed in the soft soil.

"There are bodies in them. Two. Human-size, maybe Feydan."

_Dead?_

"Yes."

He spun when a cry rose into the air in the distance, startling both of them. The guttural sound was answered by another. He thought yet another exclamation sounded Human but none of the noise made clear who was preying upon whom.

"Behind you!"

He turned again to see a long, ridged body slide along the ground and then disappear in the murk. Only the dim light from the building showed its passage as a line of glistening scales. He crouched, his knife ready.

The animal switched back and reared up, towering over Seth who had no trouble making out rows of teeth snapping toward him. Several short limbs, more useful for moving the animal than grasping anything, waved in the air. He ducked under the whipping body and slashed at it, not particularly interested in harming the creature. Belatedly, he recalled Khoe's talent for dealing with opponents.

_Could you do your zap thing, please?_

"I thought you wanted to hunt?"

The greval's narrow head struck out toward him, hissing dangerously. He reached up and gripped its lower jaw to wrestle the creature to the ground before he felt Khoe's surge of energy move from him into the reptile. It jerked violently, throwing him down, before it lay still.

_Thanks_ , he sent, frowning at Khoe as he came to his feet. His leather trousers dripped with swamp water. He shook greval drool from his hands. _If I ever had the urge to hunt for fun, this would not be the way I'd go about it._

"Exciting, though. Did you see those teeth?"

He turned his attention to the building. The struts supporting the outer skin offered enough hand- and toe-holds for him to scale the short wall and reach the domed roof where he raised the skylight panel to slip inside. A quick glance around confirmed that this module served as a greenhouse, producing mainly vegetables but also a cheerful variety of flowers.

_Got a grip on the motion detectors?_

"Yes. They'll cascade as we go. Just move quickly."

He stepped into the darkened corridor. Not having a gun in his hand when sneaking through a night-silent building felt oddly like he'd forgotten something important, like his pants. Light panels glowed along the floor, making this place seem like they were aboard a transport ship. Khoe floated ahead of him, leading the way around a corner and into the first of the locks connecting the modules. The doors slid with barely a sound but Seth froze and strained to listen, anyway.

"Come on," Khoe urged.

He crossed into the adjoining segment, an octagonal lab space lined with workstations and equipment. A few dimmed light strips and some of the equipment cast feeble illumination to show him the way. Apparently, whatever work was done here did not require around-the-clock shifts. He found the short stairway that Khoe had discovered during her mapping exploration. Here, too, the motion and heat sensors remained silent at his passing.

"They're down there," Khoe said. "Hurry."

He followed her down and peered into the below-ground lab. It was brighter in here and he felt an odd, dead weight against his eardrums as if something dampened sound in this space. Before him a row of workstations with both flat screens and holo emitters faced a glass wall, likely also reinforced. Beyond that they saw a peculiar contraption with cylinders leading up to the ceiling. One of the familiar metal disks was attached at the bottom of each one.

_Any idea how to get those off?_

"I think so. They're just containment units."

_We'll take a look. First see if there is any separate data storage. Just download everything and then wipe it all out._

She didn't seem to hear the request. Her attention was caught by the device holding the subspace entities hostage inside the clean room.

"It's not here," she said. "The Alpha. It isn't here!"

_You said you could feel it._

"I can, but I thought it was down here. It's not. He must have it already on his ship, for tomorrow."

Seth pondered this revelation, switching gears, changing plans, weighing their options. _If it's on that Explorer we're not going to get near it. But we can probably disable the ship to stop the launch for now. It'll buy us time to get help._

"What my people?" Her voice faded to a whisper. "Caught in this terrible machine. They're in pain."

_Pain? How do they feel pain?_

"Do I have to shoot you for you to feel pain? Or would being stuck alone in a metal pipe be enough? They're so damn alone! We're never alone. And they're diminishing. Coming apart." She raised her hands toward the cylinder. "Oh, Seth, such misery! Help them."

_How?_

"Go in there."

_Radiation?_

"No, it's safe. Some traces of radon."

He let the door slide aside and stepped into the lab. The metal cylinders seemed to hum at several different frequencies, sounding almost like the distant notes of some stringed instrument. He examined the mechanism holding the disks in place. _How do we get that off?_

"Touch it."

_What?_

"Just touch it."

Mystified, he gripped one of the disks, prepared to wrench it out of its clamps or whatever held it in place. _Feels pretty solid. Maybe we can—_

A flare of heat, light, noise and pure fury blasted through his body, freezing it in place. It was carried by a wave of pain in his head and his chest that felt like his body was torn in two. He stared at his hands, unable to move, feeling bolt upon bolt of energy surge through him. He felt the skin of his fingers blister. The overhead lights dimmed and were immediately replaced by duller emergency panels.

A final blast of now-kinetic energy shoved him away from the container and he was thrown backward to collide forcefully against the glass wall behind him. He collapsed onto the floor and barely rolled aside when a rack of metal tubing crashed to the ground. "Gods, Khoe," he managed. "What happened?"

"Dead," she cried. "I had to. I couldn't stop!"

He rolled onto his hands and knees and then staggered upright, swaying. The violent hammering of his heart nearly obscured the ringing in his ears. There was blood on his hand when he wiped his mouth. "You killed them? Why?"

"They were dying. Such pain, Seth. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"This isn't what we're here for. Now the whole place is awake." He lurched from the clean room, again acutely aware of his lack of firearm. His knees wobbled beneath him but he did not feel weak. He thought his heart might tear out of his chest if a massive embolism didn't do the job first. "We have to get out of here."

"There are people coming. Come this way," Khoe said, gesturing toward a door on his right. "There is a tunnel to the outside."

"The files." Seth coughed and waved at the workstations along the window. "Get the rest of the files. Seal the doors!"

"I'm locked out!" she said as soon as she touched the lab grid. "This entire space is shielded from the main system."

There were voices now, up in the main part of the compound. Seth checked the door at the end of the lab. "Sealed."

"You can break it," she said.

He put his hand on the door itself and a burst of energy leaped from him into the mechanism. The door slid aside.

Before he even stepped into the dark space beyond, an indistinct shape shifted in the gloom of the tunnel. He leaped back when the shape turned into five, moving rapidly toward him.

"Those are Dyads," Khoe cried out when she recognized the familiar presence within each of them. "They've got my people!"

Seth squinted at the tight knot of menace coming toward him. There was something odd about the bloodless, expressionless faces. The characteristic violet eyes of the three Centauri among them were pale disks looking at nothing. "What's wrong with them?"

Vacant or not, the Dyads' intention became very clear when the first dove at Seth with extended arms. By reflex that was more Khoe's doing than his own, he raised his hands and felt the immense buildup of energy flow from his hands into his attacker.

A massive thunderclap drummed through his chest, just as it had happened on Rishabel when he killed the Vanguard agent. The Centauri dropped and Seth reached for the next. Again and again, he grasped another of the men, discharging more of that energy, feeling it drain from him with each kill.

"Cazun..." he whispered when he stood alone among the fallen bodies. It had taken just seconds to take them all down. He was able to breathe normally again and that awful sensation of just too much adrenaline faded. His knees still trembled from the exertion. "What was that?"

"Are they dead?" she said, as stunned as he.

Seth crouched beside one of the bodies. "Yes, dead. Probably his experiments. Something must have gone wrong with them."

"You're right," a voice spoke behind them.

Seth spun around, ready to attack, only to find three mercenaries with their guns aimed at him. Two more stood on the stairs. All of them carried ballistic weapons.

Reylan Tague stepped in front of them. He glowered at the fallen men. "This was not necessary."

"Didn't seem that way to me," Seth said. "What did you do to them?"

"Nothing that didn't happen to you," Tague said. "Isn't that right? You've already been exposed. Although you seem to have a far better grasp on your alien than they did. I'm very interested in finding out why that is. As, I'm sure, will Shri-Lan command."

"How did you know?" Seth measured the distance to the armed guards blocking his way to the stairs. Their sneers almost begged him to try for escape.

"Besides you talking to yourself? We got word an hour ago that Tov Pald was captured on Belene-Noh. He did not send you to Csonne. Something tells me your reasons for coming here are not purely for profit. Probably a Union agent, am I right? I'm guessing that Air Command is eager to acquire the Alpha for their own use."

"I don't give a damn about Air Command," Seth said through clenched teeth. "These are living, sentient beings you're torturing."

"They are nothing until they use our neurons to create a presence. Don't mistake them for living organisms."

"Are you going to hit him?" Khoe said. "That's just rude."

"What do you want from me?" Seth said. Two of the guards searched him and shoved him back into the main lab. _I can barely stand up._ _Anything you can do?_

"No," Khoe said, sounding defeated. "I can't even get as far as out of this room. Not quickly, anyway. He's found some way to block me completely down here."

The doctor went to the glass wall and surveyed the destroyed containment system. "Despite what I told you earlier, every one of my attempts so far has ended in failure. Death, emotional collapse, brain damage. Even those that came through suffered injuries that make them no more useful than a Rhuwac foot soldier. You saw that for yourself. Perhaps it's the entities inside that have decided this. Perhaps that's all they understand."

"And you don't understand any of it."

Tague turned back to Seth. "True, so much is still a mystery. And Air Command is closing in, leaving us no time for research. The Brothers are becoming impatient. Taking the Alpha and the hosts into subspace is my last chance at making this happen."

"You won't ever get them to cooperate. They don't care about our Union or the Shri-Lan or our reasons for anything. They cannot be controlled. We are little more than life support systems for them."

Khoe scowled at him but said nothing.

"And yet you seem to get along just fine with yours," Tague said. "There is something different about your parasite, or perhaps in the way you have combined. I need to know what that is."

"Can't you see where this is going? These people don't belong here."

Tague shook his head, impatient with this pupil who refused to see the larger lesson. "If we don't take control of them, the Union will. We are merely ahead of the competition. We've only seen the beginning of what can be done with them. We can lead the research, the development, the very evolution of the species. Your parasite is the key. It hasn't harmed you. You are what I've been striving to create. With just a few dozen like you, we will shift the balance between Shri-Lan and the Commonwealth."

"If you think I'm going to cooperate with this..."

"No need. Your Dyad is far too valuable to leave with Union spy. We'll find a more suitable host for it."

"You can get it out of my head?" Seth said. "How?"

Tague just smiled and motioned to his men. Seth's eyes widened when one of them turned his hand to reveal what looked like a small pistol, aimed at him. Then there was nothing.

# 12

"Don't move."

Seth fought weakly against the hands that restrained him. The blinding overhead light stabbed into his eyes and he moaned when the pain in his head grew unbearable. His chest still ached but not with the ferocity he felt earlier. Against the glare he was able to make out someone beside him. "Lights," he groaned and tried to shield his eyes with his arm.

A moment later the room dimmed. He blinked, grateful when the pain in his head subsided a little. This was some sort of clinic, he decided. Or perhaps another part of Tague's creepy research compound. He was stretched out on a metal table surrounded by cabinets and anxiety-inspiring gadgetry. Someone had removed his jacket and shirt and the surface beneath him felt like ice.

Avi Tashad returned to his side where he continued to bandage Seth's blistered fingers. Seth raised his other hand, finding it already wrapped in a clean layer of mesh.

That's when he perceived a peculiar void, like something very important that he might have forgotten or misplaced and now desperately needed.

"Khoe," he called out. His voice sounded hoarse. "Gods, Khoe!" He tried to sit up but the young man rose quickly to press him back down.

"Keep still," Tashad said softly. He placed a cool hand over Seth's forehead. "You need to rest. Your parasite is gone."

Seth stared at the Human without comprehension.

"He took it." The youth gestured at the equipment beside the table. "Some resonance he's been working on. Sort of like the reverse of the tune that attracts them."

"No! That can't be. Is she all right? What did he do with her?"

"She?"

Seth nodded and closed his eyes. "Yes, she." Knowing better, he tried to call to her, the way he sometimes did when she had withdrawn. Nothing. Just a cavernous vacancy where she used to fit into his senses. He lifted his arm, not surprised to see his data sleeve gone. He sat up, shaking off Tashad's hand. The room tilted crazily and he closed his eyes again. "Where is my transmitter?"

"They took it. The Shri-Lan. To get into your ship. Please let me help you."

Seth pushed his hair out of his face. "I think you've done enough."

"This was hardly my doing. I didn't come here to force people into having their brains altered. I was promised a research opportunity with the Trida team and instead I end up working for the Shri-Lan. I'm stuck here." He went to a cabinet and stood before it as if undecided about what he wanted there. "But I have records. Notes. Conversations. If I ever get off this rock and somewhere safe I'll have my say about what goes on here."

_Khoe? Dammit. Wake up!_ "Where are they keeping her? She destroyed the storage thing where the others were being held."

"They're gone. They took the _Stoyan_ off-planet. The research ship. Not very long ago. Told me to keep you alive until they get back in case he needs to work with your brain some more. He wasn't sure you'd wake up." Tashad sorted through the medicine packets on a shelf. "I'm studying astrophysics. What am I supposed to know about keeping you alive?"

"Where did they go, dammit," Seth snapped. "How long have I been out?"

"About six hours. They are going to jump, that's all I know. He's got at least five cruisers with him." He peered at an ampoule in his hand. "I'm thinking if he doesn't get results he's going to keep right on going. Things are a bit of a mess here right now."

"Your mess," Seth growled. "You should have turned in the lot when you first saw something going on here. Now people are going to die or worse." He pushed off the table and carefully tested his weight before standing. His legs seemed agreeable to holding him up. He shuffled to the boy and nudged him aside to rummage through the cabinet. None of these medicines were in pill or vapor form and he resigned himself to an injection. "Those," he said. "Just painkillers."

The boy turned and Seth saw tears stream over the delicate face. "I couldn't! They would have killed me!" Tashad cried. "First the doctor was trying things out on rebels and I didn't care. Those people are rude and mean. You have no idea about the things they've said to me. I barely dare to step outside anymore. I know what the Shri-Lan do to people they don't like." He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "But then Jael died. My teacher! She went mad and then just died. I don't even know where they put her after that!"

Seth closed his eyes briefly, thinking of the bodies Khoe had found outside.

"And now he's got those others," Tashad continued. "Volunteers from the other agencies. Some of them are my age, trying to learn something out here. What if this new test doesn't work out?" His red-rimmed eyes pleaded with Seth. "What if it does?"

Seth frowned, sorry for his harsh words. "Is there no one left here of your team?"

"No. Just a half dozen guards outside and the doctor's wife, Isalia. She refused to go with him. She's locked herself up."

"Seems sensible. If your doctor doesn't return they're going to start getting angry. Lock yourself up, too. Contact Air Command and let them know what's going on here."

"Air Command? They'll arrest me. And they'll arrest _you_. Why do you want them here?"

Seth took a deep breath and halved the amount of painkiller he was going to take. His mind was fogged and the lack of Khoe in his head kept threatening to drop him in a bout of vertigo. Of course the boy would think of him as Shri-Lan. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored front of the cabinet. The irises of his bloodshot eyes were pale, a sure sign of illness among his people. The dark shadows under them went well with the cheeks covered in a few days' growth. He certainly looked the part today, too. "Well, wait till I've gone."

Tashad wiped his face with his forearm. "It'll take days for Air Command to get here. Weeks maybe. There's nothing here for them. Tague destroyed everything that you didn't already. He's the only one now with the research data."

Seth gestured for Tashad to administer the medicine. Gritting his teeth, he looked away from the needle slipping into his skin. It hardly helped to remind himself that the pain in his burned fingers felt far worse than the injection; he'd never feel comfortable around needles. "I'm going after them. There's got to be something flyable left down here."

"Your ship is still here. They weren't able to break into your cruiser, even with your transmitter." The youth's hand lingered on Seth's bare arm and his voice took on a pleading tone when he continued. "Stay here until help comes. Or take me with you. You got rid of that alien. You're free. I'm so scared here. And alone."

Seth gently removed Tashad's hand. "I might have... given you the wrong idea earlier. I can take you out of here, if you want. I just can't guarantee that I'm going anywhere you want to be."

The youth's hopeful expression shifted to disappointment. "How are you going to get away? Your ship's under guard. They want it."

"Of course they do. It's a damn fine plane." Seth perched on the edge of the examination table and ran his fingers over the ship tattooed above his elbow. The burn mesh made it difficult but after a little experimenting he tapped the code onto three of the _Dutchman_ 's torn sails. A gentle buzzing sensation confirmed access and he lifted his arm to touch the embedded data sheet against the implant at his temple. "I may have to get rough with them. Still want to come with me?"

Tashad looked away. "No. I'll stay. I'll call the Slian team to come get me and Isa after you've gone. I don't dare to walk over there in the dark." He fished Seth's clothes from a shelf under the table and shook them out. "Those rebels scare me more than the lizards."

Seth winced when the pain in his hands made fastening his shirt problematic. "Lock yourself up until someone gets here. Don't give those rebels out there a reason to..." He hesitated, but his glance at Tashad's slender body told the boy what he meant. "To hurt you."

Tashad nodded uncertainly.

Seth tried to recall the layout of the facility, willing his brain to work properly. "I need your help to get out of this place. Go down to the module that sits higher up, at the far end. Know which I mean?"

"Yes, the recycler."

"Find something to make a lot of noise to get their attention. Break a roof panel or something. If I make it to the _Dutchman_ I'll try to get them to follow me away from here. You'll be fine then."

"I can do that. You're being very kind after... after what we did to you."

"We don't always get to make our own choices," Seth said and then sneered at his own philosophical tone. "I sound like my old man just before I get a trouncing. See where that got me?"

Tashad tilted his head and gave him a weak smile. "You're not really a rebel, are you?"

Seth winked. "Sure I am. Hail the mighty Tharron and his bastard offspring." He pondered this for a moment. "Well, actually, if you can leave my name out of this, I'd appreciate it."

"I will."

"Are there any weapons here?"

"Yes. We have all the stuff that used to belong to the... the first test subjects. In the closet near the stairs. I saw guns." Tashad tugged on Seth's sleeve to stop him from stepping into the hallway. "I'm sorry I didn't warn you when you first got here. I'm to blame for this and I'm worried about your condition. You could be damaged. I don't know if you should be going off-planet at all. Never mind going through subspace any time soon."

Seth had to agree with that opinion. "If you ask me, a good place to be right now is inside a big tub of hot water with bubbles and a trio of dancing girls but there's no point in wishful thinking."

Tashad pointed toward the west side of the building. "The main door is sealed now and guarded. But there is a tunnel down in the labs leading outside to the other side of the building. I... I don't want to go down there. I don't think I can stand to see the bodies. I'm sorry."

Seth touched his slight shoulder. "That's all right, Avi. You didn't come to Csonne for this. Just promise me to check out your next study assignment a bit more carefully. Shri-Lan are bastards to work for, believe me."

Tashad smiled. "Please be careful."

Seth watched the youth disappear down the hall and then turned in the opposite direction to the lab area of the facility. There he found the stolen items Tashad had mentioned behind a sliding door, pathetic reminders of the lives lost here because of Reylan Tague's misguided research. He dug through a small stockpile of projectile weapons, rail guns, simple lasers and even a flash mod among com badges and other tools taken from the victims. He chose two rails and a bare-bones scanner that made him wish for his own top-quality data sleeve. A finely crafted K'lar knife caught his eye and he tucked it away in a pocket. No need to leave the valuable goods for those who would soon loot this place.

He came to the stairs and moved silently down into the shielded lab, not surprised to find the bodies of the dead Dyads still scattered on the floor. He stepped over them and into the narrow tunnel. It rose toward the open exit doors at the back of the main building.

The area behind the compound was a shamble of dropped bundles and supply cases, some piles of sheeting that looked like more of the shielding he'd seen below, and a large empty space that used to be taken up by the _Stoyan_ , the doctor's research ship. A Human, listlessly shoving a few boxes onto a trolley, muttered to himself when his cart tipped off balance. Another paced nearby, rifle poised although the glare of overhead lights kept the wildlife at bay.

Seeing no one else out here, Seth squeezed the trigger of his new gun to drop the first rebel who obliged him by falling onto the cart. His aim brought down the other before he ducked for cover. He heaved him onto the trolley as well and shoved it into the tunnel opening. After scanning the area and finding no more guards here, Seth sidled around the sprawling modules of the compound, glad for the design that placed windows onto the domed roofs rather than the walls. Eventually, he rounded the farthest bend to see the _Dutchman_. It now didn't seem so clever that he had parked at a distance; the space between the main building and his ship looked inconveniently broad and exposed.

He crouched down and waited with an eye on the scanner to alert him to the creatures in the dark. Two rebels stood by the main entrance, chatting and bent over the display on the woman's wrist. He heard her laugh. A Centauri paced aimlessly by the rebels' remaining ship, occasionally crossing paths with a masked Caspian. Seth's scanner detected two more people aboard the cruiser. It would not be long before their own sensors found him hidden here.

The Caspian at the far side of the rebel ship heard the humming first. The others, too, looked up when it grew louder. A sharp whine accompanied it and then even the ground seemed to vibrate along with the air. The two rebels at the door seemed undecided about leaving their post but the others moved curiously toward the maintenance module at the other end of the compound. Seth grinned when whatever mechanism Tashad had managed to overload tore itself apart and exploded the module into a hail of shrapnel and glass.

He raced toward the _Dutchman_. The ship, already in standby mode at his remote command, whined into readiness. The first of the rebels' bullets tore up the ground by his feet by the time he reached it. Some ricocheted off the hull as he ducked around the back and pressed his hand onto the keypad.

"Damn!" he cursed while he fumbled with the bandages on his fingers. They peeled off along with some of his skin but the sensor looked beyond mere fingerprints and he was finally allowed aboard.

Once inside the ship, Seth leaped into the pilot couch and slipped into his headset. Screens overhead came alive to show his surroundings. Some of the rebels were running toward their ship, the only weapon powerful enough to damage the _Dutchman_. Seth went through the launch processes while taking potshots at the people outside, hoping that fewer rebels meant less trouble for the people still inside the research station. Some of his fire took out the rebel cruiser's landing gear but its pilots had prudently lifted off the struts as soon as they guessed Seth's intent.

Something slammed into the _Dutchman_ and Seth launched to engage his shields, aware that the rebel ship was doing the same. He swept around the other ship and into a diagonal escape path out of Csonne's atmosphere. The _Dutchman_ 's much-modified crossdrives soon outpaced the rebels but they remained on his tail, even when he slipped outside of weapons range. Seth recalculated his flight path and set the scanners to track down the small fleet carrying the doctor and his experiment toward the nearby keyhole.

He found them nearing the breach, five hours in the distance. With luck, the convoy would stop before entering the keyhole to prepare whatever the doctor needed to prepare before attempting to prove his newest theory. If they entered the uncharted breach before then he had neither the fuel nor the aptitude to follow. And if they didn't, Seth was most certainly flying into battle against five rebel ships.

And for what? Seth left the cockpit and paced around the small, untidy cabin, feeling alternately anxious and exhausted. The painkillers had wrestled his headache into a manageable state but what damage had been done to him? The Shantir on Magra had warned of brain damage. Seth ran his hands through his hair and realized that they were trembling.

"All right, Kada," he mumbled to himself. "You're upright, your brain's working, so be happy with that." He reached into a cabinet to find a medical scanner. "See?" he said after running it along his body. "Nothing leaking in there, nothing missing. Stop your damn worrying."

He looked toward the cockpit. Maybe it was time to cut his losses and let Air Command clean up this mess. The alien was gone from him and wasn't that what he had set out to do? His well-developed sense of self-preservation told him to return to Csonne, scrounge some coolant from one of the outposts there, and then head straight back to Magra, even if that took weeks without a proper spanner. Then he's see his little Bellac friend whose medical skills would ensure he'd not suffered from having been turned, however briefly, into a Dyad. And then put it all behind him as another peculiar adventure in his peculiar life.

And maybe someday the bottomless hole Khoe left in his mind would close over. He stared at the lounge where they had spent hours talking, arguing, studying and dreaming up ways of using their bodies that weren't even physically possible. He could almost see her hovering at the edge of his vision but her gentle touch inside his head was now only a memory. _Khoe!_ he shouted silently as if some last remnant in his brain was still somehow tangled up with her, somewhere. There was no answer for him.

If the doctor had removed her without harm, was she still Khoe? Had she turned back into the shapeless net of particles that first arrived on the _Dutchman_? Would she remember him at all? Seth rubbed his eyes, trying not to imagine her caught inside one of those collector disks. Was she in pain?

"I was right," he said and returned to the cockpit to take helm control back from the autopilot. "I've lost my damn mind."

There was nothing more to think about. He brought the ship about and headed back, demanding top velocities from the _Dutchman_ 's engines. Within minutes he entered the pursuing rebel ship's weapons range and began a series of evasive maneuvers as he targeted their shield seams. The weapons system aboard the _Dutchman_ was designed for Air Command's Eagle class ship and the surprised enemy had little opportunity to return fire. Volley after volley of precisely plotted missiles slammed into their shields. The _Dutchman_ shuddered when it passed through the debris field left by the disintegrating rebel plane.

"One down," Seth said, taking no time to relish the victory. He turned and once again raced toward the keyhole and the remaining rebel ships.

They were waiting for him. Instead of rushing toward him, as he expected, the rebel cruisers formed a tight defensive line around the _Stoyan_ , hovering close to the invisible breach in space. Puzzled, Seth ran his scanners over the field. Individually, he would have little trouble engaging them with the _Dutchman_ 's superior weaponry and a lot of faith in his skills as pilot. Engaging all five of them at once took more recklessness than even he possessed.

He shifted his attention to the research ship. The _Stoyan_ 's design dedicated most of the available space to labs and equipment rather than passengers. And yet his scanners reported over fifty individuals aboard, far in excess of what the ship could support for long. Unwitting specimen in the doctor's laboratory.

He took full control of the _Dutchman_ 's weapons system while issuing navigational commands via his neural interface. After belting into his pilot couch, he rerouted all of the ship's resources, including those used by the gravity spinners, to the shields. The _Stoyan_ , like most ships of that class, had few defensive systems and, if he could get the rebel cruisers out of the way, a standoff might just be possible.

"Stand down, pilot." The order came over his com system as he approached effective weapons range. "You have no business here."

"Just passing through." Seth began his calculations of the enemy's formation to find the best possible spread for his weaponry.

Khoe would have supplied him with the mathematical odds of succeeding in an effort to be sensible about the whole thing. Then again, he thought, she also advised him to shoot himself in the foot to test her theory, so perhaps sensibility had little to do with anything today.

"Crap!" he shouted when the _Dutchman_ 's alarms showed that the keyhole was beginning to expand. "Crap, damn, crap!" So much for his plan to trail the _Stoyan_ into subspace if she couldn't be stopped out here. Without a spanner on board, he could not follow on his own. And with those damn rebel ships in his way, making a run for that gap was quite simply suicide.

He swung into position for his attack, still mystified by the rebel ships' reluctance to take the offensive. The keyhole was opening at an alarming rate and the _Stoyan_ would soon ramp up her engines to reach the required velocity. Surprisingly, the rebel ships turned and also got into position to enter the breach.

"Well, now I'm feeling like you just don't care," Seth grumbled.

The _Dutchman_ reported that the keyhole had now turned into a sufficiently broad jumpsite. Seth took a deep breath. This wasn't the first time that he would ride someone's wake through a breach without knowing anything about its terminus, but he'd never get used to it. It wasn't a highly recommended practice among deep-space pilots.

"What the..." he said, gaping at his screens.

The wide-open gate before them suddenly spilled two battlecruisers and their accompanying fighter planes, the small and agile Kites, into real-space. At the rear came the mighty Ghoster, clearly having recovered her engines. All but one vessel bore Air Command's proud emblems.

The five rebel cruisers veered aside, spreading in a wide formation as if they had hit a wall which, it would seem, they had. Seth dove out of the way when Air Command opened fire in pursuit of the ships, harassing them with the Kites to get them away from the jumpsite. His long experience with Air Command battle tactics made clear that those pilots were enjoying the chase.

He left them to it and veered around the _Stoyan_. The Explorer had sprinted away in surprise and now came about again to take another run at the keyhole, now the only route to escape. He took after it, aware that one of the other ships now gained on him.

"Dutchman!"

Seth blinked. "Delphi?"

"This is remarkably exhilarating," Caelyn said over the _Dutchman_ 's com system. Seth nearly severed the link before he realized that Caelyn had coded his transmissions with a convoluted Delphian encryption he had given to Seth not long ago.

Seth frowned as he checked his scanners. "You're on that rebel ship behind me? Tov Pald's boat?"

"Yes, isn't it exciting? Apparently, it's a very good quality ship. We've been here for hours. Major Terwood's been slipping probes through the breach to wait for you to get here. He didn't want to land on—"

"I need your help," Seth interrupted. He rolled out of the way when his sensors warned of an incoming volley from a rebel ship. A second one blasted his shields. He dove toward one of the Air Command Kites and then got out of there when the pilot took after the rebel. Caelyn's cruiser streaked after the _Dutchman_ when he turned toward the keyhole and away from the battle.

"That Explorer over there, the _Stoyan_ , is going to jump," Seth said. "They're just going to cut a new terminus because they don't need to get anywhere. I could really use a spanner with me in case I lose them." He glanced at his depleted coolant levels. "And to get back home, actually."

There was a short silence before Caelyn replied. "Major Terwood orders you to stand down, Seth. I'm sorry."

"We are going to lose the _Stoyan_!" Seth snapped. A quick check of the displays showed that the Ghoster had made its ponderous turn back toward the breach, leaving the rest of the small fleet to chase down the rebels. "They won't get here before that keyhole opens." He got into position to follow the _Stoyan_ into the breach. "Dammit, you'll have to chase me, then."

"That'll work," Caelyn said. "Palas just received that order. Are you sure about this?"

"They're using civilians for their test," Seth said. "And they've got Khoe. Yes, I'm damn sure."

"Khoe's not with you anymore? You're free? That's fantastic news."

"We'll celebrate later. Listen, you need to remove your interface links for the jump. All of you." A ticking sound alerted Seth that someone had already decrypted their exchange.

"That hardly seems advisable," Caelyn said.

"Just trust me. You can't be plugged into your ship unless you're looking for a hitchhiker."

Pause. Then: "Heard, Dutchman."

The confiscated rebel cruiser joined the _Dutchman_ as the three ships reached maximum velocity. By the time the transport entered the breach into nothing, Seth and Caelyn were close enough to slip inside without needing to create their own chart. Wherever the _Stoyan_ went, so would they.

# 13

Seth was slow to recover from the jump that had taken all three ships through the unimaginable distance between the spanned keyholes. Convinced that he was upside down, or perhaps the contents of his head were, he groped around for something he might recognize. Gradually, he realized that his arms had floated up during the leap and that the _Dutchman_ was still tumbling through space with reduced gravity.

Shaking his head clear of the fog that came with a long jump, he ran through a quick diagnostic before spinning the gravity up to something a little more comfortable. His head still pounded steadily and his stomach was also not happy with the general state of things.

"Centauri," he heard Caelyn's voice over the cockpit speakers. "Are you back with us?"

"Barely," Seth said. He reconnected his neural interface to take a look around. An annoying ringing in his ears had joined his headache. "That one hurt. Where are we?"

"Precisely nowhere," he heard another voice, clearly Delphian and clearly irritated. "There is nothing out here within travel distance. We'll need to go back through that breach to return to Trans-Targon. What is that Explorer doing out here?"

"Collecting more aliens," Seth said.

"I've sent a message packet back to Major Terwood to let him know where we emerged," Palas said.

Seth scanned the _Stoyan_ now at a near standstill. The life signs aboard had dwindled to just over thirty. It did not take advanced mathematics to see that, indeed, her air reserves would barely support even that many people for the long trip back to Csonne. He opened another channel to hail the ship.

" _Stoyan_ ," he said after manipulating the output to disguise his voice. "I took damage back there. Going to have to lock on." He held his breath as he waited for some reply that made clear that they knew who he was.

But his gamble paid off. Instead of using what little armament they had to let him know what they thought of his ruse, they seemed far too busy with their own problems to realize that it wasn't one of their own that had escaped the battle with Air Command. Were those even rebels in control of that ship, or merely the _Stoyan_ 's own crew?

"Lieutenant Palas," he said, using the Delphian encryption when the _Stoyan_ 's shields dropped. "Please lock on to that Explorer when I do. Expect casualties and maybe some armed resistance."

He swung around the side of the vessel to nudge the _Dutchman_ into one of the docking ports while Palas executed the maneuver on the other side. He did not expect anyone to welcome him aboard when he stepped through the airlock but the pandemonium he encountered didn't seem routine, either.

Two technicians hurried past him, followed by someone in lab gear. He heard shouting and curses. An alarm that nobody heeded was buzzing to itself somewhere. Environmental controls had been set to conserve resources and he smelled not only overused air but also something burning.

The airlock opposite him opened and the two Delphians entered. As always, that otherworldly Delphian serenity seemed to promise that these tall, blue-braided individuals could never fall prey to misfortune and, despite himself and knowing better, Seth felt safer for having them aboard. The Human in engineer coveralls entering hesitantly behind them gave him the opposite impression.

"Gods, what's happening here?" Caelyn said when someone screamed nearby.

Seth felt a pang of guilt when he saw the device protecting Caelyn's arm. "Get up top and tell the flight crew not to re-enter the breach. Figure out how long we can stay here before we have to return. Use force if you have to." He appraised the hulking build of the crew member they had brought aboard. The man looked up to the task but there was something unsettling about him. He hunched tiredly, looking about himself with bloodshot eyes in a pale face. His lips moved soundlessly. "What's the matter with this one?"

The Human's eyes shifted to Seth. "Just a bit of a bug, sir. Missed my last med check. Don't be reporting me."

Seth frowned. "Get the bridge figured out. I'll meet you up there."

The others headed that way while Seth followed the sound of chaos down the cramped corridor. It was meant to be a wide passage, connecting the air locks to the lab and service area with plenty of room to move equipment. Now it was crammed with bins and racks surely not meant to be stored here permanently. Some of the equipment was strapped to the floors and walls with temporary restraints.

More disorder greeted him in the main lab. Two rows of triple-level bunks took up much of the space. On some of them, people lay motionless with wires leading from their neural interface nodes to a bunched conduit along the wall. Some of the volunteers seemed unconscious, others moved weakly as if trapped in a nightmare. Technicians scurried frantically from one to the next, restraining those who were clearly in the throes of unimaginable terror. Some of the bunks were abandoned and motionless bodies had been pulled from the walkway between the bunks to line up against the wall.

A young Centauri stumbled toward him, clawing at her own face. "Get it off, get it off, get it off!" Seth caught her in a bear hug until a medic came to press an inhaler to the girl's face. She slumped in his arms and he lowered her onto a cot.

"Cazun..." Seth breathed, looking up at the wall of hastily installed equipment. Piping ran along the bulkheads from an intricate device that looked very much like the storage system in the lab on Csonne. It crouched here like the malevolent mechanical monster of a children's tale.

Among the chaos a few of the test subjects rested placidly, even smiling, staring at the ceiling as if something entertained them up there. He bent over a Feydan woman whose lips moved without a sound. He tugged her headset away from her neural interface. Like all of the victims here, she was probably a technician or research assistant who shouldn't have left Suncion this morning. Did they even know what was happening here?

She blinked up at him. "Colors," she said. "They're colors. And so pretty."

He straightened up to grab the arm of a passing crew member. "Where is Doctor Tague?"

"Tague? Crazy bastard is hiding in the control room." She put her hand over Seth's to squeeze it urgently. "Are you one of those Shri-Lan that's been coming around? By all that's still sacred around here, get us back right now. We were told to let them sleep and listen to their program for a few hours and then we'd head back. I don't know what is going on or why we were attacked but these people need help now."

"Disconnect the interface to the program you're running. Do you have something else?" He looked around, having nothing to draw on but his experience with Khoe. "Music or stories or even a damn weather report. Just something of no importance that'll keep them busy."

"I... I don't understand..."

"Just do it!" Seth pulled away and headed to the end of the lab to a door that the technician seemed to have meant. It slid aside to reveal a dark, small space crammed with equipment. Nothing here looked even vaguely familiar.

A lab worker whirled around when Seth entered, looking utterly frightened. Crumpled on the floor before him lay Doctor Tague, motionless.

"Who are you? What do you want?" He peered more closely at Seth. "You're the Centauri that had the alien. The one we took out. How did you get aboard?"

Seth bent over the doctor. "What happened here? He's dead."

"I can see that. Something got to him." The technician gestured at a tilted control board along the wall. "Some feedback maybe. He was connected to the ship during the jump."

"Kind of a novice move, considering what's going on here."

"This area and the ship's mainframe is shielded and closed off from the outside. The Alpha itself is linked to the com system. Only the test subjects were exposed to anything in subspace."

"That didn't work out so well, did it?" Seth pointed up at several monitors recording the testing area outside. "At least not for your volunteers."

"We have six viable fusions so far," he said, not without a hint of pride. "Six! We hoped for perhaps one or two. He was right. The incursion needs to happen in subspace. We've accomplished much here today."

Seth was not a man who easily lost his temper but now he grasped the front of the tech's jacket, ready to snap his neck. "You're sacrificing all those people for that? For six Dyads?"

Tague's assistant tugged ineffectively on Seth's wrists. "The Brothers demand results. We are giving them that. They're already on their way to Csonne to see these for themselves."

"Reverse it!" Seth shouted and shoved him to the console. "All of it. The way you got the alien out of me. Those people are dying."

"I have no idea how to reverse it. And I'm not about to link to any part of this ship." He pointed to the body on the floor. "Who knows how that happened."

Seth ran his hand over his eyes. The pain in his head sent shards of broken glass from his forehead all the way down the back of his neck. "Then how the hell do you think we're going to get back? That Alpha is just going to keep calling to its kind. None of us are safe."

The technician shook his head. "This room and the cockpit are fully shielded. We'll make it just fine if we don't engage."

"And who knows how many entities will escape into real-space on the other side? There is a lot of Air Command waiting to arrest your scrawny neck. They will be exposed." Seth looked over the control console. Only one way remained to shut this down. "Where is she? The alien you took from me."

"Stored in the containment chamber of course. It's a perfect example of a viable entity. Tague meant to offer it to the Brothers once we render the process safe for other species."

Seth shook his head and drew his pistol. "I'm voting against that," he said, adjusting the gun's setting.

"What are—" The Human dropped the floor, unconscious.

Seth went to the com panel mounted above the main control board to hail the bridge. "Caelyn? Are you up there?" He squinted through his headache at the monitor.

His fears about the flight crew proved correct when he saw the pilots in the grip of the subspace entities. The Centauri captain stared at his hands as if in deep contemplation. Caelyn hunched beside the com officer sprawled by the door. The navigator, like some of the volunteers in the back, mumbled to himself as he rocked back and forth in his bench.

"The crew is disabled," Palas looked up through the camera at Seth. "Acting very strangely. That man over there is dead. The ship is in emergency standby mode. You were correct about the air supply. If we don't leave here soon we won't make it to Csonne."

"So much for shielding the cockpit," Seth grumbled. "Hold this position. We're not ready to jump back."

"What do you mean? Systems are green. We need to rejoin Major Terwood's fleet in case we have to offload these people."

"Just stand by," Seth said, a little irritated. "Get the shields ready for jump, but hold off."

Palas turned from the camera when Caelyn said something too low to understand.

Confident in Caelyn's ability to keep the pilot from rushing back into subspace, Seth stepped over the body on the floor to study the lab's control console. None of it made any sense. He was at home in just about any cockpit but this system resembled nothing he had seen before. It was not made with Union-made components although he recognized a few Caspian symbols. Hesitantly, he hovered his hand over what seemed to be the main input panel to see if it would even allow him access.

Seth smiled when he realized that the system was engaged and unaware that Tague no longer needed it. "You've lost your mind," he said to himself. "But we've established that." He reached for the one control that he recognized, the one that was part of any sophisticated processor. The one that linked to the operator's neural interface.

"Khoe?" he spoke aloud when he made contact, his eyes closed as he leaned heavily on the board. "Khoe, are you in there?"

He waited. Anxious voices filtered through the door, but no one was shouting now. The monitors showed a calmer situation. Most of the victims had either succumbed, had been sedated, or were actually getting to know their visitors. He saw a few of the doctor's staff move through the space, shifting bodies. Someone sat on a cot, crying.

"Khoe? We're kind of in trouble here. Please answer me!" He directed his thoughts around the unfamiliar processor, eyes on the overhead displays, finding nothing he dared to explore. He was so used to his familiar, comfortable interface with the _Dutchman_ that looking around this machine seemed like entering an alien world. "I'm here, Khoe. Can you feel me?"

Nothing.

_Are you alive?_ he thought, fighting a terrible surge of grief threatening to overwhelm him. Perhaps she had simply disintegrated in her shielded prison, cut off from him and from the Alpha that had given her life to begin with.

_Khoe, please! I can't do this without you._ He concentrated, no longer worried about touching the wrong thing inside the processor. He felt a little like a madman ransacking through a cluttered room in search of a dropped jewel.

Nothing.

He disengaged the link and returned to the com panel by the door. "Caelyn, we've got to find a way to shut this experiment down before we jump back. I could use your help up here. Maybe you can figure this out."

Again, nothing.

"Caelyn?" Seth peered up at the screen. The bridge was empty of all but the unresponsive crew. He cursed. "Can that Delphian not stay where you put him for even a minute?"

He opened the door and hurried through the main lab. Some of the people here looked up curiously when he rushed past them and a technician moved to stop him but Seth paid no attention.

When he stepped into the small control room outside the cockpit the sight of a Delphian on the floor forced a strangled cry from his lips. He rushed to turn the man over to see that it was Palas, not Caelyn who had fallen here, dead.

He drew his gun and rose to move silently into the cockpit where he adjusted the surveillance system to check each camera in turn, looking for clues. The control room with the dead doctor and his assistant. An empty storage room. The main lab, crowded with people. A cramped access way.

And then a view of a gangly body on the ground near the air lock, the long blue braid clearly visible on the monitor. Seth froze, then forced himself to breathe evenly. He could hear his teeth grind when he shoved his sudden fury and guilt aside to focus on his next move. Where was the Human crewman they had brought aboard?

He shifted the camera again, zooming into the image until he saw the uniform among the people in the main lab. The Human stood like some unmovable boulder in the room, talking to apparently no one. Seth watched as he grasped a passing technician by the throat, shouted something, and tossed him aside. The others shrank back when he aimed a gun and simply shot one of them. Cowed, they rushed to the far wall of the lab and sat on the floor, apparently by some command.

The engineer moved to the containment system and placed his hands on it as if very familiar with the mechanism. As soon as he did, a row of yellow indicator strips lit the monitor panels above him.

A soft hiss escaped Seth when he realized why something had seemed not quite right when this man came aboard. Something felt oddly familiar, even without Khoe in his head to hone his instincts. This was another Dyad, like him, here aboard the _Stoyan_ , murdering people without provocation. And now he had his hands on the machine that entrapped Khoe and the Alpha.

Seth crept through the ship's control space and tried a panel set into a bulkhead. From what he had seen on the surveillance system, this access should lead around the main lab to a side entrance, far less conspicuous than the main corridor.

The space was narrow – little more than a service way to the ship's environmental apparatus. He slipped out of his jacket and dropped it when it snagged on the edges of some conduits, slowing him down. The sound of only one voice reached him when he stepped out of the passage.

"I don't care," the Human said when Seth peered into the lab. He was shuffling through the narrow space between the bunks toward the control room. His eyes twitched, as did his lips and even his chin. The muscled legs seemed barely able to keep him upright and he shifted continuously to keep his balance. "That's not what you said earlier," he said to no one.

Seth stepped into the room and fired his gun.

Nothing.

Deve looked up when the movement caught his attention. He glared at Seth blearily. "No guns allowed," he said in a strangely high-pitched voice accompanied by a giggle. "He broke them all." He seemed confused by the pistol in his own hand and tossed it aside before taking a few lurching steps toward Seth. "You're the other. One of us."

Seth ducked around the lumbering Human toward the mechanical monster holding Khoe hostage. Although slow, the man had a terrific reach and surely wielded considerable strength. More worrying than that was the certainty that, just like Khoe's, his touch was deadly.

"Back," Seth said, now standing in front of the containment system. He put his hand onto a control panel. "We've re-coded the transmitter. Any closer and we'll kill your Alpha. You know we can."

Strangely, Deve stopped, apparently fooled by Seth's feeble bluff. Perhaps, Seth thought, the presence of so many newly-created Dyads here simply confused his senses.

Seth rubbed his arm, feeling for the thin edge of the com chip hidden beneath his tattoo. He shifted a miniscule tab to open the link from his neural interface to the embedded transmitter. _Dammit, Khoe. Wake the hell up! I need you._

"They're evil," the Human before him said. "Did you know that? They'll destroy us all."

Seth frowned. "Who?"

"Who the fuck to you think!" Deve roared. "He told me. He's going to bring them all here. And they'll kill anyone who gets in their way." He suddenly doubled over as if someone had kicked him hard in the middle. Foam spewed from his lips when he grunted in pain. "All right! Just stop it. Just stop!"

The processor behind Seth whirred and coolers kicked in when something went into operation. Information that meant nothing to him scrolled over a slotted display and indicators had something to say to those who understood the message.

"He's found it," Deve cried. "Found the sire. You can't harm us now, Centauri."

Seth took a step forward. Something terrible was going on in the man's mind. Deve wrung his hands as if fighting to keep them to himself. His body shook from taking blows only he felt. A trickle of blood seeped from his nose, unnoticed.

"You don't want this," Seth said. "You can be free of that thing in your head. I can help you."

"Shut up!" Deve barreled at him, fists raised. He slammed into Seth to pitch him back, over the cots and onto the floor. Stars exploded before Seth's eyes when his head met the edge of a bunk but there was none of the deadly surge of power he had expected. The Dyad was used up; unable to generate the energy it took to kill Seth.

He rolled under the next cot and then the one after that while Deve simply crashed through the obstacles in his way. He sprang to his feet and then ducked when one of the bunks flew through the air. Blood trickled down his cheek but when he groped for his interface node he found it still firmly seated in his temple. Some of the techs who hadn't already crept from the lab during this confrontation scrambled for the corridors.

"Stoyan," they suddenly heard a harsh voice emit from the com band on Deve's forearm. It took a moment for both men to realize that Air Command had arrived, ready to deal with the aliens and their dying hostages. "Prepare for boarding."

An alert sounded, accompanied by a discreet change of illumination. Seth cursed when he realized that the _Stoyan_ was powering up. The creature inside Deve's head had taken control of the helm, ready for the return to Csonne.

"You can't outrun them," Seth said. "That's a Ghoster out there."

Deve's broad lips stretched into a smile. "They won't kill us. They want to get their hands on us. Let them follow. They'll all wake up with a new friend in their heads. I'll even wait for them to catch up." He stalked toward Seth, lifting his feet only with tremendous effort. "But I don't need you along. You're dangerous. Both of you."

"Stoyan! Respond immediately or we will destroy you."

Deve halted and pressed his hands to his head. "Stop this," he pleaded. "Stop me. Make _it_ stop, dammit!"

Seth reached into a pocket on his thigh and withdrew the folding knife he had taken on Csonne. It snicked open, gleaming with double-edged menace. He moved to his left, forcing Deve to turn. Surely, the Dyad, weakened by whatever had taken its toll on the Human's body, would not be able to control the Alpha, pilot the _Stoyan_ , and fight a faster adversary all at once. That, then, left only Deve to oppose him.

His knees buckled when he felt a bolt of pain drill into his skull, only to fade as something familiar took hold right there inside his head. He felt it expand and then realized with a breathtaking sense of relief that whatever shaped Khoe in his brain had returned. She touched him, recognized him, and remembered these past days with a growing sense of joy.

"Seth?" He felt the word in his head like a sweet melody. "You're here. I was so lost!"

_Find the Alpha_ , he sent urgently as he lunged at Deve. _Keep this Dyad away from it._

Khoe squealed in fear and surprise when he dove under the fist that Deve, driven by Lep Ako, swung at him. The other fist glanced along his shoulder, instantly numbing his arm. He spun and stabbed his knife deep into Deve's chest.

The Human bellowed in pain and stumbled backward, staying on his feet to take another shambling run at Seth who barely dodged out of his way.

"He's with the Alpha!" Khoe exclaimed. "He has the Alpha! Don't kill him. Please don't kill him!"

Too late. Deve pounced and Seth thrust the knife forward, feeling it slip between two ribs to find the man's heart. He sidestepped the heavy body as Deve crashed to the ground, his groans bringing bubbles of blood to his lips.

"Don't let him go!" Khoe cried.

Bewildered, still breathing in harsh gasps, Seth crouched and put his hands on the Human's wound. There was nothing here to stop the bleeding. He felt a surge of energy trickle through his fingers, barely there, and then the dying man gave up, taking his invader with him.

Seth came to his feet and looked up to see that the control displays on the containment system had calmed. Only a steady hum remained. He couldn't remember if it had hummed before. "Do you have it?" he said to Khoe. "The Alpha. Is it there?"

"Wait."

She finally shimmered into view, looking like she always did, with long braids tangled around her shoulders and a pretty smile on her lips. But she hovered uncertainly in his mind, weakened by her isolation, deprived of the energy she needed to draw from him.

Seth pulled her into his arms, needing to assure himself that she was really here. "I thought I lost you." He kissed her and then kissed her again.

"I'm back in your head. It feels so good!" She gave him a confused half-smile. "I'm not sure that was the plan. Was it?"

"No. But I need you in there. Don't leave."

"What are you saying?"

He drew back, as surprised by his words as she was. "I guess I meant that. I just about died when I realized you were gone." He stroked her pale cheek with his thumb. "I'm a Dyad now. I want you with me. Here in real-space."

She smiled hesitantly. "You want me to stay? With you? That's big." When he seemed at a loss for words she looked around. "Are those people dead? Where are we? What is this place?"

"We've gone through subspace and brought out more of your kind. It didn't go well. You need to get into the doctor's program. Download what you find to the _Dutchman_ and then wipe it out. Everything. Then figure out a way to shut the transmission down."

"That resonance is created by the Alpha. You can't shut that down."

"His assistant said something about changing the frequency they were using to capture your people. It's the way they separated you and me. See if you can find that. If that's not possible, maybe we can get at least the Alpha back home. It's not fused with anyone."

She nodded and shifted her attention to the lab's processors. "I'll write a program that'll drop the shielding on it as soon as we're in subspace. Once it's back home it'll stop others from leaving."

The _Stoyan_ shuddered when a warning shot from the Ghoster glanced off her minimal shielding. Seth headed for the main corridor leading to the cockpit. "Air Command is coming for us," he explained. "We need to get out of here now. They won't let us jump."

"Want to see if I can deflect their guns?"

He turned to her to see if she was joking when something in the dim passage caught his eye. "Caelyn!" Seth rushed to the air lock where one of the medics knelt beside the Delphian. He sagged against the wall, holding a bloodied bandage to his head.

"Next time, Centauri..." he began when he saw Seth.

"Yes, I know. Remind you to stay home. We need to jump back right now. Are you up to it? Khoe is feeling a bit wobbly."

Caelyn came to his feet, aided by the medic and Seth. "Khoe? I thought she's gone."

"I got her back! I was scared green for a while."

"Why?" Caelyn peered into Seth's face, acquainted with the species well enough to read his expression. "Gods, Sethran. Don't tell me you fell for the girl!"

Seth shrugged and grinned with a sidelong glance at Khoe.

"Listen to me. She can't stay with you. Quine said—"

A tremendous blast off the portside of the ship nearly threw them off their feet. Seth hustled the Delphian into the cockpit where he rather impolitely shoved the captain out of his bench. The man barely blinked when he slid to the floor and Caelyn took his seat.

"Come on! Air Command isn't going to play much longer. Can you get us some juice, Khoe?" Seth closed the cockpit door, grateful that the medic had dragged the dead com officer away with him.

She was already pouring every bit of the ship's energy into coaxing top speed out of the vessel. Caelyn brought the _Stoyan_ into its trajectory to the keyhole. "I don't know if we can keep this up. That Union ship is going to overtake us."

Seth tipped the catatonic navigator out of his chair and dropped into it. "We have one chance. And only if you get that resonance worked out."

"Sethran," Caelyn said. "Wait."

"We have no time to wait!"

Khoe floated into Seth's lap and tipped her head in Caelyn's direction. "Tell him not to worry."

"Huh?"

"Please."

Seth looked from her to Caelyn. "She said for you not to worry."

Caelyn seemed just as confused for a moment. Then his brow smoothed. "Oh." He leaned back into the ship's headset and busied himself with the cockpit controls. "All right, then." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Not a tough jump if the shields hold. I have my doubts about that, though. Are you ready?"

"He's a good friend," Khoe said. "You shouldn't get him into so much trouble." Her eyes grew distant when she returned her attention to the Alpha. "It's so beautiful," she murmured. Her smile became radiant. "And so simple."

"What is?"

"The Alpha. Its harmony. I understand the resonance we need to separate the Dyads again. Oh, Seth, we can do this! We can send them all home."

"Let's do this, Caelyn," Seth said. Slowly, the keyhole before them expanded. Khoe gripped his arm when another volley from the Air Command ship blasted their failing shields.

Seth flipped an overhead control. "Prepare for jump," he warned the others aboard. "Brace for impact," he added belatedly.

"Going negative."

Khoe cut off the strident voice of the officer who continued to nag them to stand down and be boarded. The cockpit fell silent when they reached the threshold into the void.

"Thank you," she said to Seth. He felt her soft lips brush over his. "It's so hard to understand from your books, but I think I got to feel love."

His smile was short-lived when he saw her tears. "Khoe..."

"I can't stay with you," she said. "The Alpha is with me now. I had to take it from that man or we would have lost it. It is the only way. I will make sure my people are safe." She ran her fingers through his hair. "And yours, Sethran. Without the Alpha here we will both die. I know that now."

"Khoe, no." Seth felt the air punched out of his lungs. "There has to be a way."

She kissed him again and the touch lingered when they entered the breach. The Big Empty. Where no sound or light existed. Where reality ended and only a growing terror remained when all senses failed.

And yet he perceived an eerie note thrumming through every atom that made up the ship and their bodies. It was both sound and color and it was beautiful. So immeasurably beautiful without form or dimension or any of the things she had found so fascinating in his world. He sighed, possessed by a sudden, painful longing to stay here, too. He felt her withdraw to expand into some infinite vastness even as he still saw her before him, fading.

Then she slipped away, releasing his mind with a gentle whisper as she drifted out of view. The last thing he felt was her smile.

# Epilogue

From up here, it was almost possible to believe that no other place existed.

Seth propped his elbows on the sun-warmed stone parapet of the tower and gazed out over the valley to Magra's endless horizon, moving from mountain wilderness to lush farmland and finally to the ocean itself. The spires of Magra Alaric's towns rose glittering in the distance like smooth stalagmites reaching for the sky. One could imagine that the ships buzzing around those spires looking for places to land were birds coming home to roost. He closed his eyes to smell the trees and let the sound of the wind fill his mind.

"Not going to jump, are you?"

Seth smiled when Caelyn came to stand beside him. He looked down to the foot of the research tower, pleased to find that the last of the annoying vertigo had finally released him. The headaches, too, had ended. "One gets tired of all these stairs, Delphi."

"That's why we've installed the elevator, Centauri," Caelyn replied. "Shan Quine sends greetings. He came by Delphi the day I was leaving."

Seth took a closer look at Caelyn's hands resting on the stone wall. "They did a good job with that."

Caelyn lifted his hand and slowly closed and opened it again. It obeyed his mental commands to pick up a tiny sliver of stone from the parapet and move it deftly between his fingers. The engineers had matched his other hand down to the texture of his hairless skin and the blue cast of his fingernails. "It's almost like it belongs there," he said.

Seth watched him for a while, feeling an unpleasant mix of guilt and a bizarre, unreasonable envy at seeing Caelyn's loss replaced while his own would never be.

"I didn't think I'd still find you here," Caelyn said.

"Would have been gone but Shan Saias said you were coming back early so I thought I'd wait to have a look at that paw. It's amazing work."

"It is. And you? How's the head?"

"Back where it belongs." Seth did not look at Caelyn when he said that. Quine had arranged for another Shantir, one schooled in the ancient Delphian methods of dealing with neurological conditions, to attend him here at the tower. Out of reach of Union interference and out of sight of Air Command, Seth allowed him to heal the physical scars left by Khoe on his brain. The ones left by her on his mind would probably never heal and he didn't even mind that very much.

Some strange ghost of Khoe still haunted his thoughts now, weeks after leaving Csonne in Air Command custody. At times he almost saw her face or felt her smile tickle something deep inside his head. She was not the first woman to have touched him this profoundly but none had left him as empty and rudderless as she had.

He berated himself for having fallen like a schoolboy for the strange being who excited his mind and had done incredible things to his body. They had shared a few thrilling days of his life, but she was gone now and it was time to get back aboard the _Dutchman_. But still he loitered here, among these kind but distant people, reluctant to face the empty space waiting for him inside his ship.

But more than that, and not something he tried to express even to the Delphian Shantir, was the certain feeling that Khoe had not left him as he once was. For a short while, he had been someone else, a member of a strange new species who might never be seen out here again. What he had not realized at the time was that he had, for those moments, completely embraced the change, relinquished whatever it was that made him Centauri. He had lost himself and it didn't even hurt. Perhaps a piece of her still lodged in his brain or maybe it was that brief glimpse of subspace that filled him with a peculiar sense of _otherness_.

"Shan Chion detected some strange structures still in my head that they can't figure out, but it doesn't seem to cause any problems."

"Structures?"

"Yeah. Maybe some part of Khoe's neural net." He tossed a stone chip off the parapet and watched it disappear among the trees below. "It's just there. Nothing that'll let me hack into rebel networks, unfortunately."

"I was about to ask."

"I'll stop by the enclave on Delphi if Quine can talk them into taking a look. They seem interested. But it'll mean landing the _Dutchman_ on the Air Command base there. So that might be a while."

"Don't leave it too long." He regarded Seth for a while before speaking again. "I worry, my friend. She's still on your mind."

"Nothing to worry about. She's not the first woman to dump me. Won't be the last."

"She was not just any woman."

"No, not _just_."

"She would have killed you if she'd stayed. Or destroyed her own kind if you'd kept the Alpha here. That isn't a choice."

Seth nodded. Shan Saias had spent many hours poring over Reylan Tague's rambling notes and reviewing the Delphian research that had originally discovered Khoe's strange species. Rushed, blemished by speculation and guesswork, Tague's work offered a few more insights into the formation of the Dyad here in real-space. All of it depended on the presence of the Alpha either here or in subspace but not both.

It was only behind closed doors, in collaboration with Targon's own physicists, that the possibility of more than one Alpha was raised. Such an event was likely a necessity if Khoe's species were to survive and thrive, but what did that, eventually, mean for real-space inhabitants?

"At least you can say that, for a few days, you were a member of a whole new species."

"Can't," Seth said. "Classified, remember?"

Caelyn laughed. "So you're heading out now?"

"Tonight. I'm going to meet Colonel Carras on Aikhor."

"Carras! The Vanguard commander? I'd think you'd want to avoid him for a while."

"All is forgiven, apparently. Vanguard agents don't exactly enjoy a long lifespan."

"You trust him?"

Seth turned his back to the valley and leaned against the parapet to look up at the glittering antenna array above them. A row of gray-plumed birds peered back down. "Yeah. I do. He's the one who pointed out to Air Command that I got those people back safely. At least the ones that survived the first trip."

"Nothing said about stopping an alien species from invading Trans-Targon?"

"Nothing they'll admit to. Carras is going to make me an offer, I think."

Caelyn raised an eyebrow. "Will you accept?"

Seth shrugged. "I'll see what he has to say." He grinned. "Probably their way of keeping tabs on me."

"Clever. I'm sure getting back into some sort of mischief is exactly what you need right now, Centauri."

"You're damn right, Delphi."

### Thank you for reading Quantum Tangle.

Seth returns in Terminus Shift - Available Now. He also stars in The Catalyst and makes an appearance in one or two Targon Tales.

Click here if you would like to be notified about new releases.

# Starshine

### Aurora Rising: Book One

By

G. S. Jennsen

**Space is vast and untamed, and it holds many secrets.** _Now two individuals from opposite ends of settled space are on a collision course with the darkest of those secrets, even as the world threatens to explode around them._

The year is 2322. Humanity has expanded into the stars, inhabiting over 100 worlds across a third of the galaxy. Though thriving as never before, they have discovered neither alien life nor the key to utopia. Earth struggles to retain authority over far-flung planets and free-wheeling corporations while an uneasy armistice with a breakaway federation hangs by a thread as the former rebels rise in wealth and power.

Alexis Solovy is Earth Alliance royalty, her father a fallen war hero and her mother an influential military leader. But she seeks only the freedom of space and has made a fortune by reading the patterns in the chaos to discover the hidden wonders of the stars.

Nothing about her latest objective suggests the secret it conceals will turn her life— not to mention the entire galaxy—upside down. But a chance encounter with a mysterious spy leads to a discovery which will thrust Alex into the middle of a galactic power struggle and a sinister conspiracy, whether she likes it or not.

**When faced with its greatest challenge, will humanity rise to triumph or fall to ruin?**

_Aurora Rising_ is an epic tale of galaxy-spanning adventure, of the thrill of discovery and the unquenchable desire to reach ever farther into the unknown. It's a tale of humanity at its best and worst, of love and loss, of fear and heroism. It's the story of a woman who sought the stars and found more than anyone imagined possible.

# Colonized Milky Way

_(View Online at http://www.gsjennsen.com/map)_

# Prologue

The end of the world began with a library query.

...or perhaps it was the space probe. The alien was being vexingly reticent on the matter, the man thought as he straightened his dinner jacket in the mirror.

"She is hardly the first person to express an interest in that region of space. Why are you so worried about her when the others didn't concern you?"

_The others did concern us, but they were deflected with little difficulty. This woman, however, has exhibited a notable talent for discovering what others cannot. As such, we would prefer she never look._

The man smoothed out a crease in one of the sleeves then fastened the antique pearl cufflinks, an heirloom passed down to him from a grandfather that never was. "Do you want me to have her killed?"

_Not unless alternative methods are unsuccessful. Her death could cause the opposite effect of drawing further unwanted attention._

The man nodded cursorily and stepped out of the washroom, crossing his spacious office to the windows lining the far wall. "Very well. I'll work to ensure she's distracted from this pursuit. What about the Senecans?"

_They are a more troublesome problem as they have already discovered an anomaly exists. They will send others to investigate._

From the top floor of the Earth Alliance Headquarters building the man could see guests beginning to arrive in the gardens below. Another ten minutes and it would be appropriate for him to join them. He frowned, brushing a piece of lint off his lapel before he turned from the windows to face where the alien might have stood, were he actually here. "You know there's little I can do about them for the moment."

_You needn't concern yourself with the matter. Other resources are at our disposal._

"I'm sure. And remember, you only need stall them for a short while. Soon _everyone_ will be distracted, and humanity will be focused inward for quite some time."

_Go forward with your plan. We hope you accomplish your objectives. Nonetheless, events are converging rapidly and they are not all within your control. Escalation may be unavoidable._

The man pulsed his wife to let her know he would meet her in the lobby shortly. "At least give me the opportunity to alter our course before you act. It won't be long now."

_Certainly. Know, however, that the precipice is upon you; it may already have been crossed._

_Preparations have begun._

# Part 1

### DOMINOES

_"There are two kinds of light –_

_the glow that illuminates, and the glare that obscures."_

* * *

_— James Thurber_

# 1 Earth

### Seattle

"Alex, I'm ready when you are."

"One more second...okay, Charlie, go ahead." The muffled response came from within the hull.

The young mechanic wove the crystalline fiber of a conduit into the power control grid. It took only seconds. He squinted into the magnification overlay to confirm the contact points. "All set."

"Here goes nothing."

Colonel Richard Navick watched from the entry of the hangar bay as a shimmer passed over the smooth, midnight black exterior of the ship.

Even marred by the docking clamps, the _Siyane_ was sleek and graceful, with sweeping curves that converged on acute edges. Technical instruments and sensors were tucked discreetly under the wing-like midsection while the sLume drive was an elusive shadow beneath the tapered tail. The elegant lines disguised its size. Fully forty-two meters from bow to stern, it was enormous—at least for a personal scout ship.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence and stepped into the bay. "Alex, are you in there somewhere?"

A head dropped out of the belly of the ship. It was upside down and encircled by the orbiting screens of a holographic interface. "Richard, is that you?"

"Guilty as charged."

A pair of long legs appeared next as she swung out of the exposed engineering well and dropped a meter to land nimbly on the floor of the bay. The interface winked out of existence.

He was struck—as he always was after he hadn't seen her for some time—by how much she looked like her father. Tall and slender, with high, distinctive cheekbones and bright silver-gray eyes, she cut almost as dramatic a figure as David Solovy once had. In fact, the sole feature of note she had inherited from her mother was the thick, dark mane of hair. Whereas David's had been dusky blond, hers was the color of fine aged Bordeaux.

It was also currently twisted up in a messy knot, flyaway strands escaping to soften her features. She wiped streaks of a viscous gel off her hands and onto snug black workpants as she jogged over.

When she reached him she embraced him in a quick hug born of years of familiarity. "It's been too long, Richard."

"If you would stay in this sector for longer than a week at a time, I might actually get to see you once in a while."

Her eyes rolled a little as she settled onto her back leg. "Ah, no can do, I'm afraid. All the fun's out there." A corner of her mouth quirked up in a tease of a grin. He believed her.

"So I hear. All the money too, apparently." He canted his head toward the gleaming hull.

Her face instantly lit up; it often did when she was talking about her ship. "I just painted on a new f-graphene alloy lattice. It will reduce drag by another twelve percent, which will mean faster travel using less fuel."

"Nice...." The reduction from pico- to femto-scale alloys had only become commercially available nine months earlier; he shuddered to think of the credits she must have forked over for the new lattice. "We should have the budget to roll those out to the fleet in a decade or so."

She shrugged as if to say 'your loss' and met his gaze. For most people it would have been an uncomfortable experience. "So is this a social call? As glad as I am to see you—and I really am—I'm kind of in the middle of installing a stealth system upgrade. We could maybe have dinner this evening if you'd like?"

He mentally braced himself for the reaction he knew would be coming. "You caught me. It's not entirely a social call. Your mother wants you to come by the office if you have any free time this afternoon."

Her pupils constricted, the tiny flash of an ocular implant a hint she was checking her comms. They quickly focused back on him, bearing more than a little less warmth. "I don't have a message from her."

"I know. She thought the likelihood of you responding would increase considerably if I came in person."

An eyebrow arched. "She have you running her errands for her now? Isn't that a bit below your pay grade?"

"No. I _volunteered_ , because I wanted to see you."

She smiled with what he recognized as kindness, but it was transitory to her glance over her shoulder at the ship that dominated the hanger. "Well, sorry, but I can't. I have to run diagnostics on the new dampener field and recalibrate the power system ratios. Assuming everything tests out okay, then I have to secure the fiber line to the hull and shield it."

His gaze flitted pointedly to the young man swinging in a harness near the stern of the ship. "Can't your mechanic do some of those things for you?"

At her deepening frown his brow creased in beseechment. "Please? For me? It'll only take an hour or two, and it..." he knew saying it would make her mother happy would be counterproductive "...will make my life rather easier."

Her eyes narrowed; her arms stiffened against her chest to complete the impression of staunch resoluteness. But this was not the first time he had faced down her defiant glare. He relaxed his posture, softened his expression and met her scowl with a pleasant smile.

After several seconds she exhaled to striking effect, all the tension leaving her body with the exaggerated breath. For just a moment she reminded him of the impish little girl she had once been.

" _Fine_. For you. I'm going to regret it, though."

Alex stared out the window of the skycar while they cruised above Puget Sound before veering northwest over the Strait toward Vancouver Island. The unbroken line of skyscrapers to the right shone in the late morning sun from horizon to horizon, all polished silvers and whites flecked by deep green where the scrupulously maintained trees and numerous parks peeked through.

It was and had always been a beautiful view...but she was being a poor companion. She gave up steeling herself for what was sure to be the latest in a long line of unpleasant visits with her mother and shifted from the window to look at Richard.

Her parents' oldest and closest friend, she had known him for as long as she could recall, which was to say about thirty-five years. He was one of the very few people who had consistently accepted her for who and what she was—didn't want _more_ from her, didn't helpfully suggest what her life _should_ be like, didn't _tsk_ disapprovingly at even her most unorthodox activities.

"So what's new with you? Work okay? How's Will doing?"

He relaxed in his seat and let the car auto-navigate the crowded airlanes. "Will is good, but busy. He's been on Shi Shen for the last month overseeing the construction of the new Suiren headquarters and finally got home day before yesterday. I'll tell him you said hello."

The muscles in his jaw clenched briefly, which was generally the extent of his outward signals of displeasure. "Work is rather tense, what with the Trade Summit coming up."

She gave him a blank look. "What is a Trade Summit and why is it coming up? Help me out here...."

"Right, you don't spend much time obsessing about the oh-so-fascinating machinations of galactic politics. The Trade Minister and his entourage will be attending a conference with the Senecan Trade Director—at a carefully selected neutral location naturally, on Atlantis." He sighed, his gaze drifting upward to grimace at the heavens. "It's ostensibly an olive branch intended to thaw relations with the Federation a bit, but I'm afraid in reality it's going to be little more than a media circus."

"And your people will be spying on the Senecan delegation, hacking their data streams every chance they get while fending off the same from their agents." Her teasing smirk served to emphasize the point.

His mouth worked to suppress a grin but mostly failed. "I can neither confirm nor deny any such suppositions on the grounds it would violate Earth Alliance security."

" _Of course..._." The car dropped through a thin layer of mist which hadn't yet burned off and skimmed above the choppy waves as the sprawling Earth Alliance Strategic Command complex came into view.

Stretching for three square kilometers across the southernmost tip of the Island, a network of midrise buildings, plazas and hangars fanned out from the towering structure that constituted the headquarters for what were, as a group, the most powerful men and women in the settled Milky Way. For better or worse, this included the EASC Director of Operations.

She could feel her expression tightening with every meter of their descent onto the open platform jutting out a third of the way up the headquarters building. "So how _is_ the Admiral these days? As cheery as ever?"

He shook his head wryly, killed the engine and climbed out of the car. "She's the same as usual, busily supervising the entire organization while breaking in yet another new secretary."

"Lovely." She matched his stride to the glass-floored lift, not bothering to grasp the rail as it whisked them up a quarter kilometer to the command staff offices which comprised the top ten floors. After they had cleared the security scanners and were inside, she turned to him.

Though her mood was already darkening beneath the shadow of the looming encounter, she forced herself to smile with genuine warmth. "You better get on out of here before I start blaming you for ruining my day, especially when it _was_ good to see you."

He laughed and patted her on the shoulder then headed toward his office down the opposite hall. "Try not to be too much of a stranger, okay?"

She waved him off as she crossed the overly bright atrium and stepped through the wide doorway into the EASC Operations suite.

The man behind the desk glanced up as she approached. After a blink his eyes widened precipitously. "You're _her_ , aren't you? Ms—I mean Captain—Solovy. Ma'am."

She draped an arm on the high counter. "It's not a military title. 'Ms.' is fine. Would you please let my mother know I have answered her summons and eagerly await being granted the favor of an audience?"

The man—a 2nd Lieutenant according to the bars on his uniform—stared at her in horror, brow furrowing and unfurrowing in mounting panic. "Um, do you want me to say that, specifically, ma'am? I'm not certain the Admiral will—"

"Just tell her that her daughter is here."

"Absolutely. Right away."

She wandered over to inspect the newest addition to the artwork decorating the lobby. This secretary was unlikely to last any longer than the last one had. Even the most hardened soldier wilted in the face of her mother's disapproving glare.

She was pondering how many credits the military must have wasted on the spectacularly bad hack Picasso rip-off when the secretary informed her she could go in now. She walked in the large but spartan office to observe without surprise that nothing about it had changed in the near year since she had last visited.

Admiral Miriam Solovy didn't immediately turn her attention from the display panel in her hand. Her hair was drawn back in a severe bun; her uniform was crisp, its buttons spit-polished. When her gaze did rise to acknowledge Alex's presence, a tight, thin facsimile of a smile passed across her face for the minimum time required. "You look a wreck."

Ah, as kind and doting as always. She shrugged. "I was working."

"I see. Would you like some tea?"

"Water's fine," which she proceeded to go to the cabinet and get herself.

"How are you, dear?"

Alex took a long sip from the marbled glass tumbler and leaned in deliberate casualness beside the teak bookcase filled with antique texts on military and political history. "Fine. Busy. You?"

The tiny vein in her mother's left temple pulsed. She traded the screen for a teacup. "As well as can be expected. The Fionava Province has been a nuisance of late. I would share the details with you, but of course the parking attendant has a higher security clearance than you do."

The tenor with which the statement was delivered seemed to imply it was somehow a failing on her part. "Alas."

Miriam took a slow, measured sip of her tea then stared pensively into the dainty cup, as though it would magically supply her a suitable topic for small talk. "I ran into Malcolm at the Cascades Memorial Charity Auction last week. And met his new wife."

She needed a wiser teacup. Alex raised a studiously unimpressed eyebrow. "I'm sure she was lovely."

"Not so lovely as you, I must say, but attractive enough. He asked about you."

Her eyes flickered over to the window _...shit_. She bit back a cringe at the display of weakness, not wanting to compound the error. "And what did you tell him?"

"The truth—that you're still gallivanting around the galaxy, raking in millions and pouring it all back into that damnable ship of yours." She paused, undoubtedly for dramatic effect. "I do believe he looked a little morose at the notion."

Alex groaned and plopped down in the hard, purposefully uncomfortable chair opposite the desk. She pulled one knee up to hug against her chest. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you didn't ask me here in order to throw failed love affairs in my face. It's a long list and I haven't the time. What do you want?"

Miriam placed the teacup on the hutch behind her and sat as well, rigid-straight spine not touching the back of the comparably luxurious chair. "I can't simply want to spend time with my only child?"

"You can—but you don't."

Her mother's shoulders squared with military precision, an indication she wouldn't argue the point. "Very well. I asked you here to share a wonderful opportunity for you. The Minister for Extra-Solar Development contacted me yesterday. He finds himself with a vacancy in his department. Apparently the Director of Deep Space Exploration is resigning to 'pursue other endeavors,' and the Minister would like to offer the post to you."

A flashing pinpoint of light in the corner of Alex's eVi signaled the delivery of the diagnostics she had set to run before departing the hangar. Her right pupil constricted to start the results scrolling on her whisper. "Prestigious position."

If her mother noticed the somewhat unfocused nature of her gaze, she hid it well. "It's not nepotism. While you lack oversight experience, you're otherwise more than qualified."

"More qualified than the parking attendant at least." The whisper blurred out of focus and auto-paused as she directed a sharpened gaze toward the woman on the other side of the desk. Her mother couldn't seem to decide whether to scowl or laugh; the result was an uncommonly animated expression. "But what exactly of everything you know about me says 'government desk job'?"

"It's not a desk job. You'll need to travel to evaluate new discoveries several times a year, I'm quite sure."

"Several times a _ye—_ " her nose scrunched up in disdain "—you know what, never mind."

"So you'll consider it then."

The whisper snapped back into focus...she frowned at the percentages displayed. A blink and a small aural materialized, and the diagnostics data began flowing in greater precision and detail twelve centimeters beyond her right eye. "No."

Her mother's jaw clacked shut at the response. Or because of the aural. Possibly both. "I didn't say accept it unconditionally, merely consider it."

Damn, there must be a power leak somewhere along the fiber. She pulsed Charlie to send the bot in to inspect the line. The dampener had to be a minimum of twenty-eight percent more effective or it wasn't worth the diamond picocrystals which generated it. Her last find had almost been snaked out from under her because Terrence Macolly, too much of a lazy ass to do his own work, had tracked her emission signature and followed her into the asteroid ring orbiting Delta Lacertae. She didn't intend to risk a repeat intrusion. "No."

"Alexis—"

Her mouth twitched, though her focus didn't shift from the data this time. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

"I have every right to call you by your birth name. I am the one who gave it to you after all."

Alex spared a brief, withering glance. Her mother's eyes were averted downward, ostensibly studying the patterns of foam in her tea, perchance for more lousy ideas. When she spoke again, her tone was softer and no longer quite the voice of The Admiral.

"Your father was the first one to call you 'Alex.'"

She shut off the aural in frustration. "Don't you think I _know_ that?"

"Yes, well." Miriam's chin notched upward. "I think you should reconsider the Minister's offer. It is a position of some prominence and will provide a measure of stability you could benefit from."

She snorted. "I realize you're used to dictating people's lives to them around here, but you _don't_ get to make my decisions for me. You haven't for a long, long time."

Miriam nodded with measured grace, appearing to acknowledge for the moment, Alex had the upper hand. "Perhaps it was...inconsiderate of me to insist you come here."

"To order Richard to deliver your summons and drag me before you, you mean?"

She raised a hand in mild protest. "Richard wanted the chance to see you. I hope you don't blame him for any unpleasantness."

"Oh, I don't. I blame you."

To her credit, her mother was nearly impossible to provoke. If anything, her expression softened in response to the barb. "I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life. But I worry about you, out there all alone in deep space. That ship of yours is too powerful for one person to handle."

Yet even in her attempt at kindness or at least civility, she managed to choose the exact wrong thing to say.

Deep down, Alex knew it probably wasn't intentional. But there was too much—too many hateful words and spiteful reactions to them, too much water under a broken bridge—and she had no desire to grasp at a tenuous thread only to have it fray and dissolve like all the others.

"The past eight years would beg to differ with you. With all due respect, you have no idea just how much I can handle." She stood abruptly. "Is there anything else?"

"No. Not when you won't listen to reason."

She didn't rise to the bait. She simply wanted to be gone. "If you'd like, I will send a graciously worded response to the Minister thanking him for the honor of considering me but regretfully declining due to other obligations."

"That won't be necessary. I'll inform him."

"Suit yourself." She pivoted and headed for the door.

"Alexis?"

She paused mid-stride—an inborn response to a mother's plea—but didn't look back.

"At least be careful out there."

A tight nod and she was gone.

It was well past twenty-three hundred when Alex got home. The bot had found two micro-imperfections in the fiber which had to be rewoven. Then the diagnostics had to be run again, the ware re-modded, and the power system ratios recalibrated _again_ before she closed the ship up for the night. Securing the line to the hull and shielding it would have to wait until the morning.

She opened a bottle of Swiss cabernet and left it to breathe while she ran through the shower, then combed out her hair and slipped on a silk robe to wear back downstairs.

A glass of the cabernet in hand, she stepped out onto the balcony. The glittering night lights of the city spread out beneath her, the light reflecting off the full moon mirrored in the Sound beyond.

She didn't pour all her profits into her ship. The loft eighty stories above downtown had cost more than a few credits; the custom tech installed in it nearly as much again. Though she was only here maybe three months out of a given year, she wasn't above enjoying at least a few of the finer things her income now afforded her.

As the glass touched her lips her thoughts drifted to Malcolm. She hadn't done so in some time, but after the mention of him today quite a few memories had crept to the forefront of her mind. Most of them were good...she had loved him, after all.

But according to him she loved her ship more, and that was something he couldn't accept. And since he was mostly right, she hadn't fought him when he left.

She had missed him for a while, missed his warm smile and tender yet expert touch. But she had also welcomed the absence of the invisible leash which had tugged her back to Earth more often than she liked, which had whispered of duties to another and required explanations and justifications for every excursion. And eventually even the good memories had faded into the background, replaced by the thrill of new endeavors.

Her thoughts continued to linger on the past as she walked inside and her gaze fell to the far wall of the open room that constituted the entirety of the loft, save for the kitchen and the elevated sleeping area overlooking the main floor.

It was decorated in visuals she had captured in her travels across the galaxy. They included a supernova in bright, perpetual explosion, a comet on a flyby of a crescent moon, the slow pulse of a ghostly blue and lavender nebula and the gamma flare of a neutron star.

Those and others framed the centerpiece of the wall: a panoramic side-on image of the Milky Way, taken far from the light pollution of any suns or haze of any nebulae. Trillions of stars shone and sparkled to converge on the brilliance of the galactic core.

Malcolm hadn't been exactly right. Yes, she loved her ship more than she had loved him. But what she loved even more was what it gave her: freedom, and the key to the marvels of space. It gave her the stars, and she doubted she could ever love anything or anyone more than she loved the stars.

Speaking of...she refilled her glass and settled onto the couch. She sent a passcode to the control interface and the opposite wall dissolved into a three-dimensional holo of the nearest quadrant of the galaxy. A slight wave of her hand and it zoomed into the Metis Nebula and its environs.

Near to but definitively outside Federation-controlled territory and on the outer edge of explored space, it would take her five days to reach the periphery—far less time than most, but still a trek. It was an allegedly uninteresting, ordinary plerion wrapped in an ancient, gas-heavy supernova remnant which had stubbornly refused to dissipate into the interstellar medium.

But she had made a small fortune by seeing what others did not. The 'experts' had said the Lacertae asteroid ring was nothing but dead rocks until she had found the ultra-rare heavy metals in the cores of the largest ones. Now Astral Materials was using it to develop frames for space stations they claimed would be strong enough to withstand a Type Ia supernova shockwave.

The golden-blue glow of Metis had caught her attention several excursions ago and had danced and thrummed at the edge of her consciousness ever since. Now flush with the considerable proceeds of the Lacertae find and the resultant ship upgrades, she figured she could afford to indulge a hunch for a month or so.

Her eyes widened deliberately, pupils dilated and ocular implant flashing as she simultaneously reviewed the data she had pulled in her library query of the scientific archives—which was appallingly sparse—scrolling up her eVi, the rotating full-spectrum image of the Nebula, and her own data flowing alongside it.

"Well, you lovely, mysterious Metis...what secrets do you have to show me?"

# 2 Seneca

### Cavare, Capital of the Senecan Federation

_The kinetic blade slid into the man's throat like a knife through butter. Caleb held him securely from behind as the blood began to flow and the man jerked and spasmed._

_He generally preferred clean, painless deaths. But he wanted to watch this man die, and die slowly._

_When the man had lost all motor function, Caleb dumped him onto the desk and flipped him over. Eyes wide with fear, confusion and outrage met his. The man's lips contorted in a caricature of speech, though no words came out._

_He had a good idea of the intended utterance._ Why. _It was a question easily answered. Vengeance._

_"Justice."_

_As the pool of blood spread across the desk and formed waterfalls to the floor below, the eyes belonging to the leader of the Humans Against Artificials terrorist organization glazed over. The last spark of life within them dimmed, then went out._

_One down._

Caleb Marano stepped out of the spaceport into the cyan-tinged glow of a late afternoon sun reflecting off the polished marble tiles of the plaza. The chill breeze caressing his skin felt like a welcome home. Cavare was always cool and often cold; Krysk had been a veritable oven by comparison.

He descended the first set of stairs and angled toward the corner to get clear of the bustling thoroughfare, then relaxed beside the ledge to wait for his companions.

Isabela exited the spaceport a moment later. She held a bag in one arm and a fidgeting bundle of arms, legs and long, dark curls in the other. She looked disturbingly 'momish' as she struggled to brush out Marlee's tangled hair—but he could remember when she had _been_ that little girl with long, dark curls...and it wasn't so long ago.

With a groan she gave up the futile endeavor and allowed her daughter to escape her grasp and make a beeline for Caleb.

He crouched to meet Marlee at eye level. She plowed into him with almost enough force to knock him over backwards. He would've laughed but for the forlorn look in her pale turquoise eyes.

"Do you have to go away now, Uncle Caleb?"

He tousled her curls into further disarray. "Yeah, I'm afraid I have to go back to work. But it sure was great spending my vacation with you. I learned a _lot_."

She wore her best serious face as she nodded sagely. "You had a lot to learn."

He grinned and leaned in to whisper to his co-conspirator. "You remember what all we talked about, right?"

Her eyes were wide and honest. "Uh-huh."

"Good. Want one more ride before I go?"

Her head bobbed up and down with gusto, instantly that of a carefree child again.

"Okay." He scooped her up in his arms and stood, made certain he had a solid grasp of her tiny waist, and began to spin around with accelerating speed. Her arms and legs dangled free to swing through the air while she cackled in delight.

After another few spins he slowed—he had learned her limits during the last few weeks—letting her limbs fall against him before he came to a stop. He gave her a final squeeze and gently set her to the ground as her mother reached them.

Isabela wore a half-amused, half-exhausted expression as Marlee started running in dizzy circles around her legs. "Sorry about the hold up. They let us back on the transport and we found Mr. Freckles under the seat." She patted her bag in confirmation of the stuffed animal's now secure location. "Are you sure you don't want to have a quick dinner with us?"

He responded with a dubious smirk. "You can be polite if you like, but the truth is you are sick to death of me and counting the minutes until you are at last rid of me."

"Well, _yes_. But I never know when I'll get to see you again...." The twinkle faded from her eyes, replaced by something darker and heavier.

She knew he didn't work for a shuttle manufacturing company, and he knew that she knew. But they never, _ever_ , talked about it. Partly for her safety and his, but partly because he preferred to continue being in her mind the strong, stalwart older brother with the easygoing demeanor and wicked sense of humor, without introducing any moral grayness to the relationship dynamic.

Because he never wanted her to look at him with caution, disillusionment...or worst of all, fear.

He merely nodded in response. "I'll come visit again soon. Promise."

She reached down to pause the cyclone at her legs. "I'll hold you to it. I'm going to take Marlee to see Mom, then we'll head back home."

He leaned over the struggling cyclone to embrace her. "Thank you for the extended hospitality. I'm glad I was able to spend so much time with you."

"Anytime, I mean it," she whispered in his ear. "Stay safe."

He kept his shrug mild as he stepped away. "Of course." Not likely.

Two insistent and tearful hugs from Marlee later, they parted ways. He watched them disappear into the throng of travelers, then headed in the direction of the parking complex.

_Caleb stepped in the adjoining lavatory and washed the blood off his hands and forearms. Then he returned to the office, reached under the corner of the desk and triggered the 'Alert' panic signal—the one he had never allowed the dead man to reach. There was a surveillance cam hidden in the ceiling, and he looked up at it and smiled. He had a number of smiles in his repertoire; this was not one of the more pleasant ones._

_The commotion began as he exited the building. He quickened his stride to his bike, jumped on and fired the engine. Three men bolted out the door, two Daemons and a TSG swinging in his direction._

_It wouldn't do to get shot. A flick of his thumb and the bike burst out of the parking slot. He laid it down as laser fire sliced barely a meter overhead, his leg hovering centimeters above the ground while he slid around the corner and onto the cross-street._

_He heard them giving chase almost immediately. So late in the night the street and air traffic was sparse, which was one reason he had begun the op when he did. It reduced the chances of his pursuers taking out innocent bystanders—and gave them a clearer line of sight to him. He wanted to make certain they knew where he was going before he left them behind._

_Their surface vehicles didn't stand a chance of matching his speed and it would look suspicious if he slowed...but as anticipated, they had grabbed a skycar. He kept an eye on it via the rearcam, making sure it succeeded in following him through two major direction shifts._

_Satisfied, he kicked the bike into its actual highest gear and accelerated right then left, fishtailing around two street corners in rapid succession. He activated the concealment shield. It didn't render him or the bike invisible, but it did make them blend into the surroundings and virtually impossible to track from the air at night._

_Then he sped toward the Bahia Mar spaceport. After all, he did need to get there ahead of them._

Tiny flecks of light sparkled in the night-darkened waters of the Fuori River as Caleb pulled in the small surface lot. It was nearly empty, as most people took the levtrams to the entertainment district and had no need of parking.

Once the engine had purred into silence he swung a leg off the bike and glanced up. A smile ghosted across his face at the dozens of meteors streaking against the silhouette of the giant moon which dominated Seneca's sky.

He noted the time. He had a few minutes to enjoy a little stargazing, though the conditions were far from ideal here in the heart of downtown. An exanet query confirmed the meteor shower continued for eleven days. Maybe he'd have a chance to get up to the mountains before it ended.

Committed to this plan, he secured the bike in its slot. A last glance at the sky and he crossed the street and took the wide steps to the riverwalk park.

The atmosphere on the broad promenade hovered at the optimal balance between deserted and overrun by masses of people. As it was a weekend night the balance wouldn't hold for long, but for the moment it pulsed with energy while still allowing plenty of room to move about and claim your own personal space. He noted with interest the outdoor bar to the right, complete with live synth band and raised danced platform. _Not yet. Business first._

He slipped among the milling patrons until he reached a section of railing at the edge of the promenade to the southeast of the bar. Here the crowd had thinned to a few meandering couples and the music thrummed softly in the background.

The light from the skyscrapers now drowned out the light from the meteors, but he couldn't argue with the view.

A thoroughly modern city to the core, humans having initially set foot on its soil less than a century ago, Cavare glittered and shone like a sculpture newly unveiled. The reflected halo of the moon shimmered in the tranquil water as the river rippled along the wall beneath him, winding itself through the heart of the city on its way to Lake Fuori. Far to his left he could see the gleam of the first arch which marked the dramatic entrance to the lake and the luxuries it held.

It was an inspiring yet comforting view, and one he had spent close to forty years watching develop, mature and grow increasingly more lustrous. He contented himself with enjoying it while he waited for his appointment to arrive.

The message had come in the middle of dinner at his favorite Chinasian restaurant. He hadn't even had the chance to go home yet; the entirety of the belongings he had traveled with were stowed in the rear compartment of his bike. But in truth there wasn't much of consequence waiting for him at the apartment, for it was home in only the most technical sense of the word.

_Never have anything you can't walk away from._ A gem of advice imparted by a friend and mentor early on in his career, and something he had found remarkably easy to adopt.

_He stowed the bike in a nearby stall he had rented in yet another assumed name and hurried to Bay F-18. He made a brief pass through the ship to make sure the contact points on the charges were solid, then sat in the pilot's chair, kicked his feet up on the dash and crossed his hands behind his head to wait._

_They were hackers as much as terrorists. It wouldn't take them long to break the encryption to the bay. The encryption on the ship's airlock was stronger—for they would expect it to be—but not so difficult they couldn't crack it._

_Planting enough charges at the headquarters to take it out would have involved significant risk of discovery and ultimate failure. But here, he controlled every step and every action._

_The hangar bay door burst open. Three...six...eight initially. He sincerely hoped more showed up before they got into the ship._

_His wish was granted when three minutes later seven additional members of the group rushed in. The surface pursuit, he imagined. The initial arrivals were still hacking the ship lock. He gave them another two minutes._

_With a last gaze around he pulled his feet off the dash and stood. He headed through the primary compartment and below to the mid-level, opened the hatch to the engineering well, and positioned himself in the shadowy corner near the stairs._

_They wouldn't all come in at once, lest they end up shooting each other in the confusion. Three, maybe four to start, plus two to guard the airlock. They would fan out to run him to ground quickly._

_The first man descended the stairs. As his left foot hit the deck Caleb grabbed him from behind and with a fierce wrench snapped his neck. He made a point to throw the body against the stairwell so the loud clang echoed throughout the ship._

_Two down._

Caleb looked over his shoulder to see Michael Volosk striding down the steps toward him. Right on time. Everything about the man's outward demeanor projected an image of consummate professionalism, from the simple but perfectly tailored suit to the close-cropped hair to the purposeful stride.

He extended his hand in greeting as the Director of Special Operations for the Senecan Federation Division of Intelligence approached. A mouthful worthy of the highest conceit of government; but to everyone who worked there, it was simply "Division."

Volosk grasped his hand in a firm shake and took up a position along the rail beside him. "Thanks for agreeing to meet me here. I have a syncrosse rec league game down the street in twenty minutes, and if I miss another game they'll kick me off the team." He wore a slight grimace intended to hint at the many responsibilities a high-level covert intelligence official was required to juggle...then presumably realized the impression it actually conveyed, because he shifted to a shrug. "It's the only opportunity I have to blow off steam."

Caleb smiled with studied, casual charm. "It's not a problem. I just got in anyway. And if the surroundings happen to discourage prying eyes, well, I appreciate the value of discretion."

Volosk didn't bother to deny the additional reason for the choice of meeting location. "It wouldn't hurt if your coworkers didn't know you were back on the clock yet—and that's one reason I chose you. Your reputation is impressive."

He chuckled lightly and ran a hand through disheveled hair made wild by the wind. "Perhaps I'm not discrete enough, then."

"Rest assured, it's on a need-to-know basis. I realize we haven't had many opportunities to work together yet, but Samuel always spoke of you in the highest terms."

He schooled his expression to mask the emotions the statement provoked. "I'm humbled, sir. He was a good man."

"He was." Volosk's shoulders straightened with his posture—a signal he was moving right on to business, as though it didn't _matter_ how good a man Samuel had been. "What do you know about the Metis Nebula?"

Caleb's brow creased in surprise. Whatever he had been expecting, this wasn't it. _Okay. Sure._

"Well, mostly that we don't know much about it. It's outside Federation space, but we've tried to investigate it a few times—purely scientific research of course. We know there's a pulsar at the center of it, but scans return a fuzzy mess across the spectrum. Probes sent in find nothing but ionized gases and space dust. Scientists have written it off as unworthy of further study. Why?"

"You're very well informed, Agent Marano. Do a lot of scientific reading in your spare time?"

"Something like that."

"I'm sure. The information I'm sending you is Level IV Classified. Fewer than a dozen people inside and out of the government are aware of it."

He scanned the data file. In the background the synth band shifted to a slow, rhythmic number threaded by a deep, throbbing bass line. "That's...odd."

"Quite. The Astrophysics Institute sent in a state of the art, prototype deep space probe—the most sensitive one ever built, we believe. Honestly, it was solely for testing purposes. The researchers thought Metis' flat profile offered a favorable arena to run the probe through its paces. Instead it picked up what you see there.

"Obviously we need to get a handle on what this is. It came to my desk because it may represent a hostile threat. We've put a hold on any scientific expeditions until we find out the nature of the anomaly. If it _is_ hostile, the sooner we know the better we can prepare. If on the other hand it's an opportunity—perhaps a new type of exploitable energy resource—we want to bring it under our purview before the Alliance or any of the independent corporate interests learn of it."

Caleb frowned at his companion. "I understand. But to be frank, my missions are usually a bit more...physical in nature? More direct at least, and typically involving a tangible target."

"I'm aware of that. But your experience makes you one of the few people in Division both qualified to investigate this matter and carrying a security clearance high enough to allow you to do so."

It wasn't an inaccurate statement. And if he were honest with himself, it _would_ probably be best if he went a little while without getting more blood on his hands.

_He slid open the hidden compartment in the wall and climbed into the narrow passage, pushed the access closed using his foot and crawled along the sloped tunnel. When he got to the end he activated his personal concealment shield—which_ did _very nearly make him invisible—and with a deft twist released the small hatch._

_He rolled as he hit the ground to mask the sound. The lighting in the bay was purposefully dim, and he landed deep in the shadow of the hull._

_As expected, there was a ring of men guarding the exterior of the ship. He waited for the closest man to turn his back, then slipped out and moved to the corner of the bay to settle behind the storage crates he had arranged to have delivered earlier in the day._

_He was rewarded by the arrival at that moment of an additional six—no, seven—pursuers. A significant majority of the active members were now inside the hangar bay. Good enough._

_They moved to join their brethren encircling the ship—and he sent the signal._

_The walls roiled and bucked from the force of the explosion. White-hot heat blasted through his shield. The shockwave sent him to his knees even as the floor shuddered beneath him. Pieces of shrapnel speared into the wall above him and to his right. A large section of the hull shot out the open side of the bay and crashed to the street below._

_One glance at the utter wreckage of his former ship confirmed they were all dead. He climbed to his feet and crossed to the door, dodging the flaming debris and burnt, dismembered limbs. The emergency responders could be heard approaching seconds after he disappeared down the corridor._

_He didn't de-cloak until he reached the bike. He calmly fired it up, cruised out of the stall, and accelerated toward the exit._

_Mission fucking accomplished._

Caleb nodded in acceptance. "I'll need a new ship. My last one was, um, blown up."

"My understanding is that's because you blew it up." The expression on the Director's face resembled mild sardonic amusement.

He bit his lower lip in feigned chagrin, revealing what he judged to be the appropriate touch of humility. "Technically speaking."

Volosk sent another data file his way. "Regardless, it's been taken care of. Here's the file number and all the standard information, including the hangar bay of your new ship."

He ignored the mild barb and examined this data with greater scrutiny, but it appeared everything had in fact been taken care of. "Got it. This all looks fine."

"Good...there's one more thing. It's no secret with Samuel gone there's a leadership vacuum in the strategic arm of Special Operations. He believed you were quite capable of taking on a larger role. Based on your record—a few isolated excesses aside—and what I know of you, I'm inclined to agree. So while you're out there in the void, I'd encourage you to give some thought to what you truly want from this job. We can talk further when you return."

Caleb made sure his expression displayed only genuine appreciation, carefully hiding any ambivalence or disquiet. "Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir. I'll do that."

"Glad to hear it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get my ass kicked by ten other men and a cocky, VI-enhanced metal ball, after which I get to go back to the office and review the Trade Summit file for the seventeenth time this week."

He grimaced in sympathy. It was impossible to escape the growing media frenzy surrounding the conference, even with it over a week away.

Twenty-two years had passed since the end of the Crux War; it had been over and done with before he was old enough to fight. The cessation of hostilities after three years was officially called an 'armistice,' but Seneca and fourteen allied worlds had—by the only measure which mattered—won. They had their independence from the mighty Earth Alliance.

Now some politician somewhere had decided it was finally time for them to start playing nice with one another. He wished them luck, but.... "If it's all the same, I'd just as soon not be assigned to that one, sir. It's going to be a clusterfain of epic proportions."

Volosk exhaled with a weariness Caleb suspected was more real than contrived. "Don't worry, you're off the hook—wouldn't want to endanger your work by putting your face in front of so many dignitaries. _I_ , however, won't get a decent night's sleep until the damn thing's finished."

Caleb sighed in commiseration, playing along with the superficial bonding moment. It seemed the higher-ups had decided he was worthy of being nurtured, at least enough to make certain he stayed in the fold. Bureaucrats. They had no clue how to manage people; if they did, they would realize he was the last person who needed _managing_.

"Well, I'm sorry I can't help you there, sir. But I will head out on this mission once I've pulled together what I need. It should be a few days at most."

Volosk nodded, transitioning smoothly to the closing portion of the meeting. "Please report in as soon as you discover anything relevant. We need to understand what we're dealing with, and quickly."

He responded with a practiced smile, one designed to convey reassurance and comfort. "Not to worry, I'll take care of it. It's what I do." He decided it was best to leave _when I'm not blowing up three million credit ships and two dozen terrorists with them_ unsaid.

After all, he fully intended to _try_ to return this ship in one piece.

After Volosk had departed, Caleb remained by the river for a while. His outward demeanor was relaxed, save for the rapid tap of fingertips on the railing.

He had been on leave ever since the post-op debriefs for the previous assignment had wrapped up. Whether the vacation had been a reward or a punishment he wasn't entirely sure, despite Volosk's vague hint at a promotion. Nor did he particularly care. He had accomplished what he had set out to do, justice had been served—albeit with a spicy dash of vengeance—and the bad guys were all dead. But it appeared it was time to get back to work.

The serenity of the cool night breeze and river-cleansed air juxtaposed upon the pulsing thrum of the music and swelling buzz of the crowd made for an appropriate backdrop. Time to retune himself.

He had enjoyed spending time with Isabela and her family, especially getting to play the bad uncle and fill Marlee's head with rebellious and unruly ideas sure to drive her mother crazy for months. The little girl had spunk; it was his duty to encourage it.

It had been a welcome respite. But it wasn't his life.

He pushed off the railing and strolled down the promenade to the bar area. The throbbing of the bass vibrated pleasantly on his skin as he neared. He ordered a local ale and found a small standing table which had been abandoned in favor of the dance floor. He rested his elbows on it, sipped his beer and surveyed the crowd.

It was amusing, and occasionally heartbreaking, to see how people doggedly fumbled their way through encounters. All the cybernetics in the world couldn't replace real, human connection, which was likely why physical sex was still the most popular pastime in the galaxy, despite the easy availability of objectively better-than-real _passione illusoire_. Humans were social animals, and craved—

"What are you drinking?"

He glanced at the woman who had sidled up next to him. Long, razor-straight white-blond hair framed a face sculpted to perfection beyond what genetic engineering alone could achieve. A white iridescent slip minimally covered deep golden skin. Silver glyphs wound along both arms and up the sides of her neck to disappear beneath the hairline.

He smiled coolly. "I'm fine, thanks."

She dropped a hand on the table and posed herself against it. "Yes, you are. Would you like to dance?"

He suppressed a laugh at the heavy-handed come-on. "Thank you, but..." a corner of his mouth curled up "...you're not really my type."

Her eyes shone with polished confidence. She believed she was in control. How _cute_.

"I can be any type you want me to be." The glyphs glowed briefly as her hair morphed to black, her makeup softened and her skin tone paled.

So that's what the glyphs were for. A waste of credits born of a desperate need to be wanted. He gave the woman a shrug and shook his head. "No thanks."

She scowled in frustration; it marred the perfect features into ugliness. "Why not? What the hell _is_ your type?"

He took a last sip of his beer and dropped the empty bottle on the table. "Real."

He walked away without looking back.

# 3 Erisen

### Earth Alliance Colony

Twelve screens hovered in a grid pattern above Kennedy Rossi's desk.

She regarded them with a critical eye. Her head tilted to the left, then the right, on the off chance the shift in angle might reveal a new perspective. After further consideration she backed up to lean against the window. The distance allowed her to better analyze the overall effect. At least in theory.

The desk was made of nearly transparent polycrystalline alumina glass. It displayed any information transmitted to it—in her case typically ship architectures and schematics—with micro-scale accuracy and detail. It also happened to act as a rather beautiful complement to the bright, elegant décor of the office.

This project wasn't so far along as to require the desk's particular capabilities, however. Not yet. The presentation contained in the hovering screens focused on the big picture. Its purpose was to weave a story the less technically minded (she was being charitable) directors might understand and, more importantly, believe in enough to invest significant funds in the project.

She gazed out the window. Large, feathery snowflakes danced in the air yet again. Maybe she should go skiing this weekend....

Erisen was the closest habitable world to Earth and had been one of the first extra-solar settlements. In a nasty storm she occasionally questioned the 'habitable' part, but colonists had put the chilly environs to good use. Due to little orbital tilt there weren't seasons to speak of and while it did snow often, the low humidity resulted in a dry, champagne powder snow. Those features meant, in addition to creating a skier's paradise, quantum-scale and other manufacturing that required supercooled conditions could be made cheaply here without the need for orbital facilities.

The colony had wasted no time in crafting the advantages into an economic boon, building a manufacturing sector which was all too happy to supply materials for the rapid galactic expansion of the late 22nd century. More than a hundred fifty years later, Erisen was among the most prosperous Alliance worlds and a hub for electronics, orbitals and starship design and construction.

Which was why she was here, despite the reality that the social and cultural offerings still paled in comparison to those of home. But Earth was a mere three hours away, and it was easy enough to hop a transport when something interesting caught her fancy.

With an almost wistful sigh she turned away from the snowflakes and back to the presentation. A palm came up to rest beneath her chin.

As onboard CUs grew increasingly powerful and attained greater range, long-distance hacking of ship systems constituted a growing crime. The chart hovering to her left indicated the rate of increase in such attacks threatened to become exponential.

A heavily cyberized merc ship was able to hide in the shadow of a moon and remotely take control of a corporate, personal or possibly even military ship halfway across a stellar system. Mercs were then free to disable it for boarding and raiding, turn its weapons on its friends or send it crashing into the nearest planet.

The problem hadn't yet hit the radar of the general public, but it would do so soon enough. If she had her way, IS Design would be waiting in the wings to offer the finest in EM reverse-shielding to counter the threat—for the right price, obviously.

She had already drawn up rough schematics for how the shielding would integrate into standard ship infrastructure, determined the estimated power and material requirements and developed a lattice formulation to best improve its performance. Really, all she needed to do now was add some flowery words and a couple of charts projecting outrageous profit percentages, and she'd be ready to present to the board of directors.

She reached over and flipped the trend statistics and market analysis scr—

—a flashing light in her eVi signaled an incoming holocomm request. She stashed the screens and allowed the holo to take their place.

"Kennedy Rossi speaking. I'm seeing the back of a head and a knot of dark red...Alex?"

"It says so right there on your screen, Ken."

"Oh, I never check that. I prefer to be surprised."

Alex chuckled and finally looked up. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the engineering well of the _Siyane,_ an open panel exposing the engineering core beside her. She blew a wisp of hair out of her face. "Sorry, final diagnostics check. I have a question."

"And I have an answer—or if I don't, I have an entertaining-yet-relevant anecdote."

"Uh-huh. Is it safe to tune the power outflow to the dampener field down fifteen percent or so, then run it through an mHEMT amp on the way? I don't want to blow up my ship."

"Hmm...give me a second and let me check the field test data." She flicked her index finger against the edge of the desk to display the product files and scrolled down a series of tables and charts, pausing a few times to study one. "Not quite, but you _can_ —do you keep a silica-sapphire matrix filter on board?"

"Yep."

"Okay, if you run the conduit through it after the amp you should be fine. The dampener doesn't like power spikes." She picked up a diagram out of the files. "Here, I'll send you the schem flow. I'm sure the CEO won't mind if I toss around a bit of proprietary information."

"Terrific, thanks." Alex relaxed back on her hands while the file transmitted and loaded. "How's life on Erisen? Have the dinner parties lowered your IQ precipitously yet—or would it be the boardrooms? I can never tell which is worse."

She rolled her eyes with dramatic flair and flopped down in her chair. " _Dreadfully_ boring. Yesterday I had to politely educate three visiting investors on how we would not be switching to the trendy new tungsten metamat for our starship hulls due to the fact it _melts_ in warmer planetary atmospheres. They kept getting distracted ogling my legs and—well, I won't put you to sleep with the tiresome details of what followed.

"Although, I did meet a delicious eco-dev executive at a cocktail party later in the evening, so the day wasn't a complete loss. We're having dinner tomorrow night. I have high hopes." Her eyes sparkled with deliberate playfulness. "Speaking of tall, dark and handsome, have you listened to Ethan's newest music?"

"I have. It was surprisingly mellow. He's getting complacent in his wealth and fame."

"Angst and rage is for the young and poor, right? You know, you should totally stop by and see him for a quick lay before you hit space again."

Coaxing Alex to stop working for five minutes and, heaven forbid, engage in _fun_ had been an ongoing project of hers since university, where inventing the most clever and efficient engineering designs had competed for attention with frat parties and beach bonfires.

Of course Alex had never wanted to go to the frat parties, preferring her men brooding and intellectual; the bonfires she had been only a little more amenable to. But Kennedy was nothing if not persistent, and she had on occasion relented, even if she had usually ended up fucking _with_ the boys rather than actually fucking any of them.

Alex worried at her lower lip while she gave a stellar impression of scrupulously studying the incoming schem flow. "Ken, it's been eleven years. I am not going to 'stop by for a quick lay.'"

"You're forgetting that time you _did_ stop by for a not-so-quick lay after Malcolm broke up with you. When was it, two years ago?"

"Two _and a half_ years ago and I haven't forgotten. It doesn't count, because I was wasted...among other things."

She twirled a long lock of hair around a finger. "All weekend?"

Alex's eyes narrowed; it magnified the effect of the arched eyebrows above them. " _Soglasen—past' zakroi_."

Kennedy laughed but raised her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll let it go—but my point still stands. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to indulge you again. He's always had a soft spot for you." She definitely saw a brief flash of amusement cross Alex's expression before she tamped it down.

"And _you've_ always been entirely too nosy when it comes to my sex life. Now about the field's power requirements. You said it doesn't like spikes. Just how much fluctuation can it tolerate, really?"

# 4 Siyane

### Earth, Seattle

Alex took a few steps back and let her gaze run over the length of the ship.

She had spent more than three hours the previous evening working the silica-sapphire matrix into the control grid and recalibrating the power outflow, then testing and retesting the entire system—but the results were worth it. While even extensive testing couldn't replicate real-space conditions, the sims averaged a 39.2% decrease in emission leakage with the new dampener field engaged.

Already an extremely quiet ship, presenting a sleek, subtle profile that shrugged off seeker pings like water down a sloped roof, her stealth level might now be unmatched. She wasn't invisible to sensors, not altogether. But she would be damn close.

A self-satisfied smile grew on her lips. Part of her mind ticked through the list in her head to ensure all was as it should be, any issues had been addressed and she was prepped to fly. The other part giggled silently in pleasure at the beautiful creature which hung before her. The new f-graphene alloy muted the reflective characteristics of the hull, giving the _Siyane_ a dangerous, sinister appearance. That suited her just fine.

Her reverie was interrupted by Charlie coming around the rear of the hull to stand beside her.

"Everything checks out. I believe you knew it would, but thanks for letting me pretend to do a little work."

She grinned and elbowed him lightly in the side. He was right of course. She understood the intimate details of every subsystem far better than he did. But his _job_ was making sure starships operated correctly; he had checklists for each subsystem and methodical processes to confirm their proper functioning. It was simply good practice for the ship to regularly undergo a thorough operational review—particularly after installing substantive upgrades, which she had most certainly done.

"A pleasure doing business with you, as always. No idea when I'll be back, but I'll let you know when I know."

"Yes, ma'am. Safe travels."

As soon as he had left she jogged up the extended ramp to the open airlock hatch and headed straight for the cockpit. She had earlier confirmed the food supply delivery and stored her clothes and personals below. Nothing left to do but leave.

She settled into the supple leather cockpit chair, and with a thought the HUD came to life. The Evanec screen displayed the formal communication with the spaceport's VI interface.

_EACV-7A492X to Olympic Regional Spaceport Control: Departure sequence initiation requested Bay L-19_

_ORSC to EACV-7A492X: Departure sequence initiated Bay L-19_

The docking platform whose clamps held the ship slid toward the interior of the spaceport. It then became a lift and rose to the roof along with dozens of other lifts in the stacked rings of the facility. All departures occurred above the ceiling of the skycar airlanes, for obvious reasons.

The platform locked into position on the rooftop deck. She idled the engine and waited for the clamps to disengage.

_ORSC to EACV-7A492X: Departure clearance window 12 seconds bearing N 346.48° W_

_EACV-7A492X to ORSC: Departure clearance window accepted_

The platform rotated to the indicated bearing and the clamps retracted. The _Siyane_ hovered for 1.4 seconds before the pulse detonation engine engaged and she was flying over Whidbey Island. Eighteen seconds later she passed into the Strait of Georgia and beyond the purview of ORS Control.

Outside a spaceport's airspace and above two kilometers altitude, air traffic was managed by a CU under the guise of the Earth Low Atmosphere Traffic Control System. Its job in the main consisted of ensuring starships and planetary transports didn't crash into one another. It was a task uniquely suited for the raw processing power of a centralized synthetic construct, and the CU performed it flawlessly.

She veered west. The coast receded then disappeared from the stern visual screen and the Pacific Ocean stretched out beneath her. She far outpaced the sun, and like a clock winding in reverse dawn soon turned to night.

* * *

_"Alex, would you like to fly her?"_

_The smile breaking across her face morphed to a frown at the midway point. The viewport revealed only the stars above and moonlight reflecting in the water below. They had left the San Pacifica Regional Spaceport after breakfast, but this far out over the Pacific the sun had not yet risen. "But Dad, I can't see anything. It's too dark."_

_"You will, moya milaya. Come sit in my lap and I'll show you."_

_She scrambled out of the passenger seat and onto his thigh in a flash, fidgeting a bit to get situated. Though she was tall for her age, her feet didn't quite reach the floor; instead they danced an excited rhythm in the air._

_"Are you ready?"_

_She absently tucked minimally brushed hair behind her ear and nodded. "I'm ready."_

_"Okay. I'm going to send you the access code for the ship's HUD. You won't be able to control it right away though. I want to walk you through what each of the screens mean first."_

_A tiny light in the corner of her vision signaled a new message. She zoomed it, and a question floated in the virtual space in front of her. 'Access ship flight displays?'_

_She both thought and exclaimed "Yes!" Her father chuckled softly at her ear._

_The world lit up around her. A wall of semitransparent screens overlay the viewport. They painted a canvas of aeronautical splendor in radiant white light._

_Airspeed. Altitude. Bearing. Pitch angle. Air temperature. Atmosphere pressure and air density. Radar. Engine load. Other readings whose purpose were a mystery. The screens' relative focus and opacity responded to every shift in her gaze, then to her intentional thoughts. Secure in her father's lap, she grinned in delight._

_Her life would never be the same again._

* * *

At seven kilometers altitude she began maneuvering toward the Northeast 1 Pacific Atmosphere Corridor. Technically two corridors—one for arrivals and one for departures to avoid nasty collisions—it was one of twenty-two such passages located on the planet, spaced 4–5,000 thousand kilometers apart at 55° N, 0° and 55° S latitudes.

Nearly all starships possessed the drive energy, hull strength and shields necessary to pass through any planetary atmosphere having an escape velocity value within fifty percent greater or lesser than the habitable zone. The exceptions were dreadnoughts and capital ships, which were built and forever remained in space. But that didn't mean it was an especially fun or comfortable experience, and the wear and tear from frequent atmosphere traversals wreaked havoc on a ship's structure and mechanics.

The solution was the corridors: reverse shields which held back the majority of atmospheric phenomena from a cylindrical area. A series of rings made of a nickel alloy metamaterial absorber generated a plasma field between each ring to create the corridors.

On Earth the rings measured half a kilometer in diameter and stretched from an altitude of ten to two hundred sixty kilometers, well into the thermosphere. The details varied on other worlds, but every planet with a population in excess of about twenty thousand had at least one paired corridor.

It was midmorning back on the coast and traffic was brisk. She slowed and eased into the queue of vessels departing Earth.

For basic security or record-keeping purposes or perhaps merely to give a few bureaucrats something to do, a monitoring device recorded the serial number designation of every vessel to enter the corridor. If one was flagged for any of a variety of reasons—but most often due to a criminal warrant—a containment field captured it at the second ring, immobilizing it until the authorities arrived.

She'd seen it happen once or twice and found it an absurd annoyance. The system was ridiculously porous; if someone wanted to avoid capture, he or she simply wouldn't take the corridor (except for the brainless idiots who evidently did). But thankfully there appeared to be no brainless idiots in the vicinity this morning, and in minutes she was accelerating into the rings.

Without the buffeting forces of the atmosphere fighting against her, it was a brief four minute trip. A swipe of her hand brought up the engineering controls and she initiated the transition to the WM impulse engine. Then she curled her legs underneath her and surveyed the view.

Earth's outer atmosphere constituted a barely organized chaos of commercial and residential space stations, zero-g manufacturing facilities, satellites and military defense platforms. The cornucopia of structures sped along a dozen progressively larger concentric orbits. Up close, it made for an extraordinarily beautiful vista: sunbeams reflecting off gleaming, smooth metals streaked in the luminous glow of the lights within. A testament to the triumph of human ingenuity.

As her distance from Earth grew, however, it began to more closely resemble a swarm of ants feeding upon the discarded remnants of a meal, a dichotomy which had always amused her. The ship's acceleration increased as the engine reached full power, and the ants soon faded into the halo cast by the sun.

She stood up and stretched. It would be four hours before she reached the Mars-Jupiter Main Asteroid Belt and was 'allowed' to engage the sLume drive.

Originally named the Alcubierre Oscillating Bubble Superluminal Propulsion Drive when the first working prototype had been developed nearly two hundred years earlier, a clever marketing executive had quickly coined the far more consumer-friendly term 'sLume Drive.'

The mechanism which propelled her ship across the stars bore little similarity to the initial prototype. The ring which held open the warp bubble was now dynamically generated and consisted of exotic particles too small even en masse to be visible. The energy requirements were met in full by the He3 LEN fusion reactor thanks to the boost in negative mass provided as a byproduct of the impulse engine.

And while the first prototype had achieved a mere seventy times the speed of light, her drive was faster by a factor of thousands. Admittedly, it was a _very_ high-end model.

The particles released by the bubble's termination were funneled into micro-singularities so as to not destroy everything in a 0.2 AU vicinity. Still, space traffic in the Earth-Lunar-Mars conjunction was quite heavy, as the region housed greater than fifteen percent of the galactic population. Though volumes of research indicated it was perfectly safe, Alliance bureaucrats insisted on concern over the idea of billions of micro-singularities being created every day in such a congested sector—some notion about destabilizing the space-time manifold.

So superluminal drive operation by private spacecraft was forbidden inside the Main Asteroid Belt; military vessels and commercial transports naturally got a pass. And she wasted half a day on 0.1% of her trip.

Her natural instinct would normally be to work up a case of righteous indignation at the blatant capitulation to fear rather than science, but she just couldn't muster the necessary outrage.

After all, she was home.

# 5 Earth

### Vancouver, EASC Headquarters

The members of the Earth Alliance Strategic Command Governing Board positioned themselves around the oval table. Five of them were present in the flesh, the four Regional Commanders via full-dimensional holo.

The table was a true antique, crafted for the Politburo Standing Committee headquarters in Zhongnanhai in the waning years of CCP rule. Constructed of natural Burmese Teak and lacquered in the ancient Chinese tradition, the finish now lay buried beneath multiple layers of AgInide secure conductive glass.

The table was, of course, impressively large—far larger than required for a mere nine occupants—but a more practical table would have been less _grand_ and not befitting the importance of those who utilized it.

A late afternoon sun shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the penthouse conference room. Shielding filtered the sunlight to reduce the glare without marring the view of the Pacific, seeing as the room had been placed on the western-facing side of the building specifically for its magnificent view.

General Price Alamatto waited until the door had closed behind the departing aides before turning back to the gathered Board members. "As I was saying prior to the interruption, with a minor readjustment to the Sol System construction budget we will have the funds to assemble an additional six high-orbit arrays and deploy them to the Fionava and Deucali Provinces."

Miriam Solovy leaned forward in her chair while keeping her shoulders firmly squared. It was an assertive posture she used often to persuasive effect. "And if we supply them to Fionava and Deucali, then New Cornwall and Messium will want them as well, and probably Karelia and Nyssus, too—all on account of a mythical threat from nonexistent aliens forever on the cusp of the frontier. And indulging them will _wipe out_ the Sol System construction budget."

She shook her head in a terse but firm motion. "No. If those funds are truly available, better for us to use them to reinforce Earth's outer defense web with a redundant backup power grid and install the new longer-range emission signature sensors. Added redundancy will increase security and the sensors will give us significantly earlier warning should unwelcome visitors target Earth."

General Liam O'Connell cocked an overly bushy eyebrow in her direction. "Careful Admiral, lest someone insinuate you were advocating an 'Earth First' agenda."

O'Connell was the Southwestern Regional Commander, and seemed to believe overseeing the largest region in terms of kiloparsecs gave him the right to be an arrogant prick. He was incorrect, not that it stopped him.

She regarded him coolly. "I don't particularly care what _someone_ insinuates about me, General. I am doing no such thing, save for the irrefutable fact that both the knowledge and capabilities of the Earth Alliance are concentrated here on Earth, and we should recognize this and act accordingly."

Alamatto cleared his throat from the head of the table. "You make a commendable and valid point, Admiral. Nevertheless, we must not appear to be Earth-centric in our decision-making. Earth has plenty enough resources on its own. We need to be cognizant of the reality that the colonies often lack our inherent means and require our protection."

A strong Earth _was_ a strong Alliance; she'd never understand why more people didn't see this. She worked to protect the best interests of the entire Earth Alliance, colonies included.

Her glare was steel across the table. "Which protection we won't be able to provide if our defense web goes down and we come under attack."

O'Connell snorted from the safety of his holo. "Who do you think is going to attack Earth, Miriam? Seneca? They wouldn't dare. Raiders from New Babel, or maybe some nutcases from Pandora? Be realistic. Earth is by far the most fortified, heavily defended world in settled space. _No one_ is coming for Earth."

Inwardly she sighed, though she was careful not to let it show. At this point the Board was in danger of becoming completely dominated by the Regional Commanders. Alamatto was too weak a leader to keep them in line and there wasn't another faction to counterbalance them. The other three Earth-based members were too beholden to competing political benefactors to act in concert with her _or_ Alamatto.

She was fighting a losing battle and she knew it. But so long as she held a position of any power, she would not fold. She dropped her chin and gazed slightly up and sideways at O'Connell, one eyebrow arched; the impression created was of a master disappointed in the ignorance of the student.

"If I could predict the nature of the adversary, rest assured we would already be meeting the threat. You believe we've thought of everything. But the real danger is, as it has been since the dawn of history, the enemy we cannot predict. This is what I seek always to defend against."

Alamatto placed both palms on the table and pressed into it in an attempt to reassert control over the meeting. "You _both_ raise valid concerns which we must weigh alongside other considerations."

He paused to grace the table with a smooth smile; the poised, confident yet nonthreatening countenance ranked as one of his strongest assets.

"In my view the defense web is sufficiently strong for the time being, but mine is not the only opinion which matters. Are there any further observations, or shall we vote on the initiative?"

# 6 Deucali

### Earth Alliance SW Regional Military Headquarters

General Liam O'Connell barreled down the hall from the QEC room toward his office. His nods to the junior officers he passed, when they occurred at all, were curt. The base headquarters bustled with activity even on this most typical of days; nevertheless, the crowd unfailingly parted to let his tall, burly form pass unhindered.

The Board meeting had gone well he thought. Personally he wasn't all that worked up over the need for additional high-orbit defense arrays, but as a power play he must admit it was a shrewd maneuver.

Fionava seemed to be genuinely concerned by potential dangers from the frontiers of space beyond its borders. This world wasn't subject to those concerns to so great an extent, but he was more than happy to join their cause if it meant greater resources and increased influence would come his way.

Deucali was one of the largest 'Second Wave' colonies, and its population continued to grow. With each passing year it exercised greater control over the smaller settlements in the Province. The colony's star was on the ascension, no question about it. Without slowing he barked an order at a passing Lieutenant regarding the unfinished upgrades to the QEC room.

Alamatto was a weak-willed pussy. His entire career had been based on nothing more than the military establishment's respect for his father—but were he alive, the elder Alamatto would be mortified by his excuse for a son. Solovy could be a royal pain in the ass, but she was little more than a pencil pusher; if she had ever seen live combat it had been back in the Bronze Age. As for the remainder of the Board, they weren't worth wasting energy over.

At a crossway he abruptly stopped and pivoted to face the young man traversing the opposite hall. "Corporal, did your babysitter teach you to tuck your shirt in like that? Sharpen those creases before I lay eyes on you again, son."

"Y-yes, sir!"

He had turned and moved on before the Corporal managed to stutter out the reply.

Well, that wasn't _quite_ true. The Northeastern Regional Commander, Rychen, was an obstacle waiting to happen. He oversaw the region closest to Senecan space, which alone made him a significant player. Granted, he also had won numerous medals in the Crux War, was respected by his peers and by all accounts was a shining beacon of honor and integrity. The man was without a doubt dangerous. But for the moment their interests were aligned, so Liam played nice.

He waved off a couple of officers trying to vie for his attention, strode into his office and closed the door behind him. In an earlier time it would have slammed, but doors didn't do such things anymore. A shame, really.

After a quick sip of water he shifted his focus to the series of flashing files on his desk overlay. He evaluated, assigned and dispatched them with brutal efficiency, pausing only to scowl at the status update on the construction of the new sim training complex. He personally preferred old-school live fire exercises—sim training produced weak-willed soldiers like Alamatto—but the decision came straight from the politicians. No actual action required, he sent it on its way.

His scowl vanished at the next item; in the privacy of his office, it morphed into a smug smile. The Annual Founding Day Parade was next week. The entire 1st Deucali Brigade would be out in their dress blues, proudly showing what it meant to be an Earth Alliance Marine. It never failed to bring a tear to his eye to march through the streets at the head of his men. Though the Public Relations Staff Commander was responsible for the preparations, he had taken an active oversight role. He scheduled a meeting for 0700 the next morning to review the state of readiness.

The voice of his secretary interrupted his train of thought. "Sir, Commander Bradlen has arrived for your meeting."

With a grimace he closed the various screens and straightened his jacket. "Send him in."

An upstart lad, Bradlen had risen quickly in the ranks due to an overabundance of competence. He returned the salute of the young Commander. "At ease."

"Yes, sir." Bradlen sat down across the desk and opened a series of screens between them. "I've uploaded the latest supply reports and inventories as well as the shipment schedule for the next three months."

He paused while O'Connell accessed the files. "As you can see, we'll receive a new shipment of test drones next week, along with the new ware for the existing high-orbit defense array. I heard a rumor we were getting another array soon, sir. Any chance it's true?"

Liam smiled thinly, the curl of his lips not otherwise impacting his expression. "I'm afraid that's classified for now."

"My mistake. Um, about the ware for the array...Earth says it's ready for deployment, but I assume you'll want it tested thoroughly first, sir?"

"You assume correctly, Commander."

"Understood. I'll arrange for it to be routed through Configuration/Testing before Implementation Services gets their hands on it." He cleared his throat and seemed to hesitate in uncertainty.

"Spit it out, son, I don't have all day here."

"Right. Sir, I feel I should draw your attention to a discrepancy in the inventories for our VI short-range missiles. There's a report on it in the files. The discrepancy occurred in the middle of the transition to the new inventory system, so it's probably just a glitch, but...."

Liam snorted in clear disgust. "Goddamn warenuts. Every time they push out something 'better' it only makes things worse."

"I...yes, sir. I can have Support run some diagnostics, see if they can find the problem—"

Liam shook his head in a manner which brooked no dissent. "Won't be necessary. I will take great pleasure in informing Logistics Command they need to fix their crocked ware."

"Of course, sir. If there's nothing else?"

He had begun pulling up other reports; his head jerked in the direction of the door. "Dismissed."

Once Bradlen departed, he dropped the illusion of activity. He sat silently as an epoch passed...then reopened the Inventory Discrepancy Report. Seconds ticked by while he simply stared at it, as though the authority of his glare might melt it away.

He didn't know why he was hesitating. The decision had already been made; the deed already done. In many ways the decision had been made twenty-four years ago when he stood over his mother's grave and made a vow, even if it had taken until two months ago for the opportunity for him to fulfill his vow to finally knock on his door.

He had expected the discrepancy to be discovered. In this hyper-cyberized, always-connected world they lived in, it would have been impossible to hide it—so he hadn't tried. Instead he'd made sure the materials vanished during the hectic, confused inventory system transition, thereby providing a ready explanation for their 'absence.'

Deucali Military HQ housed tens of thousands of armaments. Anyone who noticed a couple of dozen missiles unaccounted for would merely nod in agreement at how annoying the 'damn ware bugs' were and move on with their lives.

He swallowed hard, annoyed at the sudden dryness in his throat. No reason to become all emotional about it now. He had already sold his soul for a chance at vengeance, and there was no getting it back.

He deleted the report from the system.

# 7 Seneca

### Cavare

Caleb idly toed the pilot's chair side to side while he stepped through the preflight checklist a final time, mentally verifying every component which was checked off deserved to be. He had one remaining item to acquire, but it wouldn't be on any official checklist.

Satisfied the systems were a go, the food stores stocked, the engines prepped and the weapons in working order, he killed the power and headed down the ramp. At the bottom he turned to give her one last glance-over.

He had to give Division credit; they didn't skimp on ships and hardware. One step removed from a fighter, the scout ship wasn't luxurious or roomy but she was lean and fast. The weapons tubes tucked into the lower hull so as not to increase drag. The custom EM sensors had been mounted beneath the nose the day before.

Yeah, she would do.

He slung his pack over his shoulder and headed out to the government spaceport's surface parking. Yet when he reached his bike, he hesitated.

Traffic whizzed along airlanes overhead in the evening sky and beside him on the streets. Rush hour appeared well underway, which meant he was going to have a bitch of a time getting across the city to Mom's house—which in turn meant he'd be late for his meeting.

The devil on his shoulder whispered in alluring, dulcet tones that he should skip the visit home and head straight for the bar. She was _fine_. And it wasn't like he'd be standing her up. Unless he showed up at the front door, she'd never know he'd passed through Cavare.

But she was alone. With Isabela on Krysk for the year doing a visiting professorship, she wasn't able to check on their mother nearly as often as usual. Mom might have had an accident, or forgotten to shop for groceries, or....

_But Isabela went by a few days ago._

_And won't be back again for a month._

He groaned aloud as a guilty conscience shoved the devil aside and reasserted its dominance. "Shit."

More than a little disgusted with himself, he swung a leg over the bike, revved the engine and floored it out of the parking lot. He swerved into a service alley. The least he could do was take a damn shortcut.

"Oh, Caleb darling, it's so nice of you to visit."

Yes, that's exactly what he was. _Nice._ He hugged her, trying not to stifle within the desperate embrace. "Hi, Mom. I don't have long, but I wanted to stop by and make sure you were okay."

"Yes, I'm just...." She ambled into the kitchen, wisps of dull brown hair falling out of a messy bun and to her shoulders. She pushed half-finished sketches off the table to the floor and gestured for him to sit. He complied, then watched her as she searched in the cabinets for tea to brew.

He remembered when she had been a vibrant, smart, funny woman. For the entirety of his childhood that woman had been his mother. Now she was merely...pathetic. He knew this—he'd known this for a long time—but coming face-to-face with the stark reality still sent him for a loop. Old memories never die.

"It's okay, Mom. I'm good. Come sit with me for a few minutes."

She paused in the middle of the room, her unfocused gaze wandering across the kitchen. It was as if she had completely forgotten where she was. Seconds ticked by. Finally she jerked, a fleeting, erratic jolt of movement before her bearing returned to its former listless, empty state. She gingerly sat down opposite him. "How's work, dear? Is the plant doing well?"

"Absolutely. We're rolling out a new line of six-person skycars, geared toward families. In fact, I'm headed off to Elathan tomorrow to oversee the ramp-up of the production line." After years of practice, the lies rolled off his tongue more easily than truth.

"How nice." She nodded. It was an uneven, haphazard motion. Her eyes didn't quite manage to meet his, which was just as well. "I've been talking to Federation Athletics about a design for their new regional office, so...we'll see, maybe...."

"That's _wonderful_ to hear." It took all his considerable skill to inject a note of enthusiasm into his voice. Even so, he managed only the mildest cheer. She hadn't completed an architectural design in at least fifteen years. This one would be no different—and there would be no value in him pointing it out. "So, you're set then? You have everything you need?"

"Oh, yes." She gave him a vacant smile. "Glados and Meriva from the neighborhood association stop by once a week, we go out shopping and such." The smile faltered. "I thought I saw your father the other day while we were at the syn-org market..." three seconds passed until she blinked "...anyway, everything's fine. You go see to your shuttles and don't worry about your mother." She patted his hand to emphasize the point.

Harsh, frustrated words rushed forth; he choked them back in his throat. "Okay, Mom. I have to go, I have a meeting—about the plant. I'll try to stop by again when I can."

He prepped his most affectionate facsimile smile—but she had already drifted off, dreamily caressing the incomplete sketch of a low-orbital bio-friendly campus which had clung to the edge of the table.

He nodded to himself and stood, leaving the house without looking at the wall of visuals in the hallway displaying a couple in love and a happy family at play. He _definitely_ didn't look at the largest visual, the one dominating the entryway. It portrayed a distinguished-looking man with close-cut black hair wearing a perfectly pressed suit, taken two months before his father had packed a bag, walked out the door and not come back.

As he cruised into the lot behind the _Crux Happy Nights Cantina_ , Caleb decided he was exceedingly ready for a drink—so much so he didn't even cringe at the dreadful title. Granted, he didn't laugh either.

But the beer turned out to be quite cold and surprisingly crisp. He welcomed the assistance it provided in forcing away the darkness which never failed to haunt him after a visit home. Escaping the gloom was an acquired skill, and he had largely regained his form by the time Noah Terrage slid onto the stool next to him.

He flung long bangs out of his face and dropped his forearms on the chrome bar. "Caleb, friend, how's it hanging?"

The first rule of undercover work, spying and black ops in general—okay, probably the third or fourth or perhaps even fifth rule, but it certainly made the list—was anyone who made a point to call you 'friend,' wasn't.

Still, Noah was a good guy, and he felt inclined to give him a pass. Despite the rebellious attitude which came as an almost inevitable consequence of the man's upbringing, Caleb suspected an honorable soul resided somewhere beneath the bravado and shady deals and wild stunts. For one, it spoke in his favor that he had managed to overcome the fairly significant disability of being a 'vanity baby.'

Cloning remained legal on most worlds with the express consent of the cloned—new births only though; all attempts to grow a fully developed adult body from existing DNA had thus far proved horrifically disastrous. Clone clauses in wills were, while not common, growing in popularity for what might be understandable reasons. Vanity babies, however, were frowned upon in most circles and rarely worked out well for either party. Nonetheless, there always seemed to be another billionaire narcissist convinced he or she deserved one.

A clone of his father, a wealthy business magnate on Aquila, like most vanity babies Noah had been brought into existence above all to feed the source's ego. From early childhood he had been expected to behave precisely as his father saw himself, sit and learn at his father's knee and grow up to become his father's devoted protégé in the business.

So naturally, Noah had run away from home at fifteen. Caught a transport to Pandora and never looked back.

He was a criminal, of course. A 'trader' in polite company and a smuggler everywhere else. And while the guy came off like the buddy you watched the game and drank too many beers with on the weekend, he possessed a skill bordering on magic: he could find _anything_. If it existed in settled space, he could make it appear in your pack inside a week—as with all things, for sufficient credits.

In this instance he had far less than a week, but the item wasn't a particularly rare one and the compensation generous.

Caleb leaned over to shake his hand. "You know, just the usual—wine, women and song."

Noah laughed and took a swig from the mug Caleb had ensured would be waiting on him. "I do know it, man." His voice dropped as he leaned in and casually passed over the small, unremarkable-looking yet very advanced communications scrambler. Caleb dropped it in his pack and just as casually returned to his beer.

It wasn't that he planned to engage in anything overtly criminal, much less traitorous to the Federation. In fact, he believed Volosk and likely the Division Director knew about and expected such things. Black ops were 'black' for a reason, yet they also fell under government supervision and oversight. A difficult quandary.

Most things he did, most of the time, qualified as legal actions under Division's mandate, if not always under civilian law. But every so often a mission called for actions which...weren't. In such circumstances, his superiors winked and nodded and ignored the troublesome details, provided they had been sufficiently obscured. Hence the state-of-the-art communications scrambler—a necessary tool for those moments when even Special Operations didn't want a recording of what was said or to whom.

Noah's voice stayed low and conversational, barely audible amid the din of spirited patrons and generic pub background music. "I guess you misplaced the last one, huh?"

Caleb shrugged and sipped his beer. It really was rather good. "Eh, it blew up."

"What? Dammit, I'll have a _conversation_ with my—"

"Not the scrambler—the ship it was in."

Noah's head cocked to the side. "Oh. Yeah, that does happen."

He had met Noah nine years ago. An influx of chimerals had begun flooding the streets on several of the smaller Federation worlds; he tracked the source to a drug ring on Pandora. Noah was little more than a freelance street merchant back then, hocking black market surveillance equipment, hacking tools and modified energy blades. Illegal, but nothing hardcore. The modded gear had come in handy, as had the inside information provided as a bonus.

After a few years, Noah earned enough credits to move his operation off the streets and began serving a more discerning clientele and their more unique needs. Caleb had called on him on occasion over the years, and now...well, they weren't friends. But in another life, they might have been.

"So how's Pandora these days? The last time I visited, holo-babes in the spaceport terminal were selling head trips which would make you believe you sported three cocks and twice the women to fill with them lounged in your bed. Oh, and the bed floated upon a golden nebula in the stars. God knows what they were selling in the markets."

Noah laughed in wry dismay as he motioned the bartender for a refill. "Trust me, Caleb, you do not want to know what they're selling in the markets. I don't mess with such insanity, nothing but trouble."

"As opposed to the trouble you already get in?"

He shrugged. "Yeah? Still, it's all good. Business is good. Life is good. Nobody's tried to kill me in at least a month."

Caleb chuckled in spite of himself. "I guess that's all you can ask for, right?"

Noah sighed wistfully. "No...you can ask for a beautiful, witty, intelligent yet minxy woman in your arms every night, a mansion on a hill—or better yet in the sky—and the best bodyguards to protect you when someone _does_ inevitably try to kill you. For starters."

Caleb raised his mug to clank against Noah's. "I'll drink to that."

# 8 Earth

### Vancouver, EASC Headquarters

Miriam sat at her desk and tried to focus on reviewing next week's schedule. For a moment, she failed.

She prided herself on superior compartmentalization skills...yet hours after the Board meeting, she couldn't seem to shake a lingering unease. Disappointment. _Annoyance_.

Being overruled gave her no pleasure, particularly when the facts were on her side. Egos coupled with narcissistic insecurity had won out over logic and reason once again. Hopefully they wouldn't come to regret this decision, or the dozens before it.

With a private groan she sat up straighter and returned to her calendar. _Schedule_.

The christening ceremony for the new cruiser _EAS Thatcher_ was on Monday, followed by a status meeting for Project ANNIE. She had various staff meetings on Tuesday, then Phase II testing review of new biosynthetics for special forces in the evening. Wednesday she left for the TacRecon Conference in St. Petersburg.

Her mouth twitched involuntarily. She had tried to get Richard to go in her place—it was more his area of expertise anyway—but he was elbow-deep in the damn Trade Summit.

She didn't want to go to St. Petersburg, where memories of David lurked around every corner and across every street. Even the places they had never visited held shadows of the stories he had told of his childhood.

She would need to visit her father-in-law while there. David had made certain his father received the latest in stem cell rejuvenation treatments, though the elder Solovy had accepted little else in the way of financial assistance. As a result, at one hundred sixteen years old he was built like a boxer and working low-altitude field construction ten hours a day.

It would be uncomfortable and melancholy. He would ask after Alexis, say, 'I've always loved that little girl,' leaving unsaid the insinuation _'as opposed to how I feel about you.'_ Her position of prominence meant nothing to him. In his own twisted way he would forever blame her for David's death, ignoring the fact that David had joined the military six years prior to meeting her. He would inquire as to whatever man she must have moved on to by now, oblivious to the reality that in twenty-three years she hadn't moved on; that she had no intention of _ever_ moving on.

After two miserable hours she would excuse herself and return to her five-star hotel room, order her 250-credit room service, allow herself one glass of sherry and occupy her mind with vitally important matters of galactic security until she was too tired not to sleep.

She didn't want to go. But she'd do it anyway, because it was her job, and because she didn't trust anyone else other than Richard with the responsibility. At least next year the conference location rotated out to somewhere—anywhere—other than Russia.

She blinked to push aside the dangerously sentimental thoughts, opened the ANNIE briefing and proceeded to dive into breakdowns of recurrence quantification analysis, time series prediction, stochastic controls and most importantly, dynamic security feedback loops.

Nearly two hundred fifty years after the Hong Kong 'incident,' synthetic intelligences of all types were still locked down and circumscribed on every world, but nowhere more so than in the military. The Alliance didn't curtail the advancement of non-cybernetic synthetic technology; they merely kept it corralled inside safety fences, as it were.

ANNIE (Artificial Neural Net Integration and Expansion) represented the most advanced Alliance-sanctioned synthetic neural net to date. It also promised to be the safest, most secure Artificial ever constructed, for they had had centuries to perfect every control and safeguard.

Yet believing such to be true was exactly what had resulted in the Hong Kong incident in the first place. So she intended to double- and if necessary triple-check the dynamic security feedback loop protocols.

She had made it through an entire third of the file when her secretary pinged her eVi to inform her the Minister for Extra-Solar Development was in the lobby asking to see her.

She frowned in annoyance, and a bit of surprise. She didn't care for people dropping by without an appointment, but the man was influential enough she couldn't afford to rebuff him. "Give me two minutes before you send him in."

The layers of screens vanished; she went to the cabinet to fix a cup of tea. By the time the Minister walked in she was in perfect form and smiling with poised grace.

"Minister Karolyn, so good to see you again."

"And you, Admiral." He half-bowed from the waist. She dipped her chin and gestured him toward the chair opposite her desk.

There was only one conceivable reason for the visit—but she never made assumptions where politicians were concerned. "What can I do for you?"

He nodded and adjusted himself awkwardly in the chair. "I apologize for the unannounced visit. I found myself in the area this afternoon and thought I might drop in." Her left eyebrow raised the slightest bit. "I wanted to take the opportunity to impress upon you in person how much we want to see Alexis in the Deep Space Exploration directorship. She's a stellar candidate who can bring new energy and initiative to the department."

Her lips pursed briefly. "She would unquestionably do so, and I regret she was unable to accept your generous offer. But if I may be honest? This seems rather a lot of effort for a position which, while prestigious, is not one I consider to be world-altering. I imagine you have other qualified candidates."

"Yes, obviously." He fidgeted again, though this time it didn't seem to be related to the comfort level of the chair. "If I may also be honest, Admiral, I'm getting a fair amount of pressure to make sure your daughter is named to this post, and soon."

She suppressed a frown, but barely. It concerned her if political forces had taken an interest in Alexis without her knowledge. "Pressure? Wherever from? Alexis is hardly politically connected."

"That's the thing about political pressure, ma'am. One rarely can see from where it truly originates. All I can say is someone higher up than me very much wants your daughter in this job. So if you were able to reach out to her again and reiterate the degree of interest, I'd greatly appreciate it."

She sipped her tea, both to buy herself a moment and to center her thoughts. She wasn't eager to divulge the abysmal state of her relationship with her daughter to a stranger, much less a politician. But if there was any chance of Alexis accepting the position, she wanted to help make it happen. It would be good for her...eventually, it might be good for them. "Minister, do you have children?"

"I'm a bachelor, so not as far as I'm aware of." He smiled.

She didn't. "I see. You will not have experienced this yourself then, but like many children, my daughter developed a mind of her own before she was two years old and has never lost it. She stopped taking my advice around the time...." A shadow passed across her face she couldn't fully disguise.

* * *

_The security office on Le Grande Retraite was as bright and clean as the rest of the orbital luxury resort. A young lieutenant in a spotless uniform greeted her at the entryway with a salute. "Commodore Solovy. It's an honor to meet you."_

_She leveled a dismissive glare at him. "This is not a social call, Lieutenant. Take me to my daughter."_

_His posture wilted as he stammered out a response. "Y-yes, ma'am. We put her in one of the interview rooms. I, um, gave her a juice. And some popcorn."_

_She fell in beside him. "And the young man?"_

_"Uh, he was of age and no laws had been broken, so we weren't able to detain him." He stopped in front of a doorway and glanced at her, then hastily opened the door and stepped back._

_Alexis tossed a kernel of popcorn in the air and caught it in her mouth. Her feet were clad in braided flip-flops and kicked up on the desk, legs crossed at the ankle. She was all elbows and knees, half a child and half a woman. Her hair was bound in long pigtails draped over her shoulders and down her chest—strange, they somehow made her look older, not younger. Perhaps it was the sharp, spirited fire in her eyes. David's eyes._

_"Mom. Here to throw me in the brig?"_

_"I am here to_ take you home _."_

_Alexis gave a melodramatic sigh, rolled her eyes in exaggerated annoyance and pulled her feet off the desk. "Fine, whatever."_

_She turned to the lieutenant. "Thank you for taking care of my daughter, Lieutenant. I do apologize for any inconvenience she may have caused you."_

_"She was no trouble, ma'am." He jumped when Alexis tossed the bag of popcorn to him as she passed._

_"Thanks for the snack, mes'ye."_

_Miriam didn't say a word until they reached the ship. She set the autopilot then shifted in the seat. "_ What _were you thinking? You are fourteen years old and had_ no _business flying off-planet without supervision."_

_"It's not like it was_ far _off-planet...." Her hand jerked toward the viewport dominated by Earth's profile._

_"How did you access the ship? The security should have prevented you from flying it."_

_Alexis snorted. "Please. I hacked full access to it weeks ago. It actually recognizes me as its primary owner now, you know."_

_"Not for long it doesn't. You will— "_

_"Did you even know I was gone until they called you? You_ didn't _, did you? You spent another night at the office, doing whatever the hell it is you do there."_

_She felt her jaw tighten, but made certain her voice remained even. "I trusted you were mature enough so I didn't need to check on you constantly, trusted you would respect your curfew and not, for instance, steal the family ship and run off with a boy four years older than you."_

_"Nick? He's a tupïtsa, and entirely too easy to impress. I was bored with him before we got to the station."_

_"That is not the point. The point is I was mistaken. You aren't worthy of my trust."_

_"Bullshit. The point is—"_

_"Do not speak to me in—"_

_"The point_ is _you will do everything in your power not to have to spend time with me. I'm nothing but a nuisance in the way of your damn career—but hey, it's fine. Say the word and I'll be out of your hair forever. I've got things to do anyway."_

_She opened her mouth to retort...then closed it._

_How could she tell her daughter it was a knife in the heart every single time she looked at her? That she saw David in the light in her eyes, the way she walked, her voice, her smile and even her frown? That she could hardly bear to be in the house where he was a ghost in every shadow and a whisper in every corner, yet couldn't bear to let it go for the same reason? That she sought refuge in work because it was the only place where she could pretend there wasn't a hole in the world? Where she could at least try to make sure he didn't die in vain?_

_She couldn't, of course._

_"Don't be absurd. You are my daughter, and I care about you. But with the implementation of the armistice there's a tremendous amount of work to do. A lot of changes are on the way. Someone has to ensure matters are handled properly."_

_"Chto za khuynya! I don't understand why you agreed to the armistice in the first place. We should have blown Seneca into space dust."_

_"Alexis, please mind your mouth. Cursing in Russian is still cursing."_

_"I certainly hope so. And my_ name _is Alex."_

_She gritted her teeth in frustration, inhaling a deep breath to swallow her initial response. "_ 'I' _did not agree to the armistice—you know better. The Prime Minister and the Assembly did, because the simple fact is we were taking too many losses. It was against Alliance interests to get into a long and messy quagmire."_

_"A 'quagmire'? Is that what you call them murdering Dad? That's cold, Mom, even for you."_

_"Don't you_ dare _say such a thing. Your father died a hero."_

_"So everyone keeps telling me. You know what? He's still_ dead. _They should be, too."_

_Yes they should be. But David wouldn't want—wouldn't_ have wanted _—it. "I'm afraid their fate isn't up to me. But one thing which is up to me is your punishment. You are on home restriction until such time as I feel you've learned to be responsible. You can go to school and activities I have approved beforehand. Otherwise, the security system will not allow you to leave. If you get into trouble while at school, you will be holoing your studies for the foreseeable future."_

_"I'll just hack it."_

_"Young lady, I have people working for me who are far better hackers than you. You will not."_

_Alexis shrugged, threw her feet up on the dash and crossed her arms over her chest. "Right. Absolutely. You've got me."_

* * *

Naturally, she had hacked the security system within the week; the tougher encryption subsequently added, two weeks later. And after that....

She gave the Minister a tight, formal expression. "Well, she hasn't taken my advice in quite some time. In any event, if you legitimately want her to accept the position, I'm afraid asking me to press the matter is not the tack you want to take. I think it best if you reached out to her directly."

He exhaled in a suggestion of weary acceptance and stood. She stood with him and accepted his outstretched hand.

"Thank you for your time, Admiral, and your frankness. I'll likely do that."

"Certainly, Minister. My door is always open." It was a bald-faced lie, but one she had uttered at countless dinner parties and conferences, and she delivered it as smoothly as any greeting.

Once he had departed, she drifted to the window. Fall came early here, and the sun had already begun its descent into the waters.

Perhaps her suggestion to the Minister hadn't been such a good idea after all. _Please, Alexis, don't tell the man to fuck off._

She thought on it a minute, then turned on a heel and went down the hall to Richard's office.

A checkerboard of screens decorated his desktop surface and an aural hovered in front of his right eye. When she walked in he shut off the aural and smiled, though it was a weak attempt. "What's up?"

She didn't respond immediately, instead pacing halfway across the room, hands clasped behind her back, before stopping to look at him. "You took Alexis back to the spaceport the other day, right?"

"Yeah, I caught her on her way out. Why?"

"Did she by chance say anything about the Deep Space Exploration offer?"

He huffed a brief laugh. "Not anything you want to hear."

Her eyes squeezed shut in a grimace. "Excellent. The Minister just left my office. He's rather eager—disturbingly so, actually—for her to accept the post. I told him he should contact her, but now I'm not convinced it was the correct thing to do."

He gave her an understanding smile, this one genuine. "Well, I'm not sure it really matters. She left Earth yesterday morning."

She sighed softly. "Of course she did. Listen, there's something else. Karolyn said he was receiving political pressure to name Alexis to the post. I don't suppose you've heard any chatter about that?"

"Miriam, I'm shocked you would imply we spy on domestic political affairs."

"No you're not."

"Ha...no, I'm not. To answer your question, not a peep."

"Damn. I know you're underwater right now with the Summit, but if you get a few minutes could you dig around a little? It bothers me that politicians are meddling in her affairs without my—"

"Approval?"

" _Knowledge_."

His hands rose in surrender. "Okay, I'll look into it. It may take a few days."

"Thanks, Richard. I'll let you get back to work. Try to get some rest though—you know next week is going to be worse."

Despite Miriam's advice, it was almost twenty-two hundred before Richard walked in the door to his home in the foothills above Lake Sammamish.

Intelligence agents were now integrated into the official Alliance delegation to the Summit, the convention center staff, invited guests and rather voluminous press covering the event. By Monday morning on Atlantis (which for added fun was around three in the morning in Seattle) all his assets would be in place, and everything they saw, touched and interacted with fed to his office via an instantaneous quantum entanglement communication network.

He was met at the door by a kiss and a tumbler of whiskey.

He happily accepted the kiss but looked askance at the whiskey. "Will, I have to be back at the office in seven hours."

"And thus you need to relax and unwind in the most efficient manner possible." Will nudged him toward the living room while still holding out the glass. He sighed, felt a small percentage of the stress escape with the breath, and acceded to both the nudge and the glass.

He sank into the couch, grateful—not for the first time—for a home which was truly a refuge from the madness. The glass at his lips, he took a long sip and relished the smooth fire of the whiskey as it scorched down his throat. "You know, I could get used to this 'manservant tending to my every need' routine."

"Well, don't." Will chuckled while he dimmed the lights and crossed the room to settle onto the couch beside him. "My next project starts in three weeks, though at least it's a bit closer, on Demeter. Building a performing arts center, if you can believe it. But you can live the dream until then if you like."

"I like...." He made an effort to smile and rub Will's shoulder, but his head fell back against the cushion and the smile gave way to a groan. The Summit hadn't even started yet and he was already ready to tear his hair out. Although to be fair, much of the stress of the day had resulted from the ridiculous volume of bureaucracy involved in placing agents inside the official delegation. One of the best things about intelligence work was the lack of bureaucracy—but not this time. It paled in comparison solely to the sheer politics involved in placing agents in the press unit.

He tried again to push the hassles to the back of his mind. _Refuge._ "I absolutely believe it. Demeter fancies itself the next Romane, some kind of mecca of wealth and refined luxury or other. But hey, it's close enough you'll be able to come home most weekends, right?"

"Most, hopefully." Will rubbed his chin with his fingertips, which usually meant he was bothered by something.

Richard straightened up a little. "I'm sorry work happens to suck at the exact moment you're home and have actual free time. If I could do anything to change it, I would."

Will shook his head. "No, I know. I mean I understand. This is life, and we have all of it to be together. It's...listen, why don't you just _go_ to Atlantis? It'd be easier than trying to control the circus from your office eighteen hours a day, and hey, at least you'd get a little sun."

He stared out the windows lining the opposite wall, comforted by the knowledge there was a beautiful view out there in the darkness. "Because if the EASC Naval Intelligence Liaison shows up at the Summit then someone might think we were engaging in covert spying activities—and we wouldn't want that."

"Yes, and otherwise they'll never suspect any such thing."

"Oh, certainly not." He sighed and took another sip of the whiskey. Will had been right; it was helping. "It's the game we play with our adversary. Both sides pretend to be upstanding, sincere and earnest. Both sides secretly try to undermine the other at every opportunity. The status quo continues."

" _Or_ you could simply say 'to Hell with the whole damn thing' and go have a drink together." At Richard's incredulous glance, he shrugged. "Look. Earth controls sixty-seven worlds, already more than they can manage. The Senecan Federation wanted independence and they got it. They're thriving and successful and have a lot to offer. I for one would jump at the chance to work on several of the projects they're pursuing. But I can't, because I'm from Earth—"

"—and because you're married to me."

"Which is a price I'll gladly pay every day for the rest of my life." He squeezed Richard's hand to emphasize the point, then leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees. "I'm merely saying we don't need to keep carrying around all this animosity. The war ended twenty-two years ago."

"Twenty-two years is the blink of an eye for the people involved. Some wounds don't heal so quickly."

"You're talking about Miriam, and Alex."

He cast his gaze to the ceiling. "Without a doubt. And thousands, Hell, millions of others...I don't know, maybe I'm talking about me, too. I mean, I lost my best friend, and several damn good ones. I don't consider myself as walking around bearing a grudge, but if faced with the option, I'm not sure I'm ready to be friends with the Senecans."

Will's nod bore conviction. "I get that, I do. My uncle died in the war. He was a good man, and my aunt has never gotten over it. And I hate I never had the chance to know David." He paused, the telltale twitch of his mouth a hint he was pondering whether to continue. "But I still think everyone might benefit if we found a way to put aside the past and move on."

Richard closed his eyes, but there was a smile on his lips. Will would have made an even better diplomat than he did a construction project manager...but it was only a sign of how much he cared. He laughed and finished off the glass of whiskey. "Except me—I'd be out of a job."

Will leaned in closer. "That's fine. I'll support you, and you can be _my_ manservant."

# 9 Scythia

### Earth Alliance Colony

Alex exited the levtram and crossed the elevated terrace at a hurried, clipped pace. She made a passing attempt at reminding herself she wasn't technically beholden to a schedule, but soon abandoned the effort. This stop on Scythia represented a detour, in time if not so much in location, and she intended to treat it as such.

The request for an in-person meeting had been waiting on her when she woke up this morning. She almost declined, but in truth she was right _there_. Her planned route took her less than a hundred parsecs north of Scythia's system. It still meant a delay of several hours in reaching her ultimate destination, but Astral Materials had proved a lucrative client. It would be folly to snub them.

Her gaze lingered on the glittering teal waters which stretched beyond the terrace as she neared the Astral offices. The gentle but dramatic tides intruded as much as eight hundred meters inland at their high point. This had led settlers to situate the coastal city largely on a series of elevated platforms, thus allowing them to enjoy the scenic and fertile environment free of constant water damage and its insidious, corrosive effects. The platforms eventually met the sloping coastal plain, and the city continued to spread across drier land; the prime real estate was above the sea, however.

The glass doors of the mid-rise building opened on her approach. It wasn't her first visit, and she proceeded directly up to the Astral Materials executive suite on the 5th floor.

Isas Onishi greeted her as she entered, presumably having been alerted to her arrival. "Ms. Solovy, it's a pleasure as always. Shall we go to my office?"

A pleasure so long as she continued to make him money, anyway. She shook his hand brusquely and encouraged the movement toward his office. "Yes, please. I'm afraid I don't have long."

"I understand. You're a busy woman, as I am a busy man."

She didn't hold out for an invitation to drop into one of the chairs facing his desk. Floor-to-ceiling windows spanning two of the four walls provided a stunning view of the ocean and evoked a sensation of floating. Onishi was doing very well for himself.

"Your Lacertae discovery continues to impress, Ms. Solovy. It's going to help us build the safest, most durable space stations in the galaxy."

"Glad to be of service." _The earnings bought me a new lattice layer for the_ Siyane _, three top-of-the-line scanners and a supply of long-range probes, so quite glad._ "What can I do for you?"

He settled into his chair opposite her. "I'm giving you first refusal rights on a new contract. Spectrum surveys of M11 have identified an interesting L red dwarf hosting four planetoids. The system shows strong spectral lines of a magnesium/chromium isotope, one which should be paramagnetic. We need someone to confirm the findings and determine if, as we hope, the planetoids contain harvestable concentrations of the metal."

"Interesting. What's the timetable?"

"That's why I was glad to learn you were in the area—you'd need to get out there in the next couple of days. We're not the only ones in possession of the survey data, and both Palaimo Metallurgy and Surno Materials are doubtless planning their own expeditions as we speak. If we want discovery privileges, we have to move fast."

Alex groaned inwardly. M11 was in the _other_ direction from Metis, well to the northwest past Arcadia. "Fee?"

"Forty thousand credits up front and irrespective of your findings, Ͻ20,000 on proof of harvestable material and another Ͻ40,000 if we succeed in claiming the system."

Her mind leapt to what the proceeds could translate into: a more efficient power allocation optimizer for the _Siyane_ and two new ware customizations for her eVi she'd been researching, for starters, with forty thousand or so left over for savings and whims. Kennedy kept mentioning them taking a vacation to some new resort on Atlantis....

But she had her own plans. The whole point of being a freelance scout, and an unusually successful one, was the freedom to set her own schedule. To go where she wanted when she wanted. To serve no boss and owe no obligations outside negotiated contracts.

And she wanted to go to Metis. She wanted a new mystery to unravel.

She managed to look regretful. "I'm sorry, Mr. Onishi. I'm booked for the next month."

He regarded her from across the desk as his fingertips drummed on its surface. Five seconds ticked by...he dipped his chin. "And if I tack on an additional twenty percent to the fee?"

Her lips pursed, buying herself a breath to reconsider. "That's very generous of you, and I appreciate the vote of confidence. Unfortunately, there's simply no way for me to rearrange my schedule."

Onishi threw his arms in the air and slid his chair back. "I shouldn't be surprised you're booked up. I suppose I'll have to engage someone else, then, as time really is of the essence. Terrence Macolly perhaps. He's submitted competitive bids on several recent contracts."

She smirked as she stood. "If you're willing to accept a sloppy investigation and unreliable data, go right ahead. If you want it done in a professional manner, hire Santino Dominguez instead."

"He's even pricier than you are."

"True, but he gets results." She gave Onishi a half-smile. "Don't tell him I said so, though."

"My lips are sealed." He walked her to the door of the suite, still courteous despite her rejection.

She accepted his outstretched his hand again; no reason to alienate a well-paying client. "Please let me know when another opportunity arises. Hopefully my schedule will be more accommodating in the future."

"I'll do so, Ms. Solovy. Safe travels to you."

Alex stared at the billboard hovering above the glass doors.

She'd been headed for the exit with single-minded purpose when the colorful holo brought her to an abrupt halt and demanded her undivided attention. It accomplished this feat by blasting a promo for a 'special acoustic performance' by Ethan Tollis at the Seaspray Amphitheatre on the adjacent platform.

_Tonight._

Damn Kennedy for seeding her subconscious with thoughts of Ethan the other day. She scowled at the promo, eyes narrowed, until it cycled to the next ad, and tried to pretend she wasn't checking the local time.

Seven hours from now. Of course if she were to stay for the show, it would be far longer than seven hours before she was again en route. More like tomorrow...afternoon.

It was as if the gods themselves were conspiring to entice her away from Metis. First the Deep Space Exploration job offer, then the Astral Materials contract and now _this._ A rather vivid image of what staying promised to bring flared in her mind—a final, deliciously prurient temptation.

But she would not be deterred. She squared her shoulders in a show of defiance, exhaled...and turned away from the billboard. By the time she hit the terrace, she had resumed her hurried, clipped pace. She had a nebula to explore.

# 10 Seneca

### Cavare

Caleb had gotten as far as the hallway to his apartment when the alert flashed in his eVi. As soon as he saw the header he opened the file.

**_Cavare Police Department_**

**_Harassment Report: 1628 - 02.09.2322_**

_**Complainant** : Dr. Jesse Valente_

_**Suspect** : Mr. Francis Gerod_

_**Summary** : Complainant stated that Mr. Gerod, a coworker at Hemiska Research, physically assaulted her this evening as she was leaving work._

_According to her statement, she and Mr. Gerod had a heated disagreement during a staff meeting. He followed her out of the building, and when she refused to converse with him he yanked her arm roughly. She escaped his grip, but he pursued her to her vehicle and slammed the vehicle door shut before she could climb in, nearly crushing her hand. She retrieved a stunner from her bag and pointed it at him until he backed away, at which point she departed._

_Complainant displays bruises on her left forearm (visuals attached) consistent with a handprint. She stated that she did not initially report the altercation because she "prefers to handle problems on her own." She reconsidered after realizing if Mr. Gerod came to her home, he posed a threat to her four-year-old twins._

_Complainant doesn't wish to file charges at this time, but wanted to ensure there was an official record of the incident._

_**Status** : Officers interviewed Francis Gerod at 1840 tonight. He admitted to having an "unpleasant encounter" with Complainant but denied he intended to harm her physically. He claimed he was upset about problems at work, but once he cooled off he recognized he had overreacted._

_Mr. Gerod received a warning and was informed a second incident would result in arrest and formal charges._

The alert had been sent due to a flag Caleb maintained in the Senecan security network. It was one of many he'd placed over the last fifteen years. Some were on people he'd investigated in the past, individuals he suspected were dirty but who hadn't yet made enough of a mistake to get caught. Those flags were designed to alert him when that mistake occurred. Others were on people he cared about—or had once cared about, as was the case here—and were designed to warn him if they might be in trouble.

Jesse wouldn't want him protecting her. As she had admitted in the police statement, she took care of her own problems. But he hadn't asked her permission.

Caleb went inside his apartment long enough to grab a nanobot injection to speed the metabolizing of the alcohol in his bloodstream. The evening at the bar with Noah had been entertaining, but he needed to be sober when he reached Francis Gerod.

Gerod lived in a townhouse on the outskirts of the Tellica University campus. The man's file indicated his wife and two young children lived there as well. In deference to the children, Caleb didn't intend to break down the door...unless it became necessary.

Twenty minutes after he arrived and set up surveillance across the street, Gerod exited his townhouse and headed for the community parking lot behind the building. He was alone.

Caleb followed.

Though night had fallen in full, it wasn't inordinately late. Nevertheless, the streets were sparsely populated, a symptom of the family-friendly nature of the neighborhood. He slipped unnoticed into the lot and closed on Gerod as he approached his vehicle.

He had the man locked in an armbar and shoved into the vehicle's frame before the man knew he was there.

"What—"

Caleb used his body to keep Gerod pinned against the frame while he clasped a hand over the man's mouth. "You're going to want to not scream, or the arm that will then be broken will be the least of your concerns. Are we clear?"

Gerod nodded haphazardly. Caleb couldn't see the man's eyes, but he could feel the terror in his quivering limbs. He waited two seconds then withdrew his hand slightly.

"Wha-what do you want? I don't have any valuables with me!"

"I'm not here to rob you. I'm here to kill you. Unless—" his palm slammed back onto the man's mouth to stifle the cry "— _unless_ you make me a promise and keep it for the rest of your life." He paused to let the information sink in. "Are you ready to hear what the promise is?"

Another wild nod.

His lips hovered at the man's ear. "You will never lay another finger on Jesse Valente. You will never threaten or in any way whatsoever cause harm to her or her family. You will be polite and respectful to her at all times. When you next see her, you will apologize for your rude behavior and assure her you bear no ill feelings toward her."

Gerod squirmed in agitation. He stood no chance of escaping Caleb's grasp, but he seemed to be protesting in some manner.

Caleb loosened his hand but didn't completely remove it. "I sincerely hope you're not planning on refusing to give this promise."

Spittle landed on his palm as Gerod began sputtering out a response. "N-no. I promise—I swear. It's just I don't know if I'll see her again so I can apologize. You see, I got a new job offer tonight. I sent my resignation to Hemiska a few minutes ago. So it all worked out! I'm not even mad at her anymore." His words increasingly ran together in a fevered outburst. "I-I'm thankful, really. That business at the office forced me to finally make the decision to leave it behind. But I would never hurt her. I was angry and scared I was going to get fired. But she's a nice woman. A little intimidating, honestly—but I respect her." He sucked in a frayed breath. "Please don't kill me."

Unseen from his position behind Gerod, Caleb rolled his eyes at the sky but made certain his voice remained suitably frightening. "I told you what you have to do in order to live."

"But I—"

"If you won't see her again, you will send her a nice, extended, groveling apology by the end of the day tomorrow. If you don't, I'll know." It would require a bit of hacking on his part, but the active police investigation should make it easier. "The police are watching you, and now I'm watching you. Never, ever forget it."

"I won't." Gerod tried to twist back, but Caleb tightened his grip and held him fast. The man didn't need to get a look at his face. "I promise."

"I'll hold you to it." He released the man from the grapple and stepped away.

Gerod stumbled around and peered into the darkness, but Caleb was already gone.

Jesse Valente laughed as her husband massaged her shoulders and murmured something in her ear. The tender moment was soon interrupted by a blur of motion as two squealing mops of blond hair barreled into them then whirled out of the room.

Leaning against a tree across the street, Caleb smiled, genuinely glad to see her happy. He mentally ticked off the items on his list and confirmed he'd checked everything. Dr. and Dr. Valente had a robust security system installed on the grounds and in their home—so robust he'd almost tripped one of the proximity sensors during his perimeter survey.

Satisfied, he departed for his apartment for the second time that night.

He had found one weakness in the security system, a gap in the sensors in the left rear of the property. Several trees had grown wide enough there that an intruder could climb up and reasonably leap onto the roof without setting off any alarms. When he got home he'd access the police database and add an instruction for a security consultant to be sent out to the residence, including a note to pay particular attention to the left rear area. While he was in the network, he'd also add a new flag for Francis Gerod.

Then he'd get some sleep, because, comm scrambler now acquired, he'd be leaving for Metis in the morning.

# 11 New Babel

### Independent Colony

Olivia Montegreu woke to the sensation of calloused fingertips dancing along her hip.

She stretched and rolled over, to be greeted with the smiling face of...she had never asked his name. Not as if it mattered. He was handsome and well-packaged and enthusiastic and couldn't be older than twenty-five.

He leaned over to kiss her, but she wound a hand into his hair and urged him lower instead. "Be a good boy and finish what you started."

He grinned as he kissed down her lean, smooth stomach, wasting little time in reaching his destination.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall to the pillow. _What a fabulous way to start the day...._

When she had finished, she nudged him off the bed with her toes. "That was lovely. You'll find your clothes laundered and folded in the entryway. The receptionist in the lobby will call you a cab if you need one."

He stood, nonchalantly wiping the excess moisture from his lips. "Can I see you again?"

She was already on the way to the shower and didn't bother to turn around. "Oh, I doubt it."

Forty minutes later she was seated at her desk, legs crossed elegantly beneath the burnished copper surface. A black silk sarong contrasted against her pale blond hair combed straight to drape down her back. It was all meticulously crafted to project the desired image.

She regarded the nondescript man standing across the desk from her with the slightest tilt of her head.

"Kill her."

He nodded, unsurprised. "Yes, ma'am. Should I pin the blame on anyone in particular? Maybe Trenton's group?"

"No. I want everyone to know this one came from me."

"Understood, ma'am. I'll inform you once it's done."

"No need; I assume you are capable enough. Simply _do_ it."

The man's throat worked, his composure faltering. "Of course, Ms. Montegreu. Is there anything else?"

"I hope not. Go." She flicked a perfectly manicured hand in the direction of the exit. He spun on his heel and hurried toward the door.

She rolled her eyes in irritation, but it was for show. Gesson was a competent enforcer, a crafty overseer and most importantly, not overly ambitious. On uncovering evidence the woman in charge of managing new chimeral distribution was skimming off the top, he had first confirmed the evidence then reported it directly to her. She was confident he would handle disposing of the embezzler with similar efficiency.

Once he had departed, she carried her hot tea over to the windows to inspect the morning.

New Babel's mornings looked suspiciously like its nights, on account of its distant blue dwarf sun and the heavy cloud of dust and gases from the surrounding nebula. It was hardly the most hospitable of planets, but it had two things going for it: an abundance of heavy metals which made industrial construction cheap and fast, and a natural barrier via the nebula against both electronic surveillance and warfare.

As such, it had become a home base for a wide swath of criminal organizations and black market entrepreneurs. There was no government to speak of and even less regulation; the strongest organizations built what they needed when and where they needed it.

The result was a chaotic architecture of high-rises, slums, factories, markets and red-light clusters...well, much of what occurred on the streets of New Babel would qualify as 'red-light' on other worlds. Here it took on a whole new meaning.

Her office stood in stark contrast to the dark, grimy, overcrowded city beneath it—quite deliberately so. The entire penthouse suite was spacious, minimally adorned and spotless. A décor of natural marble floors, white mahogany furnishings and copper and glass complements served as a declaration to all who entered that she existed above and apart from the masses below. Like her attire, appearance and bearing, it projected only and entirely what she desired to convey: refinement, prestige, exceptionality. But above all, _power_.

A soft chime in her ear reminded her it was time for the call. She stepped into the triple-shielded, soundproof QEC room hidden behind the visually seamless right wall of her office. Ten seconds later a holo shimmered into existence in front of her.

It revealed a man of indeterminate age, handsome and clean-cut but average in every way—medium skin tone, medium brown hair, medium height, medium build.

That is, until he looked up and met her gaze. Piercing, sea-green eyes hinted at intelligence and cunning, along with an indefinable spark which hinted at something else altogether. The overall effect was to transform what had been an ordinary man into one who radiated dynamism, charisma and authority.

She smiled darkly. "Marcus, it's good to see you again."

He raised an eyebrow in mock appreciation. "And you, Olivia. May I say you are even more beautiful than the last time we talked."

"You may say it, but you need to work on your sincerity a bit."

He shrugged. "It's a finite resource, and I need to save it for the constituents. What's the status?"

"We received the materials day before yesterday. They're stored in a secure location until it's time to deploy them. The team has been selected, every member screened by me, and is leaving tomorrow to train on Cosenti. The lead expects to have the final details worked out by late next week."

"Traceability?"

"Ah, Marcus, always concerned first and foremost with covering your own ass—I know, I know, your ass must be covered for later phases to work. I get it. To you? None. To me? Virtually none. The only conceivable link is the lead, and his cover is so deep it will take Senecan Intel months to begin to peel back the layers in the highly unlikely event he's identified."

"Will he break under coercion?"

"It won't be an issue."

The muscles in his jaw flexed. "Oh, really?"

"Oh, _really_. I have it covered. Regardless, he and the rest of the team know nothing of you. No one save me knows anything of you. That was the agreement, and I honor my agreements."

"True..." a hand rose to knead at his chin "...you _are_ the sole link to me."

She _tsked_ him reproachfully. "If you try to kill me, you will not succeed."

"Oh, I'm sure. And I won't need to try, because you are nothing if not power-hungry, and this little project of ours will bring you more power than you ever dreamed of."

"I can dream of a lot."

"And you shall have it all—so long as you make certain Palluda goes down cleanly."

She rolled her eyes in irritation, and this time meant it. "Marcus, who is the most dangerous, most effective, most Machiavellian criminal magnate in settled space?"

"That would be you, my dear."

"Correct. Don't question my methods, don't question my judgment—and most of all don't question my competency—and we will continue to get along just fine."

His chin dipped in acquiescence. "I have been properly chastised. We'll talk again after Atlantis."

# 12 Atlantis

### Independent Colony

Jaron Nythal stepped out onto the rooftop landing pad and felt a smile grow on his lips. A warm breeze, salty air and bright yellow sun welcomed him like the arms of a beautiful woman. He was going to enjoy this trip.

He pulled his jacket off, draped it over a shoulder and strolled across the pad toward the railing at the edge of the roof while the rest of the Senecan delegation disembarked and saw to the luggage and cargo. Until the Director arrived on Sunday evening he was in charge of the delegation, which meant someone else would get his luggage to his room.

He rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks. The transport was fast and secure, but it was still a government vessel and nineteen hours was a _long_ time.

His smile only widened as he reached the edge and the splendor of Atlantis spread out beneath him. A tiny planet covered wholly in water, it should have lain unnoticed and undeveloped. But the pleasant temperatures and calm weather of its equatorial region had caught the eye and imagination of a developer tycoon who found himself idle after many successful ventures and with money to burn.

The outcome was a fantasy retreat unlike any other in settled space. Winding pathways suspended a mere two meters over the crystal blue water connected islands of condos, gardens, golf courses and beaches. Only small shuttles and personal vehicles were allowed in the airspace stretching four hundred meters above the waters to allow for a variety of recreational activities, from sky gliding to paracruises and wave skimming.

Casinos, pleasure houses and vacation resorts competed with—or was it complemented?—state-of-the-art conference and convention facilities. Taking advantage of its unaffiliated status and convenient location nearly equidistant between Earth and Seneca, within ten years of opening the first hotel Atlantis had become the most popular destination in the galaxy for both corporate and government conventions.

The breeze began to wash away the grime of travel; he rolled his sleeves above his elbows to hasten the effect. He intended to make every effort to find plenty of time around the preparations and even the Summit itself to enjoy the finer pleasures Atlantis had to offer. He already had a series of high-credit escorts lined up for the room at night—more than one on several nights—but not all of Atlantis' offerings could be indulged in from a hotel room.

The flash of red at the corner of his peripheral vision banished the train of thought and brought a dark scowl to his face. And then there was _that_.

He supplied the decryption code, scanned the message and deleted it almost as soon as it had arrived. It contained suitably cryptic phrasing, but the point came through clear enough.

Payment had been received. Final preparations were underway. The assignment would be completed at the time and in the manner the other party deemed most efficient. If all went well, Jaron would never know the man (or woman) had ever been at the Summit. That is, except for the irrefutable evidence thereof they would leave in their wake.

He'd return to Seneca a richer man, though the new funds paled in comparison to the wealth he expected to soon follow. Yessiree...he should be able to set his wife and kids up in one of the swank new townhomes in the Pinciana neighborhood, with enough left over for a private condo retreat for himself downtown. It was a long way from his parents' tiny apartment tucked behind their 'herb' shop shouting distance from the _kasō shakai_ , the underworld slums the rest of Cavare pretended didn't exist. A long way indeed.

Of course if all didn't go well, he'd be facing forty-years-to-life in prison at best, permanent disappearance into the black hole of a covert intelligence detention facility at worst. It wasn't the first high-stakes risk he had taken in his life...but it certainly carried the greatest consequences, whether win or lose.

The scowl lingered as he yanked his sunglasses off and looked around for his secretary. She tromped outside the transport cargo hull, arms flailing about to point at crates of equipment while she issued orders to the staff.

He tossed his jacket into her chest and headed for the lift. "I'll be in the Prep Room until dinner. Be a dear and bring me a drink, one of those strong tropical concoctions." He paused mid-step, considered the message again and glanced over his shoulder.

"On second thought, go ahead and make it a double."

Matei Uttara departed the commercial transport amidst a throng of passengers. It wasn't difficult to blend in with the diverse array of tourists and businessmen and women. Some were here for networking, some for relaxation, others for assorted pleasures of a daring but not truly dangerous variety. He imagined some were here for all three.

His attire was nondescript, his hair cut to the chin and dulled to a dirty brown beneath a summer cap common on the resort world. His movements were casual, his bearing relaxed as he let himself be carried along by the crowd of travelers. His pace and gait varied at random intervals such that even the best pattern-recognition ware would be unable to spot anything anomalous.

He passed among giggling children accompanying their parents to the family resorts and young people already drunk on hormones and synthetic liquor. He surrounded himself with other visitors as he made his way to the levtrams and nonchalantly snuck in the last seat of a full tram headed in the correct direction.

As he exited the tram an attractive but intoxicated woman bumped into him. She stumbled, grabbed onto his arm and smiled lopsidedly up at him. He returned the smile while he reached underneath her hairline and pinched a nerve behind her ear. As her limbs relaxed he nudged her to send her momentum back toward her companions. He faded away into the crowd as one of them complained he wasn't going to carry her all the way to the condo.

The hotel was busy but not so thick with people as the transport station. He chose a family of five and trailed them through the lobby to the front desk, where he checked in under an invented identity using an untraceable credit account.

His room was a modest affair on a middle level of the hotel adjacent to the conference center hosting the Trade Summit. The conference center had already heightened their security, and the security at the hotel was sure to soon become tighter than pleased him. But by staying here he could avoid transport complications which had foiled less talented men than he; also, it provided him ready access to staff corridors and maintenance shafts, should the need arise.

He settled in with a decent steak dinner from room service, then sat cross-legged on the bed and spread the blueprints of the conference center and hotel in the air around him. They rotated in a slow circle as he studied them.

Periodically he reached up and paused the flow to study one more closely. He intended to know the location of each and every one of the staff corridors and maintenance shafts throughout the complex.

He planned to get a tangible feel for the layout in the morning, when the area would still be dominated by tourists rather than Summit guests. The first two days of the Summit he would attend as a credentialed reporter representing the small but growing trade exazine _Celestial Industrials Weekly_ , one of dozens of vultures hovering on the periphery of the proceedings and stalking the halls. He would schmooze and linger and talk to people, but not to any one person for so long as to make an impression.

At the end of the second day, his identity and tactics shifted. On the third and final day of the Summit, he would complete the job he had been engaged to do, again slip into the crowd, and vanish.

# 13 Siyane

### Space, Northeast Quadrant

Alex opened her eyes to the best surprise.

The brilliant red and pink glow of the Carina Nebula filled the wide viewport above her bed. The vivid colors shone with a dazzling splendor only nature could create. She wound her hands behind her head and settled back onto the pillow to drink in the sight.

It was good practice to drop out of superluminal speeds for a few minutes at least once a day to diffuse the particle buildup. She spoiled herself by arranging it so the deceleration occurred just before she routinely woke up, and was often treated to lovely vistas as a result—but few so spectacular as this one.

There were no colonized worlds in the vicinity due to the imminent (any time in the next five hundred or so years) supernova of Eta Carinae. As such, one rarely had cause to linger so near to Carina. What she knew to be over a million stars clumped into multiple open clusters to glitter crisp and bright through the nebular cloud. She grinned, captivated, and watched until the sLume drive re-engaged and the stars blurred away beyond the bubble wall.

With a contented sigh she crawled out of bed and splashed water on her face. She slipped on an athletic tank and shorts, twisting her hair up in a knot on the way up the circular stairwell to the main deck. After a brief check of the cockpit to make sure nothing unusual had occurred overnight and she remained on course, she grabbed a water, put on Brahms' _Academic Festival Overture_ and hit the treadmill.

Staying in shape while spending most of her days on a ship with under two hundred square meters of living space wasn't easy. Prenatal genetic tuning for physical hardiness and agility—a gift from her parents by way of the Alliance Armed Forces—made it easier to be sure, but even the best genetic enhancements didn't replace simple physical activity.

Nearly a quarter of the port wall was taken up by a treadmill, pull-up bar, pulley-based weight machine and pilates pad. It wasn't mountain hikes or barefoot beach runs, but it mostly got the job done.

Then she activated a full-sensory overlay of Discovery Park at sunset, and it effectively _became_ a barefoot beach run. Almost.

A heavy sheen of sweat coated her skin by the time she slowed the treadmill to a stop, lowered the music to a pleasant background level and headed downstairs to shower.

One could make a reasonable case for the utility of every item on the main deck. But there was simply no denying the truth that the lower deck represented pure personal extravagance. She didn't feel the slightest bit contrite about it either; it was her money and her ship.

Still, she occasionally had to giggle in wicked delight at the full waterfall shower, oversized garden tub, cushy lounge chair and queen-sized bed with a view of the stars. Her own personal retreat, tucked into the void of space.

She sat at the kitchen-area table and munched on a banana and peanut-butter toast while she checked her overnight communications.

First up was a cool note from her mother letting her know she would be going to St. Petersburg to attend a conference in a few days, and would tell her grandfather 'hello' for her.

She ignored the tone of the message and smiled to herself. She had always rather liked her grandfather. He was simple and down-to-earth in a way few people were these days. Grumpy as all hell, but in a loveable way. A brief pang of guilt struck when she realized it had been more than four years since she had seen him. She really should try to rectify the lapse once she returned to Earth.

She was about to delete the message when she noticed it included an attachment. Puzzled, she opened it, only to find a sterile listing of Alliance command postings for the previous month. A frown tugged her mouth downward as she scanned down it while wondering if her mother had attached it in error—except that was an absurd notion, because her mother didn't make mistakes.

The name leapt off the list as if it were scripted in meter-high fluorescent neon colors.

_EAS Juno: Lieutenant Colonel Malcolm Jenner_

She sank back in the chair, chuckling a little at the irony. He had left her because she spent too much time in space, and now he was serving in space. God, he must be miserable. He had never been able to grasp why she loved it so much, no matter how many times she had tried to explain it, had tried to show him what a wonder the stars were.

Maybe she should send him a brief message wishing him luck...but some wounds were best left untouched, the better to fade away. In truth, he hadn't left because she spent too much time in space—he had left because he believed she didn't love him enough to spend _less_ time in space and away from him. That wasn't the way she had viewed the issue, but in declaring such he had made her realize it didn't much matter, because the relationship was doomed to failure. He would never _understand_.

She didn't know what her mother imagined she was accomplishing by sending the attachment. Whatever. She munched on her toast for a moment, thoughts adrift in memories, before straightening up and forcing herself to refocus on the task at hand.

Her brow crinkled up in bewilderment at the next message. It contained a personal note from the Minister for Extra-Solar Development asking her to reconsider the Deep Space Exploration position, increasing the offered salary by twenty percent and offering to meet with her this week to discuss her needs.

Okay, seriously?

A somewhat disbelieving laugh escaped her lips. She didn't deny she felt flattered at the special attention; she had a great deal of confidence in her abilities, and her record spoke for itself, but _damn_.

She chewed on her bottom lip and pondered what in the hell might be the reason behind the lavish adulation. She didn't care for mysteries. Well, it would be more accurate to say she didn't care for mysteries she couldn't solve...but perhaps this mystery could be solved merely by the application of the universal law that politicians were _svilochnaya peshka_. Mollified by the thought, she shrugged and sent back a gracious decline.

The only other message of value came from Kennedy. It detailed her enchanting dinner with the eco-dev executive and proclaimed she was absolutely positively head-over-heels in love. This guy was the one. No doubt about it.

"What is this, the third 'true love' this year?" The woman went through men like most people went through flower arrangements. She responded with as much, then put away her plate and walked over to the data center.

The heart of the main deck consisted of a long table, rectangular except for rounded edges. Along the starboard wall were a set of embedded screens, a small desk and a workbench. A waist-high holo control panel, linked to both the screens and the table, spanned the gap at the cockpit-facing end. A plain cylinder twenty centimeters in diameter hung suspended from the ceiling to hover a meter and a half above the length of the table.

Both the cylinder and the surface of the table were made of a platinum-germanium based n-alloy. The inert, nonreactive platinum provided an ideal tableau upon which to display the data transmitted flawlessly through the zero-dispersive, semi-conductive and highly refractive germanium.

A series of commands entered in the control panel rendered a full-spectrum image of Metis above the center of the table. The EM bands gleamed in the traditional rainbow hues but stretched far beyond the range of visible light to cover the spectrum.

She reached into the display. One by one she pulled out each band and flicked it to the side, until eight discrete images bordered the center one. She couldn't help but smile; the images now resembled nothing so much as an old-fashioned painter's palette. Fitting, as to her it was pure art.

She leaned against the workbench behind her and let her eyes drift across the palette. It was time to get serious about this expedition.

# 14 Atlantis

### Independent Colony

Matei Uttara moved with deliberate aimlessness through the milling guests in the foyer of the ballroom. Dimmed lighting, standard protocol for dinner parties across millennia, gave him some measure of freedom in his movements. He took care not to abuse the privilege.

The current conditions—here, now, for the next seven to eleven minutes—most closely mimicked the environment he expected to encounter the following evening. Politicians, businessmen and press engaged in polite, formal mingling, everyone save the intelligence agents concerned solely with the impression they created.

Beyond the threshold eighteen dinner tables were arranged with careful precision, separated by a wide aisle cutting down the center. The aisle served as a clear demarcation of the factions present: Alliance to the left, Federation to the right. Even the corporate representatives and media were required to declare their allegiance for all to see.

The road to peace had quite a few more steps to be trod. Yet cracks in the symbolic wall were manifesting, courtesy of several brave souls among the attendees.

Political boundaries leaked like a sieve when it came to popular culture, but visible differences still existed between Alliance and Federation citizens. The inhabitants of Earth and the First Wave colonies preferred rather baroque clothing as the current fashion; ensembles tended to include multiple hues or a vibrant, often garish accent piece. Those hailing from Senecan worlds favored dark, more muted attire or a single dominant hue. They saw it as befitting their self-proclaimed no-nonsense, pragmatic nature.

The distinctions faded as one moved up the political ladder of course, for political culture remained traditionalist everywhere. Still, you could see it in the details if you knew how to look. For instance, among the brave souls chipping at the wall was Thomas Kalnin, the Alliance Deputy Minister for Textiles, whose bright fuchsia lapel kerchief in an otherwise conservative suit contrasted with the subdued sepia pantsuit of his conversation partner Sara Triesti, head of the Senecan Trade Biomedics Subdivision.

The crowd thinned a bit as those on the periphery began to wander toward their seats. He took a half-pace back into the shadows to survey the room.

The set of wide doors in the foyer constituted the primary method of ingress and egress to the ballroom. Halfway down the left wall were two doors used by the service personnel; one led to the kitchen, the other to supply stations then a maintenance corridor. The area bustled with activity as wait staff hurried in and out making final preparations.

Far less obvious was an unmarked door in the right wall, just in front of the dais that stretched the width of the room. It led to an engineering hub for the various screens, lighting and invisible acoustic enhancements. A single technician staffed it during events. Beyond it lay another maintenance corridor—but this one opened into a labyrinth of passages which spread through the convention center. He expected this to be his exit.

Director Kouris entered alongside his adversary-turned-partner Minister Santiagar. They would not linger amid the patrons. Not this evening. He could feel the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the intangible pressure on the guests to disperse, to take their places as rapt observers of the performance to come.

He watched Kouris and Santiagar move across the ballroom toward the seats of honor, aides trailing them in parallel clusters. The 'aides' included three Alliance and two Senecan intelligence agents identified the day before along with a dozen of their brethren elsewhere in the delegations.

There was danger in waiting until the final event on the final night to act. He would not be granted a second opportunity. Nevertheless, his instructions were to let the Summit play out, to let this very public spectacle of diplomacy run its very public course.

The reason for the instructions had not been provided, but it wasn't his concern. He knew quite well his role. He was to be the Bishop's Opening in a galactic chess match.

His white pawn stopped to acquire a drink at the bar before heading to one of the tables. Mr. Nythal had proved adequate in furnishing necessary access and information regarding certain codes and procedures, but was of little additional use. Yet another matter which was not his concern.

_His_ concern reached the head table, and the pressure on the crowd to alight became suffocating. He discreetly slid into the throng of reporters flowing to the media tables.

"Welcome everyone, to our banquet this evening. Friends, guests, press, we invite you to enjoy some of the famed Atlantis hospitality. Fellow Summit attendees, you've all worked extremely hard these last two days—it's time to relax for a couple of hours with a fine meal and finer wine."

Jaron was already relaxing with something considerably stronger than wine. He took a long sip of the Polaris Burst cocktail while shifting to the right in order for the waiter to place a spinach salad in front of him. The first of—was it five courses or six? He couldn't be bothered to recall.

The dynamic voice demanded he return his attention to the stage. He truly hoped the man wasn't intending on talking through every one of however many courses there were. The Alliance Minister was annoyingly charismatic, exhibiting an earnest demeanor which oozed sincerity and optimism. Director Kouris had spoken at the opening night's dinner. It had been a direct and businesslike speech, as was his manner—supremely competent and utterly uninspiring.

The Minister stepped out from behind the coral-veined marble podium. It served no real purpose beyond an oversized holder for a glass of water, but podiums were a tradition which for some reason never seemed to fade away. If the man needed the crutch of speech notes, they resided on his whisper. His easy, natural mannerisms made it unlikely, though.

"We won't hide from the truth of Earth and Seneca's troubled past. To ignore it would be to devalue the sacrifices of those who lost their lives in a war both sides believed to be just. But we cannot alter the past. We can only move forward."

Santiagar paused to sip his water, and Jaron leaned in to chuckle at the punch line of a joke being shared by his table companions. He hadn't caught the setup, but it hardly mattered.

Mid-level members of the Senecan delegation surrounded him at the white-clothed table. While the Summit was by most accounts going well, few on either side were ready to mix socially yet. From a hierarchical perspective, he surmised this was the 'auxiliary' table—occupied by those on the fringe of real power.

He swallowed a frown in the fiery burn of the cocktail. By right he should be seated next to the Director, but he had been bumped in favor of the Chairman of Elathan Pharmaceuticals, with the admonition that this _was_ a trade summit, after all.

"For though we have our differences, we are all members of the human race. We share thousands of years of history. We share a heritage, for Earth is the motherland for each of us."

Jaron nearly choked on a bite of ciabatta and quickly covered his mouth with a napkin. The Minister's eyes shown with the fervor of a true believer. It was revolting.

"We are here this week to take our first steps on a new path. A path which will bring greater prosperity to the citizens of our galaxy, no matter the affiliation of the world they call home. Director Kouris shares my commitment to forging this new path, and I give him my deepest appreciation and thanks."

The arrival of the soup dish provided him an opportunity to surreptitiously glance over at the press contingent. He didn't know what he expected to see—a ninja in a mask with a saber strapped to his back? He hadn't the faintest idea what the man looked like, or even if it was a man at all. Perhaps he might at least spot a steely gaze or an indefinable aura surrounding a _dangerous person_. But he could discern nothing. No sign or clue as to who among the two dozen reporters was the wolf in the fold.

He did however notice the vision in red crossing the room on her way to a corporate table near the corner. Silver hair cascaded down sculpted shoulders to frame a plunging neckline and ample cleavage.

Santiagar had abandoned the podium to stride along the front of the dais. His hands animated the energy of his words. "I believe, as the Director believes, commerce between private corporations and individual entrepreneurs should not be curtailed by political boundaries. Both the Alliance and the Federation espouse the principles of free enterprise and economic liberty. The time has come to practice what we preach."

Jaron gestured to one of the junior attachés seated at a lesser table to come over. When the young man—Cande-something—reached his side, he leaned in to mutter in his ear. "Do me a favor and see that a Velvet Fantasy is delivered to the lovely lady in red over there. And make damn sure she's made aware it's from me."

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it." The man—Chris Candela was his name, he thought—nodded and scurried off. Jaron relaxed back in the chair and pretended to gaze with interest at what mercifully appeared to be the conclusion of the speech.

"Tomorrow we will be presenting a series of real, concrete initiatives which will relax trade restrictions on a number of consumer goods, opening new markets for Alliance and Senecan companies alike. In addition, I'm pleased to announce Director Kouris and I have agreed to meet again next year in what we hope will become a regular conference devoted to expanding galactic commerce."

The Minister stopped at the perfect center of the stage and smiled with assured conviction at the audience. "Here's to new beginnings."

As Santiagar descended the stairs to shake Kouris' hand, Jaron looked over his shoulder to catch the eye of the lady in red. She raised her drink to him with a small dip of her chin and a seductive smile.

Diffuse lights transformed the waters to a glowing turquoise beneath the translucent walkway. Tiny ripples danced in the mild breeze cooling the air after what had been a warm, sunny day. Glare from the many hotels, restaurants and clubs fashioned an eerie blue-filtered aurora in the night sky.

The Summit banquet had concluded three hours earlier. Afterward the attendees had practically trampled one another in their eagerness to scatter throughout the resort colony and partake in their sin of choice.

The reputation of the man Matei followed was not that of a sinner. Those who knew him regarded him as squeaky-clean to a fault, which would be why he walked alone rather than joining any of the roving groups of his coworkers. It would also be why the man was heading toward the less well-lit area of the entertainment quarter, where his carnal lapse was unlikely to be witnessed by those same coworkers.

Matei trailed his target into a sizeable crowd spilling out of a large theatre. The façade was festooned with garish flamingos, frolicking dolphins and a strange yellow-and-orange flying creature, all intertwined with neon magenta crystals. The marquee advertised a full-sensory interactive circus performance.

Past the theatre the crowd dispersed somewhat, and with a right turn shadows began to fall across the illuminated walkway. Progressively seedier bars competed with body art parlors, sensory booths and 'leisure' clubs. He quickened his pace.

As they passed the entrance to one of the more popular clubs and the foot traffic briefly increased, he bumped against his target. "Sorry, excuse me." A clumsy grasp of a fleshy upper arm masked the pinprick of the microneedle.

The man didn't even glance at him. "It's fine."

Matei blended back into the passersby to continue following three meters behind. Twenty steps later the man's gait became erratic, then slowed to sway unsteadily.

He sidled in beside his target and placed an arm around the man's waist for support. "Easy there. I think you've had a little too much to drink."

Unfocused eyes looked over groggily. "Wha...you...." The eyes drifted closed as the man sagged into his arms.

He held the slumping figure upright and guided him to an offshoot alley, then down two more alleyways, until the discordant sounds of the quarter faded to a low buzz. They moved around the corner of the rearmost building and he let the man collapse against the wall. A few incoherent mumblings escaped, but by this point all motor function control had ceased.

Matei squatted down and placed a hand under the man's chin to hold his head up. "Okay, smile for the camera." His ocular implant scanned the facial features and hairstyle; he had to hold an eyelid open to get a retinal imprint. The man sank to the ground while he turned over a palm and scanned the fingerprints. Lastly, he yanked a single dark brown hair from the scalp and pressed it between the glyphs on his index fingers to extract the DNA sequence.

Satisfied, he reached in his pack and pulled out a ball. It was a mere four centimeters in diameter, made of an ultra-dense alloy and attached to a length of fine woven rope. He wound the end of the rope around the man's ankle and knotted it securely.

The man had slipped into a fully catatonic state. Matei lifted him enough to shift him to the edge of the narrow walkway. After injecting the man's neck with another needle, he straightened up and nudged the body and the ball over the edge into the water.

Here in the deep recesses of the entertainment quarter there were no lights in the walkways or neon lights adorning the buildings. Within seconds the body vanished beneath the inky blackness.

The rope was constructed of a special water-soluble metamat fiber. It was coated with a resin designed to dissolve over three days, after which the rope would disintegrate and the bloated body rise to the surface. The injected solution acted to keep the core organs minimally functioning long past when the man had drowned, thus delaying the apparent time of death.

In the bright daylight sun and crystal waters, the corpse was certain to be discovered. To the world it would look like the man committed suicide shortly after committing the heinous act he intended to perform the next evening.

He picked up the pack and retraced his path through the alleyways, where he rejoined the revelers. He wound his way back toward the hotel, where he would spend the remainder of the night transforming himself into Chris Candela, junior attaché to the Senecan trade delegation.

# 15 Space, Northeast Quadrant

### Border of Senecan Federation Space

Caleb sat on the floor in the open space of the main deck tinkering with a spare circuit panel. It was a trick he had learned as a teenager when he had spent a summer placing monitoring stations for the Park Service in the mountains outside Cavare. Occupying your hands with a detailed task became a form of meditation, allowing your mind to work through concerns in the background.

His hands worked to separate the main and below deck temperature control circuits; his mind pondered Volosk's oblique suggestion that he might, if he wanted, take Samuel's place in Division.

It wasn't a question of whether he thought he could do the job. It was a matter of whether he wanted to do the job. Samuel hadn't been confined to a desk in his last few years, but he had certainly spent less time in the field. Caleb _liked_ the way things were now. He liked the chase, the intrigue...the simplicity. There were no politics to worry about and no bureaucratic entanglements; there was only the mission. He hadn't—

—alarms began pealing in the cabin, the high-pitched wails bouncing off the narrow walls to clash in a discordant clangor.

He leapt to his feet and lunged for the cockpit—in the small cabin it wasn't a great distance—dropping into the seat as he brought the alerts front and center of the HUD.

The primary alarm alerted him to the fact that a particle beam had missed the ship by thirty-eight meters, sent off-kilter by the passive defense shielding. Weapons fire _skimming the hull_ was the first warning of other ships in the vicinity?

They must be sporting hardcore stealth, and since they were firing on him unprovoked they were definitely mercs. Drop out of superluminal for ten damn minutes and he's getting shot at....

"VI, identify hostiles and ready weapons."

The medium-pitched female voice responded in its pleasant, forever-placid tone. _"Tracking hostiles."_

The VI represented the top-layer interface for the onboard CU which monitored and manipulated the various ship systems. In 1.7 seconds the CU used the trajectory of the beam to extrapolate the attacker's location and analyzed the energy readings in the region to identify the unique signature of the vessel.

A red dot appeared on the HUD's regional map.

Having used the information to match similar energy signatures in the area, two additional dots quickly joined the first one. The three dots flew in formation and closed rapidly.

"Let's do this, you bastards. VI, autopilot off."

_"You have navigation."_

He engaged the safety harness then activated the manual-guided controls and yanked the ship upward into a sharp arc. He sailed above the pursuers, locked on and fired at the lead attacker.

Particle beam weapons were standard fare on merc vessels, because they were comparatively cheap, standardized and mass-produced. However they weren't particularly agile, with limited on-the-fly adjustability and a non-negligible recharge time.

He'd noted earlier how Division hadn't scrimped on the ship's hardware, and was never more grateful for it than at this moment. The dual neodymium-crystal pulse laser weapons his ship wielded exhibited far greater responsiveness than particle beams. They realigned each pulse to account for the movement of the target and were capable of firing continuously for upwards of twenty seconds before needing to recharge. Granted, each pulse carried rather less force than a particle beam shot—but in practice the continual fire more than made up the difference.

Twenty seconds of fire was enough to rip through most vessels' primary and secondary shielding, much as it was doing right...about... _now_.

The lead ship ripped apart into jagged metal shards, followed shortly thereafter by the bright white nova-like implosion-explosion of the sLume drive. His ship shuddered in his hands as the shockwave passed over it.

He concentrated back on the HUD and the two outstanding attackers. The rush of adrenaline in his veins focused his thoughts and created the illusion of time stretching out. Intellectually, he knew nanobot regulators in his bloodstream were honing and directing the adrenaline to enhance the effect. Physically, he only knew his eyesight became sharper, his reflexes faster and his decision-making clearer.

He'd exploited an advantage with the initial shot; they hadn't known he could track them. Now they did. Predictably, the two ships began zigzagging while attempting to track his own erratic path.

Maneuvering to slide behind them, he flipped the ship around and set the weapons to track one of the them until it gained a reliable lock then automatically fire. Unfortunately, while he did so the other attacker got a lock on him. The ship jerked in a violent wrench from the instantaneous impact of the particle beam. The shielding held but after two hits now stood at thirty-seven percent power.

He tried to make his movement as unpredictable as possible. It was one of the reasons why humans remained better pilots than CUs. Even seemingly random variations by a CU were able to be predicted to a reasonable probability by another CU; an Artificial might be another matter, but building a synthetic neural net into a ship remained impractical, not to mention highly illegal. The decisions of a human acting on instinct under combat pressures, however, could never be predicted with any degree of accuracy. Or so the scientists said.

Of course this meant he couldn't predict their movements either. The weapons would fire within a picosecond of achieving a lock, though—and everyone paused at the controls for a picosecond or two. He was sweeping below and aft of the attackers when his weapons locked and the second vessel followed the first into the beyond.

He made a snap decision and pushed the ship's speed to one hundred five percent maximum. The mercs—one merc now—were fast, but not that fast.

He had been traveling at seventy-five percent max sub-light speed when the attack occurred, and they had been gaining on him. Still, on the assumption the pilot of the final ship would spend at least a few seconds reeling from the close-proximity explosion and the fact all his companions were now dead, he figured he stood decent odds of escaping in those critical few seconds. Given the depleted state of his shielding, better odds than surviving another hit.

"VI, divert non-critical power to impulse."

_"Eighty percent of environmentals and utilities power diverted."_

He amped the speed an additional twelve percent. It wouldn't be maintainable for long without blowing out the engine—maybe ten minutes—but it should be long enough to lose the merc and transition to superluminal.

"VI, divert communications power to dampener field."

_"Communications is classified as a critical system."_

"I'm aware. Divert communications power to dampener field."

A slight pause. _"Dampener field at 97.2 percent strength."_

He sped 'north-northwest' toward a region of denser interstellar gas and dust. Concepts like "north" had no real meaning in space, true. Nonetheless, the intrinsic human need for directional bearing had led to the development in the early days of extra-solar space travel of a heading scheme based on Earth's location relative to the center of the galaxy.

Eight minutes later he decreased his speed to ninety-eight percent max, sent the diverted power flow to the dampener field and began altering his route. He'd veer about for a couple of hours and approach Metis from a different angle than his previous trajectory. As a precaution.

The air in the cabin started to get uncomfortably cold. He withstood it for another fifteen minutes, tucking his arms against his chest to maintain body heat. When his jaw shivered so violently he accidentally bit his tongue, he decided the success or failure of his escape had by this point surely been decided.

"VI, return power to normal distribution."

_"Standard power flows restored. Primary systems nominal. Two thermal blankets are located in the aft supply cabinet should you require them."_

"Thank you, VI. I'll be fine." The breath he had metaphorically been holding since the attack began escaped in a very real expulsion of all the air from his lungs as he sank deeper into the chair. No longer required to focus on escape, evasion or keeping warm, the last of the adrenaline dissipated. He was left with little to do but sit there and attempt to wrap his head around what had just happened.

How had they tracked him? For all practical purposes ships were not able to be tracked while superluminal. Theoretically the warp bubble could be detected, but to track it one would have to be traveling at the same precise speed on an identical trajectory. Even then, the minimal maneuverability coupled with the vast distances being covered made it effectively impossible to follow a ship in superluminal through a miniscule change in trajectory.

At sub-light speeds his ship was virtually invisible from greater than 0.1 AU; the odds of a band of mercs randomly encountering him at such close proximity in deep space were so low as to be nonexistent. Certainly, merc bands loitered in space waiting on targets all the time; but they did so in populated, high traffic areas and preyed on far larger, less stealthy vessels.

Lycaon was almost 0.6 kpcs behind him, Gaiae more than 0.7 kpcs to the southeast—and neither of those worlds were exactly hotbeds of activity. There was essentially nothing between here and the borders of explored space except the Metis Nebula.

"VI, initiate an analysis of all systems and a nano-scale scan of the interior and exterior of the ship."

_"What am I to look for?"_

"A tracking device or item capable of sending out a signal, but I'll settle for anything which doesn't belong. Also, run diagnostics on the dampener field and let me know of any errors."

_"Acknowledged. A scan at such a level of precision will take 3.62 hours."_

"Understood. Inform me of any anomalies as soon as you find them."

He didn't expect the VI to find anything amiss. Security on Division's wing of the spaceport was as tight as that of Headquarters; tampering with the ship would have been quite difficult, though he had to acknowledge not impossible.

For the moment he had no choice but to operate under the assumption the ship was clean....

So how the hell had they found him? And more relevantly, why had they been so eager to vaporize him on sight?

# 16 Atlantis

### Independent Colony

Matei stepped through the wide doors and into the foyer of the ballroom.

His position was two-thirds of the way down the receiving line for the dignitaries, a prelude to the final gathering of the Trade Summit. It was the appropriate station for a junior member of the Senecan delegation—after the diplomats and CEOs, before the administrative personnel.

The disguise wasn't perfect. There were limits to what even glyphed cybernetics could do, the most significant one being they couldn't alter bone structure. That had been one of the factors in choosing the victim though, so it wasn't a major issue. Silica-cellulose injections added sufficient depth to his cheekbones and prominence to his chin; block-heeled shoes added the extra four centimeters.

His skin had darkened two shades, eyes hued to light green and hair tinted to a chocolate brown and cut to match Candela's style. Foam padding beneath the borrowed clothes provided the extra thirty pounds to his lean frame.

A friend or family member of Mr. Candela wouldn't be fooled—but the man had no friends among his coworkers, and his family was kiloparsecs away.

Matei had made public appearances over the course of the day only when necessary, during which he remained quietly invisible among the Summit attendees. Here, he had positioned himself in line between two Alliance officials; he would not be expected to speak to them.

As the line continued its slow procession forward, the polite greetings and repetitive small talk began to rise above the low din of those who forewent the receiving line. The line was an odd, anachronistic formality, a tradition he thought had perhaps become malformed somewhere along the way. Nevertheless this night it was to his advantage, for the man he impersonated would not otherwise be allowed to get so close and he might have been forced into a more risky strategy.

The woman in front of him took another step, and he entered the critical zone. He didn't look around—not for security or agents, nor for cams or sensors. He knew where they were and had factored them into the plan.

In the next step he triggered the release of nanobots into his bloodstream which secreted a specially formulated epinephrine compound. It heightened his senses by twenty-two percent and sped his physical reaction times by thirty-six percent above already genetically and biosynthetically enhanced capabilities.

He spotted Mr. Nythal sitting at a table to the right, his eyes a little wide as they scanned up and down the receiving line with a drink in hand for easy access. If the man spooked security with his vaguely panicked expression, they would have...words.

The next advancement brought him to the Atlantis Governor. He smiled politely and shook the woman's hand. His voice, though not loud, was clear and crisp so as to be easily overheard and later recalled by those in the vicinity.

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'am. Chris Candela, Seneca Trade Division."

She smiled as all politicians do, possibly with a tad greater warmth than most since she oversaw a resort world. "I hope you've enjoyed your stay here, Mr. Candela."

"Very much so, thank you."

The Senecan Trade Director was occupied talking up the trophy wife of a Senecan dignitary and didn't even glance at him as they shook hands. All the better.

Without altering his gait or demeanor he stepped face to face with Alliance Trade Minister Santiagar and extended a hand in greeting.

"Chris Candela, Seneca Trade Division. It's an honor, sir."

His eVi activated the virus which had been quarantined in his data cache for the last week and directed it through his cybernetics into his hand. As he shook Santiagar's hand, he shifted his grip so his index finger made contact with the Minister's index finger on release.

Like every person in society above the poverty level, the Minister's index finger contained the conductive fibers necessary for interaction with a variety of screens, panels and the millions of other electronic devices which pervaded the world around them. The fibers at a minimum connected to the man's eVi, which at a minimum connected to his brain.

In Santiagar's case, the files indicated his body contained a reasonable amount of additional cybernetic enhancements. The minimum would have sufficed, but the enhancements removed all chance.

There wasn't even a vibration or tingle when their conductive fibers made contact and the virus passed from his fingertip into the Minister's cybernetics. He smiled, dipped his chin in appreciation and moved on.

He made a point to have his pace appear aimless while winding between the milling guests toward the plain door in the right wall.

The first gasps of horror and panic began to echo behind him as he slipped through the door.

# 17 Metis Nebula

### Outer Bands

Caleb frowned at the Evanec screen again.

Static wasn't something one commonly encountered in the twenty-fourth century. Yet static was precisely what he was looking at.

Upon entering the golden-blue wisps of Metis this morning, communications had begun to deteriorate. First the exanet feed had stuttered for a few minutes then died. Being cut off from the endless avalanche of media populism and celebrity gossip and pseudo-political intrigue was mostly a welcome respite, but it did nag at him that if anything of actual import were to happen, he'd remain ignorant of it for a time.

Next the Evanec had started to flicker in and out, and after an hour the ship couldn't establish a connection to Senecan security channels or anywhere else. It shouldn't be a problem, seeing as he wasn't expecting to be engaging in ship-to-anything communications deep in the void of space...though the static _was_ a bit unnerving.

Finally, his eVi's communication system fell silent. Locally stored messages remained, but any attempt to send or receive a message or ping the network resulted in a chilling response:

_Connection unable to be established. System is not connected to exanet infrastructure. Messages will be queued until able to be delivered._

Well. Should Division feel the need to alter his mission, he wouldn't get the memo. Should they need him for a more urgent mission, he wouldn't get that one either, which bothered him a marginal amount more. If something happened to Isabela and he didn't know...but he'd only be here for a few days. It would be fine.

His gaze drifted to the viewport. The Nebula's luminous, misty haze formed an eerie, even ghostly environment. Not frightening as such; only dust, gases and the charged particles of the pulsar wind inhabited the sky, and they wielded neither sentience nor intentionality. Rather, it created the impression one had crossed over into an ethereal, incorporeal plane of existence—an effect without a doubt magnified by the disconcerting silence of a formerly ever-present and quite loud civilization.

He assumed the particular makeup of Metis' EM signature interfered with transmission protocols, both governmental and commercial. Given communications were 'classified as a critical system,' he imagined the VI might be somewhat concerned about the matter.

"VI, do you know the reason for the interference in communications?"

_"Though no single emission is strong enough to interfere with our systems, the overall EM makeup of this region is nonetheless diffracting all external signals to the point their integrity is lost."_

"How so?"

A pause, far longer than normal. _"I cannot determine the precise mechanism at this time."_

Though cognizant it consisted solely of qubits, he felt a strange urge to reassure the VI. "It's fine, it doesn't matter."

_"I will continue to analyze the problem."_

Wave diffraction was a common enough occurrence, if not often to such damaging effect. Space in its natural state did not always cater to human preferences. On his return he'd submit a log of the interference, and within a few months the Senecan security protocols at least would be adjusted to counteract it. So long as the region stayed uninhabited, the exanet purveyors weren't likely to give a shit.

He played with the Evanec settings for a while, but refining the bands merely seemed to make the problem worse—not that 'null' could really be made worse. Resigned to the fact he did not possess the ability to improve matters, he relaxed in the pilot's chair and surveyed the situation.

Whatever the source of the anomalous readings which had sent him here, it was a solid day to day and a half away based on the rate of increase in the signal strength. The probe had traveled more than a hundred parsecs farther into the Nebula than his current location.

Still, for obvious reasons he took things slowly. This was unfamiliar territory with unknown factors at work and no safety net should something go wrong. While he would be the first to go in with guns blazing where the circumstance called for it, this one did not. So he moved carefully, scanning and recording for future analysis by those more scientifically minded than he.

He was standing up to go make a sandwich when the physical sensor blinked an alert. He eased back into the chair and magnified the screen.

Buried in the shadow of backlit clouds, 0.01 AU away, floated a small planet. The initial scan indicated moderate gravity and a reasonable atmosphere, albeit one consisting of toxic air and volatile weather patterns, which didn't come as a surprise. What star did it belong to? The pulsar? It wasn't common for pulsars to have planets, though it did happen. Perhaps it was a rogue, ejected from orbit in the eons-past supernova explosion.

He called up his astroscience files, projected them to an aural and scrolled down them in an effort to recall—

—a flicker...no, an _absence_ , a dark gap in the nebular clouds, caught the corner of his eye. In a breath he shifted to full alert.

There was no logical explanation for why his senses were instantly hyper-focused and nanobot-aided adrenaline already rushed through his veins. But preternatural instincts was one reason the government paid him a rather generous salary.

He swung around to sweep the area in a broad arc, and came up empty. The sensors detected only the noise Metis radiated. Yet a moment later a well-defined _void_ was distinctly silhouetted against a dense fog of dust, illuminated by the pale golden glow of the Metis interior. He checked the scans again. Nada.

The sensors told him the region was empty. His eyes told him otherwise. His ocular implant strained to zoom in and focus on the distant shadow; he would have a headache later. He tensed as the silhouette solidified in his vision into the outline of an artificial construct. He'd call it a ship, but....

Then it whipped about and accelerated toward him and he decided it was most definitely a ship. Aerodynamic and tinted an inky black, it resembled nothing so much as a bird of prey preparing to swoop down upon him.

"Son of a _bitch_!" How the bloody fuck had those mercs tracked him here? This vessel was supposed to be stealthy. It _was_ stealthy. The scans of the ship had come up squeaky clean. No bloody fucking way could they have tracked him—except for the fact they very plainly had. He slid into the heavier gas clouds to his right, using the visual and EM cover to strafe to the side of his adversary.

Based on the trajectory and speed when the ship had been visible, he estimated the amount of time until it drew even. With a jerk across the controls he emerged from the clouds and fired on where it should be.

His instincts served him well; the other ship tacked away as an explosion blazed bright against its hull—it plummeted and swerved into a dense clump of dust—

—the laser lost tracking. Terrific. It must have one hell of an aversion shield.

No time to ponder it, for he promptly became the target of the return flare of a pulse laser—silver-white in hue, suggesting ytterbium crystal construction. Not a particle beam...and Alliance-produced? Odd.

In a smooth motion he accelerated in an arc up and over the attacker and entered a wall of thick nebular gases. He strafed horizontally before sinking down into the cover, hoping to sneak around and catch his adversary from underneath.

He exited the cloud to find the enemy due ahead and waiting for him.

_Didn't see that coming._

He jerked up at a fifty degree angle and away—

—but it was too late. The ship quaked beneath his hands from the impact of point-blank pulse laser fire.

He managed to get off a staccato of fire while in full reverse, though it was unclear if any of it hit. The attacker's weapon did not lose tracking. A relentless pulse stream tore through his shields, then the outer hull. The rear of the ship plummeted into a wild spin as alerts flared across the HUD bank.

Letting loose a string of curses in half a dozen languages, he wrenched out of the spin and set a trajectory for the nearby planet. It had obviously been placed here _just_ so he could crash on it.

He surrendered the controls to the CU long enough to pull on the environment suit and carry the helmet back to the chair. The helmet annoyed him; it cut off his senses and narrowed his perspective, and he wasn't putting it on until it was required to continue living and breathing.

On retaking the controls he worked to approach the planet at an angle which stood a marginal chance of not turning the ship and him to flaming meteoroids. Concentrated as he was on flying a vessel which seemed to have lost most of its tail section, it took a few seconds for him to realize the incoming fire had ceased—possibly on account of the fact he was _clearly_ already dead.

The turbulence of the planetary atmosphere sent the ship into violent convulsions. He threw everything into holding her steady, but he was fighting a losing battle.

Then the HUD went dark.

Then the aft section of the ship exploded.

_Goddamn pain-in-my-ass mercs..._ with a groan he pulled the helmet on and secured the seal to the suit, punched the evac and dove for the hatch.

It went without saying that there were no atmosphere corridors onto the small, barren planet buried within Metis.

Alex fought to maintain control of the damaged _Siyane_ in the buffeting atmospheric forces. Visually she was blind, for the viewport revealed only the whirl of an impenetrable caramel-colored dust. She relied on the bank of displays to track altitude and angle of descent and to search the topography for a safe place to land. She needed to inspect the damage, and she just wasn't crazy enough to open the engineering hatch while in space when she was fairly certain the lower hull had been blown wide open.

The fiery bloom of an explosion thirty degrees to starboard cut through the dust and haze. A harsh breath escaped between gritted teeth. She should feel satisfaction at the attacker's destruction. Bastard had the gall to shoot her ship!

But extinguishing life wasn't actually something she routinely—or ever—did, and deep down it hadn't been her goal. She'd merely done what was necessary to defend herself. It was one of many lessons her father had impressed upon her once she was old enough to comprehend them.

_Alex, if an attacker means you harm, you cannot hold back. The attacker will seize advantage of your attempt to preserve their life. They will take yours._

The simple and stark truth was the other ship fired first, giving her no choice but to destroy it before it destroyed her.

Still, her heart leapt of its own accord when a pinpoint blip appeared on the radio, mid-infrared and electronic sensor screens. The pilot had escaped prior to the vessel's disintegration and currently plummeted toward the planet's surface. Presumably they wore a suit and a chute and would land intact, for all the good it would do them.

Her initial relief at the sign of life dissolved into dismay. Without a way off the planet or any rescue incoming—assuming their communications capabilities were as nonexistent as hers had been since entering the Nebula—whether in two days or two weeks, the pilot was as good as dead.

" _Gavno!_ " This person had tried to shoot her down, and would doubtless have left her to die had they succeeded. Likely a merc, assuredly a criminal and clearly dangerous; in all probability a killer who deserved to die.

_But not by her hand._

She wasn't a killer...though for perhaps the first time ever she almost regretted it.

Groaning in exasperation at an obstinate conscience, she yanked the ship into a rough trajectory toward where the pilot should be landing. It took some doing; the ship gyrated like a teenager on a chimeral high at a rave. When the opportunity came to inspect the hull she expected to find a royal shit-ton of damage.

But for now the exterior plasma shielding continued to hold. She forcibly drove the ship downward, weaving a path toward the projected impact point. She had to dodge the wreckage of the enemy ship twice as it cavorted wildly and wrenched apart from the pressure of the atmosphere and the pull of gravity.

Finally the air cleared—so to speak. Sand-saturated winds whipped through the sky, and physical visibility increased only to meters. She zeroed in on the weak electronic signature of the pilot's suit while keeping an eye on the ground sensor; given the presumed damage to the lower hull there was no guarantee the collision warning still functioned.

She had slowed almost to a stop before the vague outline of a tensile-fiber chute billowing in the wind came into view.

_Last chance to bail, Alex. Land beyond that hill on the topo map there and make sure you have basic functionality. Then hobble to Gaiae, repair your ship and get on with your life._

She rolled her eyes in annoyance and settled to the ground with a modicum of grace. After scanning the system monitors to make certain nothing threatened to go critical for the moment, she stood and pulled on her environment suit. She grabbed the Daemon from the cabinet and primed it prior to activating the hatch. Twenty seconds later she stepped onto a rather rudely unwelcoming world.

She struggled against punishing winds to approach the chute and the prone form tangled in it. Goddammit, was she going to have to go back and get a blade and cut the _suky sranuyu_ out?

In a flurry of motion the pilot somehow disentangled from the chute and crawled to their knees. _Guess not._

The chute rose in the air to be caught by the wind and shredded to ribbons. The pilot stood, faltered for a second, then righted themselves and focused on her.

A deep male voice bearing a lilting, melodic timbre came over her suit's vicinity comm. "Listen, whoever you are, I'm sure we can work something ou—"

She steadied the gun with both hands and fired.

# Part 2

### CAUSALITY

_"Civilization begins with order, grows with liberty,_

_and dies with chaos."_

* * *

_— Will Durant_

# 18 Earth

### Vancouver, EASC Headquarters

Miriam double-checked the file index a final time. She wanted to be able to review her notes during the flight for the session she would be chairing at the TacRecon Conference, on the economic viability of continuous passive planetary-wide hyperspectral scanning. They had been sent to Reference Confirm this morning and needed to be ready by the time she arrived at the spaceport.

With any luck the notes would occupy her for the entire flight, and she'd have no opportunity to dwell on the destination. She allowed a quiet sigh to escape as she reached for her jacket.

The sound of the door sliding open caught her by surprise. She could count on one hand the number of people who dared enter her office unannounced. If the entrant wasn't on the list....

Richard's eyes were starkly bloodshot even from across the room. He clearly hadn't been getting much sleep the last several nights. "Turn on the news feed."

"I was just on my way out the door for St. Petersburg."

"You're not going."

She arched an eyebrow. She didn't want to go of course, but he had very little say in the matter.

An aural materialized in front of him; he leaned against the front of the desk and shifted it out so she could also see it. "The data stream from the QEC to Atlantis. Now _please_ , turn on the news feed."

"Very well." A finger press to the edge of her desk and a large panel embedded in the far wall burst to life.

"—Atlantis security and Alliance officials are refusing to provide any information regarding the incident. However—"

Her eyes flew to the aural Richard had generated.

_Trade Minister Santiagar confirmed to have suffered a catastrophic overload of cybernetics resulting in stroke and brain hemorrhage_

"What?" She hurried around the desk and positioned herself beside him for a clearer vantage. "Are you certain?"

"—guests at the dinner recount seeing nothing unusual as the Minister joined the Senecan Trade Director and Atlantis Governor in greeting attendees, and say he abruptly began shaking violently then collapsed—"

_remote injection of self-replicating virus suspected, confirmation expected within seven minutes_

He ran a hand roughly through his hair. "I'm afraid so."

"—the ballroom has been cleared and everyone present is being detained, though officials assure us it is only precautionary—"

_surveillance scans identify an individual exiting the room through a service door 1.8 seconds after initial manifestation of symptoms_

"—we realize several other networks are reporting that Minister Santiagar has died. We don't want to jump the gun and report something which turns out to be inaccurate—"

"Is he dead?"

He merely nodded.

_individual was tracked into maintenance corridors but disappeared from surveillance cams during level transition 26.4 seconds after incident_

"—responses from both the Earth Alliance and Senecan Federation representatives are confused and conflicting, making it difficult—"

_review of visuals confirm individual physically interacted with the Minister 7.8 seconds prior to incident_

He blew out a sharp breath. "Means it was an official guest. There will be a record."

"One of the Senecans?"

"Or one of ours."

"—again, we are reporting an incident at the final event of the Trade Summit involving Alliance Minister—"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Miriam, it's my job to be suspicious."

_82.6% certainty individual is Christopher Candela, listed as a junior attaché for the Seneca Trade Division_

Her jaw clenched, causing a painful jolt as her teeth clacked together. "I told you."

"—we are now able to confirm that Earth Alliance Trade Minister Mangele Santiagar has died. The cause of death is still undetermined—"

Her eVi began signaling a cascading avalanche of alerts and incoming data. A red alert force-loaded on her whisper.

_Board meeting in twenty minutes. Level V Priority._

Richard pushed off the edge of the desk and killed the aural. "I got it too. If you'll excuse me, I have nineteen minutes to pull together everything we have into some sort of coherent form."

She was already crossing back around her desk and waved distractedly after him. She sat down, took a deep breath and began issuing orders.

Barely controlled chaos ruled the conference room as she walked in. A cluster of advisors surrounded General Alamatto at the head of the table, and several military officials huddled by the windows gesturing in animated whispers. The holos of the remote members jerked and flickered as they handled interruptions and rushed to prepare. Aides hurried around in a bustle of activity which closely resembled pointless circles.

Miriam simply crossed the room and took a seat. Her shoulders locked straight as she opened three small screens and proceeded to study their contents.

Richard hurried in, both hands interacting with two separate aurals and only belatedly remembering to make sure his uniform shirt was tucked in properly. She spared him a tiny, sympathetic smile but didn't otherwise acknowledge his presence.

Alamatto cleared his throat loudly; it barely registered above the din. Again, to no avail. In frustration he slammed his palm on the table.

"If we can bring this meeting to order..." he paused as those present scurried into some semblance of order "...thank you. First, I'd like to note that in addition to the regular Board members, we have present this evening Major Lange from Security Bureau and Colonel Navick from Military Intelligence in person and Defense Minister Mori and Deputy Foreign Minister Basak via holo."

He waited for the last person to settle on a location to stand. "As you're all aware by now, approximately thirty minutes ago Trade Minister Santiagar collapsed and died while attending the Trade Summit on Atlantis. I don't want to misrepresent any of the facts, so I'll let those closest to the situation bring us up to speed. Major Lange?"

Lange was a tall, wiry blond with pale blue eyes which connoted his strong Scandinavian ancestry. Miriam had worked with him on occasion and found him professional, if cold, and highly competent.

He nodded brusquely at the General. "Thank you, sir. The incident occurred while Minister Santiagar and other senior officials greeted guests in an official receiving line before the closing banquet. Including staff, seventy-nine individuals were in the ballroom at the time, as well as another sixty-five in the entryway and hall area." He flicked his wrist and a three-dimensional schematic of the ballroom and immediate surroundings materialized above the table.

"The ballroom was locked down six seconds after the Minister collapsed, the wing of the convention center containing the ballroom twelve seconds later. All exits from the convention center were staffed and monitored within two minutes." The schematic zoomed out to encompass the entire building and the exits lit up in red.

"All spaceport departures are being held and searched beginning five minutes after the incident. Atlantis security has been extremely responsive. Despite the frivolous nature of the colony, they are a well-trained and professional department and I have every confidence in their ability to support our investigation."

He took a sip of water from the glass an aide had placed on the table. "Alliance doctors treated the Minister on the scene. He displayed no vital signs upon their arrival and was declared deceased after six minutes. Initial analysis indicates he suffered a cybernetics malfunction which triggered a neural stroke and brain hemorrhage. No other attendees have experienced health issues. Nonetheless, officers on the scene are investigating every possibility, including biological and chemical weapon dispersal, food tampering and remote cyberbomb delivery."

He gazed around the long table and to those standing along the walls. "Any questions?"

Admiral Rychen, the Northeastern Regional Commander based on Messium, spoke up. "What about the guests? A lot of people were in the room. Could someone have slipped in?"

"We're obviously still questioning the attendees, but we have confirmed everyone present was on the official guest list or approved staff. At least one person present departed before the lockdown was complete, but I'll let the Colonel speak to the matter." He nodded to Richard, who stepped forward as Lange backed away.

Richard coughed a tad awkwardly. She knew he wasn't fond of speaking in front of large groups, preferring to work in the background if not the shadows. But matters were what they were.

"Yes. Though preliminary, examination of the Minister's body suggests his cybernetics were sabotaged by a self-replicating virus, resulting in a forced overload designed to damage the brain."

"So he was assassinated then?"

He glanced at the Defense Minister. "Yes, sir. It appears that way. We are pursuing every lead, but the primary suspect at the moment is Christopher Candela, a junior staffer in the Senecan delegation." He displayed a visual of an unremarkable-looking man with dark brown hair. Looks were often deceiving these days, but the man seemed to be in his late twenties.

"Mr. Candela was seen greeting Santiagar in the receiving line several seconds before the Minister collapsed. He left the room via a service door immediately thereafter. EAMI agents initiated pursuit and tracked him through multiple corridors before he vanished from surveillance cams, likely due to a cloaking shield. By that point the lockdown _had_ been completed..." Richard was too polite to look over at Lange "...and the fields placed on the exits will disrupt cloaking tech, so it is unlikely he will be able to escape the net. An exhaustive search of the conference center is ongoing."

"Goddamn Senecans! I _knew_ this Summit was a trap."

Alamatto grimaced at the holo of General O'Connell. "General, we don't yet know anything for certain. Please, Colonel, continue."

"Yes, sir. Nine individuals attending the Summit did not attend the dinner: three reporters, five corporate executives and one of our low-level staff members. We've confirmed they didn't leave Atlantis prior to the dinner and are in the process of tracking them down."

O'Connell spoke up again, though he appeared to be making a marginal effort at restraint. "How did an assassin get past your background checks, Colonel? I was under the impression EAMI had their spies all over this damnable Summit."

Miriam smiled to herself. Like many people, the General assumed Richard was a pushover due to his mild, nonthreatening demeanor. He was incorrect.

Richard focused in on O'Connell. "We are and one didn't. While we have limited ability to blacklist Senecan government personnel, we do have extensive files on each of them. Christopher Candela is as clean as they get. Family man, hard worker, upstanding member of society. A little quiet and keeps to himself, but zero history of trouble. Never been arrested, never affiliated with extremist groups or vocalized anti-Alliance sentiments. Frankly I would be less surprised if you accused my hundred sixty-four year old grandfather living in Bonn of being an assassin."

O'Connell snorted. "That simply means his government put him up to it. If you ask me, this was an act of war."

The Deputy Foreign Minister looked down her long, pinched nose at him. "That remains to be seen...General, is it? We will naturally be demanding answers from the Senecan government. This man might have acted alone, or as an agent of a terrorist organization. It's far too soon to be throwing around declarations of war."

"Well, ma'am, how about you just let me know when it _is_ time, all right?"

The glacial stare which came in response would have frosted the room had the woman been present in person. The Defense Minister stepped into the tête-à-tête to redirect the conversation. "Have we implemented additional security measures yet?"

Miriam acknowledged the Minister with a miniscule nod. "Absolutely. Security at Alliance buildings galaxy-wide has been increased to Level IV, military bases to Level III. As a precautionary matter all military leave has been canceled and personnel recalled. Heightened security is in place for the Prime Minister and Assembly Speaker as well as their families and homes. Protective details are currently being dispatched to senior administration officials and Assembly members."

She gave a rare, wry smile. "And as we speak the dust is being brushed off the strategic plans for a number of military scenarios." She should know, she expected to be spending the next twelve hours preparing recommendation briefs on them.

Alamatto gave the room a formal nod. "If there are no further questions, we'll adjourn for now. All updates should be forwarded to my attention. I'll be flying to Washington to brief the Cabinet shortly. Unless there are significant new developments, the Board will meet again at 0800. Dismissed."

# 19 Siyane

### Metis Nebula, Uncharted Planet

Alex lugged the unconscious form to the jump seat, deposited it unceremoniously and engaged the safety harness.

Mesh straps emerged from the wall and snaked around to pull him upright in the chair, hands snug against his sides. She activated a web normally used to secure cargo; the subtle silver glimmer barely registered against the gunmetal fabric of his environment suit. She code-locked the web.

Only then did she disengage the suit's seal and remove the helmet from her captive. A mop of soft, loosely curly black hair tumbled across his forehead and along his neck. She ignored it to scan the manufacturer imprint inside the helmet.

_~ 2321, Seneca SpaceEX, Ltd. ~_

The accent, of course. "Well that's just fucking...great."

She carried the helmet over to a cabinet on the opposite wall and dropped it in a drawer, stripped off her own environment suit and stowed it, then sat down in the cockpit chair. Her toes propelled the chair in agitated circles while her fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the armrest.

This did not fit in her schedule. Not repairing a gaping fissure in the hull and certainly not babysitting a prisoner. Why did she have to go all honorable and rescue him? She could have simply kept going and everything would have been fine....

Admittedly, there would still be the small matter of the hole in her ship. And he would be dead.

She spun the chair around to face him. The Daemon rested on her thigh, but her hand maintained a loose grip on the trigger. With a flick of her thumb the nervous-system suppressor field keeping him unconscious dissipated.

It took only a few seconds for the man's eyelids to begin to flutter, long black lashes beating against tanned olive skin. An additional second ticked by.

His head snapped up. Bright indigo eyes met hers, startlingly clear and alert. She forced herself not to flinch and to meet his gaze coolly.

"You're Senecan."

He glared at her with what she took to be cocky contempt, almost as though he hadn't noticed he was rather extensively restrained. "Are you insane? Why the hell did you shoot me? I didn't even have a weapon!"

She didn't answer right away, instead eyeing him appraisingly. Advanced if utilitarian environment suit. Beneath the suit, hints of a lean but athletic build. A taut posture which evoked the impression of a panther poised to spring, restraints be damned. Well-defined but not angular facial features dominated by vibrant, piercing irises.

In sum, every pore of his being oozed one thing...

...okay, _fine_. Every pore oozed two things. The first was irrelevant.

The second was _dangerous_. She arched an emphatic eyebrow. "Somehow I don't think you need a weapon in order to kill me."

He didn't argue the point. "And why should I want to kill you?"

"I don't know, you tell me. You're the one who opened fire."

"Merc raiders attacked me on the way here. I thought you were one of them. Are you?"

"No."

"Well I'd say 'sorry,' but seeing as how you shot down my ship then shot _me_ , I'm not feeling particularly generous at the moment."

She shrugged with intentional mildness, a counter to the intensity of his stare. "Self-defense. What are you doing here?"

"Studying the pulsar. What are you doing here?"

"Just seeing the sights. You're lying."

"So are you."

"Maybe. I'm also the one holding the gun and the key to those restraints."

"Fair point." He paused as an odd shadow flickered across his eyes...then chuckled with surprising lightness. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you what I'm doing here."

She nodded deliberately, as if she were contemplating a philosophical assertion, and decided to play a hunch. His lilting and very distinctive accent had vanished, replaced by the generic intonation heard on the largest independent worlds. Such a talent was uncommon, and typically found in a very specific skillset.

She crossed one leg over the other and relaxed a bit in the chair, though the Daemon remained on her thigh. "Hmm. Well, I suppose that means you're likely either military, intelligence...or a criminal."

Her eyes narrowed in pointed accusation. "I bet you're a criminal. A human slave trafficker, or maybe a gunrunner, arming the violent gang wars on the independents? Or are you a drug dealer...yep, I bet that's it. I bet you sell hard chimerals to kids so they can burn their brains out, but not until they—"

He growled in palpable frustration. "I wouldn't do that. _Ever_."

She grinned smugly. And she was quite proud of herself.

"So military or intelligence, then."

Her gaze ran down and up the length of his body again, this time for dramatic effect. "And I highly doubt the military would let you keep that mess of a haircut, so intelligence it is."

His brow furrowed into a tight knot at the bridge of his nose; the muscles of his jaw contracted beneath cheeks shadowed by the hint of stubble. He looked at her as though she resembled some sort of alien creature, perhaps with slimy tentacles swirling about her head, but remained silent.

She took the silence as confirmation. "Why is Senecan Intelligence interested in the Metis Nebula?"

He blinked, and with the act his expression morphed from dismay to wary detachment. "This is unclaimed space. I have as much of a right to be here as you do."

"Wasn't what I asked. Why is Senecan Intelligence interested in the Metis Nebula?"

"I still can't tell you, especially not when you're Alliance. What are _you_ doing here?"

Her mouth twitched before she managed to squelch it. "What makes you think I'm Alliance? This is a civilian vessel."

"Oh, you're not military—though you're not far removed from it—but you are definitely Alliance."

"Why?"

"The way you said 'Senecan.' Like it was a curse."

She met his penetrating stare with her own cool one. "It is."

"Lovely." The left corner of his mouth curled up in a brazen smirk. She instantly disliked it. "In fact, I'd put credits on you being from Earth."

"There are sixty-seven Alliance worlds. Why would I be from Earth?"

"Earthers exude this arrogance, this pretentiousness—as though even now, nearly three hundred years after colonization began, they're still the only people who really _count_."

"That is not true." Her toes swiveled the chair again. Her gaze drifted away from his to stare at the ceiling. Seconds ticked by in silence; she felt him watching her.

Finally she rolled her eyes in reluctant exasperation. "Okay, it's totally true—but not me. I don't feel that way."

His self-satisfied smile noted he could give as good as he got, and knew it. "So you are from Earth."

_Dammit_. "That's irrelevant. What's your name?"

"Samuel."

"I'm sure. Well, _Samuel_ , make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a little while."

His expression turned imploring. "Can I at least get some water?"

"When I get back." She leveled an unimpressed glare in his direction but gave him a wide berth as she passed him and headed down the circular stairwell.

First things first. She double-checked the status of the plasma shield to make certain it was holding. Getting sucked out onto an inhospitable planet sporting unbreathable air and limited atmosphere absolutely didn't fit in her schedule. Satisfied with the readings, she lifted the hatch to the engineering well and descended the ladder.

The dull sallow of the planet's surface could be seen through a roughly three meter long rupture in the hull. The reassuring plasma shimmer kept the interior free of the churning sand and harsh wind.

A smaller gash twisted diagonally from the midpoint of the rupture up to the base of the right internal hull wall. The wall had been ripped open to expose the housing for the plethora of conduits, filters and cabling which powered the ship. The external hull, partially visible behind the mess, sported merely a hairline crack.

From one perspective, this was quite good news—more structural integrity, less hull to repair. On the other hand, it meant the laser had likely danced around wreaking havoc in the gap until it dissipated. Even absent closer inspection she noted several of the photal fiber weaves were shredded in multiple places. Dread pooled in her gut at the thought of what systems they might belong to.

With a sigh she maneuvered around the rupture in the floor to the open gap. She crouched and peered into the aperture, rocking absently on the balls of her feet. Once she got in there it would be hours just cataloging the damage. Perhaps she should get her captive a little water first....

What _did_ Senecan Intelligence want in Metis, anyway?

She had picked up some rather unusual spectrum readings on the long-range scans before being so rudely interrupted by laser fire. Had someone else already found the same thing—or more?

"Puzzle it out later, Alex. Prioritize: Water, damage assessment, repairs." She stood and climbed out of the engineering well, went upstairs and rummaged around in the kitchen storage for a field water packet.

'Samuel'—she doubted it was his real name—regarded her as she approached. His acute gaze made her strangely uncomfortable, but she did her levelheaded best to not let it show. She gave him an irritated look and shoved the water packet in his face.

"Something wrong?" he inquired as he accepted the straw.

" _Yes_ , something is wrong. You totally wrecked the undercarriage. God knows what it's done to power and navigation. We're going to be grounded for days thanks to your handiwork."

He lazily sucked on the straw, eyes twinkling in blatant amusement. Annoyed, she yanked it away and stepped back to cross her arms stiffly over her chest. "I'll be below for the next few hours cataloging the damage."

She pivoted and left before he could respond.

The damage was even worse than it had appeared at first glance.

She lay on the narrow strip of flooring that wasn't ripped open and stared at the wrecked tangle of conduits and cabling. The blast had shredded twenty centimeters of one of the three lines going to the impulse engine. With the inflow reduced by a third, it was questionable whether the engine had the power to escape the atmosphere.

Even worse, fully half the conduits feeding the plasma shield were damaged—which meant the likelihood of it failing in the vacuum of space was...high.

She never would have made it to Gaiae.

Half a dozen other somewhat less critical problems were immediately evident, thanks to the fissure occurring along one of the primary cabling paths. Aft navigation controls had suffered measurable damage. Splinters of the mHEMT amp for the dampener field decorated the floor.

And all this was ignoring the obvious, irrefutable fact that the undercarriage of her ship had been torn to shreds.

She only hoped the pulse laser hadn't vaporized too much of the hull material, and once the ragged shards were smoothed back out the hull would be able to be resealed. She kept reserve components for the internal electronics and extra conduit coils; spare sheets of reinforced carbon metamaterial? Not so much.

She opened a work list in her eVi and began. The end of the gash closest to the ladder seemed as good a place as any. She shimmied along the edge of the open wall, periodically crawling half into the exposed aperture for a closer inspection. Goddamn it was a mess.

When she finally finished cataloging the damaged components along with severity and criticality, she started constructing the most efficient order of repairs. At least the internal systems resided farther inside and hadn't been damaged—electronics, mechanical, temperature control and water recycling were all fine. So too was the crucial LEN reactor powering them.

Crawling out of the opening, she found an undamaged section of the wall, leaned against it and drew her knees up to her chest. After a deep breath she projected the work list to an aural, expanding it until it no longer required scrolling. The result stretched for more than half a meter.

She made a couple of notations and adjusted the order. Realized she had made a mistake. Corrected it. Corrected it again.

She was tired. Too tired to begin repairs tonight for certain.

Then there was the matter of her prisoner. His restraints secured him for the time being, but long term he constituted a significant problem. A damn Senecan intelligence agent. Dangerous, clever and wearing an arrogant smirk that was going to annoy her real fast.

She wished he had just been a merc. Even the smart mercs were simple and straightforward, with easily discernible motives usually involving credits. This guy represented far more of a mystery, making him even more dangerous than his profession already did. And while in any other circumstance she would simply go on her way, the option wasn't currently available to her.

A groan emerged from the back of her throat as she banged her head against the wall. Anywhere else and she could hand her prisoner over to the authorities, pay a premium for materials and have her ship back in near-to-good-as-new-shape in a day, two days max. But here on this forbidding planet in the middle of nowhere, there were no communications, no supplies and no authorities.

She was on her own.

Several hours did in fact pass before she reemerged from the depths of the ship.

Caleb didn't spend the time dwelling on the unfortunate reality that he had been 'captured,' as it were. It was regrettable, but he hadn't exactly been at his best, on account of having plummeted eighteen kilometers through a violent, punishing atmosphere with a centimeter of fabric and a nanopoly faceplate protecting him then crashed onto a barren, unforgiving wasteland.

Instead he carefully studied his surroundings.

By the time she returned, he'd identified the functions of the controls within line of sight, noted several crucial junction points and potentially useful screens and—actually first—determined the nature of the encryption on the restraint web. The cockpit appeared blank and unadorned save for a single chair, which meant it was the most advanced area on the ship. Virtual and impenetrable.

The overall design of the interior conveyed a sense of understated, elegant functionality, with as much attention paid to comfort as to utility. Definitely not a military ship. No, this vessel was of private origin and very, very expensive. Corporate perhaps, though it didn't _feel_ corporate. It felt personal.

Once he completed the visual inventory his thoughts shifted to formulating a plan of escape. Well, not so much 'escape' as freedom; it would be counterproductive to abandon the only viable means off the planet.

But he had to admit he was impressed, and more than a little curious. Not about why the most advanced scout ship he'd ever seen was running around Metis. Clearly Alliance interests had discovered the same anomaly as his government and dispatched an investigator.

No, mostly he was curious about what this woman—mechanically savvy and with undeniable flying skills, acerbically sharp, ill-tempered, caustic...and rather stunning in an uncommon, confounding way—was doing piloting it, much less who she might be. At least he would be able to answer the latter question soon enough.

The woman retrieved a new water packet from the kitchen area in the aft of the deck and once again approached him. Her arms glistened from a thin sheen of sweat, while grease and fluids streaked her pants and shirt. Tangled strands of _very_ dark red hair had slipped out of a twisted knot to tickle her cheeks and jaw.

She was making a valiant effort to come off as cold, aloof and even threatening. But he read the exhaustion in the stiff way her feet hit the floor with each step and the tense cording of the muscles in her long, slender neck.

She extended the packet straw toward his mouth. The motion was less rude than earlier; he rewarded the good behavior by giving her a quick smile as he accepted the drink. After a moment he nodded, and she stepped back.

Her expression was flat with weariness. "I'm going to get some sleep."

He gazed earnestly at her, looking as hopeful as he could manage. "No food?"

"You won't starve before the morning."

True enough. "What if I have to, um, use the facilities?"

" _Pozhaluysta, ya zhe ne tupïtsa_. Your suit has provisions for that."

His eVi identified the unfamiliar words as an Earth-based Russian dialect. He priority-cached Russian into the translator then shrugged within the confines of the restraints, a dry chuckle on his lips. "No, of course you aren't a moron, but I had to try."

She managed to look highly unimpressed as she turned away. "If you say so. Sleep well."

"What are the odds?"

Halfway down the stairs she paused and gestured toward a screen embedded in the wall. The lights dimmed to a faint glow.

He called out after her. "Thank you...." But she was already gone.

He waited another ten seconds, his posture relaxed and nonchalant in the uncomfortable jump seat. Slowly his eyes drifted downward.

Even in the low light he recognized the strand of her hair which had fallen to rest on his thigh. He took a deep breath and cracked his neck.

It was going to be a long night.

# 20 Seneca

### Cavare, Intelligence Division Headquarters

"I don't suppose you can tell me what the hell is going on here?"

Michael Volosk nodded with proffered conviction, though his inner thoughts were decidedly less confident.

This was his worst nightmare, if not only his. A prominent Alliance diplomat was dead, and all signs pointed to an official member of the Senecan delegation being responsible. He didn't need to be a politician to recognize the clusterfain of trouble it meant.

Intelligence Director Graham Delavasi dropped his elbows on the desk and waited expectantly for answers he didn't have.

The man's bushy salt-and-pepper hair had strayed onto the wild side, an indication he too had been awoken in the middle of the night. He wore faded denim and a wrinkled polo and kept a giant thermos of coffee in easy reach. There were no aurals around him and no screens active on the desk, which was his way. When he met with someone he gave them his full and undivided attention, for good or ill.

Delavasi had always been a bit of a renegade, wielding a blunt demeanor unusual in the intelligence trade and even more unusual among the political ranks he now technically belonged to. He had risen to a position of power due in large part to a keen intellect, a sharp eye for bullshit and unassailable integrity. Michael admired the man; didn't always like him, but admired him.

He met the Director's gaze. "The Alliance Trade Minister was the target of what looks to be an assassination hit during the Summit's closing dinner. The scene remains in a state of flux, but the evidence indicates the hit was in all probability conducted by a member of our Trade staff."

"Have we executed the son of a bitch yet? Because that may be the only thing standing between us and the full might of the Alliance military showing up at our doorstep."

The data stream from his agents on Atlantis continued to scroll on his whisper; he checked it a last time to make certain it held no better answer. "No, sir. Neither my agents, the Senecan security detail, Atlantis police, nor Alliance security have as yet been able to locate Mr. Candela."

He cringed at Delavasi's disbelieving glare and rushed to reassure the man. "It's simply a matter of time. Atlantis is locked down hard. He won't escape." His hand came to rest at his chin; it was a tic and usually meant he was bothered by something...which he was. "I recognize the undeniable seriousness of the situation, but sending in the military would be a rather disproportionate response, wouldn't it?"

"Assassination of a government official is an explicit violation of the armistice. Now that may not matter to everyone, but I guarantee it will matter to someone with more authority than good sense." Delavasi took a long swig from the thermos. "Who is this guy anyway?"

"He's nobody. A low-level staffer in Director Kouris' office. He's worked in the Trade Division for three years, prior to which he served as an intern for the Parliament's Commerce Committee. Graduated 3rd honors from Tellica with a degree in economics. Has a wife and a new baby. His record is spotless, and he has a reputation as a competent if unexceptional employee. There's no history of political activism or fringe activities. He didn't even vote in the last election."

"Enemies? What about his family, his wife's family? Any potential for blackmail or coercion there?"

"We're looking into it." 'We' had started looking into it three hours earlier at one in the morning when he had been awoken by a flurry of alerts and left Shera sleeping in their bed, and it likely would be days before 'we' knew anything for certain. The Director no doubt recognized this.

Delavasi sighed and sank into the high-backed leather chair. "Bloody hell, Michael, this is a disaster. Nobody wants open conflict with the Alliance. Well, maybe a few fire-breathing Parliament back-benchers and some wackos on Caelum who want an excuse to shoot over the border. But nobody who matters wants another war—and the Chairman _definitely_ doesn't want one. He put a lot of political goodwill on the line in pushing for this Summit."

Michael frowned. "Could that be what this is about? Perhaps it's not actually about the Alliance at all, and instead an attempt to discredit the current administration and destabilize the government."

"Damned if I know. Which is a problem, seeing as I'm the Intelligence Director and thus expected to know the justifications of lunatics and devils. But I do know something isn't right here. This smells from top to bottom and I need answers. You'll have all the men you need. Find out what's going on."

"Absolutely, sir. The official delegation should be cleared to leave Atlantis in the next few hours. My men on the ground have already begun private interrogations and will continue them during the flight home. Agents are at Mr. Candela's home now and en route to extended family locations. My best analysts are scouring every aspect of his past for clues as to what might have led to this action."

He paused to take a sip of his own coffee. "As soon as the delegation arrives we'll begin whatever extended interrogations are required at HQ. I intend to personally interview the Assistant Trade Director first thing, as he was in charge of planning and staffing."

Delavasi's eyes creased, drawn inward by the furrow in his brow. "That still Jaron Nythal?"

"I believe so."

"Be careful with him. He's a slippery bastard."

"...care to elaborate?"

Delavasi kicked his chair away from the desk and slowly spun it around. "A couple of years ago—back when I had your job—we took down a spy network operating in several of the high-profile corporations. They were selling secrets acquired via their 'special' access to certain government agencies to the Zelones cartel. Nythal was Corporate Liaison in Trade at the time, and was on the periphery of the scandal. I couldn't make any allegations stick to him, but he was entirely too smooth for my taste."

Michael chose his words carefully. "He would need to be fairly smooth to parlay with the corporate bigwigs, wouldn't he?"

"Without a doubt. Nevertheless, the man was...wrong. I'm just saying be on your toes when you talk to him, and don't assume you're getting the whole story merely because he's on our side."

"Understood."

Delavasi stood and grabbed a gray trench coat lying rumpled on the window sill. "Now, lucky me, I get to go tell the Chairman that _yes_ , it appears one of our people did assassinate the bloody Alliance Trade Minister, and _no_ , I don't have any evidence he can present to the Alliance government to show it was an isolated act by a lone crazy."

He gave Michael a slightly worn smile as he pulled the coat over his shoulders. "Don't worry, I'm not throwing you to the wolves. I know you're all over it, and it will take a little time to get answers—a sentiment which I will also convey to the Chairman."

"I appreciate the support, sir."

The first steel-hued rays of sunlight broke across the horizon beyond the office window as he stood and shook the Director's hand. It was going to be a long day, and probably not the last.

# 21 Siyane

### Metis Nebula, Uncharted Planet

Freshly showered. Hair pulled back in a ponytail and twisted up out of the way. Clean workpants, pockets empty and ready for use. A fitted shirt that wouldn't catch on any jagged edges. Grip-soled slip shoes for ease of movement in the narrow spaces of the engineering well.

_Her battle armor._ For repairing her ship below—and facing the unknown above.

Alex blew out a long breath and scrunched her face up at the mirror. She only hoped her mental preparation equaled the physical prep. She gave a sharp nod to her reflection and headed up the stairs to the main deck.

Her prisoner resembled...well, someone who had crash-landed on a barren planet then spent the night tied up in a utility jump seat. The hint of stubble had graduated to full shadow, tousled locks to a wild shock of curls. But his eyes were unsettlingly bright and alert as he watched her cross the cabin.

She flopped into the cockpit chair, Daemon back in her hand, and regarded him with a critical eye. "So. _What_ am I going to do with you?"

He was ready for her, too. "I've been thinking about that. Let me assure you I'm not a threat to you. It's clear you're my only ticket off this rather inhospitable world, and as such it is against my interests to harm you. So you can remove the restraints, for one."

An eyebrow arched. "So you can kill me, dump my body and steal my ship?"

One corner of his mouth curled up; damn that was going to get annoying. "I'm quite certain your ship won't leave the ground unless you're piloting it. Every control in here is locked and keyed to you. Further, I imagine the navigation system requires regular interaction with your eVi to function."

"True enough. But you could hold me hostage and force me to fly you wherever you wanted to go."

He shrugged within the restraints. "At least you wouldn't be dead."

"Very funny. Until we got where we were going."

His jaw tightened into a rigid line. Before, it hadn't appeared 'square' as such. Now though, she thought she could probably cut a steak with the edges.

The flicker in his eyes hinted he hadn't meant to display frustration so visibly. She watched as he willed his jaw relaxed. " _Why_ would I want to kill you?"

"Because I know Senecan Intelligence is after something in the Metis Nebula. Because I know what you look like and what you do, and that _is_ a threat to you. Because then you'd have a shiny new ship as bounty."

His mouth opened, presumably carrying a snap response. Instead of delivering the response though, it closed in silence, then after a pause opened again. "Okay, those are...fairly decent reasons." He looked at her with what might be mistaken in civilized company for honesty. "But I'm _not_ going to hurt you, especially not when you're the daughter of an Alliance Admiral. I have no desire to start another war."

_What?_ He couldn't possibly....

Of course. He'd have access to the extensive files the Senecan government doubtless maintained on their adversary. Hell, he likely kept the files in his internal data cache and had the tech in his ocular implant to do a retinal scan from at least a meter away. She must have merited a footnote:

_Alexis Mallory Solovy: Born October 17, 2286, San Francisco, Earth. Father: Dead Martyr. Mother: Cast-Iron Bitch._

She snorted in mock appreciation. "Neat trick you got there. Still not good enough."

He exhaled softly. Something akin to disappointment flitted across his face.

" _Okay._ "

With a flick of his wrist the restraints vanished. He had unlatched the safety harness and stood before she had blinked.

She and the gun were both up in the next blink, her hands clenched tight on the grip. " _How_ did you?"

His hands were in the air, palms open, and he made no move to approach her. The tone of his voice remained scrupulously even. "The web field was DNA-coded to you, obviously. You left behind a strand of hair last night. I used it to create a hack and unlock the web." His shoulders raised in an exaggerated shrug; freed from the restraints it became a far more expressive motion. "Intelligence? It's what I do. If it helps, I didn't get much sleep."

Her response consisted of an icy glare.

He sighed. "Look, the point is, I could have killed you in your sleep, but I didn't."

Her finger only tightened on the gun's trigger. Her thumb hovered over the stun toggle. "Because you need me to do the repairs and, as you noted, fly the ship."

"True. But you are not getting me back in those restraints."

"Oh really? I might just shoot you again."

He glanced around the cabin. "In here? I don't think so. You'd overload half your systems."

"You have no idea the kind of—"

In the space of a breath he had crossed the distance separating them and spun her around into a vise grip from behind. Somehow, the gun was out of her hand and in his. He locked her arms between them and raised the gun to her temple.

She was thoroughly disgusted with herself. One, because she had been standing too close to be able to react, even if he had moved _ridiculously_ fast. Two, because she was having to work unexpectedly hard to focus on the gun pressed against her temple rather than the body pressed against her back. _Get your head on straight, life-threatening situation here!_

His voice resonated low and dangerous at her ear. "Just so we're very clear. If I want to kill you, I can kill you."

She growled through gritted teeth in response; she would not show weakness. "Motherfucking Senecan _scumbag_."

"I'm flattered. Now, I'm going to—" His grip loosened as he began to move away.

She wrenched an elbow up and slammed it against his forearm. His arm jolted back, and her elbow continued upward to catch his eye socket. Her left leg swept around to knock his feet out—

—he dodged the sweep by a centimeter and rolled out of reach, coming to his feet three meters away with the gun raised.

He smiled at her, and seemed almost amused. "I'm impressed. That was close."

Her expression was a black hole from which no amusement dared escape. "So what now? You tie me up?"

He bit his lower lip, and a dark flare glimmered in his eyes. "Don't tempt me."

Her face screwed up in disbelief. He was making a _sexual innuendo_ while holding her at gunpoint? What did he think this was?

As he stood there though—pointing a gun at her—his expression turned serious. If asked, she'd say it was earnest, even...well, it didn't matter how it looked.

His voice returned to an even and controlled tenor. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. I need you to hear what I am saying. If you try to hurt me, I will respond in kind. Otherwise, _I. am. not. going. to. hurt. you._ Not now, not later, not when we get to wherever we go. You have my word."

He paused for effect then slowly crouched down, his gaze never leaving hers, and set the gun on the floor. He stood up, palms open in submission, and kicked the gun over to her.

Her gaze also did not stray from his while she retrieved the gun and holstered it to her belt. Then she simply stared at him. She didn't know exactly what she hoped to find. Some sign, any sign, of deceit or artifice maybe, or....

He waited patiently.

It would be counterproductive to spend all morning standing on the deck staring at one another when there was a gaping fissure in the hull in need of repair. She made a snap decision.

For the moment, she would take him for what he appeared to be: a smart man demonstrating a realistic perspective on matters and a healthy self-preservation instinct. For the moment, it reduced the threat he represented to a manageable level.

"If you touch anything, I will kill you."

He nodded in ready acceptance of the edict.

She exhaled an exaggerated breath, rolled her eyes and strolled past him. "Want some breakfast?"

She contemplated him over a buttered croissant. Having shed the environment suit, he wore a faded slate-hued Henley, soft black utility pants and an air of calm self-assurance. He casually nibbled on a slice of grapefruit, having taken only a single bite of his own croissant.

Puzzled—by more than one thing concerning him, but currently his lack of an appetite—she frowned at him. "I expected you to be hungrier, seeing as you didn't eat anything last night."

His lips tweaked up. "I, uh, sort of did eat last night."

Her eyes widened in indignation as realization dawned. "You _didn't_."

"Forgive me, I really was hungry. After I finally broke the encryption on the restraints, I might have opened a few of the kitchen cabinets until I found the energy bars. And helped myself to a few."

The idea of him wandering around her ship in the middle of the night, getting into whatever he cared to and probably brandishing his damnable smirk while he did.... Ugh, she wanted to strangle him, and only the likelihood of him killing her for the effort stopped her. _It's only the kitchen, Alex._ But it didn't have to be only the kitchen. And that wasn't the _point_.

His expression and demeanor projected an affable, nonthreatening persona. His actions a mere few minutes ago told another story. Her brain struggled to process the discordant information, to reconcile what she knew to be true with the man sitting across the table from her.

"I swear, I should have just shot you again."

"I know, I touched something. But it was before your warning, so you can't fairly hold it against me." He shrugged and traded the grapefruit for the croissant.

"You were _physically restrained_. I would have thought my wishes had been made clear." She pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. "Fine. Whatever. So here's the deal. I need to keep an eye on you, but I also need to be below doing repairs. Therefo—"

"What damage could I do up here? You know I can't access any of the controls."

Her response was a harsh laugh. "If it's all the same to you, after your magic trick on the restraints—and the fact you spent last night running rampant all over my ship—I'm going to err on the side of caution. I'm sure you understand. Therefore, you're going to come down to the engineering well with me, sit in the corner and not bother me while I work."

"Okay."

"Okay? That's all I get?"

He relaxed back in the chair and began licking excess butter off his fingers. "I think you'll find I'm rather easygoing when I'm not tied up."

"I'll be sure and remember that—"

It was all she could do to keep from slapping a hand over her mouth. She had been momentarily distracted by...things, and the words had simply slipped out. She stuffed the last of her croissant in her mouth and studied the crumbs adorning her plate, trying to ignore how the statement might have _arguably_ sounded. And it didn't really, not unless you thought about— _no_.

Seconds ticked by, and the moment mercifully passed.

She looked up to find him regarding her...mildly? Displaying slight curiosity perhaps? Even bearing a relaxed posture and amiable expression, the intensity of his gaze unnerved her. She gave him a tight smile and busied herself gathering their plates.

She carried the plates to the counter and stowed them in the sanitizer, then glanced back over her shoulder. A splash of water to the face and a hand through the hair had improved his appearance a surprising amount, but had done nothing to remedy the darkening bruise beneath his right eye.

With a quiet sigh she went to a cabinet in the starboard wall. Beneath the medical station was a drawer containing basic first aid supplies; she removed the wrapper on a small gel pad.

"Here."

He barely looked up in time to catch it before it whacked him in the face. She stifled a cringe.

The pad suspended in the air between two fingers, he tilted his head curiously and raised an eyebrow the tiniest bit.

"For your eye."

"Ahh." He chuckled. "You did nail me pretty good."

She made an effort to not appear amused, though she kind of was. "Stick it on for five minutes and be done with it already. Or don't. Makes no difference to me."

# 22 Pandora

### Independent Colony

"Hey Noah, over here, man!"

Noah Terrage picked his way through the crowd in the direction of the voice. Twice he had to maneuver past slumped bodies, kids zoned out on head trips and oblivious to the world around them. Those people who remained upright were shopping, often for the same.

"Dude, you got any Skies?"

He ignored the beggar, other than to surreptitiously nudge him to the left and into the crowd.

The Boulevard was not his favorite place on Pandora. To anyone visiting it for the first time, the name would be taken as an ironic joke. Booths and fabs lined both sides, stacked at least eight deep. The open way through no longer ran down the middle; instead it veered left, then right, in a seemingly random pattern resembling a path of one of the trippers who frequented it. Multi-sensory signs and giant screens blaring out jarring, discordant rhythms jammed the overhead space to entirely obscure Pandora's rather nice sky.

Yet beneath the chaos did exist an actual boulevard, stretching fifty meters in width and paved with marbled stone. At least, that was the rumor. No one had seen it in thirty years.

So, no, The Boulevard was not his favorite place. Still, occasionally his business necessitated a visit. He didn't deal in chimerals, but there was a lot more for sale here than merely chimerals. More to the point, there were dealers here who dealt in a lot more than merely chimerals.

He slid in around the storefront to where his contact rested on a lounge stool and leaned in close so as to be heard over the raucous din. "Emilio, my man. How's business?"

Emilio shook his head, sending long, glittering green braids swooshing through the air. "Same old. Want a beer?"

"Ah, wish I could, but I'm tight on time. Got to gather with a needy client on the Prom in twenty. Next time?" It never hurt to remind Emilio he had a diverse and well-paying clientele.

"I hear ya. Hang on a sec, I'll get your gear." Emilio slipped behind the shimmering barrier which separated the 'store' front from the supply area, but returned in seconds.

A handshake and Noah palmed the small, innocuous-looking gadget and slipped it in his hip pack. He instructed his eVi to transfer the funds to Emilio's account. And like that, the deal was done.

He patted Emilio's shoulder. "Pleasure doing business with you, as always."

"I'm gonna buy a top-shelf _illusoire_ with the proceeds, man."

"Enjoy, then!" He laughed as he slid out of the booth and back into the crowd.

The city which comprised Pandora's inhabited region constituted a two hundred kilometer swath of gleaming metal and bright lights. There existed dark areas of Pandora, but they resided below even the Boulevard.

People assumed Pandora was unruled, out-of-control chaos, a patchwork of merchants and clubs and black markets. In truth, it had been constructed and continued to be overseen by a loose association of wealthy entertainment moguls. Which individuals participated in the association was a closely guarded secret, presumably because they held important positions in society.

They built out additional infrastructure when it became needed and ensured the power grid and transportation system continued to function. They kept the slums corralled in small, well-defined areas and made sure the criminal cartels didn't gain too powerful of a foothold in the commerce of the planet. Agents of the cartels existed on Pandora without a doubt; some of them even had significant business ventures, but they ranked no higher than the successful independent entrepreneurs.

Pandora was a world where anything went, where you could buy anything and sell anything, where you could live out your wildest fantasy or spend forty years in a haze of parties and booze and chimerals and sex—or do both. And it was an illusion.

Oh, you could do all those things, to be sure. But the world was an artificial creation. A planet-sized theme park where the machinery of the rides was kept hidden from public view.

Noah knew this because his father acted as a minor player in the association which controlled Pandora. In the weeks before bailing on his father's grand plan for his life, he had hacked and made copies of his father's personal and business records. For insurance, for blackmail if necessary, and out of mild curiosity at what he would be leaving behind.

He'd never used the information to his advantage, at least not overtly. But simply being aware of the 'men behind the curtain,' as it were, gave his life here a certain unreal quality. Like he had been immersed in a nineteen-year-long deep-dive full-sensory head trip. It gave him freedom and, it could be argued, encouraged a level of recklessness and imprudent behavior he might not be inclined to engage in if any of this were _real_.

Still...it was all good, he thought as he stepped off the levtram and into The Approach.

Most of the districts on Pandora were named some variation of a thoroughfare; there was also The Channel, The Promenade, The Avenue, The Passage, and so on. Their names gave no clue as to their character or quality, however. Visitors arrived clueless, but enterprising street urchins stalked the spaceport, willing to size up what a visitor had come to find and what they could afford and send them in the right direction—for a few credits, of course.

His apartment was located in The Approach, which only meant it lay in the region between the transport hub and the most popular entertainment district. It actually did have a lot of character, inhabited by a chaotic jumble of artists, merchants and runaways who had decent funds in their account—which he supposed, even after nineteen years, included him.

He unlocked the door and slipped in his apartment, grateful for once no one frolicked in the hallway, as he did need to work this afternoon. His proffered excuse for not hanging out with Emilio hadn't been a lie, as such. He did need to meet a client on the Prom in twenty; it happened to be in twenty hours, not minutes. Emilio was an okay guy, but his cohorts weren't. And besides, he'd just as soon not loiter on The Boulevard any longer than he had to.

He grabbed a water from the fridge and stepped in his work room. A floor-to-ceiling cabinet lined the left wall, full to the brim with components, spare parts and pending orders. The far wall contained four shelves of equipment and tools. He sat down at the workbench along the right wall, spun around to retrieve the other components from the cabinet, then sat back and contemplated the pieces spread on the table in front of him.

The item he had picked up from Emilio represented the final component for a special order of custom equipment. Individually, each component was innocuous: a neck wrap, a contact pad to access the tiny fibers at the base of the neck which connected to a person's cybernetics, a quantum data transmitter and a data buffer. Combined, they created an extremely powerful and quite illegal tool.

When worn by an individual, the item allowed the person to interface directly with a remote synthetic neural net ('Artificial' being the somewhat derogatory but widely used term). The buffer was a necessity because even a heavily cybernetically-enhanced human brain couldn't begin to process the data streaming from a neural net in real time; absent one you risked frying your cybernetics from the overload of data.

Artificials were required to be registered and pre-approved by regulatory authorities, who certified the mandated security blocks were in place and sufficient. Even on the most free-wheeling independent worlds they were carefully monitored. And remotely interfacing with one—which thanks to quantum transmission might literally be halfway across settled space—was strictly forbidden. A person walking down the street, or more likely sitting in a corporate boardroom, sporting secret access to zettaFLOPs of mental power went several steps beyond the unfair advantages tolerated by society.

Seeing as it really was a dangerous tool, he wouldn't normally be comfortable either constructing or selling it. In this case, however, he knew the client personally and felt certain she didn't intend to use it for galactic domination. No, he suspected she simply wanted to see what it was like to effectively meld with the mind of an Artificial...and because she _could_.

# 23 Siyane

### Metis Nebula, Uncharted Planet

Caleb sat on the bottom rung of the ladder, arms draped over his knees and hands clasped loosely together.

She lay half-subsumed beneath the tear in the wall, working to re-secure a long strip of threaded cabling in the narrow space between the interior wall and exterior hull. She hadn't said more than two words since they had come downstairs, the two words having been 'stay there.'

He had already analyzed what he could see of the hold. Though the rather significant damage muddled matters somewhat, he had quickly classified the engineering section as an advanced but mostly standard layout for a ship of this size, albeit featuring several unusual customizations.

This conclusion he had come to in the first two minutes; thirty-seven minutes later, there was only one thing left in the hold for him to analyze.

"So you're a treasure hunter."

It was the most rational conclusion. The instruments and panel readouts on the main deck were geared toward measurement and detection of element concentrations, spectrum spikes and notable astronomical phenomena. They covered too broad a range for a purely scientific expedition; and besides, a double Masters in mechanical engineering and stellar astronomy yet no doctorate suggested she was far too practical to be a scientist.

The ship displayed a complete lack of corporate branding anywhere, and the last employer listed in her file was from eight years earlier. Taken together with the fair number of personal extravagances, it meant she had to be independent.

The muffled response came from within the aperture. "I'm an explorer."

"That's what I said—a treasure hunter."

She grunted in exertion and a section of cabling snapped snugly against the wall. "And _I_ said for you not to bother me."

He gave an exaggerated shrug, though he doubted she was able to see it. "Right, my bad."

A few seconds passed. She groaned and slid into the open to glare at him in obvious annoyance. "I find undiscovered planets, resources, astronomical events, other anomalies, and sell the information to whoever can make the best use of it."

"To the highest bidder."

"If they're legitimate and meet the correct profile? Usually, yes."

"That's cold. Ruthless even."

She exhaled. It was less a sigh and more a forceful expulsion of air from the lungs. He took note of the way the firm muscles in her stomach expanded then contracted beneath the thin, pliant fabric of her shirt, but decided it would be best to ignore the smooth rise then fall of her chest.

"No, it's not. Everyone is better off as a result. Without my work, no one knows about the resource. With it, others are able to develop new tech, new materials, even new worlds. I'm merely improving civilization."

He burst out laughing. It was genuine and unplanned and he just couldn't help it.

She straightened her arms behind her and sat up, the better to direct the full power of her glare at him. " _What._ "

The white-blue light of the screens hovering in the otherwise dark hold transformed her irises to liquid silver. He blinked and tried to ignore the startling effect—which was somewhat difficult if he was to continue meeting her gaze. Ignoring every attractive quirk of hers might be harder than first thought.

But he wasn't here to get laid; he was here to get off this planet in one piece. Building an amicable relationship furthered his goal, but he suspected coming on to her would result in another elbow to the face. For starters.

Of course, he probably shouldn't tease her either. _Ah well, too late now._ "You are not out here, on this very unique ship, to 'improve civilization.'"

Her eyes widened in offense. But he merely regarded her with amusement, and the severe countenance melted away.

She rolled her eyes at the low ceiling, but her shoulders snapped straight into a proud posture. "I sleep well at night, comforted by the knowledge what I do helps rather than hurts. But...no, perhaps it's not my _primary_ purpose."

Then she frowned, and it occurred to him maybe she hadn't intended to say so much—which meant she thought she had revealed something about herself she hadn't wanted to.

She dropped to the floor and slid back under the wall. "Now would you _please_ shut up?"

He needed some time to ponder what the accidental reveal meant, anyway. "Certainly."

She was eyeing him over her sandwich—roasted penzine, which his data cache told him was a small fowl native to Erisen, and Swiss cheese on dark rye bread. "Why are you out here?"

His lips pursed together, his own sandwich poised in midair. Damn she was persistent. "I still can't tell you, except to say it wasn't supposed to involve violence."

"How comforting."

He shrugged, annoyed she doubted him, then annoyed at himself for being annoyed. He should really be more in control of the situation than this. "What do you want me to say?"

"What you're doing out here."

He dropped the remains of his sandwich to the plate in frustration. She raised an eyebrow in response, which only made things considerably worse. He looked around the cabin, eager to change the topic of conversation. "So do I get to sleep in the chair again tonight?"

She shook her head in the negative, then jerked it in the direction of the starboard wall. "There's a guest cot, pulls out of the wall. There's even a privacy screen. You'll be snug as a bug in a rug."

He chuckled at the odd, quaint-sounding idiom. "A what?"

"It's just something my—" Her eyes darkened and she practically leapt out of the chair to carry her plate to the sink. "Never mind."

He frowned, as much at her abrupt change of mood as his unexpected desire to make it better. No, it was the proper reaction; a cheerful mood meant harmonious interaction and the absence of guns and hand-to-hand combat. "Thank you, I'm sure it'll be fine. Not quite the luxurious nest you have downstairs but—"

The loud _clang_ of a plate against the sink's surface cut him off. His frown deepened; he made sure his voice sounded neutral and nonthreatening. "Is everything okay?"

She spun around to lean on the counter, an indecipherable look on her face. "Look, I'm not used to having someone out here with me, in my space and asking questions and—particularly a suspicious and dangerous spy who tried to kill me."

"I didn't try to kill you." At her dubious glare he grimaced. "Okay, I might have tried to shoot you down. But you _did_ shoot me down, and you don't see me holding a grudge. Second ship blown up in two months, but whatever, it's fine, they're only ships."

"To you, maybe."

For the briefest moment, her expression became totally unguarded and open. Until this instant, he hadn't realized the cold, hard demeanor was a mask she had donned for him, or possibly for everyone. This though _...this was beautiful_.

He smiled with what he hoped conveyed sincerity. "Your ship's important to you, I imagine."

"You could say that." The unguarded, beautiful expression lingered for another breath before fading away behind the mask.

He stood, plate in hand, and headed over to the sink as well. "You've obviously put a lot of time and money into it." He leaned in to stow his plate right as she reached across to grab the hand towel.

For a solid two seconds they both froze in place, shoulders touching and faces centimeters apart, too close to even focus on the other. He was suddenly consumed by the thought of how damned _hot_ the air felt for a supposedly climate-controlled room.

She snatched the towel off its hook and stepped back, and the spell broke. He busied himself with stowing his plate...and slowing a racing pulse.

As the afternoon faded into evening, she gradually started talking, responding to his casual inquiries in a more conversational tone and even volunteering information from time to time. What she was doing and why, details on the mechanics in the engineering well and other parts of the ship.

He responded by sharing where appropriate. He talked about what his experiences had and hadn't taught him about ships, some of the more interesting designs he'd seen and so on. Building rapport with his captor.

It was late in the evening ship-time when she sank against an undamaged section of the wall and looked at him. Damp strands of hair had glued themselves to flush cheeks; grease had smudged along her neck.

"Can you cook?"

He shrugged in careful nonchalance. "I've been told I'm not half bad at it, yeah. Why?"

She climbed to her feet and wiped her hands on by now filthy pants. "I'm going to take a shower. You can cook dinner."

"You realize in order to cook I'll have to touch something."

"I grant you a specific, limited exception."

"Fair enough. But how do I know how to work the stove, or where the food is?"

She shot him an odd look as she passed him and climbed up the ladder. "You're a smart guy, and seeing as you're apparently already familiar with my kitchen, I assume you'll figure it out."

And he did figure it out, because he _was_ a smart guy...and was already familiar with her kitchen. By the time she came up the stairwell the aroma of steaming vegetables and roasting potatoes filled the cabin.

He glanced over upon her arrival and nearly dropped the wok mid-toss.

She wore flimsy little gray shorts and a black tank top. The tiny straps exposed a sculpted collarbone and delicate hollow at the base of her throat. She was toweling dry her hair, which turned out to be quite long when it wasn't tied up in a ponytail or knot or whatever she did to it. Burgundy locks fell in soft waves to frame those remarkable cheekbones, then down along her neck to tease alabaster shoulders before draping midway down her back. Beneath the shorts slender but toned legs seemed to go on _forever_.

He swallowed and promptly gave up on ignoring any and all attractive traits of hers; it was far too much work. It had been some time since a woman had legitimately taken his breath away.

"Um, stir-fry okay? I wasn't sure...."

She smiled, and for yet another moment her expression was genuine and unguarded and easily as beautiful as before. She appeared completely unaware of the effect she was having on him. "Definitely. It smells delicious."

He tried to match the tenor of her smile. "Excellent." The steam started stinging his eyes; he returned his attention to the stove and hurried to make sure the potatoes didn't burn while mentally berating himself for getting all goo-goo eyed and flustered like he was fourteen.

He sprinkled pepper on his vegetables. Thanks to the flash freezing they had retained much of their flavor, but Senecan dishes tended toward spicy, and he had acquired the taste. "Caleb."

Her fork paused at her lips. "Hmm?"

"My name. It's Caleb." _Why_ was he telling her?

The corners of her mouth rose a fraction. "Better."

_That was why. Shit._

She took a sip of water. "I knew a Samuel in elementary school. He was a bully, tried to beat my friend up."

"What happened?"

"I beat him up instead."

"Naturally."

She shrugged. "It worked. He left us alone from then on. Caleb what?"

"Marano."

Surprise flashed across her face. "You're just telling me?"

_Apparently._ "I could be lying again."

"True. But you're not."

Was it painted in neon letters on his forehead? "No, I'm not. You fancy yourself good at reading people?"

"Hell, no. I'm terrible at it." She continued eating, but her motions slowed as her eyes unfocused. "Caleb Marano: Born June 3, 2283, Cavare, Seneca. Father: engineer for the Senecan Civil Development Agency. Mother: freelance industrial architect. Younger sister Isabela, age thirty-two: professor of biochemistry. Parents divorced in 2301. It says you're an assembly line manager for Terrestrial Avionics—which is a lie, of course."

Her gaze sharpened back on him. "And that's it. There's no public record of what you've spent the last twenty years doing. But there wouldn't be, would there?"

"How did you access the information? I assumed your communications were down as well."

"They are. There's an exanet backup in the ship."

"The _entire_ exanet?"

"No, not the entire exanet, don't be ridiculous. Merely some repositories I find useful."

He nodded and speared a potato wedge. "Well, now you know as much about me as I do about you, Alexis Solovy."

She studied her glass of water with a startling intensity. "It's Alex."

His voice softened as hers had. "Better."

No response followed, and when the silence verged on uncomfortable he ran a hand through his hair. "So, what's the state of the repairs?"

She grimaced a little, her body language shifting subtly. "Full power's restored to the impulse engine, and I've replaced all but one of the conduits to the plasma shield. Probably another half-day on the smaller problems before I can turn to the hull itself. I'm going to try to weld it back together. Hopefully sufficient material is left, plus whatever I can scrounge up, to close it."

"I can help with that—I mean I'm not bad with a welding torch and a metamat blade."

She regarded him with a guarded expression. "We'll see." Then she stood, grabbing both their plates and taking them to the sink. "Dinner was very good, thank you." She glanced over her shoulder. "You can use the shower if you'd like. I'll clean up."

"Thank you. I am feeling a bit ripe at this point."

"Just—"

"I know." He laughed lightly as he started down the stairs. "Don't touch anything."

She was standing at the data center when he returned. A number of screens floated above the table, bright with graphs and visuals. Actually, he realized, there were no screens, only the data. The table itself must be a conductive medium.

Her focus on the information displayed, she didn't notice him. He took advantage of the opportunity and paused at the top of the stairwell to watch her.

Her right hand reached up and three fingers glided fluidly over one of the graphs. The lines shifted color and position in their wake.

Now he could see. Starting at her fingertips and running along the inside of her arm, across her shoulder blades and up to the nape of her neck where they disappeared into her hairline, wove a pattern of elaborate, intricate glyphs. They pulsed a vibrant white glow when she touched an image or data point and faded after her fingers lost contact.

Most people who had extensive glyphs brandished them like a badge of honor, tattooing them in bright glittering colors to declare the extent of their cyberization for all to see. Hers, however, vanished when not in use; until now he had been unaware they existed, and he was a rather observant guy.

He smiled as he watched her blow up a waveform to dominate the space above the table. The glyphs indicated not only was she absorbing the data into her cybernetics, she was likely manipulating it internally and sending it back to the table. Her movements displayed a seamless connection between her and the information she studied. He suspected he was witnessing her in her natural habitat.

Best for her not to catch him watching though. He cleared his throat and ascended the last stair. She glanced at him but didn't clear the displays.

He joined her but kept a respectful distance by leaning against the nearby worktable. "Thank you for the shower. To say it was needed would be a colossal understatement. I, uh, couldn't do anything about the clothes. I don't suppose you have any...?"

She shook her head, a hint of a twinkle in her eyes. Though in fairness it may have simply been the reflected glow of the graphs. "Sorry, no. Haven't had any boys sleep over recently."

"Now that is a tragedy."

Somewhat to his surprise, she laughed. "Perhaps, but everything has a price."

He wanted to ask what she meant, but that question lay several steps further away in their precariously thawing relationship. Instead he gestured at the table. "What you got?"

"Full-spectrum scans of the Metis interior, at least as far as my instruments were able to penetrate before...well it wasn't as far as I'd like. The nebular dust is maddeningly dense, particularly when you consider how old its supernova is. Nonetheless, I picked up some unusual readings."

"How so?"

She flared her palm and one of the graphs zoomed in. It showed a single line exhibiting multiple, regular peaks. "This is the pulsar beam. Firmly in the gamma spectrum, and with a spin of 419 revolutions per second it's clearly a millisecond pulsar. So question one, where's its companion?" She worried at her lower lip. "If the companion's radius is small enough, its signature might be hidden in all this dust or on the other side of the pulsar, but...anyway, so that's curious."

She nudged the graph off to the top right corner and magnified another graph to the center. It overflowed with data, multiple overlapping waveforms of differing widths and colors.

Two fingers reached into it and pinched the thickest waveform, a line of deep purple. "So this is the gamma synchrotron radiation. It's by far the strongest reading." She flicked it off to one side where it shrank into a small square, then pinched a more diffuse but thick line blue in color. "The pulsar wind, gamma bleeding into x-ray." It landed above the purple square.

After their removal a pear-colored line dominated the graph. She spared a quick glance at him; he studied the graph with interest and didn't acknowledge it. "Ionized particles left over from the supernova. This is the glow we see." A flick and it minimized below.

The graph was now virtually bare. She pushed away two thin lines of dark and light orange. "Random infrared and microwave readings from whatever."

A single, tiny line of dark crimson remained. Thin and semitransparent, it marked a nearly horizontal path across the graph. She crossed her arms over her chest and rested on her back leg. "Then we have _this_."

He kept his tone scrupulously neutral. "Radio emissions I presume?"

"Tremendously Low Frequency—TLF—technically, but they don't even have a proper term for a wavelength this long. This wave is propagating at a frequency of 0.04 Hz. _Nothing_ emits at so low a frequency."

A soft breath fell from his lips, and the response with it. "Not 0.04 Hz. 0.0419 Hz."

Her eyes shot to him and flared a lustrous argent hue. "What?"

He focused on the graph, difficult though it was. "Can you expand the period shown?" A glance at the top right corner of the spread. "Say to ten hours?"

" _Okay._ " Her stare bore into him as her right hand slid along the graph. The crimson line now undulated in long, smooth waves.

"Now superimpose the pulsar beam on top of this one."

"No fucking way."

"If you don't want to it's fine, I—"

"I mean _no fucking way_." She yanked the pulsar beam graph out of the corner and dropped it in the center. It wasn't a surprise to him, and he assumed no longer a surprise to her, when the pulse spikes lined up perfectly on the crests of the crimson line.

"That's why I'm here."

She still stared at him instead of the graph. "Explain."

"Last month we sent in a prototype, state-of-the-art probe for testing. Among a few other things, it returned this congruence. My government would like to determine what it is."

"But you're not a scientist. Why send in a black ops agent?"

"Well, the thought was the level of precision strongly suggests it's artificial, and thus it might be hostile...." He sighed. _Shit_. "I never said I was a black ops agent."

She gave him a wicked grin. "Not until now."

She had managed to fit in manipulating him in between sophisticated data analysis. Impressive.

He brought a hand up to run through his hair, still damp from the shower. "Well played. Anyway, given the concern it might be hostile they were reluctant to send civilian researchers. And while I'm not a scientist, I know my way around spectrum analyses and whatnot better than the average _black ops agent_."

Her gaze had finally returned to the graphs, and his returned to her. "Is this what you're here for?"

Her voice was soft, almost whimsical. "Maybe."

"Look, you don't have to tell me, but there's no reason to hide it."

She half-smiled. "Not what I meant. The Nebula caught my eye. I knew there would be something to find...I didn't necessarily know what it would be."

Her expression shifted even in profile. "Did you learn what it was? You know, before you tried to shoot me down."

"No. I had only been here a few hours when you _blew my ship out the sky_."

"Right." She rolled her eyes a little. "I'm sorry about that, by the way. In the same circumstances I'd do it again, but I _am_ sorry."

He looked at her askance. "Um, thanks?"

"Certainly." The graphs abruptly vanished; the cabin darkened in the absence of the holographic images. "I'd like to get an early start in the morning, so good night."

"Good night...." He frowned, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone and quick exit. In a few brief seconds she had waved the lights dim, descended the stairwell and disappeared.

Then he was alone and unrestrained on the main deck of her ship.

He noted the previously identified stations, controls and junction points. While the security on them was doubtless more complex than his restraints had been, he suspected he could hack at least some of them.

But he didn't need to, and gained nothing by doing so. The repairs weren't complete; if he tried to fly away now he'd just get himself and her killed. And given their 'relationship'—if one wished to call it such—was improving, odds were decent once the repairs were complete she would in fact drop him on an independent world and be on her way.

So instead of hacking her ship he unfolded the cot from the wall, pulled the privacy screen over, took off his shoes and lay down. The cot wasn't too bad; he'd slept on far worse.

He laced his hands behind his head and pondered how she had managed to get him to tell her his name, his profession and his mission, all in less than a day.

It went against one of the mandates of his job: never reveal anything more than is necessary to finish the mission. On the other hand, he was in a compromised position and reliant on her to get out of it. In such a situation exceptions could be made.

Even so, he should get on his game. _Though..._.

As long as he didn't kill her and she didn't kill him, this would likely end with him making it back to settled space in one piece. Therefore, other than ensuring she felt enough goodwill toward him to not throw him out the airlock—which seeing as she had gone out of her way to rescue him in the first place, he suspected was a fairly low threshold—he really didn't need to play her.

He had been trained to always be looking for an opening, for a weakness he could use to his advantage to cripple the enemy and complete the mission. But she wasn't an enemy. She wasn't even a mark.

So he decided he was marginally comfortable with her knowing a few truths. Which was interesting, seeing as he allowed very few people to know many truths at all about him.

Special circumstances and all.

Alex crashed onto her bed, relishing the sensual, almost carnal feel of her head sinking into the silky pillow.

After several deep, luxurious breaths she glanced up, and promptly scowled. The viewport above the bed often revealed twinkling stars or occasionally a glowing nebula, but at the very least the blurred shimmer of superluminal travel. Tonight it revealed a thick haze of sickly amber dust and little else, serving as a stark reminder she lay stranded on a nasty uncharted planet with a broken ship and a confounding...she didn't even know what he constituted now.

Why had she let him see the scans? Worse, why had she _explained_ them to him?

Because he was putting on a very convincing act of being friendly and nonthreatening? Of course he was convincing. It was his job to convince people he could be trusted until he was ready to kill them or arrest them or dispense whatever justice he fancied upon them.

Because he was a good cook? While a rather nice surprise, it hardly qualified him for 'friend' status.

Because he was disturbingly good looking, with hair as black as the void between stars which sent her pulse aflutter when it fell across his brow? Because he had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen—the color of the uncut natural sapphires they displayed in geology museums—which sparkled from a thousand facets when he made a teasing remark?

_Yep, that was probably why._

She groaned and rolled over to bury her face in the pillow. "I'm waxing poetic about a man. Kill me now...."

In a world of cheap genetic enhancement before and even after birth, handsome men were a dime a dozen. They'd never distracted her or done much of anything in particular for her, at least not from looks alone.

No way was she going to be led astray by a pair of pretty blue eyes. Especially not when they belonged to a Senecan, and a Senecan black ops agent at that.

She possessed enough self-awareness to realize her view of the world was slightly jaded and _perchance_ cynical. Nonetheless, objectively she recognized being born on Seneca did not automatically make him an evil monster. Granted, hardly a galaxy-altering revelation. Seneca was an adversary, one toward which she bore deep-seated animosity for her own personal reasons. But most people living there were no different from everyone else, spending their time doing the things most people did and not torturing puppies or sacrificing virgins.

And even being a black ops agent didn't automatically make him an evil monster, though it did make him dangerous. Her mother was and her father had been military; Richard, Malcolm and a number of her acquaintances were military—and thus trained killers. She had no right to judge him for engaging in activities those closest to her would do, and had done, if asked by their government.

The experience of the day seemed to bolster the decision she had made this morning. He appeared to be a smart, rational guy and not a zealot or fanatic or psychopath. As such, he presumably realized getting along and not causing trouble for her would result in him getting out of this situation alive and unharmed, and anything he did to actually help would speed up said resolution.

Thus, she came to the conclusion that while she definitely couldn't _trust_ him, she could perhaps 'trust' him a little for now.

She went through the reasoning two more times to make certain it was sound, logical and had nothing whatsoever to do with a pair of pretty blue eyes.

# 24 Deucali

### Earth Alliance Colony

Liam entered the pub as unobtrusively as possible. His tall, stocky frame placed a lower limit on his ability to be unobtrusive, but he did try.

The pub was located many kilometers from the base, in an upper-middle yet not quite upper class neighborhood. He had dressed out of uniform, wearing navy slacks, a crisp white button-down shirt and a navy blazer. Well, perhaps not far out of uniform. But he wore an unadorned navy cap over his distinctive ginger hair so as to avoid being recognized.

When one was a Regional Commander of the Earth Alliance Armed Forces, one possessed no 'peers' in the region—no one it was appropriate to go out with for a couple of beers, or watch the game or barbeque with on the weekend. No one to assemble with to watch the tides of war gather.

Maybe it was better this way, lest he give something away in a careless laugh or knowing nod at a crucial moment, but a man such as him did not have friends. Subordinates, professional colleagues, rivals and enemies. But not friends.

If he stopped to give thought to it, there did exist a time when he _had_ had friends...teammates in primary, a few worthy cohorts in university ROTC. But that had been _before_. Before the war against Seneca, before his mother had returned home in a flag-draped coffin and gutted his father's spirit. Before he had sworn a vow to his mother's eternal soul and the God who shepherded it that he would have vengeance.

As an only child, since his father died in a construction accident seven years earlier he had no family of note either. He'd never married, unwilling to let another person inside his private affairs much less his private emotions. His spouse was the Alliance military, which was all he'd ever required. And it worked out for the best, as it meant the chance of bringing shame to his family had not needed to be a consideration in his decision whether to collude in recent events, and events soon to come.

He acquired a chair at a high table in the bar area and motioned for a waiter, remembering at the last second not to bark an order for immediate service. He ordered an Earth ale; since he was out of uniform he didn't need to publicly support the local economy, and Deucali's meager attempts at hops brewing left a good bit to be desired.

Deucali wasn't a particularly scenic world either. Its landscape had been painted in browns and yellows and decorated with dull waters and minimal mountain ranges. Nevertheless, it was rich in natural resources and boasted a calm, temperate climate, one reason it had been the first world colonized on the Perseus Arm of the galaxy and for a brief time the most distant colony in existence. The Alliance had established a strong presence here and for decades used it as a base from which to expand outward along the southern arc of the Arm.

After a hundred and ten years a thriving, self-sufficient economy was firmly established, even if much of it continued to be centered around military operations. The patrons of the pub were engineers, defense contractors and civilian managers, yet even they retained a rugged, down-to-earth aura. You wouldn't find glitzy balls or elaborate sensory circuses on Deucali, and he thanked God on an almost daily basis for their absence.

The waiter delivered his drink and a bowl of crusted bread, then vanished upon his disinterest in further purchases. The pub was busy bordering on packed, and he assumed the young man had others to service who would be freer with their credits.

He twisted the cap off the pure-bottled ale and rotated the chair toward the nearest exanet news screen in time to see Prime Minister Brennon walk to the podium.

Brennon was a sturdy, solidly built man, with a slightly lined face and slightly graying hair that could mean an age anywhere from sixty to a hundred sixty. He held himself as all politicians did, shoulders back and chin a notch high.

_"As you no doubt know by now, yesterday we suffered a great tragedy in the loss of Trade Minister Mangele Santiagar. He was one of our brightest young stars, a dedicated public servant and a personal friend. He volunteered to lead the delegation to the Trade Summit because he believed in the possibility of a peaceful future with the Senecan Federation and the benefits which could result therefrom."_

The Prime Minister paused to look troubled. In the pub, most of the patrons shifted their attention away from the various sporting events playing out on the other screens; the previously lively room grew subdued. Though situated in nearly the opposite corner of settled space from Seneca, the strong military presence here meant even civilians on Deucali exhibited a strong patriotic streak.

_"It was a good dream, one we all hoped would come to be. But it, and he, were betrayed by those who might have reaped its benefits—by the very Senecans he reached out to in a gesture of peace. He was savagely murdered by those who came forth in a costume of friendship but wielded daggers beneath their cloaks."_

Liam took a sip of his ale. Politicians could always be counted on to turn a phrase when the fires of outrage needed to be fanned. Hyperbole and metaphor were powerful tools in the right hands. He doubted the PM was anything other than a vapid politician in an empty suit, but he certainly knew how to give a performance when a performance was required.

_"The General Assembly has convened in emergency session and is discussing the best manner of response to this shocking outrage. Rest assured that our response, when it comes, will be measured, deliberate and commensurate with the crime committed against the Earth Alliance."_

He paused again, his voice softening in tenor _. "For now, our hearts and prayers are with Minister Santiagar's wife, his children and all the members of his family. I grieve with them, as we all do, in their time of loss. Thank you."_

Liam gestured to the waiter for another drink. The pub had a nice atmosphere and safe anonymity. He decided he might linger awhile.

Perking up at the renewed prospect of further purchases, the waiter quickly reappeared to deliver his drink. Liam nodded to himself as he turned the fresh bottle up. He didn't know whether Santiagar had been a good man or a bad one, but it made no difference. He had been a sacrificial lamb to the mission.

_Mr. Prime Minister, you ain't seen nothing yet._

# 25 Cosenti

### Independent Colony

A chill breeze drifted in from the flatlands as Thad Yue instructed the bots to bring the crates down the ramp and move them into the unmarked hangar.

Eight crates in total were unloaded from the transport. Each one contained four autonomous VI-guided short-range Earth Alliance missiles tipped with high-density HHNC warheads. As missiles went they were lightweight and compact; even so, each crate required two of the industrial-grade mechanized bot lifters to be moved inside.

As soon as the last one cleared the ramp he signaled the transport to depart. The pilot had no knowledge of the contents of the crates, and probably didn't care to find out. Just another routine delivery from New Babel.

Cosenti was a tiny colony not far outside Senecan Federation space. Nominally independent, it maintained only the most basic governance infrastructure, and in practice the criminal cabals ran things here. It served primarily as a storage and staging location for smuggling illicit goods onto Senecan worlds, which was just as well, for its arid, infertile soil and flat landscape rendered it suitable for little else.

Although it sported fairly substantial defensive measures, if the Senecan military really wanted to they could wipe the colony off the map. Thus far they hadn't chosen to, presumably because they realized a replacement would spring up somewhere else within a month. The real source of illicit trade—chimerals, weapons, gear and all manner of cyber tools and unauthorized enhancements—was New Babel. And wiping it out would be another matter entirely.

The land outside the small town which constituted Cosenti's sole inhabited locale was populated by a patchwork of warehouses, flight hangars and plain structures of hidden purpose. Kilometers separated each cluster of buildings and perimeter drones guarded every region, programmed to eliminate any vehicle or person who did not possess the correct code. Various organizations controlled the buildings, but no markings, signs or other identifying features designated ownership. Visitors either knew where to go, or had no business going there.

By the time Thad walked in the hangar the others were already unpacking the crates. He watched several of them guide the smaller, more precision-oriented bots in securing the first missile beneath one of the fighter jets while the others readied the next missile.

The four jets dominating the hangar's open space had arrived two days earlier and were carbon copies of current generation Earth Alliance Navy ships. The paint on the Alliance logos and distinctive blue stripes shone like new. Which it was of course, having been applied about eighteen hours earlier.

This particular hangar belonged to the Zelones cartel, so named for the family who founded and ruled it for almost two centuries. Their rule had ended decades ago, though, with the rise to power of Olivia Montegreu. Formerly the chief lieutenant to Ryn Zelones, following his death under the suspicious circumstances typical of a criminal kingpin's demise, she had rapidly secured control of the cartel under her sole and absolute authority.

He had met the woman on several occasions, and found she more than lived up to her reputation—sharp, cold, beautiful and utterly, soullessly ruthless. It didn't represent a problem for him. He was confident in his ability to meet her admittedly considerable expectations.

The others didn't know for whom they worked; from their perspective he had hired them for a job, end of story. They were all independent mercs-for-hire, all skilled enough to actually be able to maintain their independence and all being paid quite well for the op. Still, he imagined their payment en masse didn't touch the cost of the fighter jets. Most were ex-military, a mix of Alliance and Federation, and brought with them the requisite knowledge and understanding of military procedure. None possessed sufficient morality to harbor any qualms about the nature of the op.

He came from a military background as well, having departed the Alliance armed forces in the wake of an _unfortunate_ incident during ground operations on Elathan in the Crux War. Unfortunate indeed.

"Hey!" He shouted at the men docking the missiles. "Don't load up one side first, you'll tip the ship over." He received curt nods in return. The camaraderie level wasn't particularly high on the team, but it didn't have to be. They were all professionals.

"Janse, join me for a few?"

The tall, lanky man finished popping the lid on a crate then came over to where he stood near the hangar wall.

Janse's skin was as black as unburnished onyx, a rarity in a world where racial and ethnic distinctions had blurred to the point of virtual meaninglessness. The man liked to claim his family were aboriginals living in the Australian outback until twenty years earlier. It was a blatant lie—he had been a third-generation hoverflyer racer before becoming a mercenary—but one which served to enhance his already fearsome reputation.

Thad projected an aural in front of them displaying the flyover layout of Palluda's single city. "I'd like to go over the targets and assignments again. No need for us to be crashing into each other on our flight paths."

"Yue, if there's one thing I know how to do, it's how to _not_ crash into other vehicles in close proximity."

"Be that as it may, you're not the only pilot and I don't want to take any chances. Now I'm reasonably happy with the target choices, though I would like to fit this industrial machinery building in if we can." He pointed to a flat, rectangular building near the top left corner.

Janse leaned against the wall and shrugged. "Thirty-two missiles man. No more, no less. Unless you've figured out to make missiles blow their payload then keep going, turn left and detonate again, you'll have to trade something for it."

Thad allowed himself a small smile. "Well, let's do a walkthrough and see what we can find."

# 26 Siyane

### Metis Nebula, Uncharted Planet

Alex glared at the two lengths of fiber conduit in annoyance. Also a trace of disgust.

They insisted on entangling one another every time she tried to secure them in place alongside their brethren against the hull wall. The aft navigation line really shouldn't be so cranky about the whole situation. True, she had removed it from where it typically rested to repair the section which had been sliced almost in two; that was no excuse for it not to go nicely back where it belonged.

The dampener field conduit on the other hand, being a recent addition, didn't natively integrate into the cabling layout of the other systems in the first place. In Seattle she had had the time and tools to devise a relatively elegant arrangement which kept it safe and secure. Well not from errant pulse lasers obviously, but at least from normal dangers. Here, though, she was using spare supplies and jury-rigged fixes and...

...they just _wouldn't_ _fit_. No matter what she did, it ended with a jumbled pile of conduit in her face. She blew out a breath through clenched teeth.

"Hey, could you come help me a minute?"

No response.

Maybe he couldn't hear her over the music. She worked better and faster when music played in the background, and the last two days had needed every edge available to her. She gestured toward the small embedded panel by the ladder to mute it.

"Caleb, you got a second?" His name rolled off her tongue with surprising ease.

Still nothing. She frowned, suspicion flaring about what nefarious deeds he might be engaging in while alone on the upper decks of her ship. She was two seconds away from crawling out of the aperture and sneaking upstairs to catch him in the act when he leaned into the hold at the top of the ladder—

—wearing nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. Loosely and _low_ around his hips. His head tilted into the hatch opening. "What do you need?"

Long, lean muscles rippled subtly beneath tanned skin, confirming her earlier assessment of a well-built, athletic but not overly muscled frame. It was the type of body one developed from an active, physical lifestyle rather than a weight bench. A neat pattern of dark hair tapered in from his pecs to trail down the center of his abdomen and disappear beneath the towel. The Greek/Italian genetic heritage of the initial Senecan colonists asserting itself no doubt, and more chest hair than the current fashion. Then again she'd never particularly cared for the prepubescent look. And it wasn't as if it appeared unkempt or....

She arched an eyebrow to stare at him with exaggerated incredulity.

"What? I'm washing my clothes, remember?"

_Right. Should not have forgotten._ "Right." She gave him a tight, close-mouthed smile. "You know what, it's fine. I've got it."

"Are you sure? Cause I can—"

"No, that is _o-kay_. Really. You just concentrate on getting dressed."

He returned her smirk. "All right, but don't say I didn't offer."

Offer _what_ , exactly?

He vanished from view, leaving her to drag a hand raggedly down her face. "Well, where was I? I think I was...connecting one thing...to another...thing...of some sort...."

His yell echoed in the hold. "Are you talking to me?"

"Nope!" She cringed and slid into the aperture, dropping her voice to a murmur. "No sirree, not at all. Merely having a little chat with my libido, ordering it to kindly go back into hibernation before it gets me into far more trouble than I need...."

She stared at the two lengths of fiber conduit sagging freely in the open space in annoyance. The trace of disgust she reserved for herself. _Not getting led astray, dammit._

In a fit of redirected energy she shimmied deeper inside the gap, suspended one line out of the way using her toes and right pinky and balanced the other in place with her left knee while she secured it. The final line then fit taut along the outer row.

_There._

Diagnostic screens hovered in front of her when he climbed down into the hold—mercifully fully clothed, she noted through the translucence.

"So should I hang out back here again, or what?"

She raised a finger. "Hold one sec, confirming all the power flows are stable."

"Holding."

After a few seconds she killed the screens to find him leaning against the opposite wall, one ankle crossed over the other to match his arms. She regarded him a moment. "You seriously want to help?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Okay. Grab a welding torch and metamat blade from the cabinet, get suited up and head outside."

His mouth twitched while his eyes did the damn _sparkly_ thing. "Dare I ask why?"

"I suppose. Right now the plasma shield is extended out about two meters beyond the body of the ship to encompass all the shredded pieces of the hull. I'm going to pull it in to the rim. You'll heat the shards, shear off the jagged edges and bend the pieces as flat as possible against the hull, after which I will re-extend the shield and we will try to mend the hull back together."

"Sounds reasonable. And what are you going to be doing while I'm braving the elements?"

"I'm going to be telling you which pieces to work on, how much to shear off and when to stop, of course. From the comfort of my insulated, heated ship."

"Of course..." he gave her a positively evil look as he pushed off the wall and went to the supply cabinet "...I'm likely to get all sweaty and need to wash my clothes again afterward, though."

She snorted and reached for her water bottle. "Don't think so. Just strip before you put on the suit—" his head had already begun whipping around "—in private, please."

"Hmm, should have thought of that myself."

He ran a fingertip along the contour of the blade then slid it easily into a notch on his pants and quickly checked over the torch. The fluid, efficient motions left no doubt as to his proficiency in their use.

For a few minutes she had almost forgotten what he was. A mistake on her part.

"Let me know when you're suited up and I'll open the airlock. Once the internal hatch has closed, the external one can be opened by pressing the panel beside it, and a ramp will extend to the ground."

"Got it." He nodded sharply and ascended the ladder.

She stretched out on her stomach at the edge of the hull rupture. With no sun in sight, as the pulsar would provide no day-night cycle, the meager yet ever present light came solely via the glow of the Nebula.

The wind had died down somewhat compared to the gale forces it had exhibited during her arrival, and fine dust particles danced about in the air. The overall effect bore a slight resemblance to the heavy, misty fog of a winter Seattle morning, albeit doused in pale sallow paint. She loved to go for a run on such mornings, when the dew blanketed so thickly it bowed the tree limbs and turned the grass silver and the fog brought silence to a noisy world.

"Ready!" His shout echoed down from the main cabin.

She waved at the panel behind her to open the airlock. A moment later Caleb arrived under the ship from the left, gloved hand already flicking on the torch as he glanced up at her. "It sucks out here. You know this, right?"

"Hell yes I know. I had to drag your unconscious body through it, remember?"

"Well, you didn't _have_ to. You could have, for instance, not shot me, and instead asked me politely if I'd like to come aboard where it was warm and cozy."

Her eyes narrowed in feigned non-amusement. "Easy for you to say now. Start with this long piece here."

"Yes, ma'am." He pulled the blade off the belt of the environment suit and raised the torch to the piece in question.

"Smooth the ragged corner, but only a little. I don't want to lose any more material than necessary. Okay, now heat it along the bend. Not too much or it'll melt!"

"Don't get your panties in a twist. I've got this." He eased the sheet of metal up toward the hull and her. His tone was conversational. "Carbon-based metamaterials become pliant at around 1340°C and don't begin to lose their atomic structure until 1920°. The torch is set to 1460°, which will create malleability without damaging the integrity of the material."

"They teach you that in spy school?"

The metal shimmered as it met resistance at the plasma shield, and he lowered the torch. He stood less than a meter beneath her, only the shield and the faceplate of his helmet separating them. "Engineering school."

He looked up at her, the curl of his lips clearly visible through the faceplate. " _Yes_ , I have an engineering degree. Try to contain your shock. Where to next?"

She worked to keep her expression neutral and unaffected. So he possessed skills beyond subterfuge and selective removal of criminals from the gene pool. And culinary endeavors. It didn't change anything.

She pointed to the narrow piece at the end of the rupture closest to her.

"This one."

# 27 Krysk

### Senecan Federation Colony

In the late 22nd century, a number of social philosophers asserted their belief that the expansion of humanity beyond the bounds of the Sol System would usher in a new era of civility and order. With unparalleled prosperity and a galaxy to explore, we would at last put behind us petty foibles such as crime and violence in favor of higher, more noble pursuits.

But through the Renaissance and the discovery of the Americas, the Industrial Revolution and the taming of Earth, the invention of computers and the advent of space flight, human nature had remained fundamentally unchanged. It was foolhardy to believe this latest advancement would bring about some profound transformation in the souls of men.

In reality, those predisposed to violence did not give it up; they simply developed more sophisticated methods of going about it. Avenues for physical and mental pleasure only became more refined and powerful, and thus an ever greater temptation. Physical addiction was now able to be cured easily enough—but many didn't _want_ to be cured.

Through gene therapy, stem cell manipulation and biosynthetic treatments the medical profession cured the great diseases of the body: cancer, Alzheimer's, muscular dystrophy, paralysis, the list was endless. Diseases of the mind, however, proved to be another matter entirely. The brain represented the most complex organism ever to exist, and impossible to tame. Morality could not be spawned by tweaking a few genes or shutting off a few neurons. Not yet.

So though humanity conquered the very stars, it remained unable to conquer the darkness within. Thieves, rapists and murderers continued to occur in roughly the same percentage of the population they always had. The weak continued to be preyed upon by the strong in the prolific shadows not policed by any government.

The Zelones cartel was the strongest criminal organization in settled space because its leadership had always understood certain core truths and harnessed them to maximum effect. Some people desired nothing more than to spend their lives on a synthetically induced high and merely needed the chimerals to do so. Cutthroat businesspeople needed thieves and hackers. Thieves and hackers needed tools and funding. Bullies and thugs needed targets and outlets for their aggression.

One who could not only recognize these opportunities but channel and exploit the disparate needs was as a puppeteer pulling the strings of the world.

Olivia Montegreu knew this, because she was one of the puppeteers. It wasn't arrogance on her part, but simple truth. The veil had been ripped away and the lie at the heart of 'civilized' society bared to her a very long time ago.

She had watched her older sister—weak-minded, impressionable, helpless to take care of herself—eschew their upper-middle class life to hook up with a gang and get addicted to a particularly nasty chimeral. The drug of choice created a state of utter bliss for half an hour that felt like days, then swung in the opposite direction for twice as long. Her sister spent two years as a literal sex slave to the gang's local leadership before she ended up dead in a back alley in the slums of Buenos Aires, naked and strangled.

Olivia had watched her parents wail and gnash their teeth and pull at their hair, then resume living their lives. She had watched the authorities take statements and nod in feigned sympathy and close the case as 'gang-related.' She had watched the world proceed onward, as if nothing at all had happened. One family, one girl, one death among the multitudes.

Six months later she joined the same gang. The 'Montserrat Matónes,' they called themselves. In reality they were financed by an arm of Zelones, one of thousands of such street-level interests, but not even the leaders realized it.

At first she played the innocent, impressionable young girl her sister had been. She slept with who she needed to but carefully avoided the chimerals in copious supply. She made herself useful and displayed enough capability to get close to the leadership. In time she learned the details of how the gang worked. Though it gave the impression of being an unorganized group of thrill-seekers and dropouts, it did have structure and rules. They procured chimerals from a larger, more powerful group; they were given targets for shakedowns and small-time thefts.

Once she was satisfied she had learned everything she could, she slid a gamma blade into the base of the Matónes leader's neck while he fucked her. She killed his lieutenant when he found them—he _had_ been the one who strangled her sister, after all. Then she took over leadership of the gang.

The year was 2229, and she was sixteen years old.

Olivia instructed the pilot to wait with the ship at the Krysk spaceport. She didn't expect to be long, and did not require a chaperone.

She was meeting the head of the Ferre 'corporation,' in all likelihood alongside a retinue of his lieutenants, at their headquarters in the center of downtown. On New Babel she traveled with a small entourage of bodyguards and lieutenants; it was expected and projected the correct image. Here on his turf, Ilario Ferre would doubtless do the same. It wasn't a problem. In fact, she was counting on it.

The sweltering heat from the midday sun burned against her bare arms. She wore a sleeveless, lightweight white tunic and loose, breathable linen-style pants to temper the heat.

The oldest and largest Senecan-allied colony, Krysk offered a robust urban infrastructure. As she walked along the moderately busy sidewalk, she looked to the world like any other young, fresh-faced professional; perhaps a mid-level marketing executive or entertainment director. For she spent a notable percentage of her considerable annual income on cutting-edge cellular regeneration therapies, and would appear to the world—as she had for more than eighty years—in her late twenties.

No one she passed had the slightest idea one of the most powerful people in the galaxy walked among them. A face scan by a high-end ocular implant might have revealed it, but anyone who tried would find themselves inexplicably unable to capture such a scan. The invisible, nanometer-thick shield coating her skin blocked any and all intrusions of her body and cybernetics and scrambled the signals of any such attempts.

Her destination was located in an unremarkable midrise just off the main thoroughfare. It claimed to house a company called Fotilas Services, which she suspected didn't exist beyond a government filing, if that. Senecan Federation regulations were after all notable primarily for their absence.

She gave the receptionist, a woman with flowing mahogany curls and skin the color of sun-bleached toffee, a charming smile. "Would you tell Mr. Ferre his twelve o'clock is here? I'm expected." While the receptionist frowned and readied a protest, she added a courteous nod to the camera hidden in the ceiling.

A second later the woman cleared her throat and stood. "I'll show you to the conference room, ma'am."

The room was deep in the complex. A windowless affair consisting of a conference table and little else, no inner workings of the business would be on display in this venue. As the receptionist stepped in to announce her presence, Olivia nonchalantly ran the bracelet circling her right wrist over the small embedded panel in the wall.

Ilario Ferre greeted her with a glib smile and a firm grasp of her hand. "Ms. Montegreu, so kind of you to come all this way..." he glanced behind her, a puzzled expression ghosting across his face "...is it only you? You have no escort?"

"Do I need one? Given all these armed guards here—" she motioned toward the half dozen enforcers lining the walls of the room "—I imagine I am quite safe from anything less than an invasion."

To his credit he recovered quickly, dipping his chin in appreciation. "And of course you are. You must forgive me, my father took paranoia to an art form. Old habits and all. Shall we sit?"

She followed him to the table and took a seat opposite him. Immediately a door opened at one end of the room and a young man and older woman entered. Ilario nodded as they joined them at the table.

"My mother, Alaina, and my cousin and first lieutenant, Laure."

She was familiar with both of them from her files. Alaina, she gave a respectful but curt nod; Laure, a tiny smile.

"Now I know you are a very busy woman, Ms. Montegreu, so let's get straight to business, shall we? I confess to being intrigued by the idea of a strategic partnership between our interests. I think we both have much we can offer the other."

A strategic partnership—it was the ostensible purpose of her visit. The Zelones cartel _was_ the strongest criminal organization in settled space, but its reach was not absolute. In point of fact, its presence was weakest on Senecan Federation planets, where an entrepreneurial culture encouraged the rise of homegrown, enterprising 'freelancers' and where the wholesale change in government twenty-two years earlier had muddled their network of contacts.

Ilario without a doubt knew this, which was why her overture had likely been perceived as logical and natural. But what he did not know was there was chaos on the horizon, and she did not intend to share the spoils.

Her expression turned predatory. "Yes, _about_ that. I think the better choice is for you to simply work for me."

The man almost choked on the water he was sipping. "Ms. Montegreu, I don't mean any disrespect, for your, shall we say, _business_ prowess is legendary. But my family does not work 'for' anyone. We are doing rather well in the Federation, which I believe is a good deal more than you can say. Now I am willing to entertain discussions of a mutually beneficial arrangement, but nothing else."

Her lips pursed together in a show of thoughtfulness. She allowed the silence to stretch a breath longer than was comfortable, then shrugged and stood. "Very well."

She lifted her wrist to eject two aSTX-laced blades from her bracelet and into the necks of Ilario and his mother. The toxin would paralyze their respiratory muscles, suffocating them even before they bled out from their throats being sliced open.

The laser fire from the guards bounced harmlessly off her personal shield. A thought and she activated the EMP she had staged when she touched her bracelet to the panel by the door. Most of the guards were still within three meters of the walls, and the EMP fried their cybernetics along with much of their brain matter as a side effect.

One guard had been moving toward her and escaped the EMP. Likely deducing—correctly—that physical restraint was the only way to neutralize her, he lowered and squared his shoulders in preparation for tackling her. She slid the gamma blade hilt out of her pants' pocket and activated a two-meter long blade which sliced him in half at the waist. She took a step back to avoid the blood spurting out of the body and returned the blade hilt to her pocket.

Physical violence had been an occasional necessity over the years as she climbed the ranks. These days she employed people who would happily engage in it on her behalf, but there were times when a more personal touch was required. She didn't particularly enjoy it; nor did she particularly loathe it. Violence was simply a tool, and in this instance the most expedient tool available to her.

Her gaze locked on Laure Ferre. He sat at the table beside his dead cousin and his dead aunt, deep green eyes wide but not panicked as he stared at her. He presumably had by now deduced, first, if she wanted him dead he would already be so, and second, if he tried to harm her his status would change. His file indicated he was intelligent and quick on his feet, but not so narcissistic as Ilario.

"You work for me now. The Ferre organization is now a wholly-owned subsidiary of the Zelones cartel. For the time being you will be allowed to continue doing business as you have up until now, subject to a few minor adjustments. Someone will be in touch with the details. Are we clear?"

A harsh, ragged laugh bubbled up from his chest, but he nodded. "Yes, ma'am." His eyes roved around the room, taking in the massacre, then back to her. "I, um, look forward to being a part of your team."

"Glad to hear it." She pivoted and walked out.

# 28 Siyane

### Metis Nebula, Uncharted Planet

Alex had sandwiches and sliced fruit ready by the time Caleb returned from showering. An environment suit protected a person from the elements outside the suit; it did not create a comfortable environment inside the suit, and three hours in it had left him a sweaty, sticky mess.

He settled in one of the chairs at the small dining table while she brought the plates over. "Thanks. So what do you think? Is enough material remaining to seal the hull?"

"I honestly don't know. You saw, there were definite gaps, but I keep a few spare mats I can use." She looked across the table at him. "Eat fast so we can find out."

"Right." She was smiling, so he added a light chuckle. It was still a guarded one though, only hinting at reaching her eyes. After a bite of his sandwich he decided to ask about something which had bugged him on the trip out of and back into the ship: the silence. "I can't help but notice you don't seem to have a VI on board."

"Nope."

"Are you uncomfortable with the idea of giving a VI access to the systems?"

"Not at all. I simply don't need one to tell me the status of my ship." She paused, and a smile which felt somehow private tugged at her lips. Her left hand nonchalantly gestured in the direction of the embedded panel behind her.

As they had the last two nights when she went to bed, the lights dimmed; a second later they returned to full strength. The strains of a synthwave ballad began wafting through the cabin. A frown, and the volume decreased.

Her right hand brought the sandwich to her mouth as the left waved toward the cockpit. The glyphs along her wrist pulsed faintly.

"It's a brisk -54° outside, while in here it's a cozy 23°. The system repairs are essentially complete: the plasma shield is up to 93%, and the self-healing hydrogel on the damaged conduit should bring it to 100% by morning. The impulse engine reports all systems fully functional.

"The LEN reactor is expending 12% of its output capacity on keeping us alive and comfortable...and it's a little cranky at having to work harder on account of there being two of us." She winked at him—sending an unexpected wicked shiver down his spine—and took a bite of her sandwich.

"Most impressive. I don't know if I've ever seen such extensive wireless interconnectivity from cybernetics alone, no hardware adjunct."

"Planet-side there's almost always too much interference for it to work reliably. The invisible yet teeming cloud of electronic signals permeates everywhere, clogging the air with noise. Here though, it's just me."

"And, as the reactor noted, me."

She gazed at him a moment, and he could _see_ thoughts flitting across her eyes. He wished like hell he knew what they were. "And you."

Her gaze darted down to acquire an apple slice. "Bet you didn't think I was a warenut, huh?"

"I still don't. I would say you have simply optimized both yourself and your ship for maximum capability and performance."

She shrugged but seemed pleased by the response. "More or less."

He took another bite—despite her admonition, neither of them were hurrying through lunch—and cocked his head to the side. "This music...Ethan Tollis, right?"

"Yep. You've heard of him?"

"Of course. Music doesn't respect political boundaries. But it's a different style than what you've usually had playing."

"He's a friend."

He arched an eyebrow in genuine surprise. "You're 'friends' with one of the most successful prog synth musicians in the galaxy."

She nodded, her mouth full. "Mmhmm."

Hmm, indeed. She came off as so serious, so focused and no-nonsense, he would've thought she'd have no patience for artistic types.

She caught him staring at her. "What?"

"Nothing." He didn't try to hide the mischief in his eyes. " _Good_ friends?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's not supposed to mean anything. I'm merely asking how good of friends you are."

"Very funny." She took a sip of water. "If you're asking me if I slept with him, it is so far beyond your business."

He laughed. "So yes, then."

She sighed in clear annoyance and picked up her sandwich, only to set it down again to glare at him. " _Fine_. I met him after university while I was doing an externship at Pacifica Aerodynamics. He was a struggling coffeehouse musician at the time. We dated for around a year. I took a job on Erisen, we parted friends. A few years later he hit it big. I was happy for him. End of story."

The notion of her _dating_ a musician threw him for even more of a loop. It appeared he had quite a bit more to discover about her—but he'd ponder it later. "Interesting. You keep in touch?"

"We catch up every now and then."

He really shouldn't rile her up; it was not conducive to him making it off this rock alive and in one piece. But he couldn't help it. When she got annoyed or flustered her nose crinkled up and sideways and her mouth contorted into the oddest shapes. It looked so....

"And by 'catch up' you mean?"

She glared at him again and...yep, there it was. _Adorable._

"Are you done? You look like you're done." She reached across and snatched his plate away, stood and marched to the sink.

He grinned to himself and began clearing off the rest of the table. "You know, feel free to ask me embarrassing, invasive things about my life. I'm good with tit-for-tat."

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Why bother? Whatever you said would be a lie."

_Ouch._ The lighthearted mood instantly evaporated. "No, it _wouldn't_ be."

"And I could tell the difference...how?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He gave her a pursed smile that wasn't. "You probably couldn't."

Her shoulders notched upward to emphasize the point. She turned back to the sink to stow the dishes.

He didn't think he had ever been shamed so thoroughly and to such stinging effect by a few casual words. He sank against the table, taken aback by the rebuke...and by how badly he wanted to change her mind.

They lay on their stomachs at right angles to one another in the engineering well. She heated an edge of intact hull while he heated a torn section and brought it to meet her edge; she aligned them and they held the pieces in place until they cooled and bonded together.

The conversation since lunch had been polite but strained, and fairly minimal. He struggled to find some way to get back to the comfortable interaction they'd been playing at having all morning. Because it had been nice.

He nodded in appreciation as the metal melded seamlessly together. "This is seriously high-quality material, not that I'm surprised. Maybe the Trade Summit was a success, and we'll get access to material of this caliber."

"What Tra— oh yeah, that political circle-jerk. Yes, let's decide to sell doilies and mantle ornaments to each other, it'll make everything better."

He followed her lead and scooted to the next section. "It's been twenty-two years, it's arguably time to at least try."

She didn't respond, acting as if she were focused on heating the metal at her fingertips and positioning the now pliant material. She kept her gaze on it when she finally spoke. "My father was killed in the war."

_Well_ this _topic isn't likely to bring back the lighthearted atmosphere. Way to go._ His voice was carefully soft. "I know."

She let go of the metal to screw her face up at him. "What?"

He attempted a self-deprecating smile. "Hey, even us backwater Senecan rubes study history. The Kappa Crucis Battle is famous, it...well it was an important event in the war." The battle turned the war in Seneca's favor and ultimately led to the armistice. She knew this. It didn't need to be said.

He took on an officious tone as he recited from memory, having reviewed the entry a mere two nights ago when studying her file. "Commander David Solovy, commanding officer of the Earth Alliance cruiser _EAS Stalwart_ , successfully blocked the Federation fleet's advance for twelve minutes, giving a number of Alliance vessels, the staff of a nearby monitoring station and nearly all of the _Stalwart_ crew time to safely escape. It is estimated he saved the lives of over 4,000 Alliance men and women before the _Stalwart_ was destroyed."

"4,817." It was less than a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Alex."

"Why? You weren't to blame." Her gaze rose to meet his in challenge. "Unless you were there—were you?"

"No. I was sixteen, and finishing primary."

The taut raise of her lips was somehow the antithesis of a smile. "Well there you go. Clean hands."

"It was war. A _lot_ of people died—on both sides."

"Which made it so much easier for a thirteen year old to understand." She reached over and tried to wrench his piece up to meet the hull. It wasn't sufficiently heated and refused to budge, leading to a harsh, frustrated expulsion of air from her lungs.

"I'm not saying it...." He squeezed his eyes shut in equal frustration. He was doing this all wrong, and in serious danger of wiping out whatever goodwill he may have built up. After a moment's pause he tried a different tack. "You were close to your dad?"

She shot him a fierce glare; her eyes blazed silver ice. He resisted the urge to retreat into the corner to get further away from the glare. He thought he would do almost anything to not be the recipient of such an expression ever again.

" _That_ is none of your business."

_So yes, then._ He gave up any attempt at a kind, sympathetic tone of voice; it clearly made no difference. "Right. Of course. My mistake."

They worked in silence after that, save for the occasional instruction or question. It was efficient, for they had naturally settled into a productive routine. Even with the weight of uneasy tension hanging ignored in the air, they undeniably worked rather well together. He wanted to diffuse the tension, but under the circumstances silence seemed the least damaging choice.

Since his position forced him to move backwards through the hold, he hadn't been focusing on what lay behind him. Therefore he wasn't as prepared as he probably should have been for her abrupt shattering of the heavy silence.

"Dammit!" She dropped her torch to the floor and rose to her knees, only to sink back on her heels and drag a hand down her face. "It's not enough. We'll keep going, but there's not sufficient material to seal her up. Not even close." With a visceral growl she sent the torch skidding across the hold.

While his own self-interest led him to wish for a friendlier, more amicable situation, he had to admire her intensity and spirit. Far too many people hid behind holos and aurals and sensory overlays to project an air of cool aloofness and detached disinterest. This woman though...she had _fire_. And even when directed at him, it was something to see.

He sat up and leaned against the nearby wall. Once he saw the entire area, he didn't dispute her assessment. A much smaller but still substantial opening ran along much of the center. The metal converged in only two locations, and they had already used all the spare mats.

He raised a hesitant eyebrow. "The shield's at full power now, right? Will it hold in space?"

"Maybe, but I'm not particularly anxious to test the theory out in the void. Are you?" It sounded like another challenge.

His head tilted as though an idea had come to him. In truth the option had occurred to him immediately upon seeing the enormous rupture in the hull the day before, but he hadn't known if it would be needed, and if it were needed whether it would be feasible. Now, however, their options were rapidly dwindling.

"What about my ship?"

"What _about_ your ship?"

"The hull was made of an amodiamond metamaterial. It's similar enough to yours to patch the gaps, isn't it?"

She huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. "Well, yes—but I kind of blew up your ship. Or have you forgotten?"

"Oh, I have absolutely not forgotten. But we're okay to fly in-atmosphere? If we can locate some of the wreckage, I'm sure there are intact pieces large enough to salvage material from. Especially since we don't need very much."

She regarded him in surprise...and perhaps a measure of appreciation. "That's a really good idea."

He smiled, relieved more than he cared to admit to be the recipient of a softer, gentler expression. "Great. Now we just have to find the wreckage."

She was already climbing to her feet, renewed vigor in every motion. "It shouldn't be too difficult. I dodged the remains of your ship most of the way down. Navigation ought to be able to extrapolate a landing zone from their trajectory."

When she reached the first step of the ladder she paused. "You know what, I'm certain it will. Let's go ahead and finish this work while we're in the groove. We'll go hunting in the morning."

He watched her retrieve her torch from the corner where it had landed and return to her previous spot on the floor, then joined her and flicked his torch on.

"We have a groove? I mean, _I_ felt like we definitely had a groove thing happening, but I didn't know for sure if _you_ thought we had a groove."

Her eyes cut over to him, now dancing with mirth rather than ice. "Are you going to help, or is droll commentary going to be the extent of your contribution?"

He bit his lower lip, and was intrigued to see an odd flare in her eyes before she directed her attention to the hull. "I can't do both?"

"Nope. It's scientifically impossible."

He sighed for added effect. "Ah well. I guess I'll help then."

"Thank god."

As they settled back into the routine, this time with considerably less tension in the air, he pondered her rapid and dramatic shift in mood. Unquestionably the prospect of locating additional materials for the hull would be a welcome development and should cheer her up, but not to so great an extent.

It took him a few minutes to figure out the answer, though in retrospect it seemed blindingly obvious given what he had ascertained about her thus far.

He had provided her the means to make her ship whole. To fly again.

# 29 Erisen

### Earth Alliance Colony

"It's the same principle as the dampener field, except blocking signals from getting in rather than keeping them from getting out. We don't need to reinvent the wheel, merely reapply the principles in a slightly adjusted manner."

The young engineer looked at her as though she had sprouted a second head. She checked, she hadn't. "Well? I'm not forgetting some fundamental rule of chemistry, am I? Quantum physics? Electronics?"

"Um, no ma'am, not as—"

"Kennedy's fine." She smiled at him in the ghostly light. The prototype lab was of necessity windowless and dark, save for the scattered glow of dozens of screens and interfaces.

"Yes, ma'am. Kennedy. Ma'am. It's just the dampener field doesn't block everything, even at its strongest. It only tamps down the strength of the waves. For reverse-shielding to work, it'll have to be impermeable."

"True, but the energy the dampener field blocks is on the order of terajoules. The energy we want to block here is far smaller."

"Right. Good point." He ran calculations on the screen in front of them. The blue and teal glyphs coating his arm pulsed brightly to splash color in the air. "It shouldn't be too difficult to create a strong Faraday cage using a silver-based nonlinear metamat. We could—"

"And we should do that—but not now. For this project to be successful it has to be easy to install and inexpensive, relatively speaking, not another costly lattice which has to be painted on."

He stared at her. "A cheap virtual shield blocking the _entire_ spectrum?"

"No, I'm not that crazy. It has to protect against directed signals, not space radiation or anything. I think it doesn't need to be a Faraday cage at all. It simply has to disrupt specific signals, after all. We disrupt signals all the time."

His eyes widened and looked to the ceiling for inspiration. "We can certainly design a shield to diffuse or disrupt incoming waves. But it would disrupt the exanet as well, including messaging, and I, um..." he chuckled to himself, then blushed "...don't think our customers would like that, right?"

She patted him on the shoulder in encouragement. She loved nerdy engineers; they were so pure. In point of fact this was the root of the problem she had sought him out to solve. But she had wanted him to work through the variables and come to it on his own, because now he would feel _he_ owned it, too.

"You are absolutely correct, which is why I need you to figure out a way to allow exanet signals in without creating a hole big enough for the evil pirates to sneak through. What do you think? Can you do it?"

His brow furrowed and his gaze bounced around the lab. "Well, it will have to be adaptive and semi-intelligent, so we're looking at some manner of active ware in its core and—"

She laughed and began backing away. "Just let me know when you have something."

He nodded distractedly, his mind already lost in a magical mathematical world.

In truth she needed 'something' rather fast. The Board presentation had gone better than expected, and they had requested practical design plans as soon as possible. But the fastest route to those plans was to get a techie intrigued by the challenge then give them the room to be brilliant.

She stepped out the glass doors of IS Design's offices onto the broad sidewalk, only to grin in delight. Light, fluffy snowflakes danced about in the air to become a luminous gold in the refracted evening rays.

She pulled her hat snugly over her ears and started off, though not too quickly. Her apartment was eight blocks away in the heart of downtown, and she decided to enjoy the walk.

Erisen had been her home for eleven years now, but having grown up in Houston and attended university in Pasadena, she still found herself a little enamored by snow. It made everything feel...softer. Gentler. Brighter. It was okay to be a child again when in the presence of snow.

Halfway down the next block she lingered at the window of a shoe boutique, futilely as always. She was going to Houston for her parents' anniversary in two days and required eye-catching attire to wear to the party. In her parents' vernacular, 'party' meant gala extravaganza involving five hundred guests, a private orchestra and delicacies shipped in from half a dozen worlds. And while Erisen's fashion offerings had matured to a point, retailers tended toward the practical attire required by a cold and snowy climate.

Alas. Maybe she should head to Earth early and swing by Manhattan first. She wouldn't want her parents' friends thinking Erisen was some backwater hick world, because at a hundred seventy-two years old, it wasn't. Much.

Her eVi indicated an incoming message, and a frown tugged at her lips when it opened. Miles, the eco-dev executive, would like to take her to an art exhibit the next evening. She pondered it a moment while crossing the street, and abruptly stuck her tongue out to capture a falling snowflake.

Once the initial thrill of a new romance had worn off, she was finding him increasingly high maintenance. He had turned out to be a horrific skier, which could have been cute if he hadn't been so damn whiny about it. He prattled on about his work incessantly, which could have been interesting if his work didn't consist mostly of lobbying. And while he was quite handsome, his mouth did this odd downturn thing in response to whatever you said; it made him look churlish.

With an eye roll she sent back a decline and excuse. The excuse was easy, as she legitimately wasn't available on account of needing to get ready for the trip home. Whether he interpreted it as a more permanent decline...well, she would worry about that on her return.

Another one bites the dust. She laughed to herself, fully aware she had done it _again_ , but opened a compose anyway.

_Alex,_

_...or not. He's entirely too needy, and on the verge of petulant. Oh well, tomorrow is another day._

_— Kennedy_

She sent the message as a gleam to her left caught her attention. The last moment of the sunset over the mountains tossed glittering beams into the snow-filled sky. It looked—

_Message unable to be delivered. Recipient is not connected to exanet infrastructure. Message will be queued until it can be delivered._

What?

The person behind her collided into her, and she barely caught her balance in time to prevent a tumble to the ground. She mumbled a "sorry" and moved out of the way.

Distracted by troubling thoughts, she managed to wind through the busy pedestrian foot traffic to the low ledge marking the barrier between the sidewalk and a small sculpture park. She sank against the ledge.

There were a few instances when one might be cut off from the ubiquitous exanet infrastructure. Spelunking beneath a couple of kilometers of solid heavy metals, for instance, or catching a front-row seat to a supernova explosion. Not much else...other than being dead, of course.

The _Siyane_ was equipped with the most robust radiation shielding available, but even it had limits.

_Oh Alex, what_ are _you doing?_

# 30 Siyane

### Metis Nebula, Uncharted Planet

The _Siyane_ skimmed fifteen meters above the ground, cutting through a harsh wind toward the only reading for kilometers which showed any signs of being artificial.

Alex pointed at the screen taking up the uppermost-right quadrant of the cockpit display. She had given him view rights to the HUD, because it was simply practical to do so. "Keep an eye on this readout while I try not to crash into any sudden mountainous objects. Let me know when it spikes."

Caleb nodded from his position leaning against the half-wall separating the cockpit and the main cabin. "Gotcha."

They had spent the previous evening stretching the hull material as far as possible and called it an early, tired night. This morning they had set out in the direction of the region the navigation system identified as the likeliest crash site zone. They'd been flying for more than an hour to reach the edge of the region; for obvious reasons she flew conservatively.

He had baked muffins after they had lifted off, then showed up in the cockpit and casually handed her two.

Muffins. He had utterly confounded her with _muffins_. Banana nut multigrain muffins, to be precise. The man's arsenal of weaponry was truly impressive.

She found her mind wandering to what other weapons he might have in his— _Jesus, Alex, get your mind out of the gutter. It's far too early in the morning for those sorts of thoughts_.

"Hey, got a spike."

She blinked hard and glanced at the display. "Yep." She arced toward the flashing signal. When they were in range she slowed to a crawl until they could see the wreckage among the blowing sand.

He moaned and sagged against the wall in apparent despondence. "My baby...."

"Look, I said I was sorry. There's nothing else—"

"She was a loaner. I'd had her all of a week."

"Unh!" She leaned over and punched him in the shoulder. "Very funny."

"Ow." He rubbed his shoulder gingerly. "So what's the plan?"

She studied the hazy outline of the wreckage. "It looks promising. The wind is nasty strong though, so we'll tether ourselves to the hull. I say we take turns slicing off a piece and bringing it to the airlock. I'd like to end up with at least three square meters, as solid and flat as possible." She leaned in closer to the viewport. "Given the state of the wreck, it may mean a lot of small pieces."

"Works for me."

The ship's landing gear settled to the ground, and she cut the engine. "Let's get to it."

She rejoined him after depositing a sheet in the airlock, her fourth such trip. They had accumulated a nice stack of material by this point, but she didn't want to come up short and have to do this all over again. The wind made every step a challenge, and the swirling dust reduced visibility to a few meters. "Goddamn this planet sucks."

He chuckled over the vicinity comm. "You don't have to tell me—I'm fairly certain I've been telling you. But that's not even what bugs me the most about it."

"And what does bug you the most about it?"

"How is it even here? What is it orbiting? We're a _long_ way from the pulsar, and there's no indication of another star in the vicinity."

"Perhaps the answer's in that unusual radiation. I don't know. Regardless—"

A powerful gust swept across them from out of nowhere; the crashed ship rocked precipitously, several loose sections tearing off to disappear into the sky.

The punishing wind ripped the piece of hull he had just severed out of his hand. Its jagged edges sliced right through the line tethering her to her ship on its way to oblivion.

The velocity of the wind increased yet more and began to push her relentlessly backward. She reached to grab onto the wreckage, and had succeeded in doing so when a fresh gust whipped in and her tenuous grip slipped on the metal surface.

His voice was low and steady. "Hang on. I'm going to—"

"I _can't_!" The gust shifted direction, and she felt herself being blown sideways away from the wreck—

—his arms wound around her waist and gripped her against him. She didn't understand how he managed to reach her. Somehow he had.

"It's _okay_. I've got you."

Her pulse raced, pounding in her ears above the howling wind. A wave of dizziness crashed over her with the rapid flood of adrenaline. She gasped in a breath. "Don't let go."

His faceplate dropped forward to rest on hers. "I won't. I promise."

Her eyes rose to meet his. She was shocked at how frightened he looked. Those beautiful irises had darkened to a raging midnight blue surrounding pinpoint pupils. Rigid lines of clenched muscles cut beneath his cheekbones.

But the tone of his voice remained calm and confident. It made her feel safe...as did the firm grasp of his arms around her. It seemed his deceptively lean build hid a great deal of strength. She sucked in several deep breaths until her pulse began to slow. "Thank you."

He grinned, if a little shakily. "Couldn't lose my pilot, now could I?"

"We should probably...head to the ship."

"You want me to carry you?"

And the cocky wit returns. She glared at him through the faceplate, though any annoyance was contrived at best. "That's quite all right. How about we just tie my line onto yours instead."

"Okay, but don't say I didn't offer."

"Noted." She hoped the helmet hid the smile which insisted on pulling at her lips as she reached around him to secure the frayed end of her line to his. "Let's each get a piece and head in. I think we have enough." She jerked the knot tight and pulled back to face him.

A second passed, then two. Her pulse decided to reverse direction once more. She swallowed. "You can let go now."

He laughed softly. "Right." But he waited another full second before loosening his grip and taking a half-step away.

She spun toward the wreck, only to grumble in frustration. "And my blade's gone."

"S'ok. You can take...this one." He finished cutting off a small piece and handed it to her, then went for the last one. Once he held the final slice in his hands, he paused to stare at the remnants of his ship.

"What is it? Is there something else you wanted to try to find?"

She saw his shoulders drop fractionally, though the sigh wasn't audible. He looked back at her. "Nope. We're good."

She smiled to herself as the metal cooled to meld together into a nearly seamless sheet. The materials weren't identical; as such, the hue underwent a noticeable shift at the...well, seam. Still, it would do. More than do, honestly. She had to admit, she was impressed by the Senecan-manufactured metamat. It wasn't better than hers, merely different. But not bad different.

She began heating the next section. After laying out the recovered material and matching the pieces to the remaining gaps, they had divided up the repairs to save time. His work the previous afternoon had more than convinced her he knew what he was doing. She trusted him to get it right, which was saying a fair amount.

"So I was thinking. Once the repairs are finished, we should go check out those anomalous readings."

His torch froze above the hull. "You think so?"

"We should consider it at least. At this point we're practically there, we might as well drop by. I mean it's why I'm here, it's why you're here. It won't be much trouble to check it out."

Her torch created a bright glare, and beyond its halo she couldn't see his expression at the opposite end of the hold. She _could_ see him set his tools on the floor. A reply was several seconds in coming, however.

"You're right. It is why you're here, and why I'm here. So what does that mean? If it turns out to be important, do I get a copy of the data?"

She didn't even hesitate. After all, 'I've been thinking' meant she had previously identified the parameters and analyzed all the branching considerations. "Yes."

His response was also quick, though she suspected for a different reason. "You mean it? Why?"

She returned to the still-ragged edge of the salvaged material. "Because I don't gain anything by keeping it from you. You'll know what the phenomenon is, at least in general terms, because you'll be there. I suspect unlike my typical clients, your bosses won't demand detailed scientific analyses and spectrum charts before acting on the information, so you'll already have everything you need. I won't gain any advantage by being a bitch and I'll lose...." Her hand paused two centimeters from the shard.

"You'll lose what?"

Asshole, as if he didn't know the answer. "Comity."

He choked back a laugh. " _Comity?_ "

She scowled at the torch. "Yes, _comity_. Goodwill. Friendly relations. You not trying to kill me. Call it whatever—" She yelped as the flame grazed her fingertip, and quickly extinguished it lest she set the ship on fire.

"Alex, you have to know by now I'm _not_ going to kill you."

She sucked on the scalded finger to buy a second or two. "Of course I do. I was trying to be humorous. Failing miserably apparently. Not a huge surprise, it was never one of my strong suits." He didn't comment further, and she flicked the torch back on and turned to the hull—

—then realized he had come over and crouched on the balls of his feet against the wall beside her. Damn he could move quietly.

She eyed him without actually looking at him; a corner of his mouth tweaked up in response. He was entirely too cute for his—or her—own good when he did that.... Surprised at her own reaction, she wondered when precisely it was his smirk had stopped being annoying and started being cute. The evening before? This morning with the muffins? Just now?

"I don't believe you."

She blew out a breath, flicked the torch off _again_ and rolled onto her back. "You understand why, don't you?"

He nodded. "Because it's my job to be a chameleon, to become whatever I need to be in a given situation in order to complete the mission—or at least get out alive, as the case may be. And I'm very good at my job, which I imagine you have surmised. Therefore, you have no way to be certain whether or not I'm simply acting the part of the easygoing, agreeable, helpful, funny, charming stowaway and will slit your throat the minute it benefits me to do so."

She shrugged, and didn't bother to deny he was all of those things. "Kind of sums it up, yeah."

"And I don't see how there's any way for me to convince you otherwise...especially when I'm not even sure myself."

" _Not_ helping."

He cringed visibly. "That came out wrong—I'm sure I'm not going to slit your throat. I meant...it's been so long since I've truly been myself around someone else, I'm not sure I even remember how to do it anymore."

She frowned. "That's kind of tragic." The frown deepened. "Unless this is just another layer of the act, designed to win my trust when the easygoing, agreeable, helpful, funny, charming routine wasn't getting the job done."

He groaned and sank the rest of the way down to the floor. "Totally valid point. It's impossible for me to talk my way out of this."

"Yep. Sorry." She shifted onto her stomach and activated the torch. _Again_. "Okay. Thought experiment. If you weren't in dire straits, if this wasn't a 'situation,' if it had nothing to do with a mission and instead you were on vacation, what would you be doing right now?"

"Kissing you."

_Fuck._

His voice had dropped in pitch and volume, and its lilting tenor washed gently over her like a lover's caress. She bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, but did her damnedest to not display any reaction. Her tone remained casual and nonchalant. "Oh, so the real you is a modern-day Casanova, traversing the galaxy and wooing a damsel in every port?"

She glanced over to find his eyes twinkling devilishly and his mouth wearing a far too kiss-worthy smirk again. _Fuck._

"That's _not_ what I said."

She nodded and focused on the hull, the metallic tang of blood stinging her tongue. "My mistake. And what would the real you do when I said 'in your dreams' and shoved him on his ass?"

He sighed loudly, doubtless for dramatic effect. "He'd return to his post and help you finish the repairs so we can go check out this anomaly...."

She looked back at him, an eyebrow arched, and gestured toward the other end of the hold expectantly.

He rolled his eyes and pushed off the floor. "I'm going, I'm going."

_Fuck._

Caleb prepared dinner while she ran through the preflight checks—twice for good measure by the looks of it—then at last they departed what had been, all things considered, a rather unfriendly planet. The atmospheric traversal was rough, but on such a small planet it took only minutes.

The ship held together, everything stayed in the green, and he saw a wave of tension leave her even in profile. Her posture relaxed and her jawline softened markedly as she spun the chair around to face the cabin.

"I'll engage the sLume in a few minutes once the impulse engine builds up some negative mass. We'll run superluminal overnight, and when we drop out in the morning we should be close enough to the pulsar to get far more definitive readings. What's for dinner?"

"Seared salmon with wilted spinach and lemon rice. You genuinely do have a fine selection of food aboard."

"As much time as I spend out here, hell yes I do. Is it ready?"

"Two seconds. Impatient much?"

She smacked her lips and danced her toes along the floor, impatiently. But she seemed more at ease than he had ever seen her. And why not? She was flying again, which he suspected meant a great deal.

The blatant flirtation earlier had been a gamble, though not necessarily a failed one. Time would tell. He had worried it may backfire and push her away, but it appeared not. Why had he done it? Because it felt...right. The situation was now quite a bit different from his initial assessment on his first day of freedom. _Quite_ a bit.

He positioned the salmon on the plates and served them up with great formality. "And now it's ready. Oh Great Starship Captain, your dinner is served."

"Smart ass." But she wore a smile as she came over, gestured to dim the lights and settled into the chair. Now the smile did reach her eyes, and the result took his breath away.

"Well, yes." He buried his reaction in a chuckle as he joined her. She had already dug into the spinach. "And how is it?"

"Ymmmm." Her eyes closed, a blissful expression spreading across her face, and he found himself wondering if she looked this way when she.... _Wow. Best save those thoughts for when you're alone behind the privacy screen._

"It's delicious, which I'm sure you know. I suppose being multi-talented is a job requirement for becoming a spy."

"I—" He paused, fork in midair, his brow furrowing up a little. "Not cooking skills necessarily, but yes, I suppose it is."

"How did you? Become a spy I mean."

Hmm. Test time was it? His instinct told him to spin a web of half-truths around the truths and lies; it was his modus operandi.

He recalled their earlier conversation. He hadn't been lying—much—when he said he wasn't sure how to be himself around someone else, but he was fairly certain it didn't involve lying when the truth would suffice. She knew what he did for a living. So long as he refrained from revealing state secrets, talking about it held no danger.

He finished his bite of salmon and smiled the slightest bit. "They found me. I was about to graduate from university with degrees in history and engineering physics. I was going to build orbital communications arrays. See, I had this idea for a new kind of adaptive array which could intelligently shift its orbital distance depending on the signal load and transient needs. It would require coordination of—it's not important. Anyway, a week before graduation a—" _not that, not yet_ "—man representing the Intelligence Division approached me."

He shrugged mildly. "Something I had done, or maybe everything I had done, had attracted their attention. And I said yes."

"Why?" She was observing him rather intently, bright gray eyes dancing in the dim lights. It might have felt like an interrogation, except he wanted to tell her.

"I didn't want to end up stuck in a corporate job for the next eighty or a hundred thirty years. I enjoyed engineering well enough, but I also loved the outdoors and working with my hands. I had good people skills, and orbital hardware construction isn't known for its vibrant social scene. _This_ though, it offered adventure. New places, new goals, new challenges on every mission. I would never be bored."

He paused to take a bite of rice. "And before you ask, I don't regret it. There are downsides I didn't foresee at the time, but I'm not sorry I chose this life."

"Hold that thought." She slipped away in the direction of the cockpit, he assumed to activate the sLume drive. It occurred to him he was busy spilling forth his life story to her...but he found he couldn't summon up the urge to stop.

A few seconds later he felt the almost imperceptible shift in the purr of the engine beneath them and the glow of the Nebula blurred outside the viewport. She didn't return to the table immediately, and he sensed her move behind him to the corner of the kitchen area.

It came as a pleasant surprise when she showed up at the table holding a bottle of wine and two glasses. "I think escaping that godforsaken planet is worth a little celebrating. Want some?"

It was so easy to get lost in her eyes, and for a moment he let himself. "I'd love it."

She broke the gaze to sit the glasses down and pour the wine before returning to her chair. "What about your parents, your sister? It wasn't difficult having to lie to them?"

He took the time to enjoy the first sip of the wine. A chardonnay, chilled to the perfect temperature. Deep golden in color, it drew in the light until a glow emanated from within. Also, it tasted delicious. Then again it would.

"We weren't close—I mean my sister and I are fairly close now, but she was still a young teenager then. And my parents...well, they weren't a consideration." He sighed. "Probably sounds cold and heartless, doesn't it?"

She had finished her dinner and settled back in the chair, legs comfortably crossed and the glass of wine in her hand. Her hair, damp from her shower, cascaded messily across her shoulders. She grimaced at the glass; it didn't appear to be vicariously directed at him.

She took a long sip, then contemplated the wine as it swirled languidly in the glass. "Perhaps, but I understand how it can happen. My mother and I don't exactly get along, and haven't for years."

His head tilted a fraction. Curiously, but nonthreatening. "Why not? If you don't mind me asking."

She glared at the ceiling. "What does it matter why not?"

He flinched at the sudden sharpness in her tone. Goddamn but her parents were a touchy subject.

"It matters to you."

He almost frowned, taken aback by the intimateness of the words coming out of his mouth, not to mention the sincerity of them. He had fallen so far off his game it was laughable. Except he wasn't actually playing the game any longer, was he? Nope, apparently he was not.

She didn't seem to notice his mental gymnastics; her words dripped with bitterness, but again it didn't appear to be directed at him. "It really doesn't...."

He nodded slowly and sipped his wine, letting the silence linger. Finally he sat the glass on the table and idly ran a fingertip along the rim. _Already shared far more than you meant to, might as well go all in. What the hell._ "My mother's a nutcase."

"I thought your mother was an industrial architect?"

"The two are mutually exclusive?"

She merely shrugged in response.

"She is—or was anyway. Had a decent career and several prominent buildings to her name. Then one night, out of the blue and after twenty-four years of marriage, my father walked out on her. Said he simply didn't love her anymore and needed to find some happiness for himself.

"She had always tended toward the emotional side, but so long as he was there she stayed stable and fully functional. But...I don't know. I guess she viewed him as her whole world. When he left, she just...broke."

He stared at the bottle a moment, grabbed it, refilled his glass and took a lengthy sip. "She quit working, quit sketching, quit doing much of anything at all. Even now, she mostly sits in the house and waits for him to come back."

"Do you think he will?"

"After twenty years? No."

"Well, what does he say?"

"Don't know. Haven't spoken to him since the night he walked out."

Her eyes creased at the corners as she regarded him over the rim of her glass. "I'm sorry."

She sounded like she meant it, but he supposed he carried a bit of parental baggage himself. "I'm not. He showed his worth when he left."

Upon first being given the advice to 'never have anything you can't walk away from,' he had been skeptical. After all, wasn't it the very thing he hated his father for? He had resolved the matter by developing a corollary rule: _Never let someone get close enough to depend on you. That way they don't get hurt when you walk away._

He didn't share any of those thoughts aloud, of course, and they fell silent again. He watched her without _watching_ her. It was evident she struggled with something. Her gaze drifted around but failed to focus on anything while she absently twirled the stem of her glass between two fingers. Her lips pursed together as if to prevent words from spilling forth without prior approval.

He hoped she viewed his confession for what it was: an honest, unpremeditated sharing of a less-than-pleasant part of his life—because apparently he intended to spill forth his entire damn life story to her—rather than a manipulative feigning of vulnerability to get her to open up in return. He _had_ done such on more than one occasion; this wasn't one of them.

She refilled her glass and appeared to come to a conclusion. Her gaze finally settled on him.

"The answer to your question yesterday is yes. My father and I were very close. He taught me to fly, he taught me to love the stars. Work took him away a lot, but he always came home with some new adventure for us to embark on. He was...." Her voice drifted off, but then she blinked and straightened her posture.

"After he died, my mother shut down emotionally. She had never been a particularly affectionate or doting mom, but she became a robot, a cold automaton throwing herself into her work for eighteen hours a day. At a minimum."

She took a deliberate sip of wine. "Looking back, I realize she was grieving and it was the only way she knew how to deal with the pain. But I was thirteen years old and I was grieving, too, and she wasn't there to comfort me, to tell me it would be okay. She wasn't even there to silently dry my tears. She wasn't there _at all_."

Her shoulders raised in a half-hearted shrug. "I rebelled. She reacted harshly. I rebelled more. She tried to exert military-style control over my life, and did not succeed.

"And that's it. We tolerate one another, but we never really made up. We never talked about it. And we most _certainly_ never talked about my father."

"Maybe it's not too late."

The laugh she gave rippled with cynicism. "I tried once. Before I left for the job on Erisen, I took her to lunch one day. I apologized for some of my more... _extreme_ behavior in the wake of Dad's death. I told her I understood now she had been grieving as well. And though I was only a child, it had been selfish of me to act as I did, and I was sorry if I had made her life more difficult at an already difficult time."

She stared into her glass, but her gaze seemed focused on someplace very far away. "She responded by saying I was still a child—note, I was twenty-five at this point—and I should never presume to believe I was capable of understanding anything she had gone through or anything she had or had not _felt_." A quick gulp of her wine. "And as for my behavior, while it was disappointing as she had expected better from me, it amounted to nothing of real consequence."

"No..." her head shook with an air of finality "...I'm afraid it is much, _much_ too late. Whatever emotions the woman may have once possessed, they departed the premises long ago."

"I'm sorry. You didn't deserve such a reaction."

"Maybe, maybe not. I was quite the recalcitrant teenager." She took a deep breath and slid her chair out, leaving the nearly full glass of wine on the table. "And on that lovely downer, I'm going to call it a night. But...."

Her eyes found his. "Thank you."

He met her gaze with his full attention. "For?"

She gave him an almost wistful half-smile. "Being honest."

He had told her she probably couldn't tell the difference, but perhaps she truly could. He didn't know whether the possibility comforted or terrified him.

He instinctively leaned forward, his hand moving toward hers. It paused halfway to its destination.

She hesitated halfway to standing, her expression now completely unreadable to him. "What?"

_Stay._

He withdrew his hand and eased back in the chair, though his attention didn't leave her. "Nothing. Good night, Alex."

# 31 Seneca

### Cavare, Intelligence Division Headquarters

It was one-thirty in the morning when Michael, freshly showered and wearing pressed khakis and a crisp forest green shirt, walked in the incident command center at Division HQ. His wife was a saint, and as soon as this crisis passed—if it passed—he owed her a nice dinner out, if not a weekend getaway.

He smiled at an agent who handed him a steaming mug of coffee and let his gaze run calmly across the room. Most of the Summit delegation had been brought directly here from the spaceport upon their arrival; a few lower-level staffers cleared of involvement or knowledge were allowed to go home for now.

The agents tasked to Atlantis having exhausted their avenues of interrogation during the nineteen hour trip to Seneca, his best interrogators had taken over upon the delegation's arrival. Several of the senior Trade Division officials were, shall we say, _displeased_ about being detained. They shouldn't have hired an assassin as an employee, then.

Karin Pitrone, the team lead on Atlantis, spotted him and came over. Her stride appeared purposeful and her shoulders rigid, though she must have been awake for going on fifty hours now. He gave her a sympathetic smile, which she acknowledged only by a tight nod.

"You asked to speak to Assistant Director Nythal, sir? He's in Interview Room 3 whenever you're ready."

"Thank you, Karin. No time like the present." He was kept apprised of events via a constant stream of updates over the last two days and didn't need further briefing.

Jaron Nythal sat on the edge of his chair, his hands drumming a rapid rhythm on the table while his eyes darted around the empty room, then up to Michael as he entered. A half-empty cup of coffee sat to his right, a crumb-filled plate to his left. Dark irises almost masked the dilated pupils.

Michael recognized it had been a long few days for everyone and would understand if the man was running on caffeine and adrenaline, but he just wasn't sure it had been the best idea for him to take amps before the interview. He recalled Delavasi's warning regarding Nythal; he already understood what Delavasi had been getting at.

He made certain none of those thoughts tainted his expression as he smiled professionally. "Mr. Nythal, I'm Director Michael Volosk with the Division of Intelligence. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I realize the situation is far from ideal for everyone involved, so I appreciate it."

Nythal cracked his neck. "It's fine...Volosk, is it? I'm still in shock over what happened. I can hardly believe it. We all had high hopes for the Summit, and it's a shame it went down this way. It truly is." He dragged a hand through sleek black hair. "So what do you need from me?"

"Merely a bit of information." Michael cleared his throat and sat down opposite his 'guest.' "I won't take any more of your time than is necessary. What can you tell me about Christopher Candela?"

Nythal shrugged. "I didn't really know him."

"I understand if you didn't know him socially, but he served as a staffer in your department, and you oversaw administration and coordination for the Summit. You approved his attendance, correct?"

"Well, yes. But you must realize, there were thirty-seven people in the delegation. I can't be expected to know each of them individually. I can tell you Mr. Candela's record was clean. He wouldn't have been permitted to go were it not."

"I'm sure." He really wished the man hadn't doped himself up, as it made it difficult to judge and interpret his body language. He considered putting the man on ice until he'd returned to a baseline state...but there was a lot to do and little time to do it in. "Do you have any personal impressions of him you can share?"

Another shrug. "He was...young. Eager to please. Seemed intelligent enough, but we hadn't asked anything of him yet. My _impression_ of him is he didn't make much of an impression."

"What about during the Summit? Any out-of-character behavior?"

Nythal leaned into the table and clasped his hands together. His thumbs continued to dance erratically. "Look, Mr. Volosk. I stayed busy two ways from Sunday during the Summit. I barely noticed what my personal secretary did, much less some no-name lackey."

Michael maintained perfect composure, offering no hint of annoyance. "Of course you did. Do you remember the last time you saw him?"

Nythal blew out an exaggerated breath and crashed back in the chair. "Uh, I think I saw him at the dinner Tuesday night. Wednesday though? I attended meetings all day."

"And around the time of the incident?"

His gaze drifted around the small room as if deep in thought. "No, I don't think so. I mean I was in the ballroom, so I suppose my eyes might have drifted across him, but...."

Now Michael did show annoyance, with deliberate intent. He'd let the man play out his routine. Now to remind him he wasn't actually in control of his situation. Nythal was a government official of moderate stature, certainly, but one didn't get far in the intelligence business without learning to disregard political niceties. Granted, once you rose to a department directorship you needed to begin to practice them again, but not in this particular circumstance.

"Fine. Did he have a reason to be in the receiving line? He doesn't sound like the type of person who would want to glad-hand dignitaries."

"Maybe it was a secret dream of his. I don't even know if he'd ever met Kouris—"

"What was his job at the Summit? It doesn't appear as though he did much of anything."

"He was an attaché, he...got shit for us. Ran errands. Made notes, whatever."

"How many _attachés_ did you have serving you?"

"Um, four, five? I don't...remember...." The lines had begun to deepen around his sagging eyelids. The amps were wearing off.

"Seems like a little too much bureaucratic padding to me—this isn't the Alliance. What about the following individuals: Alice Terre, Gerald Michaels, Treyson Rivers, Brandon Chao?"

"Wha—what's special about them?"

"They also participated in the receiving line and greeted Minister Santiagar prior to his collapse. We'll need to review their files and activities as well."

Michael sat at his desk, the door closed. A few moments' respite. His hands rested at his chin in a thoughtful pose. And he _was_ thoughtful.

He'd conducted half a dozen interviews at the request of his agents, spent hours reviewing summaries of three dozen more interviews and viewed the footage of the incident from every angle and the cams of the pursuing agents. He'd confirmed the logs of every exit and patrol on Atlantis.

The man in the receiving line _was_ Chris Candela. Scans of both Kouris' and Santiagar's hands minutes after the incident recovered trace DNA. Yet the man pursued into the service corridors displayed evasion and subterfuge skills which nothing in Candela's life history indicated he should possess.

Worse, he was gone. Despite an ironclad lockdown on the facility in under two minutes—due as much to quick-moving Alliance security as anyone else's actions—and a meter-level grid search, no trace could be found of the man.

The exit logs stared back at him from the screen above his desk. Eventually they had been forced to allow the uninvolved guests and bystanders to depart. The official Summit attendees were accounted for, save Candela. The nine attendees not present at the final dinner—an Alliance staffer, three reporters and five corporate executives—were interviewed on-scene and provided viable reasons for their absence. After follow-up they had been cleared and allowed to depart as well.

He exhaled softly, feeling every gram of the weight though it didn't show in his posture or the bearing of his shoulders. Diplomatic relations with the Alliance hung by a dangling strand of a thread. If they could provide hard evidence of this being the act of a lone crazy, they stood a chance of at least regaining an uneasy détente. Otherwise, their claims of non-involvement came off as weak and impotent. But damned if he could find any such evidence.

He traded the exit logs for the rapidly growing file on the life and times of Chris Candela.

He had seen many criminals in his years in Division. Dangerous men and even more dangerous women. Small-time hucksters and savvy crime lords. Spies, gangsters, assassins, insurgents and wannabe-revolutionaries. True believers and soulless mercs willing to kill children for the right price.

Candela was none of these things. While the possibility continued that something in the man's past, some event they had yet to uncover would open a Pandora's box of secrets, it became increasingly unlikely with each passing hour. Even if—

His eVi blinked red, and a second later a brief message flashed into his vision.

_We found him._

The body had floated onto a beach filled with frolicking children mid-morning Atlantis time. Once the children were corralled for counseling and the scene secured, a thorough forensic investigation was conducted onsite before moving the body to a medical facility.

The examination indicated a time of death between late afternoon on Wednesday and mid-morning Thursday; two-plus days in the water made a more precise TOD impossible. The cause of death was determined to be drowning. All evidence indicated that upon escaping the convention facility, however he accomplished it, he had simply dived off a walkway and let himself drown.

Oceans did not constitute a significant feature of Senecan topology. They existed of course, but were shallow and unexceptional, and generally far too cold to frolic in. It was conceivable Candela didn't know how to swim. Unlikely, but conceivable.

It remained a mystery how he escaped the lockdown. But he clearly had—after which, by all indications, he committed suicide.

The evidence at this point was near to irrefutable. And despite herculean efforts and their most earnest protestations, they had nothing they would be able to show to the Alliance government to prove the assassination was anything other than a premeditated act on behalf of the Senecan Federation.

# 32 Palluda

### Senecan Federation Colony

Thad Yue led the fighters into Senecan Federation space. He had swung down a bit to the south so should they be tracked, they would appear to be approaching from the nearest Alliance military base on Arcadia. They were unlikely to be picked up until they reached Palluda however, as other than one tiny Alliance colony the region to the south of western Federation space was a desolate wasteland devoid of life.

At 0.2 AU out from Palluda they dropped out of superluminal. He signaled the other fighters to move into a tight standard Alliance approach formation, one they had practiced several times in the last week in the skies above Cosenti.

From here on out, everything needed to proceed according to the script.

"Activate transponders."

_Acknowledged._

"Switching to Alliance encrypted communications protocol. Confirm."

_Confirmed._

He consciously added a crisp abruptness to his tone. "This is Vengeance Alpha. Operation Vengeance is a go. Initiate jamming of orbital sensors on my mark. And...mark."

Palluda became visible in the viewport moments later. It was a smallish planet, two-thirds the size of Mars, and the lone habitable world in the system. Nevertheless with a location solidly in the goldilocks zone and a stable orbit, it was a bountiful if ordinary garden world.

The colony had been founded ten years earlier as an agricultural outpost. It supported a population of under thirty thousand, for bots did most of the work tending the vast kilometers of farmland. A single town sat in the center of the cultivated land. Thankfully the first atmosphere corridors had begun operation six months earlier—corridors which helpfully included transponder monitoring, though no connected security measures.

"Bravo, Charlie, Delta, on me. Prepare for corridor transit."

The corridor ended to the southwest of and outside town. Only the most basic defense system protected the colony, consisting of two surface-to-air turret lasers and a single patrol drone. He planned to knock out the drone immediately, and custom jamming ware would disrupt the STA turrets.

His ship emerged from the corridor and the distant outline of the town came into view. The other three fighters followed him out as he banked east.

"Vengeance, you have your targets. We are weapons heavy."

Thomas Harnal was deeply engrossed in watching Ava Loumas saunter across the street. As such, he didn't see the patrol drone until it crashed to the ground three meters in front of him.

"Ah shit!" His arms cartwheeled in the air as he was thrown backward to land on his ass on the sidewalk. He looked up to discover Ava staring wide-eyed at the scattered wreckage of the drone and the deep crater it had created.

He laughed gamely and climbed to his feet. "Well, there's my brush with death for the day, eh?"

She glanced over at him, a perplexed frown animating her pretty features. "Oh...Norm...Tom? That's your name, right? Are you okay?"

_She didn't even know his name._ His shoulders sagged. "Yeah, I'm fine." He looked back at the crater marring the park grass. "I wonder what happened to make it fail? Maybe the—"

A sonic boom reverberated, so close the ground trembled beneath him. His eyes jerked up to see two fighter jets zoom overhead. The distinctive navy Earth Alliance emblem was clearly discernable—they were flying _that_ low.

He hated the Alliance. Alliance soldiers killed his grandfather in the Crux War. He had never met his grandfather, but his mom said he had been a great man, which was good enough for him.

A fireball plumed into the sky from the vicinity of the spaceport. Three seconds later the sound of the explosion reached them, a low rumble vibrating along his skin as it built to a malicious _growl_.

In a burst of adrenaline-fueled bravery, he grabbed Ava's hand and started sprinting in the direction of the town hall. His dad worked for the Agriculture Bureau; he should be there if he wasn't on his lunch break.

"Come on! We have to warn them the Alliance is attacking!"

Gerald Harnal sat at his desk, picking at a sandwich while he reviewed the quarterly production reports. The whole-grain hybrid fields were doing really well, which was fortunate since the food corps on Krysk were requesting an increase in shipments next quarter.

No matter how smart, how fast or how resilient humanity grew, they still needed food to survive. Sure, using adaptive cybernetic subroutines most people could now survive longer without food, so long as they had water. But the limit had only been stretched to four months at the outside, and no one wanted to live in such a state for any length of time, much less months.

So the seeds to feed humanity continued to be planted, nourished, reaped and transported across the galaxy.

He knew he was a small cog in a very large machine, but he liked to think he did his part. His great-great-great-grandparents had been farmers on the Oklahoma plains, and in his own way he carried on their proud tradition.

Nevertheless, it—

—his eVi flashed red and pushed an emergency pulse into his vision.

_Dad Alliance ships are attack—_

He never saw the missile, nor the ship which fired it.

The town hall appeared to implode from within, then expel an enormous red-gold wave of fire to consume all in its wake. The heat rolled over them like a blast furnace.

"Dad!" Thomas fell to his knees in horror. "No, Dad...."

Ava was pulling on his arm, trying to drag him back up. "Come on, we should get somewhere safe."

"But my dad...he might still be alive and need our help...."

She glanced at the collapsed, destroyed building at the end of the square. It bowed in to the center, where jagged pieces of synthetic stone piled twenty meters high. Black smoke billowed out of every surface, licked by bright yellow flames.

"I don't think so, Tom. I'm sorry. We need to move!"

He gazed at her, eyes wide and desperate. It felt like a dream, everything hazy and sluggish. Ava was talking to him...and his father was dead. Slowly he nodded and struggled up.

She tugged him around the rubble. "Come on, let's go to the school—they've got a storm shelter!"

They stumbled through huge chunks of debris and upended vehicles and veered left toward the school. People were running in every direction, some panting, others screaming. A few merely huddled on their knees beside bodies.

Behind them the jets could be heard approaching again—or maybe it was different ships, more ships. The beam of one of the defense turrets chased them as they passed overhead.

He saw the beam trail off in the air to the right. Why didn't the lasers hit the ships? The government had promised they were state of the art.

Someone crashed into him from behind, and he remembered to start running again.

Ava's hand felt sweaty and clammy in his. Not at all like he had imagined it would feel. _But she was probably scared, right? That was why it wasn't soft and warm and gentle._

To their left the community center smoldered in ruins. A gust of wind blew a cloud of ash and smoke onto them; he accidentally inhaled some of it and doubled over in a coughing fit.

"Tom, _please_ , we have to keep going!"

Ava was crying now. Her tears cut wet streaks into the ash coating her face, but her gorgeous green eyes, stark with terror, shone through the smoke.

He tried to stand, but another coughing fit crippled him.

She stared at him, panic bubbling forth. "I'm sorry, Tom, I don't want to die. I have to go!" She let go of his hand and took off running.

"Ava, wait...." His voice was hoarse and cracking and there was no way she heard him above the cries and screams and thunder of collapsing buildings.

He crawled to his feet and stumbled after her. She seemed far ahead of him now. He saw her join a group of people scrambling up the stairs and fighting to squeeze through the doors all at once—

—the front of the school erupted in a pillar of fire.

His steps slackened to a halt. _It was a dream. It had to be._ Only in a dream would Ava finally talk to him, then have the life stolen from her.

"Ava?"

A column of thick black smoke flowed down the street toward where he stood. He let it wash over him, no longer caring if he could breathe.

# 33 New Babel

### Independent Colony

Olivia observed the feeds from the jets on a large screen above her desk as their fourth and final run began. The perfectly manicured nail of her left index finger tapped a slow, measured beat on the surface of the desk; it was the only sign of tension in an otherwise calm and poised demeanor.

She waited until the first of the final two missiles had been loosed by each ship. Twenty-eight high-powered precision Alliance missiles had done quite sufficient damage to a nascent village of thirty thousand. She entered a code on the control panel beneath her right hand. The custom ware installed on the jets to jam the defense turrets ceased to function.

Five seconds later Charlie fighter exploded. Confused chatter burst forth in the other three cockpits.

_"Wha—? How'd that laser hit?"_

_"Jamming is down. I repeat jamming is down! Evasive maneuv—"_ Bravo took a missile to a wing and spun out of control to disintegrate on impact with the ground.

_"Abort! Delta, abort!"_

But they were too close to the town and its meager little defense systems.

_"Eject!"_

She checked, concerned for a moment at least one team member had somehow managed to eject. The eject mechanisms were supposed to be disabled, but mistakes did happen—and would be paid for if they did. Area scans identified no chutes, however.

She listened as Thad Yue grumbled in the final seconds before his fighter caught a laser from one of the turrets and exploded as he pulled ineffectually on the eject lever. " _Qu si, gāisĭ biăo zi."_

Her eVi helpfully provided the translation: _Go to Hell, you fucking whore._

A wry smile grew on her lips as she shut off the screen. "You first."

She had told Marcus traceability wouldn't be an issue and she had meant it. Yue had been the sole team member who knew the operation was under her direction, but they all knew they weren't working for the Alliance. Modern interrogation techniques were quite effective, no matter the will of the captive. She simply could not risk the slightest chance of any information being revealed to either Alliance or Senecan agents.

Therefore none were allowed to survive.

She sent a brief pulse to Marcus, one whose meaning would never be construed as incriminating.

_As requested._

# 34 Siyane

### Metis Nebula, Center

The _Siyane_ dropped out of superluminal into an ocean of light.

Like most plerions, Metis grew brighter as one neared the center despite the lack of visible light from the pulsar itself. Alex had been prepared for it, and spectrum filters were in place over the viewports above and beyond the strengthened radiation shielding. Even so, she had to blink away halos while her eyes adjusted to the increased brightness and her ocular implant adapted to the new range of signals it now received.

The wispy, amorphous nebular dust of before was gone, replaced by sweeping, dramatic cloud formations in vibrant shades ranging from crisp gold to rich cornflower blue. They towered in thick pillars, resembling the storm wall of a galactic hurricane and spilling forth as crashing waves upon a shore.

It was magnificent. A stunning tableau of brilliant color and radiant luminance.

"Well that's not something you see every day."

She tore her attention away from the scene to look over her shoulder. Caleb stood behind her chair, hands perched on the headrest. His attention was directed out the viewport, but sensing her gaze he looked down.

He wore a spirited grin, one which only broadened when he saw her own expression of delight. Dear lord, when it was genuine his smile could illuminate a world.

Things had been different between them this morning...more comfortable, more naturally at ease. It was as if giving full voice to the unresolvable conundrum of their circumstance enabled them to, if not break through it, at least put it aside for the time being.

She returned his smile before returning to the vista. Silently she framed and captured a number of visuals using the external cameras, including several excellent candidates for future additions to the wall in her loft. Satisfied, she leaned forward and rested her chin on her palms to simply stare out and soak it all in.

Moments such as this made everything else worth it. The difficult choices, the judgmental frowns and even scorn of others, the fading away of friends and lovers, the isolation and solitude and, every now and again, perhaps loneliness...

...of course she wasn't alone right now, was she? She found—somewhat to her surprise—she was okay with that.

After a soft exhale she sat up and straightened her posture. "Time to get to work." She glanced back and found him watching her instead of the view. _Huh_. "All the sensors are wide open. We can monitor the readings along the top of the HUD, though not to the level of detail we can analyze later at the data center.

"The pulsar resides about half an AU in that direction." She gestured to an area fifteen degrees port. "Physically it's quite tiny, only a few kilometers wide, yet obviously the pulse is very strong."

The top far right screen showed the rapid, spiking frequency of the gamma flare. "We won't be able to get any closer than 0.15 AU or the radiation shield will be overwhelmed. But we don't have to. We can see everything we need to from here."

She leaned back in the chair and kicked her feet up on the small dash lip, crossed her arms against her chest and watched as the screens lit up to display new readings. Thirty seconds, a minute passed in silence, her focus wholly on the screens.

Finally she looked over at him. He had taken up a position beside the half-wall of the cockpit. "See anything interesting?"

He huffed a laugh. "If you're seeking an opportunity to put me in my place, now would be a fairly good one."

She merely shrugged, and he sucked in a deep breath. "Well, for the most part the readings match the earlier ones you took. The TLF radiation is definitely stronger now, but...it seems a little off-kilter. I can't put my finger on why."

Her lips smacked together, though she was impressed he picked up on the oddity. "Yep. Sure does." She swiveled to contemplate the far left screen for a moment, then stood and went to the data center. In a few seconds she had redirected the feeds to the table. She pulled up a large physical map of the region and began superimposing the various electromagnetic waves.

The gamma flare, not surprisingly, lined up directly on the location of the pulsar. The synchrotron radiation also originated at the pulsar to spread in all directions. Same for the pulsar wind. The visible light was diffuse throughout the region, having no clear origin point—consistent with a late-stage supernova remnant. The minor infrared and microwave readings were a bit haphazard, clumping around the pulsar but peaking at several other locations as well.

The TLF radiation.... "It's not coming from the pulsar."

He had joined her at the table, and stood near enough if she shifted her weight their shoulders would brush against one another. Yet for the moment the unsettling effect of his rather close physical proximity was outweighed by the sheer magnitude of the impossibility in front of her.

"Impossible. It lines up _perfectly_ on the gamma flare."

"I know. But it's not coming from the pulsar." She zoomed the map in. "It intersects the pulsar, but it's coming from...there." 'There' was a region of thick nebular clouds 0.2 AU to the right and behind the pulsar. "And..." a thought and the entire table updated with new data "...I think the pulsar's orbiting that location."

He ran a hand through his hair in consternation. In its wake loose curls spilled down across his forehead, sending her pulse _subito_ _accelerando_ , to put it in polite terms. She willfully blinked the sensation away.

He seemed completely unaware of the effect he was having on her. "Which would mean it's a binary system, just as you suspected. Can you detect a companion in here anywhere?"

"Nope. I mean it's _possible_ it's one of these infrared or microwave markers. Still, they don't really line up correctly for it."

"Well if the companion's a white dwarf—given the age of the Nebula it would make sense—it might be difficult to pick up, right?"

He continued to impress her with his knowledge of astrophysics concepts; it was layman's knowledge, but very well informed layman's knowledge. He was certainly turning out to be quite a bit more than simply a black ops agent.

"Sure, but from this position it should be detectable. Hmm...the pulsar's in a tight orbit. If I had to predict, I'd expect the companion—"

She pivoted and headed to the cockpit. But instead of resuming her seat, she stood so close to the viewport her nose almost pressed to it. Her eyes roved across the scene, pupils dilating and contracting as she repeatedly adjusted the focus of her ocular implant.

"Come on you little star, shine for me...."

Abruptly she spun back around. "Let's go over there."

He was leaning on the edge of the data center, ankles and arms crossed loosely as he regarded her with a look of...she couldn't classify it. But his eyes sparkled and one corner of his mouth was curled up the tiniest bit, causing a flutter in her chest beyond the excitement of the discovery.

One of his eyebrows arched in question. "Over...where, exactly?"

She laughed as she settled into the chair. "Sorry, guess I didn't actually finish that sentence. Not used to having company." She gestured about ten degrees starboard. "Over thereish."

It took them more than an hour to find the companion, despite the fact it was in the end precisely where Alex had thought it would be. It took so long partly because the companion traveled in a bright, dense mass of nebular dust which masked any visual cues, partly because it was smaller than it should have been—roughly the size of Europa—and partly because it was _impossibly_ cool.

The _Siyane_ hovered 1.5 megameters above the white dwarf. Deep red in color (despite the name), it pulsed at a leisurely period of thirty-six seconds. Seven different ways of measurement told her it radiated a temperature of 910 K.

"That's not possible."

"And that's the fourth time you've said so."

She shot him a glare. "It's the fourth time it's been true. The coolest white dwarf ever measured is 2440 K, and it is a helluva lot closer to the center of the damn universe than this is. A temperature so low means it's almost as old as the Big Bang—and _that_ is impossible."

"Excellent." He shrugged. "So...we go back home and win the Nobel Prize in Astrophysics?"

She burst out laughing, and felt the tension which had been building within her, and thus in the cabin as well, since locating the dwarf melt away. "Maybe, yes."

She dragged a hand down her face and blew out a long breath. "Okay, fuck it. I've measured and recorded everything. Floating here staring at it isn't going to solve any mysteries. On to the next questions: what are they orbiting and why?"

He frowned a little...in concentration, she thought. When he frowned the bridge of his nose drew together until his eyebrows were virtually horizontal. Two fierce streaks of discontentment.

After a second he glanced over and caught her watching him. The frown curled upward into a half-grin. "Yes?"

She looked as innocent as she could manage. "Nothing. You have thoughts?"

"If I remember correctly, nobody ever gets worked up about whatever binary stars are orbiting. It's usually some arbitrary center of mass they happened to be drawn around."

"All true. But you forgot one thing—the TLF radiation. There's nothing arbitrary about it."

"Consider me chastised. So we go check it out?"

"We go check it out." She swiveled the chair to the viewport and began pulling away from the strange, impossible dwarf star. "We're likely half an hour out from any visuals." She gazed at him wearing a hopeful, imploring expression. "Make me a sandwich?"

She had taken a mere two bites of the quite tasty penzine and Swiss cheese sandwich when it dropped forgotten to the plate in her lap. "What the...?"

The nebular clouds had thickened precipitously as they neared the epicenter of the binary orbit, until it was like traveling through fog in a muggy swamp. Flying by instrumentation was a skill of necessity, so it wasn't a problem as such. It had become disturbingly eerie, though.

The cause of her bewilderment however was not the fog, but rather the spectrum analyzer output. Two minutes into the dense clouds it had begun displaying new frequencies, at first in the background then strengthening until they dominated the noise of the Nebula and even the pulsar.

She sensed him at her shoulder and pointed at the screen.

"What the hell?"

"Indeed."

She had tuned the analyzer as broad as practicable to capture any unusual readings across the spectrum. Now it was capturing exactly that.

The primary spectrum display updated every two seconds with a measurement of amplitude over frequencies ranging from 0.01 Hz to 1030 Hz. It showed a deeply concave shape, featuring strong peaks at both extremes and a severe dip along the middle, except for a narrow but massive spike in the upper terahertz range. Every update saw the peaks grow in power.

Below the primary a smaller display mapped the measurements over time. It showed a continual series of deep red, light orange and purple spikes—precise, well-defined and increasing in a perfect linear function as they drew closer.

He dropped his hands to the headrest and leaned into her chair. "Okay. The two extremes are the signals we already knew about, right?"

"The lowest band is in fact our mystery TLF. But I filtered out the gamma flare and synchrotron radiation on account of them being so noisy. I wanted to be able to spot new anomalies. And it seems I have."

"The gamma wave really isn't from the pulsar?"

"Nope. And it's a harmonic partial of the TLF wave."

"What's the source of the terahertz?"

"No idea."

His voice dropped low and acquired a carefully measured tenor. "Alex, slow down."

"Why, you want to see if the rate of increase slows?"

"No, I'm sure it will. I want you to slow down because I think we should approach more cautiously."

"Right...." She decelerated to half speed. To neither of their surprise, the sequential graph increases slowed proportionally.

"You think the signals are artificial."

"I do."

"You know a number of astronomical phenomena produce very exact, fixed waves, including pulsars." As she spoke, she sent the terahertz and gamma bands to new screens of their own. At the greater detail the level of fidelity was astonishing.

"Uh-huh. Is the dampener field on?"

"It is. But I can probably kick the power up a bit."

"Strikes me as a good idea."

She glanced up at him. He had again moved to lean nonchalantly against the half-wall to the cockpit, one ankle thrown over the other, the picture of casual interest. But the rapid twitching of the muscles in his now rigid jaw and the steady flexing of his left hand told another story.

For the first time in days, he radiated _dangerous_. She didn't feel threatened, not by him—which was interesting. Yet he clearly felt threatened by whatever lurked in front of them.

She shifted her attention back to the viewport. Her direct line of sight was free of HUD screens so she would have an unobstructed visual of their course. "The clouds look to be thinning out. We may get a glimpse of something interesting soon."

Three minutes later the nebular clouds didn't just thin out, they effectively evaporated away—

"Holy mother of god...."

She threw the ship in full reverse to slide backward into some measure of cover while diverting all non-critical power not being used by the radiation shielding to the dampener field. The lights in the cabin dimmed and the temperature control could be heard shutting off.

Then she sank into the chair, instinctively reaching up to grasp Caleb's hand as it landed on her shoulder. He didn't let go; neither did she.

A halo of thick clouds—similar in color to the gold and blue of the Nebula but of a distinct form and illuminated from within—roiled like a thunderstorm billowing forth out of...nothing.

The halo framed a ring of seamlessly smooth metal the color of lustrous tungsten-carbide and perhaps a hundred meters in width. The ring itself spanned more than a kilometer in diameter. Its interior was filled by a luminescent, rippling pool of pale gold plasma.

Emerging from the pool was a ship. It was approximately halfway through—which they could tell because it was plainly evident the vessel was identical to the other seventy plus ships filling the space beyond the ring.

Each ship was twice again as large as any human-made dreadnought. Made of an inky black material and laced with bright red fluorescents, they resembled nothing so much as mythological titans of the underworld.

Behind the columns of dreadnoughts were a dozen ships of a different style. Less angular yet still unmistakably synthetic, these ships were long and cylindrical and were woven through with pulsing yellow-to-red filaments. One end expanded to become a claw-like structure, out of which hundreds...no, thousands of small craft streamed.

The small ships were almost insectile in form. Multiple—at least eight or nine—spindly arms appeared to be comprised of a material similar to the dreadnoughts. Yet this material was pliable, for the arms twisted and writhed around a glowing red core. The craft poured out of the birthing ships then flew to the dreadnoughts and docked into their hulls in tight lines.

It was a caricature of the most extreme 'space monster' horror films popular in the early days of space exploration. Vids had made millions capitalizing on worries of what fearsome and powerful aliens may be encountered in the void of space. As humanity continued to expand, they never encountered such aliens—or any aliens at all—and in time the fad had passed.

_But now they were here._

Her voice trembled at a whisper; she didn't seem to have enough breath for proper speech. "What _is_ this?"

His was lower and darker, though not much stronger. "It's an invasion."

The dreadnought finished emerging from the pool of light and began moving toward the end of the flawless columned formation as the nose of yet another ship broke through the plasma.

She swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in her throat. "Where are they coming from? The ring's obviously artificial, but the interior doesn't look like a black hole, or a white one. It looks...no, that would be impossible."

He squeezed her hand; she wasn't sure he even realized he was doing it. "I think we've fairly well redefined 'impossible' today already."

"Ha. Yeah. Okay. It reminds me of conceptual drawings of a brane intersection—a dimensional border."

"Wow. And I thought I'd learned to expect anything."

She worried at her lower lip. "Regardless, it's clearly a portal of some kind. I wonder what's on the other side."

"If I had to guess, I'd say _they_ are. You're recording all this, right?"

She spared him a smirk. "Visual and every band since we arrived."

He spared her a smile. "Of course you are."

She stared at the mouth of one of the birthing vessels, watching in fascinated horror as the spidery ships spewed forth. Extrapolating from the apparent number docking on each dreadnought, there must be at least half a million of them—and their generation showed no sign of slowing. A quick scale overlay confirmed while they appeared tiny against the dreadnoughts, each one was nearly the size of the _Siyane_.

His grip on her shoulder tightened. "We need to go, before they notice we're here. We have to warn someone."

"We have to warn _everyone_."

# Part 3

### RECURSION

_"I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act;_

_but I do believe in a fate that falls on them_ unless _they act."_

* * *

_— G. K. Chesterton_

# 35 Seneca

### Cavare, Senecan Federation Headquarters

"So it's war, then."

Chairman Vranas didn't scan the room to search for confirmation. Or if he did, it wasn't with sufficient flair as to be noticeable. From his seat at one end of the long oak table taking up most of the room, he likely could assess the inclinations of the others without so much as a shift of his gaze.

The Senecan Federation government prided itself on being efficient, utilitarian, tasteful and modest—quite deliberately everything the Earth Alliance bureaucracy was not. As such, the conference room was large enough to hold the conference table at which conferences took place. No more, no less. Its walls were lined with sophisticated EM shields and assorted flourishes, but as they were hidden away they didn't spoil the image of minimalistic functionality.

Vranas notched his chin upward in a show of confidence. "We can't allow the Alliance to paint us as weak—not when we are stronger than ever. Twenty-two years ago we matched them on the field of battle and won our freedom. Today we are far more capable. Today we possess the capability to achieve unconditional victory. Field Marshal Gianno?"

The head of the Military Council nodded brusquely; she also wasn't one to waste effort on unnecessary motions, albeit for different reasons. "The presumed source of the Palluda attack force is the Alliance base on Arcadia. We've finalized a plan to destroy the base and cripple their short-range incursion capabilities. Authorize the operation, and we can engage within twelve hours."

"Arcadia is a large, established colony. It will be heavily defended, won't it?"

Gianno gave a condescending glance in the direction of the Parliament Minority Leader while not actually turning her head. The Senator had a reputation as an alarmist, typically with little justification to back up the accompanying histrionics.

"Of course it will be, which is why we're dispatching the entire 3rd Wing of the Southern Fleet. The offensive will be swift, massive and overwhelming. It will immediately weaken their ability to launch attacks into Federation territory, as their next closest base is another kiloparsec away—and it borders far more fortified space." Her tone broadcast not annoyance, but rather disappointment at having to _explain_ what she meant by 'crippling their short-range incursion capabilities.' The Senator remained oblivious to the implied insult.

The Chairman smiled, the corners of his mouth so nearly reaching his ears he could be accused of preening. "A clear show of force will send an unmistakable message that the Senecan Federation is not to be trifled with."

"They'll declare war on us for certain after an attack of such magnitude!" The Minority Leader's voice had already risen to a keening level.

"Certainly. But they will be the ones who do so. We are merely responding to an incursion and assault upon one of our colonies. It will be the Alliance who starts the war—a fact we will not allow anyone to forget. Marshal, the operation is authorized."

Graham Delavasi cringed and didn't bother to hide it. "So...what is our ultimate objective? Say we kick their asses all the way back to Earth—what then? We take over? Is that what we _want_? Because I was under the impression we wanted to minimally govern a loose association of worlds by mandating a core set of democratic principles and capitalistic standards—or was it just me?"

"Don't be ridiculous. We have no intention to take over ruling the Alliance. We shall simply defeat them convincingly enough to cow them into not committing aggression against us again."

"Oh, I see." He ran a hand through too-bushy hair; he had found it was uniquely suited for such tics. "Well, not as if anyone cares at this point, but my assets within the Alliance report the highest levels of the bureaucracy are in a state of confusion. No one can figure out who authorized the Palluda attack, and no one is stepping up to take responsibility. They're trying to keep the discord under wraps lest the government appear weak—but it seems all is not well in the Brennon administration."

The Chairman shrugged. "It hardly matters. Alliance forces came onto our soil and attacked a peaceful colony, and that cannot stand. All the better if their leadership is squabbling amongst itself. We may be able to win this war in short order."

He bit back an annoyed sigh. Vranas had been a mid-ranking senator during the Crux War and spent his time serving on commerce committees and the like. A week ago he had been championing the virtues of peace; now he was rattling sabers. Though an assertive, confident leader, the man knew almost nothing of the military, and like many politicians had a case of selective amnesia when it came to the ugly realities of war.

Graham had fought in the war, spending two years leading stealth tactical interdiction squads behind enemy lines. It was an experience which had led him to jump on the intelligence post offered at the war's conclusion. Combat was messy, violent, terrifying, costly and tragic—truths few people at the table appreciated.

These days much of the 'fighting' occurred between ships at a distance of megameters from their targets, making it even easier for noncombatants to lose sight of the underlying reality. Especially politicians. They viewed war as a sterile and clean affair, a remote non-sensory circus performance holding little in the way of real consequences.

Nevertheless, he held his tongue. His post earned him some influence and his blunt manner was common knowledge—but he was far from the most powerful person in a room filled with powerful people. Instead he watched as the Chairman straightened up in his chair and nodded perfunctorily, a signal the Cabinet meeting was drawing to a close.

"We will not issue a statement until the operation on Arcadia is complete, at which point I plan to address the media and explain the necessity of removing this blatant threat to Federation security. If as expected the Alliance subsequently issues a declaration of war, then—and only then—will we reciprocate. Senators, I assume the Parliament will be in a position to pass a counter-declaration swiftly when the time comes?"

The Majority and Minority Leaders each indicated agreement.

"Thank you everyone for coming. Dismissed."

# 36 Earth

### Vancouver, EASC Headquarters

Miriam found Alamatto sitting placidly at his desk, shoulders squared and head high as he performed a stellar imitation of reviewing materials on said desk. Her entry had doubtless been announced sufficiently in advance for him to compose himself.

"Admiral, what can I do—"

"Close the door."

If he took offense at what was clearly an order, he gave no indication. It wasn't insubordination, strictly speaking; he may be her boss but he did not outrank her. The door slid shut in a faint whirr.

She motioned him silent with a terse slash of her hand. "You and I have our differences, but I've consistently respected your military judgment. If anything I've found it too conservative. But this is beyond the pale. How could you authorize such an action?"

"I di—"

"We killed _children_ , Price! I recognize why you saw fit not to inform me of your intentions, as I would have objected in the most strenuous terms—"

"Miriam, I didn't authorize the strike."

"I am not gullible, Price. Neither am I a fool."

All the air left his lungs in a laborious breath; with it his shoulders sagged and carefully fabricated expression collapsed. Stripped of the poise, he appeared a beaten man, small in the oversized chair. "I swear to you—I did not authorize the strike."

Her head tilted a mere fraction. "There is no one else who _could_ authorize such an action."

He forced out a jittery laugh and gazed up at her. She had not availed herself of any of the chairs opposite his desk, and the height advantage added to the impression she was now in charge here. It was not an inaccurate impression.

"The Prime Minister can. Arguably. At least he retains a Statement of Position from his Attorney General saying he can."

Her mouth descended into a small frown at that. "Brennon? He has no military experience—why would he keep you out of the loop?"

"Maybe because he knows, like you, I would object. He's denying responsibility, though he doesn't need to. But who else is there?"

"Defense Minister Mori might counsel Brennon to take this sort an action, but he wouldn't stick his neck out so far as to attempt it himself." She paced along the front of his desk, hands clasped behind her back. "Have you considered the possibility we're dealing with renegade officers further down the chain of command?"

He sank lower into the chair. "Oh, Miriam...."

"You know there are segments of the officer corps who continue to harbor significant animosity toward the Federation."

"I've always counted you among them."

She made it a point to keep her personal feelings separate from her professional judgment, to project an impression of objectivity. She liked to think she was in fact objective. Still, the world expected her to harbor a degree of animosity toward the Federation, and it had not been difficult to oblige them.

"In some respects I am. But I am also a realist. I've seen the costs of war and do not desire to repeat them. And I would _never_ provoke a war by blowing up a school full of children, thereby painting us as the evildoer from the start."

"Technically they provoked it with the assassination."

A dismissive wave landed in his general direction. "An assassination of a mid-level diplomat is hardly reason enough to start a galactic war. Sanctions for certain, perhaps a blockade—but not war. However, others may have seen it as an opportunity to right old wrongs. Others who are more hot-headed than rational." _Unlike me_ went unsaid. "It is possible the assassination spurred such individuals to take matters into their own hands."

"Rogue officers—even entire units—committing offensive operations without authorization because they're _angry_? What a disaster...."

He went over to his cabinet, poured a glass of water and gulped down half of it, then scowled at the glass as if he had expected it to provide something far stronger. "It will look like I can't control my own officers, like I'm unable to command discipline and obedience from the rank and file. Brennon will have my head."

_And he should, because you cannot._ Price had invariably proven a weak leader, too eager to foster harmony and accord and unwilling to make the difficult decisions or stand behind them on the rare occasions when he did. It was a management style which had served him well enough in a time of peace, yet was wholly unsuitable for the discord which marched in lockstep with armed conflict.

Whether at Brennon's 'request' or due to his own implosion, the prospect of him lasting the year in his current post was low and decreasing by the hour. She began making plans to distance herself from him, quietly and without fanfare. She would not actively work to bring him down, but she owed him no duty to fall upon her own sword on his behalf.

"I believe the Prime Minister has more pressing concerns at the moment than your head. Most notably, the fact that we appear to be on the verge of another war. The Senecan Chairman is consulting his senior advisors as we speak—and I don't believe we should expect a peaceful outcome."

He stared at her, bleak desperation in his eyes...and she realized any self-assurance which resulted from his position, family heritage or even experience had abandoned him with the advent of the crisis. He looked as frightened as an FNG on his first orbital drop.

"I'm meeting Brennon and the cabinet in six hours. What do I tell them? What do I say?"

She smiled thinly. "Only you can decide your best course of action. If you are asking my advice, I suggest you tell them the truth."

# 37 Siyane

### Metis Nebula, Inner Bands

"Would you shut up for two seconds and listen to me?"

Alex cringed at the frayed edges and shrill pitch of her voice. She sounded hysterical. Hell, she felt hysterical. If it weren't for the fact she'd never been hysterical in her life—other than on the day her father died—odds are she would be hysterical.

They had run. They were still running.

She hadn't wanted to engage the sLume drive at first, worried the notable expansion and contraction of the fabric of space might be detected, and god only knew how fast those _alien_ ships were capable of flying. But she'd thrown so much power at the dampener field on their retreat the field's module had overloaded and fried out. Thankfully the silica-sapphire matrix filter caught the backflow and prevented any damage to the LEN reactor.

Figuring an unmasked full-power impulse engine was likely to attract at least as much attention as initiating a warp bubble, she had relented and switched over to vanish at superluminal velocity. Thus far no alien ships had trailed her to blow her out of space.

Beyond its designated requirements, feeding more power to the sLume drive did not result in greater speed. The limit to how rapidly it propelled her and her ship through space was built into the design of the drive, and no amount of power in creation could make it go any faster. So she'd also turned the heat and lights back on.

She would lessen the frequency she dropped out of superluminal. Two days in between particle dumps should be _fine_ , so long as she did so far outside any outpost of civilization. She'd run the sLume at 100% instead of the 95% she typically did to minimize wear and tear. Together with high-tailing it out of Metis at full speed from the start rather than meandering around on impulse as she'd done coming in—and the fact she intended to acquire herself a goddamn superluminal travel waiver for inside the Main Asteroid Belt—and she should be able to trim nearly a day and a half off the trip home.

Three and a half days had never seemed so long.

But it wasn't three and a half days. As soon as she escaped Metis communications would return. She could warn people. She could get the information to her mother, who could get it to those who mattered, and they could...deal with it.

The Earth Alliance armed forces were very capable. Certainly they were very large. Not state of the art, but reasonably advanced. Were they strong enough? She imagined it depended on how many ships were still to come through the portal. Perhaps if the Alliance cooperated with Senecan forces—she cut a glance over to evaluate the state of her Senecan companion.

His jaw had locked in place, and his eyes were flaring as hot as the bright blue core of Messier 32. But his expression was one of...of pained _patience_ , which only made her want to strangle him more. At least he had acquiesced in one respect—he shut up. She should probably start talking before her two seconds ran out.

"I am not trying to allow genocide to be committed upon your 'people.' I am not leaving them to the wolves, to those...things, okay? I _realize_ Seneca and its friends lie directly in the way of any path to Earth and are located substantially closer to Metis."

She forced herself not to pace in a manner which might be interpreted as hysterical. "The instant communications return, you can comm your boss or your President or Chairman or whatever it is you call him or her. Comm whoever the hell you desire. Send the visuals—send the entire fucking data set. Talk to them for hours. Whatever you feel you need to do to prepare them is fine by me. I want you to warn them.

" _All_ I am saying is I'm going to Earth, and I'm not taking a two-day detour to Seneca on the way."

He sank back with a sharp sigh against the wall behind the data center, where she had been pulling in the information captured and trying to begin to organize and categorize it while they raced at maximum speed away from the center of Metis and its otherworldly portal and army of monster ships.

That was earlier though. Before the argument.

He had assumed they would be heading to Seneca forthwith to warn his government of the danger in person. A logical enough assumption she supposed, given Senecan space extended practically to the outskirts of the Metis Nebula and thus its inhabitants may be in a wee bit of clear and present danger.

She wasn't going to Seneca. She didn't care to go there when things were peachy, much less when aliens were knocking on the door. For one, on Seneca she'd be dependent on him and not even remotely in control of her situation. For another, she possessed a direct line to the highest ranks of the Alliance military; she needed to get to Earth and if necessary yell and scream at her mother and her mother's bosses and anyone and everyone else required until they understood the _magnitude of the fucking problem_. And she had no time to waste.

The shock of witnessing an invading army of unimaginably powerful aliens emerging through an unfathomably advanced portal had left them both on edge and not exactly at their best. When he had expressed his assumption regarding their destination, she had protested. He had misinterpreted. Words had ensued.

After seeming to search her face for a moment, as if for reassurance of the truth of her statements, his chin dropped to his chest. It was followed several seconds later by a weak nod. "Okay. I hear you. And I'm...sorry I accused you of being insensitive."

"I believe the term you used was 'soulless'?"

"Right." A desperate-sounding breath escaped his lips. "All of those ideas sound reasonable, and I'll likely do most of them. But what then?" He looked up at her from beneath long lashes, his gaze less hard but no less troubled. "Where does that leave me?"

She dropped her hands to the rim of the table and leaned into it, allowing her eyes to drift down rather than hold his. "Look, if you want I can drop you off on Gaiae. I know it's small and the residents are kind of creepy, but it has a spaceport and regular transports. You can get home from there. It'll cost me four hours or so, but I'll compensate somehow."

Unable to resist any longer the pull of his stare boring into her, she raised her head to again meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, but we have _no_ time. It's the best I can do."

"Thank you. I—Gaiae will be fine."

The corners of his mouth twitched but exhibited no definitive direction, forcing his jaw to relinquish its clench of death. His Adam's apple bobbed a heavy swallow. "You said 'if I want.' Is there an alternative? Are you asking me to go to Earth with you?"

She opened her mouth to respond...and let it close. That was precisely what she was doing, wasn't it? _Well._

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"Why?" A few hours earlier the tenor of his voice would've been playful, even teasing, when uttering such a question. Now it was somber and dark, weighed down by responsibility and the dread which came with terrible knowledge.

Why, indeed. Her eyes slid away from the intensity of his stare, and she made a show of inspecting the checkerboard of data sets spread out above the table. "Two voices are better than one. I stand a better chance of not being deemed crazy if you back me up. Yes, I recognize I have hard data to back me up. Still, you'd be shocked at how little bureaucrats respect hard data."

"Is that all?"

_Stop. Please._ This was a conversation she was so far from ready to have. "Don't be an ass."

"I'm not being an ass. I'm simply asking if there's another reason why you want me to go with you."

She ignored him and expanded the set containing the visible light images. "I need to get this data into some semblance of order so we can send it along as soon as we're clear of the Nebula. It's still in raw form and a jumbled mess right now."

After a moment's pause—she didn't know what he may have done or what expressions he may have displayed during the moment, because she didn't look at him—he joined her at the table.

"We need to do a lot more than organize it. I barely comprehend half of this, and most people won't understand any of it. Presentation matters. We need to structure the data so it tells a story, one which is compelling and easy to understand in a couple of minutes."

Her eyes cut over at him. "We?"

For the briefest second the trademark smirk returned. "Don't be an ass."

"Touché."

He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose, then pulled her gaze in once again. "Listen. I would...I would _like_ to go to Earth with you. I don't know if I will be able to do so. There's a good chance once my superiors see this information they're going to ask me to come in. And while I enjoy a significant amount of freedom in my job, in this situation I won't be able to say no."

She nodded, possibly too quickly. It felt too quick. "Of course. We'll play it by ear. If it takes them a while to decide I'll need to drop you on New Orient instead, but I can make it work. It's fine."

It wasn't fine at all, but she told herself she had far more important problems to worry about right now. Like how to break the news to the world—or at least its rulers—that the elusive aliens everyone had been searching for had at last been found, and they most decidedly did not appear friendly.

# 38 Arcadia

### Earth Alliance Colony

Arcadia's orbital defense array detected the approaching ships at a distance of 0.2 AU beyond its outer atmosphere.

The detection was expected. The commander of the 3rd Wing made no attempt to hide the force's arrival, as it was futile to try. A flight of stealth electronic warfare ships deployed in an advance position and began scrambling the array sensors, introducing errors into their targeting mechanics. A number of bolts from the enormous plasma weapons nevertheless reached the frigates forming the bulk of the Wing.

Long, dark and sleek, Senecan Federation frigates stretched for one hundred forty meters. They were constructed of a lustrous amodiamond metamaterial which absorbed and reflected the steel blue glow of their powerful twin impulse engines. Plasma shielding and reinforced layered p-graphene lattices deflected and dispersed the majority of the high-energy plasma, though in the opening seconds two frigates suffered critical damage from direct hits and were forced to disengage. The remaining frigates targeted the orbital weapons infrastructure and drew its fire while three fighter squadrons launched from the Wing's carrier ship.

The Arcadia Earth Alliance Forward Naval Base went on full alert the moment the defense array picked up the approaching ships. Fighters were scrambled to guard the mouths of the nearby atmosphere corridors and patrol the surrounding airspace. Eight SAL turrets ringing the facility activated and began searching for targets.

The Senecan squadrons didn't take the corridors however, for to do so would have been to fly directly into a massacre. Instead they battled the punishing atmosphere in nine flights of four, each flight closing in on the base from different directions and altitude.

Arcadia's topography was mountainous and lush, and the base lay nestled in a vale at the northern end of a long valley. The valley entrance was heavily guarded by automated systems, and four of the eight SAL turrets were positioned along the gap in the mountains. Drones dispatched with the 2nd flight broke off to engage the turrets, while the accompanying fighters followed three seconds behind to eliminate the automated defenses.

Senecan fighter jets possessed exceptional maneuverability, even in-atmosphere. Constructed of a hyper-light honeycombed metamaterial and sculpted into sharp edges and acute lines, they sacrificed non-electronic defenses for speed and agility. The jets raced over the mountains bounding three sides of the base, braked to a near stop at the crests and dropped into the vale, pulse laser weapons firing in long arcs through the surface facilities.

The offensive did not go unchallenged; in fact it was met with considerable resistance. Alliance fighters engaged the attackers in the sky above the base. Ships on both sides suffered catastrophic damage, the fiery wreckage often causing yet more damage to the facilities upon impact with the ground.

Alliance fighter jets featured considerably sturdier hulls than their Senecan counterparts. This meant, though more difficult to destroy, they were also slower and less agile. Several attempts to chase down the Senecan ships led to mountainside collisions when an Alliance fighter was unable to execute the hairpin maneuver its quarry performed to clear the treacherous terrain.

Over 8,300 troops were stationed at the Forward Naval Base. Most of them were noncombat servicemen—ship and equipment technicians, engineers, administrative officers—and the remainder were troops who rotated through in tours on the frigates and supply and patrol ships which called the base home. Thus for fully ninety percent of the base personnel, there was simply nothing they could do to repel the attack.

Many of the personnel present realized this and bunkered down in the most fortified area of the facility, an underground storage warehouse. In the end this kept the loss of life disproportionately low when measured against the destruction inflicted.

Nevertheless a few soldiers, caught in the throes of battle-rage, charged onto the field of battle wielding shoulder-fired SALs. But even ocular implant-aided human eyesight could not hope to track the movements of a Senecan jet. One hundred percent of the shoulder SALs missed their targets; seventy percent of the wielders—exposed and in the open—perished.

With the automated turrets eliminated, the sixteen Alliance fighters were relentlessly whittled down by the superior Senecan numbers. When the last one fell, twenty-six Senecan fighters remained to wreak havoc on the base facilities unimpeded. In thirteen minutes the attackers disabled or destroyed every structure more than forty square meters in size, save the massive headquarters building. They settled for blowing out all its windows and leaving two thirty-meter craters in its core.

Mission parameters successfully completed, the Senecans bugged out, taking the easier corridor routes on departure. The orbital array weapons had by this point been obliterated by the frigates and they faced no resistance as they exited Arcadia's atmosphere and docked with their carrier.

All told, the 3rd Wing of the Senecan Federation Southern Fleet lost two of twelve frigates and ten of thirty-six fighter jets. Though the Arcadia base was not a Regional Command Center, as the closest military facility to Federation space it constituted a strategically and politically important location. In twenty-seven minutes it had been, for all intents and purposes, eradicated.

# 39 Siyane

### Space, Northeast Quadrant

By mid-afternoon the _Siyane_ finally left the Nebula behind for the comparatively empty void of space. They had worked late into the previous night, a visceral, slow-burn panic driving her and him both forward.

Alex had wanted to study the data captured, to try to understand what these aliens—or at least their ships—truly were and what they might be facing. Caleb, being the practical sort, had pushed her to first catalog, organize and summarize the data, so if nothing else they would be able to send the information out to others as soon as the ability to do so returned.

Being still more practical, he had also forced her to sleep for a few hours—even if 'sleep' meant crawl in bed and proceed to toss and turn for the bulk of those hours. She couldn't say whether he had taken his own advice and gotten any sleep himself.

Breakfast had been fruit and warmed-up bread consumed at the data center; lunch, neglected. They slowly pieced together a coherent package which could be delivered alongside a brief summary and nightmare-inducing visuals, and waited for their connection to the rest of the galaxy to reappear.

She raised a somewhat erratic eyebrow across the table at him. "So do you think we should lead with the panoramic shot of the seventy-eight superdreadnoughts or the enormous close-up of the synthetic tentacle creature from Gehenna?"

He chuckled in response; it came out half-strained, half-weary and half-genuine. "When I was six years old, my dad called himself taking me camping in the mountains outside Cavare. I woke up in the middle of the night to find this _kartinga_ —you've probably never seen one, but it's sort of a cross between a tarantula and...an enormous locust—hanging in the air a few centimeters from my face. I say we lead with the tentacles. It'll make a stronger impress—" He broke off mid-sentence. "We're coming back online."

A second later her eVi lit up in a deluge of comms and data deliveries. Far more than usual came in marked 'urgent' or 'priority' or 'important,' and she had to override the force-loading mechanism before she got blinded by pop-ups.

She picked out a recent message from Kennedy, because why not.

_Alex,_

_Well, this is going to bollocks up all our fun, isn't it? Whatever it is you're doing that has you off the grid, stay clear of this mess, will you?_

_— Kennedy_

What? With some reluctance she selected the most recent communication from her mother. It was marked 'priority,' but hers were always marked 'priority.'

_Alexis,_

_Wherever you are, you must realize it's best if you come home now, for your own safety._

_— Miriam_

"Okay, what the hell is happening?"

He held up a finger to silence her, irises jerking across an unseen whisper. She ignored her remaining forty-seven messages to watch him.

Finally his eyes focused on her. They looked...complicated. "I think you'd better turn on a news feed."

"What is going on?"

"I don't even...just turn on the news, okay?"

"Right." She gestured toward the embedded screen on the opposite wall and tuned it to a generic Alliance news feed channel.

_"Again, we are reporting that in response to what they say is confirmation the Earth Alliance was responsible for the attack on Palluda, the Senecan Federation military has retaliated by destroying the Alliance Forward Naval Base on Arcadia."_

"They did _what_?"

_"A spokesperson continues to deny the Alliance was involved in the Palluda incident or that it was in retaliation for the assassination of Trade Minister Mangele Santiagar last week. However, they—hold on, we're getting word the Prime Minister is about to speak. Let's go live to Earth Alliance Headquarters."_

She sank back onto the edge of the data center as dread pooled in her gut, already sensing whatever followed was, in fact, going to bollocks everything up.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens across Alliance space. As announced yesterday, we have irrefutable evidence one or more Senecan Federation officials perpetrated the tragic assassination of Minister Santiagar at the Trade Summit on Atlantis._

_"Likely anticipating our reaction, today the Federation has opted to falsely accuse the Alliance of attacking one of their colonies and use it as a pretext to launch a violent and destructive incursion against strategic Alliance assets. I am saddened to report over six hundred men and women lost their lives on Arcadia, a number which is likely to increase._

_"Let me assure everyone the Alliance was not responsible for the unfortunate incident on Palluda. Nevertheless, at this point it is obvious Seneca intends to provoke us into renewed war by any means necessary. We must and will defend all our citizens from aggression. Therefore, moments ago the General Assembly approved a formal Declaration of War against the Senecan Federation. We will begin mobilizing forces immediately. I will speak further as events warrant. In the meantime, follow the_ »SFWar _feed for the latest information. Thank you."_

"You have got to be kidding me. We disappear for five days and the galaxy goes insane? Now there's an armada of alien ships at our doorstep and we've decided to start a war against _each other_?"

He was pacing in agitation around the cabin, but didn't respond. In fairness though, she hadn't technically asked him a question yet. "Why would the Federation assassinate our Trade Minister?"

"They didn't. Why would the Alliance respond to a minor assassination by blowing up an entire colony?"

"What do you mean, they didn't? And weren't you listening? I don't know what happened on Palluda, but the Alliance isn't to blame."

He stopped pacing long enough to glare at her. "Alex, I've got classified reports coming in which state it was Alliance fighter jets bearing Alliance transponder codes and using Alliance communication protocols firing Alliance missiles on Palluda. Politicians lie."

"Of course they do. But Earth doesn't want war with Seneca. I mean some people do, but the politicians can barely keep track of the colonies they do govern. And they'd never take such drastic action before spending three months debating it and forming four commissions to study it first. The real question is why Seneca so badly wants war with Earth."

"They _don't_. We got everything we needed in the armistice: to be left alone to go our own way."

She arched an eyebrow in challenge and pushed off the table to meet him at eye level. "Maybe you're no longer content with your little corner of the galaxy. Maybe you desire more influence and power."

Frustration crept into the creases of his eyes. A muscle beneath his left cheekbone twitched. " _I_ don't desire anything. If my _government_ desired more influence it would start by persuading the nearby independents to join the Federation. Think about this logically, please."

"Oh, now we're applying logic to government practices? Tell me then, _logically_ , why would your government assassinate our Trade Minister?"

"They wouldn't. They didn't. There's always some nutcase championing a cause he's willing to die for, but all the information crashing into my head indicates it was absolutely not officially sanctioned."

"Well it's not like they'd own up to it once the Alliance has called their bluff."

"By destroying a farming colony? That's low, even for them."

"So you say. Regardless, attacking Arcadia makes it quite clear Seneca does want war with Earth. They sent half their damn fleet to destroy one base—hardly a defensive action, wouldn't you agree?"

"Not when it's to disable the military facility posing a proximate threat to Senecan worlds and the presumed source of the Palluda offensive." His brow drew into a tight knot above eyes squeezed shut. "My god, for being one of the most intelligent people I've ever met, you can be blindingly stupid!"

Her mouth fell open in shock. Or outrage. Possibly both. "How dare you—"

Both hands rose in surrender. "You're right. My bad. I'm sorry I said it." His expression said he was sorry for _saying_ it, but little else.

He took a long, deep breath and seemed to forcefully will a portion of the tension out of his limbs, the pose of his shoulders and the set of his jaw. "Perhaps we should not fight our respective governments' war for them here on the deck of your ship, and instead remember the real threat we're facing."

For a few brief moments, she _had_ forgotten. Now the crushing weight of what they had seen descended on her anew. She could feel her posture falter from it. "The invading army of giant alien monster ships."

"Yeah, those."

" _Dammit_ , Caleb. How are we supposed to get anyone to listen when they're busy blowing each other up?"

His mouth opened, only to snap shut as he resumed pacing. He lapped the cabin once, twice before slowing to run fingertips along the top of the couch.

She watched his lips quirk around as his eyes darkened, a shadow passing across them and refusing to leave. It occurred to her she watched him a lot. Watched him move; watched his lips move. She needed—

"Stupid...."

"Oh you are not seriously calling—"

His focus jerked over to her, sparks of light dancing behind the shadow. "Not you. I...I really am sorry. You're not stupid—in fact you're kind of brilliant. You said it: there's an armada of alien ships at our doorstep, and we've decided to start a war against each other? That's not merely stupid, it's improbable beyond all reason."

She frowned. "I agree it does seem rather ridiculous. But I've learned not to underestimate the sheer idiocy of government bureaucrats."

" _Exactly_. Politicians can be counted on to make rash, short-sighted decisions." His pace regained speed, purpose now animating his steps between the kitchen table and the couch.

Curious, she watched—again—and waited, until his gaze returned to her. "Look, the information I see is as close to the raw, unvarnished truth as you can get. It is not propaganda and it is not sugar-coated and it says my government did not assassinate the Trade Minister."

She blew out a harsh breath. She wasn't eager to rehash the earlier argument, but she also didn't intend to give in. "Well one of your government officials did."

"Yes. Granted. And maybe he was simply a lone crazy and that's all there is to it. But then the Alliance blows up a farming colony, except they say they didn't—and you're right, it is out of character for them. And now in a matter of days—far too quickly for cooler heads to prevail—we've gone from improving relations to all-out war. And I have to wonder if anyone has stopped reacting long enough to ask _why_."

The world had flipped upside down upon the sight of the invading alien army, and once more at the revelation of this nascent war. Did that make things right-side up again? For a moment she couldn't decide if he was a genius or delusional—or whether she even remained capable of telling the difference. "You think someone is manipulating events in order to provoke a war? You might be a tiny bit paranoid."

"I know. I'm just suggesting that coming into this from the outside it appears damn suspicious. Which brings us back around to the question, why now?"

She suddenly felt an intense desire to get off the crazy train and return to reality, such as it was. "It's possible the Trade Summit provided the first real opportunity. Or perhaps the answer to 'why now' is the Summit. There are plenty of people in the Alliance, and I imagine plenty on your side, too, who don't want better relations between Earth and Seneca."

He seemed to _still_ , as if all the energy of his movements came to rest within him. "You're one of them, aren't you?"

The sharpness of his gaze speared into her. It left her feeling naked and exposed, but she refused to look away. "I didn't say that. I only...Caleb, I don't want _war_. I never did." She swallowed. "Well not for a long time now anyway."

He smiled with unexpected softness. His eyes softened to match, transforming his expression to one of gentleness. "Okay."

His shoulders rose in a weak shrug. "And you're probably right. It makes more sense for the Summit to be the trigger, and not anything to do with the aliens. It nonetheless means something's fishy. We're walking into an even bigger mess than we thought—and we're about to toss a bomb into the middle of it."

# 40 Seneca

### Cavare

Michael pulled the collar of his jacket up to his ears as he exited the restaurant. A cold front had moved in over the course of the afternoon, and the night air now carried a stinging chill.

Nonetheless, he chose to walk the dozen blocks back to Division HQ. He needed the brief solitude—if one considered being surrounded by hundreds of pedestrians going about their business solitude—to get his head focused in the right direction. The dinner had been a brief but necessary departure from work, if only to make sure his father was doing well. Which he was. His father perpetually insisted Michael didn't need to worry over him; it never stopped him from doing so.

With the arrival of hostilities—a full-on war as of this evening—his teams were being pulled off the Summit investigation and re-tasked toward Alliance missions. Pretty much everything about the assassination still struck him as _wrong_ , but he tried to convince himself it hardly mattered now. Events were moving fast; before long the assassination would be merely a footnote as the incident which kicked off a series of incidents which kicked off another war.

Though he had a few people embedded in the Alliance infrastructure and its periphery, for the most part such long-term espionage missions fell under the purview of other sections of Division. Special Operations tended to undertake focused, directed actions in lieu of passive spying. Going forward those actions were to be targeted at Alliance interests. He bore no particular ill will toward the Alliance or its citizens as a rule, but war was war—and the visuals of Palluda were certainly disturbing enough to stir up a case of righteous indignation.

He wove through the crowd materializing when a levtram arrived and its passengers disembarked. For the moment, life continued on as normal in Cavare, and the streets thrummed with citizens working, playing and transitioning between—

His eVi signaled an incoming livecomm request from Caleb Marano. Huh. In the chaos which had been the last week he'd had no chance to wonder about the Metis Nebula mission. He started to put the agent off...but once he got to the office he expected to again be overwhelmed for many hours.

"Agent Marano, it's good to hear from you. As soon as you can get back to Seneca, your services will definitely be in demand."

_"The war, of course. We'll talk about it in a bit, but I'm afraid there's a larger problem."_

His pace slowed. "Larger than a war? You found something in Metis?"

_"You could say so. I found an army."_

"An _army_? I'm going to need you to be more specific."

_"A sizeable army of alien warships gathering. I'm sending a few visuals."_

"Now is not the time for—" An image of a tentacled ship of obsidian metal with a red glowing core appeared on his whisper. It was followed by one showing an uncountable number of identical such vessels docked in rows along the hull of a massive—there was no scale reference, but he sensed it was massive—carrier ship. A final image pulled out to reveal dozens of such carrier ships.

He came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk, hardly noticing as pedestrians jostled against him then continued on their way. "I sincerely hope you are joking."

_"Would that I were. I—"_

"Are you seriously telling me an alien civilization is hiding in the Metis Nebula, and we've somehow missed this fact until now?"

_"Not exactly. There's no signs of an actual civilization. You can see a large portal ring behind the ships in the last image—they're coming through it."_

"From where?"

_"No idea. Perhaps from some other region of the galaxy, or another galaxy. Perhaps from somewhere else. For obvious reasons it wasn't feasible to approach close enough to determine much with respect to the portal."_

He exhaled, long and slow. Things were never simple, were they? His job often required him to adapt quickly to rapidly changing circumstances, but _damn_. "Do you have any hard data on the ships or their inhabitants? These visuals are powerful, but as you can imagine our superiors are currently rather preoccupied. I could use some additional data to attract their attention."

_"I do. I'm sending a full report detailing all the findings to your account."_

"Excellent." He resumed walking, albeit at a reduced pace. "What kind of numbers are we talking about? Does the last image constitute the entire force?"

_"The larger ships were still emerging through the portal when I left. I didn't want to risk detection before getting this information out—hmm. The report bounced. It's being blocked."_

"Really? We've strengthened the defense grid on account of the conflict, but your ship's authorized so transmissions from it should be allowed."

_"Well...I'm not on my ship."_

"Where are you?"

_"On a civilian vessel."_

"Agent Marano, did you blow up another ship?"

A notable pause. " _Not intentionally."_

He groaned. The man's reputation was unmatched in Division; he had a fifteen-year-plus record of successful missions, including several no one should have been able to pull off. But he was proving to be a tad expensive. "Division's resources are not unlimited. You realize this."

_"I do, sir. It was unavoidable."_

"I'm sure it was. You said you were on a civilian ship?"

_"Yes. It is registered under an Alliance designation though."_

"I imagine there's quite a story—" He frowned as an unwelcome possibility occurred to him. "You're not being held under any coercion, are you?"

_"No, it's nothing like...no, sir."_ He thought he detected a trace of amusement in the response.

"Well civilian or not, chances are it'll still be blocked. We can't risk remote electronic attacks so the defenses are casting a wide net." He paused. While not officially sanctioned, the use of comm scramblers was at times a necessity in their line of work. "You don't have any method of sending from a different designation?"

There was a longer pause this time, as if the matter was under discussion. _"No, sir. Not at this time. Can you obtain a waiver? I can provide the ship's serial number designation if necessary."_

"I can, but I'll need to certify it Level IV. Is it worth it?"

There was no hesitation in this response. _It is._

"Okay. Send me the ship ID and I'll put in the request right away."

_"Sent. Sir, regarding the war? It seems as though—"_

He drew to a stop once again as the ship ID came in. "Caleb, are you _certain_ you're not being held under any coercion?"

_"Quite certain. Why do you ask?"_

"Because you're on a ship belonging to the daughter of a very powerful Alliance Admiral—were you not aware of this?"

_"Ah, that. Yes, I'm aware. It's a long story, but she's not acting on behalf of the Alliance military. She's a civilian."_

"Is she now. Nevertheless, I'm sure you will utilize any opening which may occur as a result of your current situation, yes?"

_"Absolutely. It's just...yes, of course."_

"I've filed the request. It shouldn't take longer than an hour. If this report is as serious as you indicate, I'll advance it up the chain with all due speed." He sighed, his shoulders sagging briefly from the placement of yet more existential weight upon them. "Aliens, truly? As if everything hadn't already gone to clusterfained Hell and back...."

_"I had noticed. Is this war supposed to make any sense? Because from here it simply doesn't."_

"Not so far as I can tell, but no one's asked my opinion on the subject."

_"We can talk about it further when—do you need me to come in, sir? Provide perspective or an eyewitness account to go with the report?"_

"Normally I would say yes, but your, um, rather unique situation complicates the issue. It's an opportunity I'd hate for you to lose. I tell you what—hold tight until we have a chance to review your report. This alien threat is likely to fall to the military to handle, in which case they may want you to consult, or you may be able to turn your attention to other matters. I'll get back to you as soon as I know something."

_"Understood. I would implore you to treat the contents of the report with the utmost urgency, but I suspect the report will accomplish that for itself."_

The connection ended, and he paused at the side entrance to HQ. The visuals Marano had sent were horrifying, almost incomprehensibly so. They were otherworldly, as if out of a nightmare....

A nightmare which now made the real horrors of the actual war waiting for him inside those doors seem almost welcome by comparison.

"Graham, the eve of war is not the appropriate setting for your brand of humor."

Delavasi leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms against his chest. "Chairman, even I wouldn't attempt such a joke tonight of all nights."

Vranas stared at him, skepticism ranking high in his expression. "Aliens."

"And not the fluffy bunny kind. It's best if I just show you." He sent the report to the screen above Vranas' desk. "These images came in from one of our SpecOps agents three hours ago, but they're over a day old. Apparently communications into or out of the Metis Nebula are difficult, as in impossible."

The Chairman sank into his chair as most of the color drained from his face. "Those are...what's the scale?"

"The dreadnoughts measure approximately 2.4 kilometers in length and 410 meters in width. There are seventy-eight of them in the visuals, but they were apparently still emerging from that ring structure when our agent departed the scene so he could get the report to us. As for the smaller ships, there are easily hundreds of thousands."

"And this is in Metis? But there's nothing in Metis."

"Agreed. Clearly the portal originates elsewhere. Where that might be is anyone's guess."

Vranas guzzled his bottle of water and activated a holo. "Field Marshal Gianno. Apologies, but I need your immediate attention."

The leader of the Military Council and Commander of the Armed Forces crystalized into view. She stood at a bank of screens bright with data, but turned to face them. "Chairman. Director Delavasi. What can I do for you?"

"I'm sending you a file. Take a moment to review it then we'll discuss the matter."

Graham stood to pace along the rug in front of Vranas' desk while they waited. It didn't take long.

Unlike Vranas or even Graham himself when Michael had initially shown him the report, Gianno's expression remained as neutral as when she had answered the holo. The woman gave new meaning to the word 'unflappable.'

"Well this represents a complication. I don't relish fighting a war on two fronts. Am I looking at the most up to date information we have?"

"You are."

"Is the Alliance aware of this development?"

Graham nodded. "If they aren't yet, I believe they soon will be." Vranas' eyes shot over to him in question; he gave a weak shrug. "It's complicated."

Gianno opened a new screen and scrolled through data too detailed to be read over the holo. "The 2nd GOI Platoon on New Riga can be inside Metis in a day and a half. They're heavily armed, fast and very covert—and should it be necessary they're unmatched in a fight. We need updated intel and a location on these ships."

The Chairman raised an incredulous eyebrow. "They can stand up against those dreadnoughts?"

She gave the tiniest little smile. "Well, as much as anyone can. Perhaps more relevantly, they can bug out faster than anyone can. The report states communications aren't working in Metis?"

"Correct. I've set one of my Tech groups working on it, but it's not looking like an easy fix."

The tiny smile had already faded to a tiny frown. "The lack of real-time intel is going to be problematic. I'll instruct the team to send back drones with updates for the time being, until we devise a better solution. Chairman, on your order I'll initiate the operation now."

Vranas let out a long, heavy exhale and stared at the foreboding images, then nodded. "Authorized."

"Very well. Director, is this Agent Marano available to accompany the team? His experience in Metis and observing the ships firsthand would be valuable."

Graham rubbed at his forehead then ran the hand through his hair. "I don't believe he's in the region at the moment, but I'll request he report to New Riga promptly."

"Thank you. It will take around twelve hours to ready the mission. If he can't be there in sixteen, we go without him."

# 41 Siyane

### Space, Northeast Quadrant

Caleb was leaning against the back of the couch when she came upstairs. The expression on his face was as weighty as when they'd discovered the portal and its travelers. She paused at the top of the stairwell. "What is it?"

"I heard back from Volosk."

"And?"

His eyes closed with a slow exhale that screamed weariness. He looked tired in a way she had never seen. Of course, she probably did, too.

"Alex, I need to get back home."

"Why, so you can join the war effort?" _Damn that sounded snippy. She hadn't meant it. Unless it was true._

"So I can do my _job_. Listen, I don't want this war any more than you do—almost certainly less—but they didn't ask me."

"And the army of invading aliens?"

"My top priority—my only priority. They want me to join a team heading into Metis for a more extensive investigation. Which is a good thing—it means they're paying attention to the threat."

She flinched and spun away, toward the kitchen. Tea. She needed tea. It kept her mother absurdly calm, no reason it shouldn't do the same for her, right? Her pulse pounded in her ears, causing his voice to sound distant, all echo-y and muffled. Why did she feel as though she was about to panic?

"No." Her voice was so soft she hardly heard it above the _pounding_.

Silence lingered for aeons.

"No...what?"

"No, you can't go home right now. We passed New Orient hours ago and are well into Alliance space." She half-turned to him, leaving herself the option to retreat again. "At this point I can't afford to turn around. I'm sorry, you'll have to come with me."

He blinked at her. His jaw solidified into a chiseled line. His lips pursed together. He blinked again. She could _see_ his eyes darken, until they were the color of the Pacific under a moonless night sky. "So I'm still your prisoner after all."

"There's no reason to look at it that way...."

"Not really seeing another way _to_ look at it."

"I told you before, I need you with me when we get to Earth."

"You need me. Tell me Alex, how exactly do you _need_ me—and don't even try the 'two voices are better than one' line, because that is _bullshit_."

She wished then she were the recipient of an expression of pained patience, as it beat being the recipient of the expression he wore right now by several parsecs. But she had no answer for him. She couldn't have an answer for him.

"I guess you're still my prisoner then."

"Well. That's...outstanding." The tight muscles along the line of his jaw flexed. Abruptly he pushed off the couch and started down the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"To take a shower. A long one."

"But you already—"

He paused mid-step, but didn't even glance up at her. "I. Don't. Care."

She watched him disappear down the stairwell. _Terrific move, Alex. Top notch._

She walked slowly to the cockpit, tea forgotten. She sat and toed the chair in aimless circles and tried to puzzle out precisely why she had done it and what she had expected the result to be. But she hadn't expected any result, because she hadn't thought. Instead she had panicked and reacted instinctively.

Which wasn't like her at all. She felt...detached, untethered. Like the firmament of the world had been yanked out from beneath her, leaving her adrift without an anchor. It was odd, since she usually felt _more_ grounded in space, on her ship, sailing amongst the stars. Now though, her beloved stars had become the enemy. And she was on the verge of turning an ally into another one.

But when he reappeared upstairs half an hour later, she couldn't bring herself to retract her declaration. She told herself once he cooled off it would be fine. "Listen—"

"Don't."

"I only—"

"And I said _don't_."

Okay, not quite cooled off just yet.

He practically stalked over to the data center. "Give me access to the raw data. I'm going to search for anything else to help the team heading in."

When she didn't respond, his gaze rose to find her. Her brow had furrowed in uncertainty at him.

"Alex, give me access to the raw data."

The tone of his voice brokered no argument, permitted no resistance. She found she was standing and walking over.

She entered a sequence in the holo control panel then reached across and activated the interface in front of him. Their shoulders touched, and she looked up at him; he didn't look down at her.

She swallowed and backed away. "You can access whatever you need from there. I'll be over here working...if you have any questions."

# 42 Earth

### Houston

The ballroom gleamed from a ceiling adorned in thousands of fiber-optic icicles. The orchestra occupied a circular raised dais in the center of the room so their dulcet strains could be heard throughout the space without overpowering any portion of it. The bar and buffet lined the left wall, split in the middle by the cake—an enormous affair which spelled out 'Happy 50th Anniversary.' It should provide sufficient pieces for the 640 guests. She had underestimated.

War may have been declared the day before, but it had not yet hit the radar of _this_ social scene. That much was certain.

Kennedy entered the room fashionably late, having just arrived on the suborbital from Manhattan where she had picked up her dress, her shoes and her date. The dress was sea foam lace, the shoes translucent strappy heels and the date the CEO of a startup solar-power satellite firm. He also happened to be an old friend from university, and more than happy to entertain her when she came to town...or Earth for that matter. It was a shame she had never managed to fall in love with him, because he genuinely was quite a good time and a good friend on top of it.

She leaned in close on his arm. "Oh my. I haven't lived here in twenty years, I don't recognize any of these people—except the famous ones, obviously. You run in these circles, help me out, Gabe."

He chuckled. "Well, to the left is your brother, alongside his dashing husband. And there toward the middle near the orchestra are your mother and father. If I'm not mistaken, they're talking to the Alliance Attorney General and the District Governor."

"They are such ass-kissers. And you're a smart ass." She sighed and rolled her shoulders gamely. "I suppose we should go speak to them. But I see Tara Singleton over there eyeing the cake—we're escaping to her at the soonest available opportunity. Oh, and drinks first."

He gestured for her to lead the way. "You know, if you dislike your parents so much, why did you travel over three hundred parsecs to be here?"

"Because it is _expected_. Because I deplore making a scene, even by my absence. And because I don't dislike them—I'm merely bored by them."

Her parents were intelligent enough people. Capable and shrewd. In their years together they had served as excellent stewards of the family fortune, growing it by over forty percent while investing handsomely in the economic and environmental improvement of the Texas coast and Louisiana delta.

But they didn't _do_ anything. They didn't _make_ anything. The family fortune existed solely due to the genius and sheer determination of her great-great-grandmother, whose design of a commercially viable Woodward-Mach impulse engine opened the solar system to colonization and development. Sixty years later the sLume drive opened the galaxy to the same and rendered the impulse engine a commodity, but those were a very lucrative sixty years.

Though her great-great-grandmother had died in a construction accident during the early days of the Jupiter orbital habitats, her devoted husband had ensured her legacy endured. Yet each generation since had been less impressive. Her great-grandfather helped improve the radiation shielding necessary for interstellar travel, while her grandmother and granduncle contented themselves with managing—but not improving—deep core oil drilling in the Gulf. Her uncle was a representative in the Earth Alliance Assembly and served on several environmental committees. Her father...he simply married well.

"Dad, how are you?" She smiled broadly as she hugged him, careful not to spill a drop of her drink in the process. As she pulled back the smile remained firmly in place. "Mom, you look ravishing, as usual."

"Oh, but you put me to shame, Kennedy dear. What a stunning gown, truly. And Mr. Hamilton, isn't it? I believe I saw you on the cover of Galactic Entrepreneur Weekly recently, yes?"

He bowed at the waist to kiss her hand, ever the gentleman. "It was an honor to be mentioned."

As he rose, Kennedy extended a hand to her parents' companions in turn. "Governor Samus, it is so good to see you again. We met once, at the party my parents gave for my university graduation—I don't presume you would remember, of course."

"And of course I do." The woman accepted her hand with refined elegance. As a politician, it presumably was her job to remember everyone she met lest they later prove relevant. "You had a bright future then, and it is my understanding you are not disappointing. Your father and mother both have been bragging on you nonstop."

Her smile grew into genuineness. Just when her parents threatened to annoy her beyond reproach, they went and reminded her they loved her. She gave her mother a small, heartfelt nod in appreciation and turned to the distinguished-looking man standing beside them.

"Forgive me, I spend my time these days slaving over ship schematics on Erisen, far from the center of power...."

The man tilted his head in respect, then met her gaze. Sharp, piercing eyes which almost matched her dress but sparkled far more intensely met hers. "I would not expect you to know me even were you to frequent the Earth social scene, for I am only a humble public servant. Marcus Aguirre, Ms. Rossi. It is a pleasure."

"The pleasure's mine, I'm sure." She directed her most diplomatic smile at him, though she found his gaze a tad unnerving. "What brings you to my parents' little celebration? Given current events, I must say I'm surprised your presence isn't required in Washington or London."

She ignored Gabe's subtle elbow to her side. She wasn't insulting the man; she was curious. No, that was a lie. She wasn't remotely curious, but rather making conversation until she found an opportunity for escape.

Aguirre's mouth curled into a dark sneer for the briefest second; it was gone before she could be sure it had even been there, replaced by a grim frown. "Such unfortunate circumstances we find ourselves in. I had hoped we had at last moved beyond the need for war, but alas. When I leave here I will be traveling up to the EAO Orbital to join the Prime Minister in meeting with the governors of the colonies closest to Federation space. It will be a late night, I'm afraid—but I didn't want to miss the occasion."

"How do you know the family? Are you from the area?"

"Kennedy dear, I'm sure the Attorney General doesn't—"

He gestured her mother silent. "In a manner of speaking. My family benefited from your parents' Gulf rehabilitation initiatives in the second half of the 23rd, enough to pay my way through university until I earned a scholarship. I am showing my appreciation in the smallest possible way."

"Well..." she paused to sip on her drink "...I imagine that is a very good story. I would love to hear it—but I must excuse myself for a moment first to speak to my brother. It was a pleasure seeing you again Governor, and meeting you, Mr. Aguirre. Mom, Dad, enjoy your party."

She grasped Gabe's hand firmly in hers and delicately yanked him away. Once they had put a safe distance between them and her parents she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "While I speak to Ian, you get us fresh drinks. And use your powers of persuasion to ensure they're strong, _please_."

# 43 Pandora

### Independent Colony

The Promenade was not the wealthiest district on Pandora, but it was close. The entertainment engaged in here included no less depraved activities than what occurred on The Boulevard; it was merely engaged in via far more refined surroundings by guests in far more refined clothing.

Gleaming mid-towers rose alongside the walkway, all constructed of a brushed chromium and all lit in a soft blue-white glow. The walkway appeared suspended twenty meters in the air, but in reality an invisible membrane extended out beyond it, ready to catch anyone who fell off the side due to clumsiness or intoxication. A small sign of the men behind the curtain.

Noah didn't feel much more comfortable here than he did on The Boulevard, but his father had at least made sure he knew how to act, and dress, in places such as this. He straightened his blazer and joined the fashionable denizens strolling toward their evening's entertainment.

His destination was a club not far into the core of The Promenade. _Distraire_ was a mid-range establishment striving to become something greater. As such, it tended to attract clientele seeking the same thing.

Mia Requelme fit the bill perfectly: a feisty young entrepreneur striving for more rarified heights. He admitted to being a bit surprised she'd agreed to come to Pandora...but he supposed any ghosts she harbored were by now either dead or long vacated.

Over a decade ago she had been a street rat here—a hacker and thief working for Eli, a lieutenant in the Triene cartel. Noah had looked out for her when he could, though his resources were pretty meager back then. Then one day she had simply vanished. He'd feared she was dead, especially since most of Eli's operation got taken out around the same time.

But two years later she contacted him out of the blue, searching for some specialized items. Come to find out she had gotten away, gotten out from under Eli—somehow—and was running a home tech supply business on Romane. She ran a good deal more than that now.

He found her at the bar, slender legs crossed beneath a midnight black dress and significantly exposed by the slit which cut up it. A mane of even darker razor-straight hair fell across a toffee-hued shoulder. She sipped on a martini and scanned the crowd for him. Her mouth curled up ever so slightly when she spotted him.

He slid in beside her and dipped his chin in appreciation. "You are looking most stunning this evening, Mia."

Her tongue ran lightly along subtly glossed lips. "What can I say, I clean up well." Her gaze ran over him appraisingly. "As do you. I must admit, you are cutting quite a striking figure yourself these days."

His grin sported a wicked flair as he accepted the drink the bartender placed in front of him with a nod. "I do try. So how is business on Romane?"

"Profitable. How is business on Pandora?"

"...entertaining."

She laughed, but her eyes were serious; then again, he remembered, they almost always had been. "I guess we've both gotten what we wanted."

"I guess so." He slipped the interface, secured in a small case, out of his jacket pocket and into her hand. She'd paid him upfront so there was no need for an exchange of credits. It disappeared into a small black bag made of the same shimmery material as her dress. "Dare I ask what you intend to use this for?"

"I have an Artificial. I imagine it's clear what I intend to use it for."

"Hmm. Is it registered?"

She regarded him over the top of her martini in a manner indicating she questioned either his intelligence or his sanity.

He gave her a mild chuckle. "Right. Silly of me to ask." His own eyes grew serious—briefly. "Just be careful, okay?"

She signaled the bartender for another drink. "Noah, darling, I am always careful. I value the life I have now quite highly." After the bartender departed she shifted to face him. "So, what do we do now?" The glimmer in her eye suggested she had something in mind.

Though she was only a year or two younger than him, back when she had lived on Pandora he'd thought of her as a little sister; someone to be protected. The times he had seen her in the years since had been friendly but businesslike, and brief. Now, though...she clearly no longer needed protecting, and appeared more than his equal. And my god but she was a stunner.

He smiled, this time with a wicked flair of another sort, and leaned into the bar and closer to her. "I tell you what. First, I'd like to buy you dinner. Then, perhaps a little dancing. And later, if all goes well, I'll show you a side of Pandora you never got to see when you were living on the streets."

She arched an eyebrow, but her lips curved gracefully upward. "Oh? And where might that be?"

"My apartment, of course."

# 44 Siyane

### Space, North-Central Quadrant

Caleb lay on the cot and stared up at the ceiling, barely visible in the dim light. He wanted to hit something. Anything. Instead he stared at the ceiling.

For one, hitting anything—the wall for instance, or one of the tables—would result in a loud noise sure to bring her running. And he did not want to bring her running. It had been late into the evening when, scarcely able to keep her eyes open, she had finally retired downstairs and given him the solitude, the space to think, he desperately craved. For another...well, that was plenty reason enough.

A portion of his brain busily formulated a plan to get to Seneca. Despite the dramatic nature of the report, he worried his government didn't truly understand the seriousness of what they were facing. He had discussed the situation with the leader of the investigation team heading to Metis, a Major Fergusson. The guy seemed sharp enough, if a typical special forces type. Still, he needed to be there, else they were liable to get everyone killed. Or worse, with no one reminding them to keep their eye on the ball, get distracted again by the bloody war and lose sight of the real threat.

He groaned to himself. He was a patriot, as far as it went, but it wasn't as though he cared for politicians, bureaucrats _or_ military leaders. The war was idiotic, a fool's errand likely to end in tragedy for far too many involved. Or worse—again—a trap they had all been ensnared in, one certain to leave them easy pickings for the aliens when they showed up to feast on humanity.

He felt like a traitor, relaxing here on this ship while others ventured out to confront an unimaginable threat. Granted, he was the one who had alerted them to it. But he should be doing more.

After six days on the ship he was familiar with the functions of the vast majority of the controls and screens. He at most required her very minimal input to fly wherever he desired. He had no doubt he would be able to force her into providing him access to the controls, and without even harming her—assuming she didn't fight him like a possessed hyena.

Which she would.

Thus, in order to take control of the ship and get himself to Seneca or even an independent world, he'd probably need to hurt her.

And he didn't think he could do that.

No matter how angry at her he was right now—which happened to be quite angry—he didn't wish to cause her harm. He understood she had legitimate reasons for acting as she did. And though she clearly bore personal animosity toward the Senecan government if not its people specifically, he doubted she actively wished them ill. She was doing what she thought was necessary. It simply happened to conflict rather directly with what he thought was necessary.

He definitely didn't _want_ to hurt her. But more to the point, he wasn't at all sure he was even capable of doing so...

...because he was emotionally compromised. Badly.

His training, his rules of engagement, his experience and the teachings of his superiors and his mentor all told him he should take control of this vessel and use it to get wherever he needed to go. Only he wasn't going to do it.

Another in an already fairly long line of rules discarded in the face of Alex Solovy.

Two hours later he still lay awake. He pondered the nonsensical, suspicious events leading to this new war and how they might have occurred; he considered his options going forward. But mostly he brooded about the alien ships at their portal and the dark feeling of dread which had taken up permanent residence in his gut since witnessing them.

He heard her come up the stairs, her steps slow and a bit uneven. She didn't come over right away; it took a minute before her faint outline appeared on the other side of the privacy screen.

"Caleb, are you awake?"

He considered whether to let his muscles tense, to confront her again or to hide behind feigned sleep. But the situation would be no better come morning.

"No."

There was no breath of amusement in response. "I'll drop you on Romane tomorrow." Her voice sounded flat and toneless, belying the significance of her words. "It's the last independent world still somewhat nearby. I've shifted our route and input the new destination.

"I'll have to backtrack a bit, but...it's fine. I've been able to put the report in front of some 'important' people on Earth, so they can wait another day for me. We should be at Romane by late morning. Of course you can take a hardcopy of the data and the report when you go."

He pulled the screen back, leaned against the wall beyond the edge of the cot and attempted to meet her gaze. Her eyes were so sleepy and unfocused it was difficult. Her hair was a tangled mess, tumbling to cover half her face and down over bare shoulders. She wore a white tank and navy shorts; the dark material was wrinkled and hung unevenly above her frankly _remarkable_ legs.

He wanted very much to hug her. Instead he softened his expression. "Why did you change your mind?"

She gave him a tired, half-hearted smile. "Turns out I'm not very good at keeping prisoners." She couldn't keep up the smile, and it faded away. "I understand why you feel you need to go home—I understand you need to help protect your people. And you don't owe me anything so...."

"Only my life."

She made a valiant effort at rolling her eyes. "True, but I did try to kill you before I saved you, so it's likely a wash." She started toward the stairwell, but not before a sad, almost desperate shadow passed across her expression. "I'll let you get some sleep. I just...thought you'd like to know."

"Alex, why did you really want me to go to Earth with you?"

The words had spilled forth unbidden...and the answer suddenly seemed the most important words in the universe.

In her weariness she revealed a series of pained, frustrated emotions in her eyes and the quirking of her lips. Finally her shoulders dropped, as though she had given up. On what, he couldn't say.

"Because what we saw terrifies me, and I didn't want to face what it might mean alone. With you here, it all somehow seems a little less daunting. You...you make me believe maybe we have a chance. Intellectually I know you can't do any more than I can to stop what's coming but...but still you make me feel...safe."

She squared her shoulders and stood up straight. _Proud. Defiant._ "But it's fine. I'm a big girl, and I've spent twenty-three years facing challenges alone. I've got it covered." She nodded sharply to emphasize the statement and started down the stairs.

"I'll go."

She froze, one foot hovering above the second step, and whipped her head over to him. "What?"

What, indeed. "I'll go to Earth with you."

"Are you _serious_? We went through all this drama and angst—enough to fill a _smeshnoy_ soap opera vid—and now you're just—"

He raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Do you want me to go with you or not?"

"Well yes, but—"

"Then quit bitching." He gave her the smirk he had already figured out drove her nuts.

She stared at him for a second—and burst out laughing. It was uncontrolled, weary and beautifully genuine.

When she had minimally composed herself she gestured to the cockpit. "I'm going to go revert our route back real quick...." Halfway there, she paused. The dim light faded to darkness near the cockpit, and her profile was a shadow against blurred stars.

"Thank you."

He merely nodded in response. After a breath he drew the privacy screen closed, lay back on the cot and closed his eyes.

_What was he doing?_

Following her, apparently.

When he had stood there and watched her, hair all tousled and tangled, gaze sleepy and unfocused, defenses worn away, defeated and near to broken but standing proud nonetheless...he had realized he simply wasn't ready to let her walk out of his life.

_Okay_. Going to Earth, then. To Earth Alliance Strategic Command, in point of fact—

His eyes flew open.

He had an idea.

"Sorry if I disturbed you, sir. I realize it's very late there—or very early, I suppose."

_"It's fine, Agent Marano. None of us are getting much sleep at the moment. Has there been a change in your circumstances?"_

"Of a sort. I'd like to propose a new option."

_"I'm listening."_

"First I have a question, and I'd appreciate your honesty when answering. Did our government authorize the assassination of the Alliance Trade Minister?"

_"To my knowledge it did not. As far as I'm concerned everything about the assassination is wrong...but events have moved beyond it now."_

"Perhaps not. One more question. Does the government desire war with the Alliance?"

_"They do after Palluda. That kind of slaughter can't go unanswered. But before the attack? No."_

"This war—I believe it's a trap, one which will leave us weakened and defenseless when the aliens attack."

_"What are you implying?"_

"I suspect we didn't assassinate the Trade Minister and I suspect the Alliance didn't attack Palluda. I suspect everyone has been tricked into going to war against one another. And I hope to find us a way out of the trap."

_"Okay, now I really am listening."_

"Thank you. I want to act as an unofficial, off-the-record envoy to Alliance military leadership. If I can prove to them we didn't start this war, perhaps we can end it."

_"Well, that's a problem, because I don't have any proof—beyond the word of politicians—we didn't start the war. Don't get me wrong, I've tried like Hell to find it. But all the evidence points to Chris Candela as the assassin, which makes it damn hard to deny it was our doing with a straight face."_

"You think he's not responsible for the hit?"

_"I think I can't prove he's not responsible because the Minister's body became an Alliance state secret approximately two minutes after he ceased breathing."_

"What if you could?"

# 45 Deucali

### Earth Alliance SW Regional Military Headquarters

The QEC room always made Liam feel as though he was suffocating. It wasn't so much the size—while hardly what he would consider spacious, it included a desk, a full-sized chair, a long wall for holo projections and plenty of space to maneuver around. But the three layers of six-centimeter thick sound-absorbing nanomaterial together with the active phase cancellation waves reverberating in the gaps between each layer created a hyper-silence in the air which was both unnerving and stifling.

Still, it was a required accommodation for EASC Board meetings, and these days it may even be necessary.

A large holo projection filled the back half of the room, creating a near-real representation of the view from his 'chair,' were he to be sitting in Vancouver. If he turned his head the holo followed his eyes, in a complete 360-degree circle should he desire to see if anyone stood behind his virtual presence.

As it had been for the last several meetings, the scene was rather chaotic. Aides bustled about and mini-conferences were underway scattered around the room. In the past it might have made him feel like an outsider, cut off from the real power. Today though, he simply couldn't get worked up over it; he was in too good a mood.

After all, he had his war.

He made an effort to tamp down the smile he realized was growing on his lips as Alamatto called the meeting to order.

"Good morning. By now I assume everyone has transitioned to wartime protocols and procedures within their organizations. It's still early yet, but we need to stay in front of developments. General Foster, if you would update us on the Arcadia situation?"

The Northwestern Regional Commander nodded solemnly. In Liam's opinion, he should be handing in his resignation and crawling off in shame after allowing such a humiliating defeat to occur on his watch.

"Yes, sir. The casualties have risen to 763, but I don't expect them to rise appreciably further. The damage assessment has been completed, and it is not good. We lost all the fighters stationed at the base and two of the four frigates which were groundside—the other two sustained significant but repairable damage. Seventy-two percent of the physical structures are a total loss. Temporary plasma shields have been placed around the headquarters building to enable it to retain some functionality. Most of the electronic systems were underground and are undamaged, thankfully."

"What's the status of the orbital arrays?"

"Sixty-four percent of the sensors suffered damage and are functioning at reduced capacity. Six of the fourteen plasma weapons—those facing the region the attackers approached from—were destroyed."

"It'll take months to replace those—and hundreds of millions!"

Liam rolled his eyes in the direction of the EASC Logistics Director. If ever there was a more whiny, pansy little bitch, he hadn't met them.

Alamatto acknowledged the Director but kept his attention on Foster. "In the short term, the diminished planetary defenses are our largest concern. It's my understanding a squadron is inbound from Fionava to provide active patrols in the system for now."

"Obviously this initial setback is unfortunate. However, given no declarations of war had been issued at the time, we must not view it as a defeat. But we _are_ at war now, and the important thing is to focus on winning it, as quickly and bloodlessly as possible."

Liam leaned forward expectantly. "What's our first front? We should have already moved by now, in my opinion. The 2nd and 3rd Brigades attached to the Southwestern Command are at full strength and on alert, ready to engage against any target identified."

Solovy exhaled in the annoying, holier-than-thou way she had. "General, it would take a week for your ships to reach Senecan space. If you will send a squadron to Fionava to compensate for the one dispatched to Arcadia, that will be sufficient for now."

"Well what are we _doing_ , then? Sitting around with our thumbs stuck up our asses?" Dammit, now that his war was here, he needed to be _in_ it. He had lobbied for one of the northern regional commands several times in the last few years, but had been unsuccessful. Maybe with Foster in a weakened position....

Solovy looked positively smug. "Far from it. While Admiral Rychen's forces maneuver into position for strikes on Senecan targets—forgive me, General, perhaps you'd like to brief everyone?"

Alamatto smiled weakly. He seemed nervous and uncertain, even for him, and practically bowed in deference to Solovy. Liam briefly wondered what power plays may be at work in Vancouver.

"For several years Senecan Intelligence has maintained long-range passive hyperspectral scanners near significant Alliance assets, including Scythia, Messium, Erisen, Fionava, August and New Cornwall. They haven't succeeded at placing any in range of Earth, but nonetheless, this has been one area in which their technology is superior to ours. We haven't been able to do anything about the scanners, beyond obscuring signals where we can, for fear of provoking further hostilities. Obviously that is no longer a concern. Within the next two hours they will find every one of their scanners destroyed and their ability to eavesdrop on any strategic discussions or monitor troop movements effectively nulled."

Liam sighed. He had to admit it was a smart tactic. A little too sneaky and clever for his taste, but arguably necessary. "And after that?"

"Here are the plans for the next four days." A screen superimposed itself over the holo of the conference room. "For obvious reasons, this information will not be transmitted over the exanet, even secure channels, so please study it now."

Alamatto gestured to one of the 'guests,' EASC Special Projects Director Brigadier Jules Hervé. "Brigadier, thank you for coming. Would you brief us on the status of Project ANNIE?"

_Goddamn Artificial. Mere mortals should not be playing at creating life._

"Certainly, General. ANNIE was not scheduled to go live for another four months, but given the current circumstances we are working to accelerate the timetable—" the woman glanced around the table to head off premature objections "—while maintaining strict safety protocols."

"During our testing, we've begun feeding it our existing data on the Senecan military—fortifications, assets, leadership, numbers—as well as historical data, and plan to compare its analyses with our existing tactical forecasts. We expect it to produce a number of refinements and likely valuable new insights. This will allow us to utilize some of its capabilities before formally bringing it online."

Rychen spoke up. "And what does 'bringing it online' mean, precisely? I assume we're not handing over the codes to the missiles, but what are we planning to do?"

Hervé adopted a more confident posture in her chair. She was an attractive woman, with piercing, intelligent blue eyes and rich mahogany hair wound back in a conservative braid. It was a shame she was a warenut.

"Certainly we will not be handing over the codes to anything bearing lethal capability. Once ANNIE is live it will receive real-time feeds of all military, war-related and surveillance data. It will also monitor news feeds and exanet traffic.

"To put it simply, it will look for patterns in the chaos. It will see what we cannot. We anticipate it to be able to alert us to impending attacks, secret troop movements and exploitable weaknesses in the enemy. For starters."

Rychen nodded. "That does in fact sound useful—and safe. Might we be overdoing the safety precautions a bit?"

"Well, Admiral, the thing about synthetic neural nets is they display a habit of developing a mind of their own, so to speak. It's best to keep them securely inside a high fence, because even if the core programming is perfect—which is a very big 'if'—synthetics have been known to rewrite their internal code on occasion."

Alamatto gave her an appreciative smile. "Thank you, Brigadier. It goes without saying we need ANNIE's capabilities as soon as feasible, but of course we can't sacrifice safety and security."

Once Hervé had excused herself from the room, Alamatto turned to Solovy. "Admiral, when is your daughter projected to arrive?"

"She should be planet-side midday tomorrow."

_What?_

"Good. We'll tentatively schedule an audience for day after tomorrow, say 1500. Needless to say, if her claims prove to be accurate they are a significant concern we must take into account."

"General, my daughter is many things, but fanciful is not one of them. I expect they will be exceedingly accurate. Unfortunately."

Alamatto appeared to wilt into his chair. " _Aliens_ , on top of everything else...but let's not rush to any conclusions for now."

Liam pushed aside the strategic plans screen he had been reviewing with half an eye—but before he could interrupt, the Logistics Director had.

"Excuse me, did you say 'aliens'? Is there something we haven't been informed of?"

Alamatto hurriedly straightened up; the expression on his face made it clear he hadn't intended to let that slip out. "Our scientists are still examining the initial data, and I don't want to send it to the larger group until they've evaluated it. It's not an immediate concern."

Liam jumped in this time. "Perhaps we would be a better judge of how immediate a concern it is."

"You will be fully informed before we make any decisions on the matter. We'll discuss it when the data is ready, and not before."

He scoffed but settled back in his chair. Aliens? Two hundred years of extra-solar exploration, and no extraterrestrial life with intelligence greater than that of a canine had been discovered. No ruins, no artifacts, no trace of sentient life. If 'evidence' of aliens had suddenly materialized now, it had to be an attempt at distraction on the part of the Senecans. The timing was too fishy for anything else.

And who the Hell was Solovy's _daughter_ , anyway?

# 46 Siyane

### Space, Central Quadrant

_"Ebanatyi pidaraz, u etogo pridurka poehala krisha!"_

Caleb heard the outburst from the lower deck and hastily finished dressing after his shower.

The morning had been a little awkward for them both as they tried to figure out what these new circumstances, this new phase of their...relationship, he supposed, meant for them. That and he struggled with what and how much to reveal regarding his new mission.

He was relieved to have devised a way to get in the game, to be able to act to avert disaster. Volosk was on board with the plan, which essentially involved him walking into enemy territory, straight into their seat of military power—and asking for their help. It was risky, daring, highly likely to fail and reasonably likely to get him arrested or shot.

But he didn't make a habit of failing. Or getting shot. Getting arrested had occurred a few times, and once or twice it hadn't even been on purpose.

The plan stood a better chance of succeeding with her help; in truth he had no reason to keep it from her. Yet he was no longer merely the prisoner-turned-stowaway-turned-traveling companion, but again the intelligence agent. This was his job, and in his job secrecy and subterfuge were the order of the day.

_Reveal only what you must; lie if you can._

Still, the current situation constituted an exception, right?

The argument continued unabated in his head as he went upstairs and found her pacing in considerable agitation between the data center and the couch. "What's wrong?"

" _This_. _This_ is what's wrong." He didn't think an aural was capable of displaying anger in its generation—but if it could, this one would've done so. He crossed the deck to her side to read the message she had projected.

_Ms. Solovy,_

_Thank you for your report on possible anomalous activity in the Metis Nebula. As you are no doubt aware, all reports must be submitted via physical data disk in order to be officially accepted. Once we receive a physical copy from you, the Astronomical and Space Science Department will review the scientific findings and contact you should we need further information._

_However, as a courtesy to the EASC Director of Operations, I have briefly looked over the report. While startling and rather disturbing, according to Earth Alliance Assembly Regulation AAS 41767.239.0655k, any claims of alien discovery must be validated by an official envoy of the Earth Alliance government using approved protocols._

_After receipt of a physical copy of the report and analysis of its claims, if the Astronomical and Space Science Department finds them worthy of investigation, we will request authorization to assemble a survey team and deploy it to the Metis Nebula. Given the severity of the claims, we look forward to receiving the materials in a timely manner._

_Regards,_

_— Dr. Aaron LaRose_

_Director, Astronomical and Space Science Department_

_Science Advisor to the Office of the Prime Minister_

"Well—"

"This is why I hate politicians. This is why I hate bureaucrats. This is why I refuse to have anything to do with the government or the military or anything which remotely looks like it might be connected to the government. Stupid, bloated, overwrought bureaucracy has lost the capacity for even rudimentary independent thought. Ugh!" With a visceral groan she threw herself onto the couch and dropped her head into her hands.

It took him a minute to get past his own stunned reaction and circle around to sit beside her. "Perhaps he didn't actually review the report—I have to believe if he did his reaction would be a bit more alarmed."

"Oh, I'd believe he reviewed it." Her voice was muffled against her hands. "But he's a government lackey. What else is he expected to do? He has a checklist full of procedures and every fucking thing which crosses his fucking desk must be corralled through that fucking checklist. It's the only thing which exists in his world—without it there would be _chaos_! And he's probably got a fucking checklist for that, too...."

She groaned into her hands. "I swear, I should just let them all die."

"Hey...." He reached over and gently pulled the closest hand away from her face, then lifted her chin so she was forced to look at him. "Possibly. But you won't, because you're a better person than they are."

"I'm really not. I can count on one hand the number of people in the universe I truly like or even particularly care about...well, maybe plus the other pinky if I have to add you."

"Do you?" It came out far more serious in tenor than he had intended.

She shifted her attention away, but her mouth curved up in what closely resembled a smile. "I suppose." He suspected it might have come out far more affectionate in tenor than she had intended.

Then she sighed, and the moment passed. "I can already see how it will all play out. I'll yell and scream and make an ass out of myself, and the bureaucrats will frown and hem and haw and suggest calm and caution, and I'll end up flipping off the EASC Chairman or the Defense Minister or, hell, the Prime Minister himself. And getting kicked out of the building isn't going to help the situation, but it'll hardly matter at that point...."

Abruptly her hands fell to her lap; she nodded sharply. "Okay. Pity-party over." She leapt up and strode over to the data center.

"I am responding to let Dr. LaRose know he will have his precious hardcopy by tomorrow evening. I am checking to make sure my _mother_ is arranging me an audience with the EASC Board, because if anything is a matter for the military, this damn sure is."

She worried at her lower lip. "And I think I need to make the visuals of the scary tentacle ships bigger."

She eyed him over her fork piled high with pasta. He had managed to pull her away from the data long enough to sit down and eat something for dinner, though not until after he had whipped up the angel hair pasta with Campari tomatoes and spinach and the tempting aroma filled the cabin.

"What."

He chuckled, a little chagrined at having been caught. Her ability to read him was approaching uncanny levels. "You do realize you're bringing an enemy spy into Alliance military headquarters, right?"

She rolled her eyes in mild amusement. "You won't be recognized, will you?"

"I highly doubt it. No more than two dozen people in the galaxy are aware of what I do for a living—and I'm fairly certain none of them are on Earth. My official record shows me as an assembly manager for Terrestrial Avionics, as you discovered, but even it's a very old image."

"You've got fake identities, right? Can you use one of them? Samuel maybe?"

"Samuel isn't one, but yeah, absolutely. I can—"

"It isn't? Why did you use it with me, then?"

"It's just somebody I knew and was the first name to pop in my head."

"Hmm." She frowned. "Can we say you're a scout for a corp and we bumped into each other while investigating the Nebula?"

"I happen to have a ready-made identity for such an occasion. I can be Cameron Roark, minerals scout for Advent Materials out of Romane."

"How many fake identities do you have?"

"More than two, fewer than ten...." At her widening eyes he shrugged. "What? I'm a versatile chameleon."

Her expression darkened as she busied herself twirling more pasta around her fork. When she spoke, her voice had lowered noticeably in tenor and volume. "So we're once again back to the fact that I wouldn't know if you were lying to me."

He exhaled through pursed lips. "Normally I'd say no, you wouldn't...but you appear to have my number, don't you?"

She regarded him with such intensity he felt stripped, bare. "Do I?"

Still, he struggled past the instinct to mask himself behind a façade and forced himself to meet her gaze honestly. "A minute ago, I wasn't entirely truthful as to where the name 'Samuel' came from—and you knew it, didn't you?" Her mouth merely twitched in response, which was response enough.

"The truth is he wasn't just somebody I knew. He was the person who recruited me into SpecOps. He was my mentor and my friend for seventeen years, and he was murdered four months ago by anti-synthetic terrorists. The funny thing is, he wasn't even especially pro-synthetic. He was simply doing his job. I didn't mention it because...well, because I'm not ready to talk about it."

"I'm sorry, Caleb."

"So am I...but that's a tale for another day. Alex, I'm not lying to you—about anything. And if I try you catch me, so I may as well not try. But I can't prove it, I can only say it. And you can take it for...whatever you think it's worth."

It seemed as if her eyes were searching his very soul for traces of deception, and he wondered why he had ever thought he could lie to her. He straightened up in the chair. "Which is why we need to discuss something."

Her gaze didn't budge or falter. "Okay."

"You're right, I do need a false identity to get inside EASC, because there's no way they're going to let a Senecan intelligence agent walk in the front door. But I have an idea, one which stands a chance of bringing an early end to this war and uniting us against the alien threat. And I'd like your help."

"Good news. Richard's available to meet us tomorrow as well."

He stowed the last of the dishes and raised an eyebrow at her over his shoulder. She had responded enthusiastically to the plan, jumping at the prospect of being able to diffuse the 'stupid _khrenovuyu_ war.' She had proceeded to strategize and improve upon the plan and now had increased its odds of success considerably by bringing to the table someone who might actually possess the information he needed.

She continued to surprise him in the most unexpected ways, and he had been an idiot to think he should—or even could—do it without her.

"So, Naval Intelligence Liaison to Strategic Command, huh? Sure he won't shoot me on sight?"

"It'll be fine. He's a teddy bear."

"Alex, no one in intelligence is a teddy bear." The man was a necessary and arguably welcome player—but he would be an adversary, at least to start.

"Well he is." She turned to him when he joined her at the data center. "Listen. I've known him my entire life, and he is one of the few genuinely good people I've ever met."

"Okay. My life is in your hands, but okay."

" _Whatever_. Besides, he'll have no reason to doubt you because you'll be with me. I'll be talking about alien superdreadnoughts, and you'll simply be...."

"Alex's boy-toy?"

She laughed. "Um...."

"How many times have you visited Strategic Command wearing a random man on your arm?"

Her brow furrowed in a farce of deep thought. "Almost nev...once, maybe twice...three times at most. Definitely."

His jaw dropped open in mock indignation. "Then I _shall_ be Alex's boy-toy. Now that I will enjoy."

She grinned playfully at him, and he found himself yet again drawn into her eyes. They reflected the light from the visuals above the table, transforming her irises to an incredible luminous platinum. Mirth danced in them like fireworks against a star-soaked sky.

Seconds passed before she tore her gaze away and focused back on the data. After a moment she flipped the position of two of the images, frowned, and flipped them again.

"The second way was better."

She didn't question his opinion and immediately flipped them back while chewing on her lower lip. "It's not as though the fate of the galaxy rests on the order of a couple of visuals. I only hope it's enough. Maybe when decorated by some high theatrics on my part...."

He grasped her shoulder and shifted her to face him. "I have no doubt you'll make them listen. You have a way of refusing to accept any alternative to getting what you want, and everyone else will find they've no choice but to fall in line."

A corner of his mouth curled up. "I mean, you got me here."

Her voice dropped to a murmur. "I did, didn't I?"

They were already standing _so_ close. His hand, still resting on her shoulder, drifted up and slowly, carefully tucked her hair behind her ear...then lingered along the curve of her jaw. She didn't pull away, and the ticking by of endless seconds faded to insignificance.

The pad of his thumb drew softly over the hollow beneath her extraordinary cheekbone. With a breath she began turning into his hand, as if to place a kiss on his wrist—

—when a chime pealed through the cabin.

Her eyes were a little wide as she stepped back, but he couldn't be certain if he heard regret or relief in her voice. "And _that_ would be the Gould Belt monitoring system...with the tightened security I'm guessing I need to check in."

He somehow managed to wait until she moved toward the cockpit before dragging a hand roughly over his mouth to stifle a groan, followed by a curse or two. He sucked a deep breath into his oddly constricted chest. _Jesus._

She spent several minutes in the cockpit. He leaned against the wall, ankles and arms crossed loosely in a stellar imitation of casual relaxation, and waited.

When she finally returned to the table she was grimacing a bit and managed to avoid his gaze while not _looking_ like she was avoiding it. "Security's even tighter than I expected—we'll need to check in half a dozen times before we get to Earth, but I set up the next few to be automated so I can get some sleep. Which...."

She glanced at the Metis report a final time, then shut it and the other data on the table down. "I should do. Busy day tomorrow, so I'm going to call it a night."

He didn't bother to hide anything in his eyes or his expression. His voice was soft but its tone unmistakable. "Are you sure?"

She huffed a breath that came out a ragged laugh and at last met his gaze, irises swirling liquid silver filled with unknowable thoughts. She almost smiled.

"Not in the slightest..." a retreat toward the stairwell "...which is why I _really_ should."

He bit his lower lip, blinked and forced a smile. "Understood. Good night, Alex."

Her eyes closed for a moment. She nodded, seemingly to herself, and started down the stairs. "Good night, Caleb."

Alex lay on the bed, still dressed, the bed still made, and stared at the ceiling.

What was she _doing_?

She ached to leap off the bed, vault up the stairs and claim the kiss stolen from her by the alarm. And whatever followed.

She wouldn't have stopped him; she had been moving into him, welcoming the embrace and its consequences.

She had no particular problem with casual sex. Though she'd never give Ken a run for her money, she had engaged in it from time to time. And given all the stress and tumult of the last week, god knows she could use some about now....

So why not follow through now? Why not leap off the bed, vault up the stairs and give in to the undeniable attraction and sexual tension which had been building for days—hell, since about five seconds after they met?

_Because she was afraid._

It wasn't easy for someone like her, to admit even to herself she was afraid. Unless it was of an army of massive alien ships—and that hadn't been easy to admit.

_But she was afraid._

She was afraid it wouldn't be casual at all. She was afraid if she fell into the ocean of those devastating blue eyes, she might drown. His easygoing demeanor belied an intensity simmering just beneath the surface, one constantly threatening to overwhelm her even from afar.

She was afraid if she allowed him _in_ , if she opened up, if she shed the multiple layers of emotional armor in which she wrapped herself, she risked losing the very control over herself and her life she so treasured. Control she had cultivated for years, decades.

And when he inevitably left, she was afraid she would have lost her way.

# 47 Metis Nebula

### Inner Bands

Major Donel Fergusson stood at the wide viewport of the _SFS Aegea_ and gazed out at nothing.

It wasn't actually nothing, of course. It was nebular gas and dust and particles. It glowed the color of lemonade with dashes of periwinkle.

It was a tactical nightmare. There were no distinguishing features, no points of reference and no shadowy recesses in which to hide.

In addition to the _Aegea_ , the 2nd GOI Platoon consisted of four electronic warfare and two reconnaissance vessels. All the ships were well-equipped both offensively and defensively, but the majority of the firepower was concentrated in the _Aegea_. It also sported a suite of VI-driven probes and wideband passive sensors.

And though every ship possessed the finest in multilayer dampeners, the _Aegea_ provided further protection in the form of an adaptive field. Dynamically generated and powered by a dedicated LEN reactor, it extended out in a five kilometer radius from the hull and blended all emissions within it into the surrounding cosmic radiation. 'The Bubble,' as the team referred to it, encompassed the entirety of the Platoon during normal impulse travel. In the absence of shadowy recesses in which to hide, it would have to suffice.

"Rather beautiful, wouldn't you say?"

He glanced over at Lieutenant Udine, who had joined him at the viewport. "Just looks like gas and dust to me."

The young man laughed. "My mother's a cosmologist. She'd faint on the spot if she heard you say that. I guess a bit of her perspective wore off on me."

"I didn't know we let dreamers into the special forces these days."

"Only on the sly."

"Well, I won't spill your secret, but you might want to keep it to yourself. Some of these soldiers may be inclined to break your spine if they catch you waxing poetic."

"I welcome them to try, sir."

"Ha! Good to hear." His gaze drifted around the bridge. The _Aegea_ was thinly staffed, and everyone on board doubled as a commando, sniper, EMT or half a dozen other roles along with running the frigate. "Scans?"

"Expected EM signatures continue steady from the core region of the Nebula, sir. No deviations and no additional readings."

He activated the platoon-wide comm. "Re-engage sLume drives on my mark, destination 0.4 AU out from the portal, heading 22.4° NE. This will be our final superluminal traversal before reaching the target zone. Ready state on arrival. Two...one...mark."

The gas clouds blurred and faded, though it hardly looked any different to him. As they had already been deep in the Metis interior, the journey took minutes.

The 'scenery' which snapped back into focus shone considerably brighter than before and had organized itself into pillars of thick, nearly solid cloud formations.

"Status report."

"EM signatures match those provided, sir. TLF signal originating N 297.41° W, distance 0.39 AU. No anomalies detected."

"Recon 1, Recon 2: fan and approach TLF origin, full stealth. Slow and easy, boys."

_Acknowledged._

He waited. Civilians imagined special forces missions were all gunfire and explosions—but whether in an urban incursion or deep space, eighty percent of any mission involved waiting.

Somewhere beyond the towering golden clouds sat an army of alien vessels. Once located, the team would take measurements and visuals from maximum safe distance. They would send a drone back out of the nebula to report contact. Then they would remain here, hidden in The Bubble, ready to track the alien force if or when it departed.

Unless the aliens were already gone, a far worse scenario. If they had departed the portal they could now be, quite literally, anywhere—in which case in order to track them, the team would first have to find them. Hopefully before the aliens massacred a world or did whatever it was they were planning to do.

He fully understood the size and scope of the enemy force which awaited. The power of the force he couldn't say, as the type or size of their weaponry remained unknown. But one thing he had learned over the years was every adversary had a weakness. Fortified ships were slow and unwieldy; small ones were fragile. Bombs could be disarmed, EM attacks shielded. In this case, enormous ships simply made for enormous targets—not that he intended on shooting at them. Not this mission anyway.

"Recon 1, Recon 2, report. See anything yet?"

He was met by silence. Sometimes their shielding was a little too good. "Comms, can you establish a connection with either of the recon units or their pilots?"

"Negative, Major. Recon units are not responding, nor are they showing up on scans."

Well, they wouldn't. "Keep trying. All ships, prepare to advance at 0.5 impulse. Stay inside The Bubble. I repeat, stay _inside_ The Bubble."

_Acknowledged._

The _Aegea_ and its complement of electronic warfare ships flew silently into the pillar of nebular clouds. The viewport revealed only a bright yellow haze, thick as the fog rolling through Cove Bay when he was a child visiting his grandparents on the Scottish coast. He hadn't been to Earth since the First Crux War. If galactic events continued on their current path, he may never see Cove Bay again...which seemed a shame.

A bank of screens filled with broad-spectrum sensor readings created the illusion of sight as they advanced. The screens displayed the positions of the other ships (minus the Recon units), the locations of the pulsar, its companion white dwarf and the location of the portal, as well as a plethora of scientific data beyond his expertise.

"Major, we should clear the densest clouds in another thirty seconds or so."

"All ships, slow to 0.2 impulse. Again, stay inside The Bubble."

_Acknowl—_

"Sir, I'm picking up a—"

The last thought Major Fergusson had as the blazing white pulse incinerated the _Aegea_ and the rest of the 2nd GOI Platoon was that the viewport's spectrum filters really needed to be upgraded, because this was just _too damn bright_.

# 48 Siyane

### Space, Sol System

Alex spun the cockpit chair around when she heard him come up the stairs. He wore a smile; she returned it in full. If he had taken her retreat the night before as a snub, he wasn't showing it. They had quickly fallen back into a comfortable, easy, mildly flirtatious routine this morning. She was glad for it.

It wasn't the only reason she felt rather relaxed, all things considered. While normally she retained at most a vague, mild attachment to Earth as 'home,' in the current circumstances she had been relieved to enter the Sol System. Yes, it was home, but it was also the best defended stellar system in existence. If Earth's defenses weren't enough to keep it safe, nowhere would be safe.

"Final clearance granted. Looks like your alter ego ID held up. Ready to see the homeland?"

"I've seen Earth, Alex."

"In vids."

"In full-sensory overlay."

"Still not the same." She shrugged teasingly. "You'll see."

When they exited the Northeast 1 Pacific Corridor they were above the Gulf of Alaska. She veered south-southeast and slowed the angle of descent to run slightly off the coast.

The waters began a deep cerulean, but shifted to a paler cyan as they approached land. It being late fall, the massive glaciers had already begun descending from the mountain peaks toward the shore. Two icebergs were mid-calving from a glacier and the water was sprinkled with free-floating chunks of ice.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as discreetly as she could manage. He had doubtless seen many worlds and more than a few wonders. He wouldn't be easy to impress...but it didn't hurt to try.

His gaze was riveted out the viewport, but his expression in profile appeared scrupulously neutral except for the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips—

—he sucked in a gasp, and the formerly neutral expression lit up in delight. She followed where his gaze led. A school of five orcas had broken the surface in dramatic fashion as they pushed through the ice slush and into the open waters. They danced and dove—then the largest one leapt out of the water, spinning through the air to land on its dorsal fin and send a cascade of frothing water over its companions.

She gave up watching him discreetly and grinned. "They were once nearly extinct. It took a lot of work to bring them back into the wild." She paused, simply enjoying his delight for a moment. "Seneca doesn't have oceanic wildlife?"

He shook his head. "What we call oceans are...well, not like this. Only about forty percent of Seneca is covered in water. It's a young planet, rich in metals due to the active stellar cluster, but indigenous species are limited and tend to be small. This is amazing."

Her attention drifted to the view once more. "I've always thought so."

The terrain soon gave way to tundra followed by the coastal forests of the numerous islands dotting the coastline. In minutes the northern edge of Vancouver Island came into sight; beyond it the midday sun reflected brilliantly off the first of the skyscrapers which stretched from North Vancouver to Portland. It was a beautiful fall day in the Pacific Northwest.

She swung to the east, dropped into an airlane and headed down the Strait toward the spaceport. He leaned against the half-wall and draped his arms across his chest. "Nice city you've got here."

"This?" She scoffed with feigned nonchalance. "This is nothing. The Northeastern Seaboard Metropolis stretches for over 1,000 kilometers along the east coast. But it _is_ the largest metropolitan area in settled space, so it would."

"Uh-huh. You done showing off now?"

"You'll just have to stick around and find out." _Oops, that might have come out a little differently than she had intended...._

His voice became both softer and deeper in tenor. "Okay." _Yep, sure did._

She chose to ignore it while slowing and banking toward the rooftop docking platform.

_EACV-7A492X to ORSC: Arrival sequence initiation requested Bay L-19_

_ORSC to EACV-7A492X: Arrival sequence initiated Bay L-19_

_ORSC to EACV-7A492X: Arrival clearance window 14 seconds Docking Lane 27_

She eased in and lowered the ship to the roof. The clamps grasped the ship with a gentle _clang_.

The process was all automated for the next few moments as the lift descended to the L level and rotated to her private hangar bay. The force field shimmered as they passed through it, re-solidifying once they were on the other side. A small jolt and the clamps locked into place in the hangar floor.

She shut off the engine and toed around to face him. "Shall we—" A blinking red light flashed in the corner of her eVi; she frowned but accepted the livecomm.

_"Alexis, dear, I'm afraid the Defense Minister has arrived and requested a personal briefing. We'll need to push your meeting until 1430."_

"Oh, for fucks sake, Mom."

_"Now, I—"_

"Was there something about 'urgent' and 'vital importance' and 'grave threat' and 'alien _yebanyy_ superdreadnoughts' that you didn't understand?"

_"Of course not. But I have many responsibilities which impact the safety and security of the entire Alliance, and we_ are _at war, and some—"_

"You mean you have a Very Important Job? I hadn't noticed."

_"There's no reason for you to take such a tone with me. I can't exactly keep the Defense Minister waiting."_

" _I'd_ keep the Defense Minister waiting, if it was important enough. Probably even if it wasn't."

_"Alexis."_

"Fine. 1430. Don't postpone it any further." She cut the link and pursed her lips, grimacing at the effort of not punching the wall or spewing forth a tirade of expletives. She realized Caleb was looking at her expectantly, an eyebrow raised in question. Unsurprisingly, as he would have only heard one side of the conversation.

She glared at him, though not _at_ him. "There's been a small delay. Let's get some lunch."

# 49 New Babel

### Independent Colony

"Yes, I understand we need a larger production facility. But these things take time to build. Besides, I'm not happy with the chosen location. I don't enjoy the thought of flying halfway across the planet should I decide to pay a visit."

Olivia regarded the holos above her desk. "It will be cheaper and faster to simply seize an existing facility for ourselves."

The man in the left holo frowned. "It would mean bloodshed to do so...."

" _Obviously_ it would mean bloodshed—inevitably everything always means bloodshed, it's merely a question of timing. If this war generates the level of chaos I expect it to, we need to position ourselves quickly. Hence, bloodshed now rather than bloodshed later."

Her nod foreclosed any further discussion. "It's decided. John, I need a list of the top four candidates in two hours. I'll arrange a team and the post-op additional security. That's all for now."

Not waiting for their sign off, she gestured away the holos, stood and stretched. She needed—

Her eVi indicated a priority incoming message. It was encrypted and coded, but Marcus wanted to speak, now if possible.

She scowled at nothing in particular. She didn't care to create an impression with him that she was at his beck and call, lest it set a dangerous precedent. On the other hand, events were moving rapidly and significant wealth was at stake. With a roll of her eyes she went over to the QEC room.

She had met Marcus almost fifty years earlier—though that hadn't been his name at the time—when she ran Zelones operations in South America. He had risen to the top of an upstart gang on the streets of Rio, one which had begun to impinge upon clearly demarcated Zelones interests. After a series of escalating threats did nothing to stop the encroachments, she had sent a squad of her best enforcers to wipe them out.

Marcus and his lieutenants killed the entire squad. He sent her a message to let her know of this—despite the fact he shouldn't possess her contact information. He then proceeded to come to her headquarters, kill, incapacitate or evade the entire building's security detail and her personal guards, and stroll into her office.

For one of the few times in her life, she had been genuinely surprised when he walked in. He couldn't have been more than fifteen years old, scrawny and gangly in secondhand threads. But the sharp, dynamic sea-green irises regarding her shone bright with intelligence, cunning and most of all confidence.

Her personal weaponry had not been so advanced then as it was now, but she pointed a quite lethal customized Daemon at him while she calmly inquired what she could do for him.

* * *

_"I want out."_

_"Done. You've proven your point. Walk out the door, and no one will stop you. Keep walking, and no one will come after you. You have my word."_

_"You misunderstand, Ms. Montegreu. I want a new life—a new identity and a new background, one which is gold-plated and foolproof. I want fifty thousand credits and a ticket to Miami and your vow you will never speak a word of this conversation to another soul."_

_She arched an eyebrow and rested against the front of her desk, though the gun remained in her hand. "And why ever should I agree to do such favors for you?"_

_A smile crept across his face, more chilling than any she had seen on the cruelest, most malicious killers. A shiver ran down her spine...but at least now she knew what she was negotiating with._

_"Because then I will be in your debt. And at some time in the future, I expect that will be worth a great deal."_

* * *

She had conceded to the transaction, arranged everything he had asked for and not seen a trace of him for more than thirty years. Then one day his face showed up on the news feed. It seemed he was being named the youngest ever Deputy Minister of the Justice Department for the North American Region.

She wouldn't have recognized him, so transformed was his appearance, but for the memorable sea-green eyes—and the name she had given him.

It was another fifteen years before he reached out to her and, in due course, offered her the opportunity to collect on an old debt.

He was turning around as he shimmered into existence on the QEC holo, a charming smile well in place when he faced her. "Olivia. My apologies for the short notice. Are the materials on their way to Earth yet?"

She likely looked far less charming, and didn't especially care. "Are you trying to micromanage my end of the operation, Marcus?"

"Not at all, Olivia dear. I do have a good reason for asking."

"I certainly hope so. The answer is no. The 'materials' aren't exactly the kind of items you leave sitting around on Earth for too long."

"Good. An opportunity has presented itself—to kill two birds with one stone, as the old saying goes."

"An opportunity?"

"A fortuitous coincidence. I need you to route at least a portion of the materials through a specific individual if possible. Ideally, have him be the one to deliver them to the necessary party on Earth. He's a smuggler and tech dealer on Pandora."

She glanced at the information he sent. "He doesn't work for me, not even indirectly. It'll take some doing. This is last minute, Marcus, and I don't care for surprises. Again I ask— _are_ you trying to micromanage my end of the operation?"

"Again, _no_. This is a unique opportunity which has only just arisen."

"Fine. Dare I venture to ask why?"

"The details aren't important from your perspective and would require far too long to explain—but it will help ensure the blame is placed appropriately and the war continues unabated. That is what you want, Olivia, is it not?"

_Of course it was what she wanted._ The greatest threat to her business was and had always been _order_. Crime flourished in the friction generated by conflict, and the First Crux War had carved a landscape rife with fractures. While the Alliance and Senecan governments jockeyed for leverage, independent worlds were able to grow and thrive in the spaces in between, like weeds in sidewalk cracks.

Prior to a week ago, relations between Earth and Seneca had been steadily thawing. Left unaltered, mere inertia would eventually lead to true peace. The independent worlds would be 'persuaded' to return under the umbrella of a benevolent government. The spaces in between would vanish.

It would take decades, perhaps even half a century. But she would live for another hundred fifty years; decades mattered quite a lot to her. So yes, she wanted to alter the field of play.

She gave him a miniscule nod. "Very well. I'll see what I can make happen, but time is short. No promises."

"I understand. Do what you can."

# 50 Earth

### Vancouver, EASC Headquarters

Earth Alliance Strategic Command was not nearly so pompous and decadent as Senecan propaganda painted it. Oh, it was certainly shiny and polished and self-important, yet there were no spotlights sweeping across the sky or garish colors decorating the walls or waterfalls spilling champagne. At its core it remained a military installation. The walls and floors gleamed brighter and the artwork appeared showier than what was found in Senecan government facilities; he imagined the cafeteria and break rooms stocked posher amenities as well. Still, the difference was one of degrees...and not so many degrees at that.

It wasn't as though Caleb was shocked or even particularly surprised. No childhood illusions were being shattered as they paused at the security scanner and Alex authorized for him—which he did have to stifle a chuckle at.

Technically speaking, she had just committed high treason against the Earth Alliance government. But she didn't view the world in such a way. To her, there were good people and bad people, and most of the rest weren't worth classifying. He had—he hoped—qualified for the 'good people' side of the equation, and that was the end of it. Government intrigue and games of espionage simply didn't impress her, something he found both amazing and delightful.

And while his training, rules of engagement, experience and the teachings of his superiors and his mentor all told him he should take full advantage of this opportunity and record, image and hack every item he could find or see...he didn't intend on abusing her trust. He remained observant, but observation would be the extent of his espionage. Besides, he had a mission.

"Capt—Ms—Solovy. Ma'am. The Admiral is expecting you. I'll inform Colonel Navick you've arrived."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Alex moved away from the reception desk to roll her eyes at him then grasp his hand and pull him toward a fish tank along one wall of the lobby. He instinctively sucked in a breath at the sensation of her hand in his. They had still only touched skin-to-skin a few times, the last one being the _intimate_ moment the night before. Her palm was cooler than his, but not cold. It felt natural and confident—much like her, here.

She believed she didn't belong in this environment, saw herself as an outsider. Yet she strode through the halls as though she owned the place, and so unaffectedly so that he had no doubt she didn't know it. It merely reflected her inherent self-assurance and sense of worth, which oozed out of her every pore. It was impressive to witness.

"Richard...." Her hand left his, and he immediately felt the sting of its absence. He turned to see her embrace a man in BDUs save for an officer insignia on his shoulder. The embrace was warm and friendly to a degree he'd never seen her be. Until now he hadn't realized she was to some extent still always on edge around him. Seeing her this relaxed and at ease jarred him.

The man appeared in perhaps his sixties and was handsome in an average, unassuming way. He did have kind eyes.

"This is Cameron Roark, a professional colleague. He works for Advent Materials." The lie rolled off her tongue with impressive ease, but her eyes twinkled as she gazed at him. And like that he was back on the inside. It made him far happier than it should.

The plan, as finalized by them on the way over, was for him to maintain the fictitious identity to start. The alien threat constituted an even higher priority than diffusing the war, and they agreed she needed to focus first and foremost on the Metis report. Once they had been assured the Alliance was moving ahead with a clear action plan—and her mother and Navick had become somewhat comfortable in his presence—she would ease into a discussion of the war and his true identity and purpose. And if things didn't go according to plan...he'd improvise.

He grasped the outstretched hand of Colonel Navick with the slightly awkward formality a mid-level corporate scout might exhibit toward a relatively high-ranking military official. "Good to meet you, sir."

Navick regarded him appraisingly, his gaze not harsh but definitely sharp. A tiny twitch of his mouth was the sole sign he gave of any reaction at all. _Teddy bear, my ass._

"And you, Mr. Roark. Have you known Alex long?"

"Not long, sir. We bumped into one another while scouting the Metis Nebula and, well, found more than we bargained for I'm afraid."

"So I understand." A smile sprung to life on his features as he looked at Alex. It was evident he held great affection for her, regardless of his position or profession. "It must be serious indeed for Alex to willingly grace us here at EASC by her presence."

She began to smile in return, but it faltered away. "You're right, and it is." She glanced over her shoulder. "Lieutenant? Are we allowed to enter now?"

"Um...." The man behind the desk looked down then up again. "Yes, Capt—Ms—Ma'am. And Colonel. And, uh, sir."

Caleb swallowed a laugh and wondered what in the hell he had gotten himself into as he fell in two steps behind them.

The office was well-appointed but spartan and rather sterile. The woman who rounded the desk to greet them wore a dress admiral's uniform, and other than the color of her hair bore almost no resemblance to Alex. She held herself with the stiff, rigid bearing common among high-ranking military officers. Her expression only briefly deviated from the bearing as she faced but did not approach Alex.

"I am sorry for the delay. It was unavoidable, but I know you made efforts to arrive here with due speed and I do appreciate it." Her gaze shifted to fall on him, and deep, dusky hazel eyes penetrated straight into him. He decided—though for reasons he did comprehend—Alex seriously underestimated her mother.

"Mr. Roark, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am. A pleasure to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances." He shook her hand warmly but couldn't shake the feeling she had instantly deduced everything about him, and them, and the last week.

"Okay, pleasantries done." With a word Alex somehow dominated the room. "Now about the _aliens_ preparing to invade. You've had the report for three days—what are you doing about it?"

Navick had retreated toward the rear of the office; the brief glance he managed told him the man was involved in a private interaction of some sort. It made him nervous having the man at his back, but he didn't dare show it as a simple corporate space scout. Here in this room, he was submissive and in awe and _totally_ out of his element. Yessiree.

"General Alamatto has tasked his advisors with reviewing the data to verify its credibility and plausibility and—"

"Oh you have got to be—"

"Alexis, do not start with this. You know I have absolute faith in your abilities and competence. But—"

"My _competence_? I don't—"

"Yes. That was a compliment, in case you didn't notice. I have no doubt as to the accuracy of your report, I truly don't. But mine is not the only opinion which matters."

Damn, this was fascinating. He had surmised Alex's relationship with her mother was complicated at best and knew it was informed by decades of conflict, but...damn.

He was so enthralled by the interchange that for half a second he missed the rigid tension abruptly manifesting in Navick's stance behind and a little to the left of him. When he did sense it he recognized what it meant, even if he didn't know _precisely_ what it meant.

He tried to get Alex's attention, but she was fully engaged in antagonizing her mother, who he had already discerned very clearly loved her daughter and just as clearly had no _idea_ how to talk to her. He made a mental note to try to find a way to diplomatically point it out to Alex at a more opportune time.

Navick stepped in front of him and produced a military-issue Daemon. He displayed no reaction to the gun pointed at his chest and remained calm as his wrists were grabbed from behind. "Sir, if you will let me explain, you will find I am not your enemy."

Alex finally turned around. Her jaw dropped in considerable surprise to see two MPs handcuffing him and her oldest friend holding a gun on him. Her brow furrowed, eyes searching his for guidance. He gave her a small shrug...plans rarely survived contact with the enemy, after all.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I'm sorry, Alex, but Mr. Roark is not who he represented himself to be. His name is actually Caleb Marano and he's an intelligence operative for the Senecan Federation government."

Her face screwed up at Navick. "I _know_ that. We were going to get around to telling you. Why the fuck are you handcuffing him?"

"You know? Alexis, you brought a Senecan operative into _Headquarters_? How _could_ you!"

She whipped back to her mother. "Because he's not a threat to—"

"Not a threat? How gullible must you—"

He ignored their yelling to meet Navick's stare directly. "I apologize for the subterfuge, but I am not here to harm the Alliance in any way. I beg you, give me two minutes of your time. I am—"

"I'm gullible? You're the one who fell for this stupid farce of a war. We are trying to save your asses, and everyone else's in the process—"

"You know nothing of the military situat—"

"—here to ask for your _help_."

The man's glare faltered and uncertainty flashed in his eyes, so quickly it was gone almost before it had appeared.

"Richard, get him out of my office _now_."

Navick looked to Alex's mother before returning to him. "Then you shall have to ask the judge for help. You won't find it here." He motioned to the guards. "Take him to the detention facility."

He didn't put up a fight as they manhandled him out the door. He could have fought and very possibly have won—this fight at least—but it didn't seem a good long gamble.

"Richard, what are you doing? Would you listen to me for one goddamn second? He's not—"

The door closed behind him, muting the remainder of Alex's plea. A moment later a pulse flashed into his vision.

_I'll come for you as soon as I can_

Though knowing what he did about where he presumed he was being taken, it should be impossible for her to do so, he had learned not to underestimate her.

Instead he chose to believe her.

"Why did you do that! I _asked_ him to come here with me. We want to put a stop to this stupid _khrenovuyu_ war and—"

Her mother glared at her with a cold hostility she hadn't seen in...oh, twenty years or so. "Do you have any idea what you have done? By all rights you should be arrested and tried as an accessory—as a traitor. If you were anyone else but my daughter you would be."

She refused to be intimidated; she was too fucking angry to be anyway. "I am not a traitor and neither is he. We are trying to stop you from ruining our best chance at defeating these aliens."

Richard cleared his throat. "Miriam, maybe we ought—"

Her mother's hand slammed down on her desk. "We are at war. I realize you lack a proper concept of what that means, but it most certainly means you do not bring a spy for the enemy _into my office_!"

The woman may be difficult to provoke, but it seemed Alex had located her breaking point. She searched around for a more sympathetic audience. "Richard, how did you know?"

A puzzled expression came over his face. "A copy of his internal Senecan Intelligence Division personnel file arrived in my comms a few minutes ago. Anonymous source."

"Seriously? Isn't that a little odd?" Who knew Caleb was here? His boss Volosk, perhaps? She wasn't sure how much Caleb had revealed to him. And how did anyone know to send the information to Richard? Also, _why_?

He shrugged. "Sure, but does it matter where it came from?"

"Yes it matters, because there are a lot of suspicious things going on around this 'war.'" She pinched the bridge of her nose in a futile attempt to stave off the encroaching headache. "Listen, we were planning to tell you. I wanted to get a few items regarding the aliens covered first is all." Her gaze flitted to one then the other. "I'm sorry we deceived you, but it was necessary to get in the door."

Richard gave her a small smile. Miriam did not, but her glare did soften from somewhere around absolute zero to a mere icy chill. "I believe you thought you were doing the right thing. You're not a professional. You were taken in by a handsome, manipulative man—you always did have a weakness for the roguish ones—and made a mista—"

"Don't you _dare_."

"I'm merely—"

"If you use that condescending tone with me one more time, I swear I will walk out of here right now and you will never see me again."

Cast-iron bitch mode faltered. Miriam's eyes darted to Richard, then the window. Finally she nodded almost imperceptibly. Almost.

Alex smiled thinly, her voice tight under the strain of forcing it to remain even. "Putting aside Caleb's status for a moment, let's get back to the alien army. We can at least do something about _it_ , I hope. Do I need to review my report with the Board? With someone else?"

"The science advisors to the Board are still studying the report—" her mother held up a hand to forestall the interruption "—but they should be finished by this evening. I'm certain they will sign off on its veracity, at which point it will be forwarded to the Board members. General Alamatto would like you to present your findings tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow. _Afternoon_."

"Yes. A meeting is scheduled for 1500. Its primary business will be the war of course, but you're tentatively scheduled to present as well."

"You do understand I raced here at practically reckless speed, not getting any sleep working on the damn report, all so I could get this information in front of people who mattered immediately?"

"Yes I understand it. If it were up to me, we would be meeting now. Difficult decisions lie ahead and the sooner we get started on them the better."

"Fine. Tomorrow. What can I do now? Can I talk to these 'advisors'? I imagine they're quite educated and whatnot, but forgive me if I'm skeptical of their sense. Who is—"

"There's nothing you need to do. The matter is well in hand."

She thought about Caleb, locked up overnight in...she had to find out where the MPs took him. "Then if the Board has 'science advisors' and everyone's getting the report, do I need to present at all? I made sure the summary could be understood by laymen, and hell, even bureaucrats. I'm not certain what my presence really adds."

"It transforms a sterile data file into something real. Your passion can convince them when visuals cannot—but not too much passion, please? It will be counterproductive for you to cause a scene. And don't even think about bringing up your wild ideas concerning the war or you are likely to find yourself forcibly removed from the meeting."

"I'll take it under advisement." She tried to pulse Caleb to warn him she might be a little while, but it bounced. She sent a message...which bounced. Terrific.

"Well if there's nothing for me to do, I should get out of your way. I imagine you have a nonsensical, moronic war to run or some such. Richard, walk me out?"

He nodded, though he seemed distracted. "Sure."

"Alexis?"

She looked back at her mother, an eyebrow raised in question.

"I _am_ glad you made it back safe."

_You have no idea._ She left without responding and waited for Richard on the other side of the door.

He was grimacing as the door closed behind him. "Alex, I'm sor—"

"Let's wait until we get outside." He frowned but complied. He probably hadn't been intending on joining her the entire way to her vehicle, but she indicated for him to enter the lift ahead of her. Once it was underway she stepped closer to him, her voice low.

"You're an intelligent, rational, reasonable man. I need you to hear me out with an open mind, okay?" He didn't protest, so she continued. "You know I feel no particular love for Seneca, and why. But we—I—believe they did not intend to assassinate the Trade Minister, and they absolutely did not intend to start a war. Now—" she motioned his interruption silent as the lift came to a stop at the parking lot "—we didn't order the attack on Palluda, did we?"

The flicker in his eyes was all the answer she required. "I didn't think so. Richard, this war is a _setup_. Now maybe it's because someone wants to finish what was started over two decades ago, or maybe it's...maybe it's something worse. Regardless of the reason for it, the result will be to divide and weaken all our forces, leaving us exposed and vulnerable when these aliens attack. We need to see past the trickery and work together."

They reached her skycar and he turned to her. He wore a troubled expression, one she had rarely seen from him. "Do you realize what you're asking? This isn't some little side conflict. This is the real thing. We can't simply hold hands and kiss and make up. And how would we even begin to prove any sort of trickery or deception?"

"That's what we were going to tell you. Caleb's superiors think if they could examine the details of the Trade Minister's assassination they may be able to prove it wasn't committed by the man who's been accused."

"Senecan Intelligence knows as much about the assassination as we do. If they haven't found a way to prove it by now...."

"They don't have his body. They don't have the medical details on how he died."

He rolled his eyes at the heavens and paced in a tight circle. "Alex, you can't expect us to give the Senecans Santiagar's _corpse_."

"And I don't. But your medical people performed an autopsy and analyzed the cybernetics dump, didn't they? It's possible there's information in those findings you wouldn't recognize as important but which might be a clue for them, right?"

He dragged a hand down his face. A heavy sigh escaped beneath it...then he gazed back at her, and she knew she had lost. "I'm sorry, but I _can't_. I may possess a moderate amount of power, but nothing near the power necessary to do what you're suggesting."

Dammit. "Well, can you at least release Caleb? He didn't do anything wrong."

"He gained admittance to Strategic Command Headquarters using a false name and false pretenses. He's an enemy combatant under any definition."

"He did so only at my request—my insistence."

"Which doesn't help him and hurts you. I try to assert that argument and you get arrested, no matter who your mother is."

_Dammit_. She quickly schooled her expression. If he wasn't going to help, she shouldn't reveal anything further to him. She smiled with as much warmth as she could muster and clasped his hands in hers. "Okay. Thank you for listening. What will they do with him?"

"He's in a holding cell over in the security building for now. A judge will determine his status in a few days, but I imagine he'll be deemed a prisoner of war and transferred to the military prison down in San Francisco."

"I understand. Now I'm afraid I must go home and prepare for this presentation tomorrow. Take care of yourself, will you?"

"Look, I'm not unsympathetic to your position. I wish I could help."

"I know. Just...well, it doesn't matter." She climbed in the car before she gave any more away.

She felt his gaze following her as the car rose and banked away from the lot, but her focus had already shifted inward.

She had a lot of work to do.

# 51 Earth

### Seattle

"It's a good thing you let me know you were on Earth when you did. I was half an hour from catching the transport back to Erisen."

Alex embraced Kennedy warmly then slid into the chair opposite her. The table by the window, high above downtown Seattle, revealed a sea of glittering lights against the night sky, but for once she was almost too distracted to notice. "You didn't have to come all the way up here just for a quick dinner. I wish I had more time."

Kennedy scoffed and poured a glass from the already-opened bottle of wine. "Don't be ridiculous. I hardly ever get to see you as it is." She peered at Alex and frowned. "And you look stressed, so get to drinking."

Alex took a long sip of the wine. "I've had one hell of a week."

"Do tell."

She sighed and relaxed a bit in the chair. "Let's see. I got into a space firefight, blew up the other ship, semi-crashed onto an uninhabitable planet in the middle of nowhere, rescued the pilot, held him prisoner—"

"Ooh, _him_? This sounds exciting."

"Yeah, well. So we repaired my ship and—"

"Wait, 'we'? I thought he was your prisoner?"

"He was. Then he wasn't. Then he sort of...."

Her eyes brightened in delight. "How was he?"

"Ken, I haven't slept with him."

"Why not?"

"Because _I_ don't sleep with every handsome stranger who crosses my path."

"So he's handsome?"

She bit her lower lip and took another sip to hide the extent of her grin. "Oh yes. Now would you let me finish my story? It's important."

Kennedy waved a hand in her direction and leaned back as the waiter brought their appetizer.

She waited until the waiter departed before continuing. "So we repaired my ship and went to investigate some strange readings coming from the center of the Metis Nebula—and found an alien army amassing for an invasion."

Her best friend stared at her, flat-faced. "That's not funny. You were never any good at telling jokes, you know this."

"It's not a joke."

Perhaps recognizing the deadly serious expression on Alex's face, a frown grew on her lips. "Aliens? _Truly_?"

"Truly."

"Well, are you sure they're invading? I mean, maybe they're simply dropping by to say 'hi'?"

She couldn't risk displaying an aural where others might see; she sent one of the visuals instead. "What do you think?"

Across the table, Kennedy's eyes widened precipitously in growing horror. The blood drained from her face, blanching her tanned skin pale. "My god...Alex, this...." She swallowed hard. "What are we doing about it?"

"That remains to be seen. The Prime Minister's Science Advisor is 'reviewing' the material. The EASC Board is 'reviewing' the material. I'm shouting at them tomorrow."

"Shit, if they don't take action you should leak this to the media."

"And cause a galactic panic? I'm not sure it's a great idea. The average person can't do anything against this kind of threat. The military is the only one who _can_ act."

She frowned again, more deeply than before. "You said they're in the Metis Nebula? The Senecans are much closer than we are. Shouldn't they maybe be warned? I realize apparently we're at war with them again for some reason, but...."

"It's okay. They already know."

"You managed to get this information to the Senecan government? Impressive, even for you."

"Not exactly. My, um...the guy...is Senecan..." her voice trailed off "...Intelligence."

Kennedy's mouth fell open. "Oh my god this is better than one of those intrigue romance novels."

"Ken, it's not a romance novel."

"Mmhmm. So where is he now? Is he here? Can I meet him?"

She cringed and stuffed a bite of escargot in her mouth. "He's in lockup over at EASC Security Detention...."

"You turned him _in_?"

"No, I didn't turn him in. His cover got blown."

"Damn. What are you going to do? Are you going to leave him there?"

"No—well for the moment, yes, because making sure the military gets off their asses and gets ready for these aliens is more important. But that brings me to the actual point of the story. I mean other than warning you there was an impending alien invasion no one knows about."

"Which would be?"

"Is Claire still in San Francisco?"

Kennedy sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "What makes you think I know where she is?"

Alex rolled her eyes and leveled a _look_ across the table. " _Is_ Claire still in San Francisco?"

She blew out a breath through tight lips. "She is."

"Do you know how to get in touch with her?"

"I...do. But not to use her or procure...whatever she might offer. I only, well, it never hurts to keep in touch with former acquaintances and potential future resources. Can I ask why you need to contact her?"

"Because I need a damn good spoofing routine and I don't have time to write one myself."

Kennedy's brow furrowed a moment—then realization dawned. "Oh...I see. He must really be something."

"It's not that. It's my fault he was arrested. I'm the one who asked him to come with me here, and I dragged him right into EASC Headquarters. He may work for _whatever_ they are—it sounds absurd to call the Senecans the 'enemy' when there's a real enemy looming in the wings—but he didn't do anything wrong. I can't leave him in a prison cell to rot."

"Because you're a decent person, even if you don't like to admit it. Still...he must really be something."

Alex merely smiled.

# 52 Space, North-Central Quadrant

### Border of Senecan Federation Space

The first true battle of the Second Crux War was fought, perhaps not surprisingly, in the space above Desna.

A small Alliance colony in shouting distance of Senecan Federation territory, it had no real economy beyond that necessary to sustain its population in daily life. Founded twenty-seven years earlier, it continued to exist primarily as a silent line in the sand blocking future expansion of the Federation in the direction of Earth and the First Wave worlds.

The 2nd Brigade of the Earth Alliance NE Regional Command intercepted the 3rd Wing of the Senecan Federation Southern Fleet as it traversed the officially designated buffer zone on the edge of Federation Space. Alliance NE Regional Commander Admiral Christopher Rychen deemed their position too close to Desna's system—but it was without a doubt an orchestrated encounter.

Commander Morgan Lekkas' squadron of ten Senecan fighters was the first to depart the 3rd Wing's carrier _SFS Catania_ upon being alerted of the approaching force. Their initial directives were to engage and/or deflect any and all attackers, drones and missiles while the frigates moved into combat formation and the other two fighter squadrons took up positions.

The coordinates, speed, bearing, weapons status and physical condition of each of the nine fighters under Morgan's command displayed and updated every eighty milliseconds on one of four whispers projected in her vision. Her team was down two ships lost in the Arcadia offensive. They wouldn't be replaced for another week...but the battle was now.

" _Swarm_ on my mark. Two...one... _mark_."

To the untrained eye, a _swarm_ maneuver might resemble chaos far more than any organized strategy. In actuality it represented a highly precise and efficient pattern over any grid of space. Each individual ship's movements appeared random and nearly impossible to predict; together they provided total coverage of the designated area.

The second of her whispers showed all enemy vessels within five hundred megameters. Lacking the deep integration she enjoyed with her squadron, this display only updated every 0.8 seconds.

Three tiny dots flash to life. "Drone launch, N 38.04°z-10.15 E. Flight 3 engage."

_Engaged._

Four seconds later— _Down. Down._ A pause. _Down._

She could see the small explosions on the whisper of course, but it built pride and confidence for pilots to announce their successes, and she encouraged it.

Two larger dots appeared. Alliance frigates; they would represent the forward flank.

A sea of red pinpoints fanned out from the frigates. "Sixteen missiles away. Engage."

Faster than she was capable of speaking, she assigned every fighter a missile based on proximity and trajectory. That left six free missiles—but first things first.

The _swarm_ dissolved into precise, directed movements. Her primary attention diverted to her own missile tracking across the translucent screen overlaying her viewport. She banked in a controlled slide to its right until its entire length was centered in the reticle.

Lock. Fire.

"Down."

Five missiles had now been destroyed. She moved to the closest free one.

Track. Drop. Invert. Lock. Fire.

"Down."

Epsilon took out a second missile. Twelve down—and four were through their net.

"Command, four missiles free."

_Acknowledged._

The third whisper displayed strategically relevant information from the other two squadron leaders, the captains of the ten frigates (also down two after Arcadia) and the commander of the _Catania_ , Commodore Pachis.

_2nd squadron (defense) engaging._

Seven seconds later— _All missiles destroyed._

The attackers likely didn't expect any of the missiles to survive to impact. It was merely an opening volley, designed to occupy and distract. And to some extent, it worked. Three stealth electronic jammer craft had snuck through the outer defensive line and set about scrambling several of the Senecan vessels' targeting ware.

_Combat formation active. Begin primary engagement._

" _Harass_ on my mark. Two...one... _mark_."

It was the job of the 1st squadron to engage the frontal force of Alliance fighters and of the 2nd squadron to fly defensive patrol around the carrier and rear frigates. It was the job of Lekkas' squadron to create chaos behind the lines and on the edges, to chase outliers and take advantage of opportunities as the battle spread out across megameters of space.

Though she continued to monitor the status of each of the ships under her command, to a large extent the individual pilots now gained freedom of movement and decision, subject to guidance from the Flight primaries.

She also served as Primary of Flight 1. "Our target is Alliance frigate bearing N 24.51°z18.06 E. Weapons and engines."

Slipping behind enemy lines was not an easy matter. They possessed robust dampener fields, but the fields interfered with targeting and constituted a hindrance while firing. Therefore, her preferred tactic was to activate the field and swing wide out and low in order to pass through the outer Alliance defenses, deactivate the field and use her ship's agility to avoid destruction while making several quick hits, then vanish again.

Her speed, trajectory and ship vitals shone brightly in the fourth whisper. For a moment, beyond it there existed only the blackness of space, lit by the stars outside her cockpit and the faint glow of a sun behind her, as she dropped in near free-fall.

The agility and maneuverability Commander Lekkas' squadron would use to their benefit amidst the Alliance fleet was far less of an advantage in head-to-head space combat. With no obstacles to avoid or atmosphere to fight against, the lightweight construction of Senecan fighters was of marginal value against the tougher, hardier Alliance fighters. Even rapid maneuverability couldn't escape plasma weapons which once locked were able to track movement up to 0.6 light speed. The 1st squadron fought hard but quickly suffered heavy losses on the front lines.

The fire of massive plasma cannons on both sides lit the field of battle, at times meeting each other mid-arc in tremendous explosions of light. Though better protected than the fighters, Senecan frigates were still more lightweight and maneuverable than their Alliance counterparts. But the Alliance ships were workhorses and exceedingly difficult to destroy.

Worse, the Alliance had come prepared. Having taken due note of the size of the detachment sent to Arcadia, Admiral Rychen's forces had arrived in strength. In the time it took Senecan vessels to destroy one Alliance frigate, two Senecan ones were disabled or destroyed—and the Alliance enjoyed more to begin with.

For this battle, in this space and under these circumstances, the outcome was inevitable almost before it had begun.

Lekkas did more than most to try to even the odds. Skimming so close beneath the hull of a frigate she was able to clearly see the shimmer of its plasma shield, she accelerated past the stern weapons assembly and pivoted 180°.

Target. Lock. Fire.

The assembly splintered apart in a burst of flame and free plasma. She was already gone, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. The impulse engine was her next target.

A frigate's impulse engine was too sturdily built to be easily destroyed by small pulse laser weapons—but with concentrated fire it could be disabled. She met her flight members beneath the rear of the ship for a brief, directed, coordinated assault. They had 3.4 seconds before Alliance reserve fighters arrived to annihilate them. In 3.3 seconds the glow of the impulse engine shifted from pale blue to fiery orange in an unstoppable chain reaction which would soon result in a critical overload—and they vanished.

Lekkas and her team disabled the weapons and partially or wholly disabled the engines of an additional three frigates as well as four electronic warfare vessels before Commodore Pachis signaled the retreat. While they likely saved a number of soldiers' lives through their actions, they ultimately didn't change the outcome of the battle.

The 3rd Wing of the Senecan Federation Southern Fleet arrived with ten frigates and left with three. Sixteen of twenty-six

fighters survived, but the relatively high survival ratio was due solely to the fact Commander Morgan Lekkas' squadron did not lose a single ship.

# 53 Earth

### San Francisco

A heavy, damp fog blanketed the streets as far as the eye could see. Which, given it was 0100 and the previously mentioned fog, wasn't particularly far.

The street lights gave the fog a washed-out champagne glow and created an aura of eerie otherworldliness. This time of year the fog shrouded the Outer Sunset District and Ocean Beach day and night, seeing only the occasional brief clearing after a storm front passed through.

Alex felt the moisture condensing on the fine hairs of her arms. The night air was cold as hell, but she had needed to dress the part. A deep crimson camisole woven with gossamer optic fibers draped to her navel; black leather pants clung low on her hips as she hurried down Taraval. It was even later now, and she still had a _lot_ to do.

The club was almost to the beach, and she could hear the surf crashing against the shore. It brought back memories...memories she did not have time to entertain. She pushed them aside and located the unmarked door beneath one of the refabbed Victorian row houses.

The music assaulted her ears as she descended the stairs. Pure synth—no beat and no lyrics, merely a constant wave of complex tonals designed to soothe the mind and body into a state of open relaxation. It was warmer inside at least, though she suspected it would soon feel too humid as a result.

The warehouse space appeared pitch black save for vague shadows of moving bodies and the neon painted sensory address floating near the ceiling. With a sigh she accessed it. She'd never find her way in the dark.

The overlay shimmered to life. Stars materialized beneath her feet and the cool glow of a pale green nebula in the space around her. A triple star system spun in the air above her, comets dancing merrily amongst it in concentric orbits.

She wouldn't spoil everyone's fun, but even a full-sensory overlay didn't come close to matching the real thing.

Men and women danced in the center of the room in slow, languorous, sensual movements to the synth music or occasionally to their own beat. Others slumped against the wall, lost in head trips. Small groups formed circles, each leaning on the other to remain standing while they engaged in group _illusoires_ set in what was doubtless fantastical worlds. A few couples pawed at each other in the shadowed corners. A few did more.

_Alex. The prodigal daughter returns. You can find me on the balcony._

Her eyes scanned the room until she made out the outline of an overhang high above the rear section of the dance floor. She wound her way through the crowd, most of whom didn't notice her. At the sensation of a hand running along the small of her back and dipping into her pants, however, she did pause to casually knee a strapping young man in the balls then keep moving.

The balcony was nearly as crowded as the floor below—but Claire Zabroi was difficult to miss.

Not because of the cropped, jet black spiked hair or the skintight white leather pants and tunic. No, Claire was difficult to miss primarily because of the full-body network of saffron hued glyphs. They didn't swirl or entwine softly like most glyphs did to double as tattoo art. Instead they mimicked the intricate patterns of a circuit board, all straight lines and hard angles. They wound up her neck to run along her jaw and disappear behind her ears, leaving her face the sole visible part of her body untattooed.

She had a woman on one arm and a drink in the other hand, but upon spotting Alex a smile pulled at her lips. She nudged the woman off and motioned to a table in the corner. Alex grabbed a cocktail off a waiter's tray on the way over.

Claire greeted her with a smooth hug. "Alex, babe. It's been far too long. However do you entertain yourself these days?"

"Oh, I manage." She slid into the chair opposite her old...acquaintance. Claire was from a very different time in her life. A time after university, when freed of the rigors of study and serving an externship which was interesting enough but hardly filled the hours, she and Kennedy had found themselves in The City by the Bay while young and single, with money, freedom and few responsibilities.

They had soon met Ethan, then Drake and Alice, and through Alice, Claire. Claire was a hedonist, adrenaline junkie and casual chimeral dealer. But most of all, Claire was a hacker—and not your average hacker.

Though not many people knew it—i.e., she had not thus far been caught—she was responsible for the hacking of TransBank and 'redistribution' of more than six billion credits to seventeen thousand random individuals. She was also behind the hacking and leaking of government documents which brought down the North American Eastern District Governor in 2309, as well as half a dozen less infamous exploits.

Alex may or may not have assisted in any small or large way in all, some or none of those exploits. It was, as she had noted, a different time in her life.

"So what brings you back into the underworld? Your message said it was urgent." Claire grinned; it was a harsh, predatory look on her. "Or are you jonesing? I can drop you some Surf if you want—on the house, for old times' sake."

Alex gave a wry chuckle. "No thanks, I don't indulge anymore. Not often anyway...."

* * *

_Ethan's penthouse on Rue de Rivoli occupied the entire top floor of the condo tower. The elevator led to a sterile tile and marble foyer and a single door. There was no visible security, no handlers, no lackeys or groupies. She assumed his address must be kept extremely confidential. But though she had never been to this residence, she had always known where to find him._

_She pressed the bell and leaned nonchalantly on the wall to wait. Only then did it occur to her the door might be answered by...well, virtually anyone. She hadn't messaged ahead. She hadn't planned or thought any of this through. She was simply_ here _._

_But it wasn't anyone who answered. It was him._

_He would have accessed a cam of the foyer of course and opened the door already knowing who awaited. He rested on the doorframe and mimicked her pose. His coffee-colored hair was cut shorter than when she had seen him last and barely grazed his shoulders. Chocolate irises sparkled with mischief; that had_ not _changed._

_"Alex, love. My birthday isn't until next month, yet here you are."_

_"Yet here I am." She realized she was biting her lower lip when one of his eyebrows arched and the sparkle in his eyes flared. She didn't stop._

_"To what do I owe this smashing surprise?"_

_Her expression darkened as she stared at him and tried to find a way to respond glibly. 'My lover of two years walked out on me and I don't want to talk about it, think about it or even remember it, I just want to_ feel _' somehow didn't seem a suitable answer, but her brain was not currently operating with enough functionality to craft a lie._

_He must have read her mood, because he smiled and crossed the foyer to grasp her hands in his. "Never mind. What matters is you're here." He began backing up, drawing her along with him toward the door and into the penthouse._

_She grinned in what she hoped resembled playful seductiveness. "Do you have plans for the weekend?"_

_Still grasping her hands, he wound her arms around his waist as the door closed behind them. "I do now...." His gaze caressed her face, down her neck to the hollow of her throat, then returned to her eyes. "Miss Solovy, I do believe you're high."_

_Yes, she most certainly was. "Is that a problem?"_

_"Bien au contraire, ma chérie."_

_He was hardly French, but she supposed 'when in Paris'...and true to the stereotype, the words sent a delightful shiver up her spine._

_He maneuvered her so her back pressed into the wall and closed the remaining space until his lips hovered a breath above hers. "Stay that way. Stay with me. For the weekend, for however long you have."_

_She responded by spinning him around, pinning him against the wall and crushing her mouth against his._

* * *

Alex forcefully blinked away the memory...damn but it had been a hell of a way to get over a broken heart.

Her voice lowered beneath the din of the crowd. "I need a spoofing routine—military grade, the best you have. Cost is not a concern, but I need it now."

Claire sipped on her drink. "If it were anyone else I'd be tempted to take advantage of your obvious desperation and charge you double for half-assed ware. But once upon a time you had my back, and you never let me down. Also, you know several of my secrets."

She set the glass on the table and eyed Alex a moment. "I do have something which meets your requirements. One of a kind and thus far solely for me. It's not on the market."

"It will be used only once, after which I will wipe it. My word."

Claire's gaze drifted up and across the balcony before settling again on Alex. "I keep it in here—" she tapped her temple with a razor square fingernail, causing a ripple along the glyphs on her forearm "—too valuable to store anywhere else. I can burn you a copy. Twenty-one thousand. And it's worth twice the price."

Alex smacked her lips and took a sip of her drink. It represented a good deal of money, but nothing she couldn't pay. She nodded. "Do it."

"You got it." She reached into a pocket of the utility belt slung over her hips and removed a slim burner interface. She reached behind her head, rested the tiny oval at the nape of her neck and secured the harness above her ears. "Watch my drink for me?" Her eyes glazed over.

Alex scanned the area with careful nonchalance while she waited. The downstairs may be for mindless trips, partying and hookups, but upstairs serious business was being conducted.

The balcony was much larger than it first appeared and sported a number of couches, tables and private alcoves. Certainly, much in the way of alcohol and recreational chimerals were being consumed—but hard tech was also trading hands. Judging from the hints of trunk lines winding along the walls, she expected active hacks were presently ongoing as well—likely some for sport, others for friendly competition, others for thousands of credits...and still others for real stakes.

She noted in her peripheral vision when Claire's vision sharpened. The woman removed the interface from her neck, ejected a tiny reflective crystal disk and pocketed the equipment. Beneath the table she extended her hand, palm open. Alex did the same, placing her hand over Claire's and holding it there as she transferred the funds. She took the disk and slipped it in the tiny pocket in the front of her pants.

"Thank you, Claire. I do appreciate this."

Claire laughed and sank back in the chair. "Fair business trade. You just bought me some fancy new hardware for my lair. Good luck with whatever adventure you're diving into. I'm glad to know you're still in the game."

She started to protest that she wasn't, not really...instead she merely smiled. "Thanks."

"Sure you don't want to stick around awhile? Sandi, Markos and I were thinking of flying the bridge a little later. I seem to remember you enjoy it?"

Alex raised an eyebrow. " _I_ seem to remember being the one who taught you how to do it in the first place." Diving off the top of the Golden Gate Bridge using nothing but a tensile double-fiber strand when she was sixteen had gotten her arrested; by twenty-four she had gotten far smarter about it.

"That's right...."

She chuckled lightly and stood. "As tempting as it is, I'm afraid I must go. Urgent doings and all." She leaned over and gave Claire a quick one-armed hug. "Stay frosty. Don't get caught."

"Never."

She took the stairs two at a time and hurried through the crowd to the exit. The damp chill outside was, for the briefest moment, a welcome change from the stifling underground atmosphere. Then it was simply cold and wet.

She rubbed her hands over her arms and hurried up the hill toward the levtram station. She could catch half an hour of sleep on the transport to Seattle. Maybe an hour nap at the loft, but no more. She'd need the rest of the intervening hours to get ready—for the Board meeting, followed by a small jailbreak.

# 54 Earth

### Vancouver, EASC Headquarters

Alex finished explaining what the data in the report meant in terms so simple even a non-cyberized five year old could understand it, then gazed down the horrifically gaudy conference table at the collected leadership of Earth Alliance Strategic Command expectantly.

The meeting had started late, on account of she had no idea what. Then she had been kept waiting for an hour while they discussed classified war concerns. Her patience hung by a brittle thread by the time she had finally been shown in...but seeing as the matter was of the utmost importance she refrained from showing it.

Now that it was over, she thought on balance she hadn't done badly at all. Her mother had given her a tiny nod of approval at the end, which from her was high praise indeed.

General Alamatto pretended to study the visuals still displayed above the table—well it was possible he was legitimately studying them, but unlikely—while she fielded nitpicky questions from the others.

No, she didn't believe the ships in the visuals represented the entire force. No, she didn't have any idea how many more there might be. No, she didn't know where the portal originated. No, she didn't possess hard evidence the aliens were using the terahertz signal as a form of communication; that's why she had called it 'speculation.' No, she didn't see their weapons in action, for shockingly she had not taunted the armada into shooting at her.

Perhaps tired of waiting for Alamatto to take the lead, one of the Regional Commanders on holo—the one with the fiery orange hair, O'Connell?—leaned forward. The stance on his stout frame was so assertive he appeared as if he were about to bull rush the table. "Based on Metis' location, these 'aliens' will traverse Federation space long before reaching our territory. We can use this to our advantage. A Seneca under attack from two fronts will be far weaker and easier to defeat."

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me?"

O'Connell made a laughable attempt to virtually stare her down. "I will not be talked to in such a manner. I am—"

Her mother _was_ staring her down, but she ignored her to meet O'Connell's gaze icily. "Of course. Pardon my manners. Are you fucking kidding me, _sir_?"

The man practically came out of his chair and through the holo, but Alamatto cleared his throat loudly over O'Connell's protestations.

"Ms. Solovy, please. Surely you understand—the goal of war is to defeat the enemy. The General may have put the matter somewhat indelicately, but he raises a valid consideration. If these aliens attack the Federation, it will almost certainly bring a more rapid conclusion to the war and prevent the loss of a great many Alliance soldiers' and citizens' lives."

"Almost certainly—until they get here."

"We will be on our guard, and study them when they attack Senecan worlds—if they attack Senecan worlds. By the time they arrive here we can be ready for them."

"You'll _study_ them while they slaughter millions—billions—of innocent people?" She gestured at the images hovering above the conference table. "Do you _see_ the size of those ships? They can destroy entire colonies with those monstrosities!"

Alamatto raised an over-trimmed eyebrow. "I must admit I am surprised at your reaction, Ms. Solovy. I would expect you to harbor no love for Seneca, given what happened to your father."

"Do not bring my father into this."

He withered under the force of her glare, shrinking into his chair. "I'm merely saying—"

She laughed darkly. "You know, I don't particularly care for war personally—it did, as you so _delicately_ noted, kill my father—but for the most part I don't give a shit what you do in your free time. But this...these aliens aren't going to distinguish between Alliance, Senecan and Independent. Why should they care? I'm pretty sure we all look the same from space—and even up close. Admirals, Generals, whoever else is here, you ignore this threat and you are signing all of our death warrants."

Alamatto seemed to locate a piece of his backbone and straightened up. "We'll be the judge of that. Thank you, Ms. Solovy, for bringing the matter to our attention. We can take it from here."

"Right." She stood, the picture of calm, and gave the table a final once-over. "Thank you all for the privilege of wasting my time." She didn't wait for the offended expressions and exclamations before walking out.

She was actually surprised when her mother caught up to her at the lift; she'd have thought it too unseemly for her to excuse herself from the meeting so quickly.

"Alexis, wait. You need to understand—"

She whipped around and came _so_ close to shoving a pointed finger in her mother's face. " _No_. I understand fine. You work with a bunch of power-drunk, narcissistic _pizdy_ with the collective intelligence of one of your teacups."

"Alexis!"

"What? Dad would be disgusted by this. Why aren't you?"

"Your father died fighting Seneca—"

"My father died serving his government and his superior officers—who I'm starting to think were probably no better than those Neanderthals in there. He died fighting a stupid, pointless war which never should have been fought. Don't you dare brandish his death as a totem to justify sanctioning the slaughter of billions."

"That is not fair. I would never debase his memory in such a way." Miriam blinked and took a deep breath. "I fear your petulant little temper-tantrum did far more to hurt rather than help your cause—but it may surprise you to learn I happen to agree with you, at least as to the seriousness of the threat. I will do everything within my power to draw continued attention to it and advise—"

Alex snorted in derision. "You want to do something, Mom? Then goddamn _do_ something."

She pivoted and hopped onto the lift as it descended past the floor. After tamping down the urge to hit the closest available hard surface, she checked the time.

_Excellent_. The Board had wasted her afternoon and now she had precious few hours to prepare.

Thirty hours later, Caleb still chose to believe her...but the possibility did occur to him that she might not be able to pull it off.

Electronic shielding blocked all communications within the facility. He couldn't send or receive messages or pulses, much less livecomms. The sense of isolation was far greater than it had been in Metis. There diversions had abounded, so to speak. One diversion in particular. Here though....

The trip over had been brief; he had every reason to think he was still on EASC grounds. He sat in a 5x4 cell, bounded on three sides by walls thick with sound-proofing materials. The fourth wall consisted of translucent glass and a small door, allowing any who walked by to see inside while preventing him from seeing out. Not that they needed to stand on the other side of the glass to observe him, for every corner of the ceiling held a surveillance cam.

The cell contained a cot—far less comfortable than the one on Alex's ship—a toilet, a tiny sink and nothing else. Near as he'd determined when they'd brought him in, he was about a third of the way down a long hall of identical cells. He presumed some of the other cells held prisoners, but thanks to the sound-absorbing walls he heard no rumblings in the vicinity.

Other than food delivery through a slot in the glass wall, he hadn't had contact with another person since being dumped unceremoniously in the cell the previous afternoon. No interrogation—pharmaceutically or cybernetically aided or otherwise—and no inquiries as to his mission or intentions. Given they knew his identity, they presumably knew when he had arrived on Earth and assumed whatever his mission was, he'd found little opportunity to pursue it.

The one thing he couldn't figure was how in the bloody hell they knew who he was.

He'd had an ID busted twice in seventeen years, and in neither instance had the culprits uncovered his true identity, just that he'd used a false one. And the Roark ID was strong; it included fingerprint and iris overlays courtesy of his cybernetics as well as a well-documented and verifiable personal history, complete with face scan. Granted, security measures would be heightened given the war, but he'd seen no hint of a DNA scan on entry to the premises. And he'd made a point not to touch any surfaces once they were inside.

The only possibility he was able to come up with was the ID had been flagged as both false and attached to him by Alliance Intelligence. He hadn't used it in...two years? Conceivably at some point over the period it had been compromised. Unlikely, but conceivable.

He assumed they intended to eventually do something with him. If he were to guess, they would transfer him to wherever they would be keeping the inevitable prisoners of war. He felt certain the Alliance had moved beyond 20th century internment camps to a more refined form of confinement. Nonetheless, he hoped like hell Alex got here before that happened.

As his thoughts drifted back to her yet again, he thudded the back of his head slowly, deliberately against the wall. He hated being dependent on someone else. For his life, safety, finances, freedom—but most of all, for his happiness.

It both pleasantly surprised and unpleasantly disturbed him to find he rather missed her. Part of it was the isolation, the real and virtual silence. But part of it was he genuinely missed her. He'd known her for all of eight, nine days now? And for at least half of the hours of those days she had alternately annoyed, exasperated and infuriated him. The other half, though....

Already he couldn't imagine _not_ knowing her.

But he wasn't dependent on her. Not technically. If need be he could break himself out of here. Escaping wouldn't be easy—he'd probably be required to hurt or even kill at least several people who didn't deserve it, which he really tried to avoid doing whenever possible. But if it came down to them or rotting in a cell...it may be an unpleasant choice but it wasn't a difficult one.

He understood quite well how military security facilities operated. Hell, he had even broken _into_ one a few years back. He chuckled a little to himself...that was a good time. He'd broken in to break out an insurgent leader on Andromeda so the man would then lead him to the ringleader of a group disrupting commercial shipments out of Elathan. Of course everything had gone sideways five minutes in, as it always seemed to. But it had worked out in the end.

He'd prefer a few upstart insurgents disrupting shipping routes about now. Certainly beat a war with the Alliance—for reasons he continued to be highly suspicious of—being held captive in a secure facility at the literal heart of the enemy's nerve center, and most of all facing the prospect of staggeringly powerful aliens gathering to wreak destruction upon them all.

Well, at least he also had the benefit of a brilliant, resourceful, gorgeous, clever, determined woman on his side. He definitely hadn't had that before.

No, he reassured himself, he wasn't dependent on her. _Technically_. But he was playing a long bet. And even now, thirty-plus hours into his captivity, he remained fairly confident in the rightness of his bet.

So he chose to continue believing her.

# 55 Pandora

### Independent Colony

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beeeeeeep_

_Beee—_

"For fuck's sake...." Noah groaned and rolled over, squinting one eye open. It wasn't even 0700 yet. He set nanocyanobots working to cleanse his bloodstream of the alcohol and ease the hangover, then stumbled out of the bed and to the kitchen for some water.

Only after he had gulped down half a glass did he run a hand through unkempt hair and activate the holocomm. "What you need, Brian?"

"Boss has got a job for you."

He leaned against the counter and tried to blink away the grogginess. It had been a late night...course, it usually was. "I don't have a boss."

"My boss. Sorry. Tight timetable, but it's a simple fly and drop, and the credits are sweet."

He grimaced. Brian worked for Nguyen, who worked for Kigin, who, though it wasn't common knowledge, worked for the Zelones cartel. He made a point to stay clear of the cartels whenever possible; he knew more than one colleague who had found themselves beholden to a cartel for not merely their livelihood, but their life, before they realized what had happened.

On the other hand, it was a rather tenuous connection. "What's the job?"

"Package drop to Earth, Vancouver. Needs to be there by Saturday night Galactic."

"That's fast. Where's the package?"

"Locker at the spaceport. You say yes and I've got a code for you."

"Ah, hell, Brian. I'm trying to get away from the smuggling gigs. Too much risk for too little reward."

"Well this reward is good."

He did a double-take at the number Brian sent. The reward _was_ good. Damn good. He blew out a breath and took another swig of water. His schedule looked light for the next few days...he could squeeze it in.

"Okay. Just this once though. Don't let Nguyen start thinking I work for him."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Sending the code now. Oh and one last thing—boss said not to inspect the package."

"Right...."

Noah strolled through the spaceport with practiced nonchalance. The usual excess of tourists rich in credits and poor in sense meandered around in search of direction. Merchants and holo-babes hocked all manner of maps, temporary cyber-enhancements, pharmaceuticals—mostly amps and boosters that would extend the party—and recreational chimerals.

He rounded the corner and stepped into the long storage room. It was used primarily by those visitors who didn't even intend on acquiring a hotel room for their stay, and for transactions such as this one. So voluminous was the selection of illegal goods in here, anywhere other than Pandora it would get raided by the cops every other day.

The locker in question was located on the second row about halfway down. He pressed his fingertips to the panel and input the code. Inside he found a large pack; it was heavier than he had been expecting, but not so heavy he couldn't carry it.

He hefted the pack over his shoulder and headed for the restrooms. Once ensconced in a stall, he set it on the floor and unlatched it.

Inside lay at least forty kilos of HHNC blocks.

_Shit._ He dropped his elbows to his knees and groaned into his hands. He knew the job was paying too well. Reason number forty-seven why he was trying to get away from smuggling gigs? Every so often someone wanted you to smuggle enough damn explosives to bring down a moderate-size skyscraper.

With a heavy sigh he closed the pack up and carried it back to the locker. He stuffed the pack inside, wiped his prints off the door and walked out.

He waited until he was on the street and a fair distance from the spaceport before livecomming Brian.

It took a solid twenty seconds for the response to come. _"Yo, dude. Problem?"_

"Deal's off. Get somebody else to do your dirty work. And do me a favor? Don't come to me with any more jobs for a while."

_"What the hell, man?"_

"The package is fucking _explosives_. You know I don't traffic in explosives. Nothing comes of them but trouble."

_"You weren't supposed to look in the package, man! I told you that!"_

"You seriously think I'm going to smuggle a payload through Earth customs in the middle of a damn war without knowing what it is? How stupid do you think I am?"

_"Shit, man. Boss is not going to be happy."_

"Good thing he's not my boss, then. Adios."

He killed the connection and sank against the façade of whatever building bordered the sidewalk. What the crap was someone planning to do with that much HHNC?

_Presumably blow something up, dumbass._

For the briefest second he actually considered notifying the authorities...but it would be asking for the kind of trouble he so did not need.

Not your problem. Leave it behind. Move on.

He headed for the nearest pub. Lunch was still hours away, but he found he wanted a drink something fierce.

# 56 Earth

### Vancouver, EASC Headquarters Detention Facility

Caleb sat on the edge of a plain cot, legs swinging leisurely in the air, when the door slid open and she stepped in. At the sight of her his face lit up, his mouth curling up in a quite pleased smirk that sent her stomach straight into flip-flops.

She spun and placed her palm on the panel in the wall by the door; it glowed and pulsed as she fed it new instructions. "I know, it's been a day and a half. Sorry, but I had a lot to do—you have _no_ idea—and they've got a field on the building blocking all comms, so I wasn't able to get a message to you."

She felt him approaching and held up a finger. "One sec." The panel shifted to green, and she turned around. "Okay, we—"

—his lips were pressed against hers before she could blink. His left hand was caressing the curve of her neck, while the right grasped her waist in a firm hold. Of their own volition her lips—hell, her entire body—responded enthusiastically. For three-point-two seconds she found herself overwhelmed by visceral sensation and heated desire, while her brain desperately tried to catch up. _Dear god he tasted good. Felt good. Perfect, even. Right._

She pulled back abruptly, a hand pressing on his chest for added effect. Her eyes were wide in semi-mock indignation. " _What_ was that?"

He shrugged, grinning impishly with the rise of his shoulders. "A hello...?"

She did her best to glare at him in annoyance, though she was fairly certain her eyes were telling a different story. She was absolutely certain her pulse was, but didn't think he could _see_ it.

"Uh-huh. Hold out your left wrist." He complied, and her thumb hovered above his pulse point to deactivate the prisoner code holo encircling it. "That how they say 'hello' on Seneca?"

"Nope."

She failed to fully stifle the chuckle which bubbled forth as she glanced up at him with a quick roll of her eyes. Then she produced a dark gray cap out of her pack and thrust it toward him. "Put this on. Shouldn't matter, but just in case."

He accepted it without question. "It almost matches yours."

"What can I say, fashion isn't my specialty." She wore a burgundy cap over unbound hair, the better to mask facial features in a stray cam capture. She also wore a black dress overcoat, because it was even colder here than it had been in San Francisco and here she was going to wear a damn coat.

He didn't have a coat of course. He still wore the same clothes, the only clothes, he had worn for as long as she had known him. At least his shirt had long sleeves.

He slipped the cap on over his once again wild shock of curls. "What's the plan?"

"We walk out. Come on, let's go."

"We simply walk out."

"Yup."

He exhaled and smiled gamely. "Okay."

It pleased her more than it should to see he trusted her and didn't argue. She reached into her pack again and removed a small rectangular object. She handed it to him. "Stunner. Just in case. Now let's _go_."

He nodded and followed her out the door and down the hallway. Her voice was low, almost under her breath. "All the surveillance monitors are on a loop for the next hour. I fed in the previous hour's data, and they think they're recording new images. There won't be a record of me arriving or us leaving."

"You hacked Strategic Command military security." It came out not so much a question as a statement of incredulity.

She shrugged as they took a hallway to the right. "I did."

"Seriously."

" _Yes_." She groaned in feigned annoyance. "I do have a little inside information on the subject. And it still wasn't exactly easy, if it matters. Did you expect me to show up with a commando squad and blood from the guards decorating my face?"

"I...I honestly had no idea how you might accomplish it—only that you would." He reached over and squeezed her hand, sending an ardent flutter up her spine. "What happens when they find me absent?"

"You were released from custody at 0100 on the authority of Staff Commander Willoughby. Until someone shows up to interrogate you—tomorrow at the earliest, maybe never—the people who care won't even know you're gone."

"Nice. And this Willoughby character?"

"He's a complete asshole. Don't worry about—" He pressed her into the wall, into the shadows, and placed a finger to her lips. _Jesus he smelled nice. How could he possibly smell so nice after not having showered for almost two days?_ She was having some small difficulty breathing and it wasn't because he was pressed against her too tightly. His eyes flickered in a way which suggested he was enjoying the whisper of her breath along his finger, though she couldn't be sure.

Three seconds later a guard strode down the crossway. He counted down with his fingers; when the last one dropped they stepped out and hurried across.

It was the last hallway. She touched the already-hacked exit panel to open the door and they were quickly on the lift to the parking level.

He rolled his shoulders and sucked in a deep breath of the chill night air. "So...what's the plan? I realize I keep asking. I'm afraid I'm kind of used to being the one in charge of these sorts of capers."

The lift settled to the floor and they headed for her skycar. "We're going to run by my loft. I need to pick up a few things I wasn't able to bring with me earlier, and we've got a few hours. I want to leave during morning shift at the spaceport. I'm familiar with everyone on it and they won't ask any questions. We can figure out where to go once we're off-planet."

An odd expression came across his face as he climbed into the passenger seat. She glanced over curiously. "What?"

"I don't know. I guess I thought you might put me on a transport and wave goodbye. Which would be totally understandable and I wouldn't hold it against you."

_He had tasted like cinnamon. Again, how was that even_ possible _?_ "Look, I'm not saying I won't put you on a transport on some independent world and wave goodbye, but I'll make sure you get out of Alliance space safely. It's the least I can do after I got you arrested and imprisoned and everything."

"Thank you." He sounded, well, genuinely thankful. They lifted off, and she was arcing southward when he pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan.

"Something wrong?"

"New messages pouring in. Apparently the Alliance blew up all our surveillance satellites, and now everyone is running in circles flailing their arms about wailing in despair. Also, so far no word on the aliens from the team they sent to Metis."

"At least there hasn't been any sign of an attack yet."

"Actually, the fact there hasn't been an attack worries me. It means there were probably a hell of a lot more ships still to come through that portal."

Her eyes cut over to him. "Well, fuck."

"Yeah." He rubbed at his jaw. "So what did the Board say?"

"They said they will 'monitor the situation.'" Her mouth worked in agitation; she didn't even bother to hide it.

"And?"

"And nothing. They acknowledged the potential threat but said it was too tenuous to act on for the time being." Her hand slammed on the dash in a burst of frustration. "Idiot mental degenerates. They sit in their soundproof rooms and issue tone-deaf edicts and call themselves controlling the world, and one day they ask you to die for them, and then they keep right on doing what they were doing...."

Her gaze rose to the translucent roof. The moon was enormous tonight, a luminous white glow drowning out the stars. "I just wanted to be left alone to live my life. I don't need this shit."

In her peripheral vision she saw him smile softly. "We don't get to choose what happens to us—but we always get to choose how we react to it."

_Also honey. The lingering memory of sugar on the tongue. Damn._ "You can stop being insightful anytime you like, you know."

"What, did I surprise you?"

"You're always surprising me."

A soft breath fell from his lips. She tried to get a look at him out of the corner of her eye. He appeared...speechless. _Huh._

The seconds ticked by as they flew in silence above the Strait toward downtown. Distracted by competing thoughts, it took her a moment to notice he was regarding her rather sharply. "Yes?"

"What else did the Board say?"

She frowned and looked away. "They said.... _Fine._ They said the aliens would go through Senecan space first, and the distraction would help the war effort."

"And you weren't going to tell me?"

"Why tell you? There's nothing you can do about it, and it's not as though they can helpfully point the aliens in Seneca's direction or anything. It's impotent political blustering."

"I get you have no particular love for my home or its citizens, but surely you don't want them to be wiped out."

"Of course I don't—that's not why I— _dammit_ , Caleb." She blew out a sigh through gritted teeth. "So I'm ashamed of those who call themselves my leaders. As if I was proud of them before. I thought...I thought I knew the darkness which could reside in people, I truly did, but I had no idea they had the capacity to be so appallingly ruthless."

"Many people are. Especially those in power, and _especially_ those in power in the military. I can't say I'm surprised." He paused. "Then again, I may be a bit jaded."

She arched an eyebrow as she descended toward her building. "Speaking of...Richard knew who you were because your file was leaked to him. Directly."

"What file?"

"Your Senecan Intelligence Division file."

"To an Alliance Naval Intelligence agent? Impossible."

"I'd agree with you, except for the fact it's precisely what happened. Sorry, but it seems you've got a leak or a plant or some such. Who knew you were coming here?"

"Only Volosk. He classified this little 'op' Level V when he approved it, which means no one knew."

"Is it possible he's dirty?"

He laughed. It was the first time she'd heard his laugh in several days; she hadn't realized how much she'd missed it. "Michael Volosk makes your friend Richard look like a flamboyant renegade. No chance."

She circled to the back side of her building and cruised into the parking level a third of the way up. "Well, nothing we can do to solve the mystery for the moment. Let's get upstairs, and you can take a shower."

He followed her to the lift. "Do I need one?"

_Not in the slightest._ "You were in military confinement for almost two days, what do you think?"

He leaned back against the lift wall. "It's not like I engaged in any strenuous activity, or any activity at all in fact. It was all terribly dull."

When they reached her door she gestured him in ahead of her. "In all seriousness, you can take a shower if you want, it's upstairs to the left. I'm going to—"

"Alex, these are amazing. Did you take them?" He was standing in the middle of the living area, attention not on the view out the windows but on the wall of spacescapes.

She simply nodded.

His expression was unreadable as he glanced briefly at her before returning to the visuals. "They're...really something. You have quite a gift."

"I...thank you." She wrenched her gaze away from watching him and went into the kitchen, dropping her cap and jacket on the dining table. "The laundry port is upstairs, too. If you toss your clothes in it, they'll be ready by the time we need to leave. There should be something in the back of the closet you can throw on."

"Ex-boyfriend's?"

She looked up at him in amusement. " _Yes_."

His response was a full-throated laugh as he headed up the stairs.

Once he had disappeared, she prepped a brief message to Richard.

_Sorry._

_He came here at my request, and I couldn't leave him to rot in confinement. I wouldn't be worthy to be your goddaughter if I did._

_Okay, that was a cheap attempt at winning your sympathy. I doubt it worked, you're too smart for it. Though you_ do _have a soft underbelly so maybe it at least tweaked your heartstrings a little._

_He's not a threat to us. You have to trust me on this. And as much as it pains me to say it, the true threat isn't the Senecan Federation either. This war is a lie. I know you haven't the power to end it, but I beg you to do everything you can to expose it for what it is._

_We need everyone working together to face what IS the true threat: the aliens on the threshold. PLEASE. You know I don't give a shit unless something is real. This is as real as it gets._

_I'll be in touch when I can._

_—Alex_

She marked it for time delay and set it to deliver the next afternoon, long after she'd be off-planet and likely after he found himself one prisoner short.

# 57 Earth

### Seattle

Alex glanced up as he came down the stairs, returned her focus to the aural hovering above the counter—then looked up again.

It was odd for a minute, seeing him in Malcolm's clothes. He had a leaner frame, so they hung a bit loosely on him. She had the totally irrational thought _that_ was the way they were supposed to fit.

He caught her gaze and shrugged, gesturing to the drawstring linen pants and lightweight unbuttoned shirt. "This was all I could find."

"I never said they would be 'fit for the office' clothes." She didn't comment on the fact the shirt did button. One, she was quite certain he knew and simply delighted in torturing her; two, she found she preferred being tortured by...she blinked. "Get down here and I'll run through what I've got so far. You can let me know if you think we need anything else. As fugitives from the law and all."

He came over to the bar and rested his forearms on it. "Again, thank you. I never intended to turn you into a fugitive."

"Again, not your fault. And it'll be fine. Probably."

"Still, thank you." His hand reached halfway across the bar, then stopped. It reminded her of the night before they discovered the alien army. Then, she had been glad he hesitated. Now she longed for him to cross the remaining space.

"I forgive you. Now about the supplies."

They spent the next several minutes reviewing their requirements and the supply list she had compiled. He leaned on the long side of the bar near the end, her on the short edge near the dinner table; her aural floated in the air between them. It was comfortable and easy and close, and she was using ninety percent of her energy on not being distracted by his clean, soapy scent, by the loose curls of damp hair falling across his forehead, by the way his voice seemed so much huskier and more lilting than normal. It sounded almost musical.

_He never should have kissed her, dammit. And now she was royally fucked. Except, not actually.... Well._

Luckily ten percent managed to be enough to get through the list. It mostly consisted of food and new spare parts anyway, seeing as she'd used her previous spare parts repairing her ship after he blew a hole in it and all.

She killed the aural and straightened up. "Okay, I believe we've covered everything. Sorry I didn't have a chance to get you any clothes. I imagine you're sick to death of your one outfit by now. But you can take those, and whatever else is up there."

His head tilted. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." She smiled. "We'll stop on the way for the extra food, and we should be able to pick up the spare parts at the spaceport." She started walking around the bar, and him, toward the small room tucked under the stairwell. "I'm going to hit the storage and grab some—"

"Alex." Her name on his voice washed over her, sending shivers to dance on her skin. He had turned, followed her path with his body.

His hand rested on her upper arm. Gently. A request.

The surroundings faded to a blur while she, him and the space they inhabited zoomed into hyper-focus, as in a shallow depth-of-field image. And in a blink the last remaining speck of her resistance, tiny though it had been, dissipated away to nothingness.

In one fluid motion she pivoted, closed the distance between them and brought her hand up to wind in his hair. _It was even softer than it looked._

For one infinite second his eyes met hers. They were open and honest and smoldering with barely restrained desire and so very, _very_ blue. His fingertips slid across her shoulder and up the curve of her neck until his knuckles brushed along her cheek.

"Damn you."

His brow furrowed into an endearingly straight line. "For?"

"Everything. Kiss me before I lose my mind—"

—his mouth was on hers—or hers was on his—and it felt as if a dam broke within her, and perhaps within him as well. His lips stole the breath from her lungs; she gasped in his breath to replace it. The hand which had grasped her arm what now seemed hours ago was entwined in her hair, then running over her shoulder, then delicately caressing her jaw.

Her hand that wasn't fisted violently in his hair slinked inside the borrowed shirt. As her fingertips brushed across his ribs he trembled beneath her touch. When he nipped her lower lip in pleasure she grinned and continued on, tickling his skin on the way to the small of his back.

Then everything was tongues and teeth and stolen breaths and arms pulling bodies closer. Her head spun madly from the overload of sheer physical sensation. His skin was a wonder beneath her palm, but she couldn't focus on it for the _spectacular_ feel of his lips on hers, the taste of his tongue—

_He still tasted like cinnamon and honey, even after the shower. Delicious._

—his hand at her waist tugged the shirt from her pants and immediately dipped beneath it and ran up her spine. She responded by crushing her mouth into his, as though brute force might bring him closer.

Eventually he pulled away a fraction to suck in air and shifted her so her back was to the bar. His body pinned her against it, again with greater strength than she would have imagined. And dear god but it wasn't enough. Her hand slid down to his ass and gripped him tighter against her; his hardness pressed into her, just left of where she urgently wanted it to be.

He moaned into her mouth, a deep, rough tremor of carnal need.

She tore her lips from his and across his jaw to his ear. "Upstairs...." It was little more than a breath.

In an instant he had pulled her from the bar, dropped both hands to her hips and hoisted her up into his arms.

"Your wish is my _very_ enthusiastic command." His voice sounded deeper and rougher yet somehow even more musical but definitely not nearly so controlled now.

She gasped in delight and wound her legs around his waist with a slightly wild laugh. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he began not-so-carefully carrying her toward the staircase. She occupied herself with his earlobe, his neck, his exquisitely defined jaw, whatever she could reach.

He maneuvered the first few stairs like they were second nature—surprisingly, seeing as he'd traversed them all of twice and her hair spilled over his face—but she must have distracted him too much, because at the midway landing he slammed her against the wall and his mouth against hers. One leg slid to the floor; he maintained a solid grip on the other.

It was her turn to moan as he crashed into her. _God he wasn't wearing any underwear...he would be washing them, of course._ Freed of needing to hang on to him, she shoved the shirt off his shoulders. Her voice escaped into free air as his lips trailed down her neck to the hollow of her throat. "This isn't upstairs...."

He let go of her long enough to shake the sleeve off. This left the shirt hanging on nothing but his other wrist, which still grasped her leg firmly on his hip. His hand returned to snake up her stomach, her own shirt bunching in its wake.

"It's up _some_ stairs...." The words vibrated on her collarbone as his tongue teased along it.

She gave a ragged laugh and dragged her other leg free to coax him toward the remaining stairs by nothing more than the threat of physical separation. His shirt fell unnoticed to the landing as hers disappeared over her head.

Support had been woven into her top, and their chests were now skin-on-skin. The sensation of his chest pressed to hers was...was...'pleasant' was clearly too weak a word. A pittance to describe a treasure.

She cursed having to divert a miniscule portion of her attention to feel her way up the stairway backwards. _A few more stairs. Only a few mo—_ her legs weakened as his thumb ran over then lingered upon a nipple, and she sank down short of the bedroom landing.

The tiny corner of her brain which managed to continue functioning at a minimal level of rationality noted his hand slid behind her head before it hit the top stair to take the jarring blow for her. Later, she should think about what a shocking act of kindness and sacrifice it was. Yup, lat—

—his mouth was on her left breast and his tongue was swirling around the nipple, suckling it right to the edge of pain while a thumb teased the other, and she thought her eyes probably rolled back in her head.

_"Yebat'sya mne...."_

His lips ghosted down her chest toward her navel with a throaty chuckle. "It would be my genuine pleasure."

The words fluttered over her skin to send a fierce shiver coursing through her, though his accent now rolled so alluringly thick she could barely understand him at all. She didn't care and oh how she wanted him to keep going.... Her spine arched, begging for him to keep going, but her fingernails scratched up his back and tugged him up to her until his mouth again crushed hers.

He was acting as if he was the one in control, yet happy to indulge her every request. She considered making a mental note for possible future reference, but got horribly distracted by his tongue halfway through.

In a supreme act of will she slid up the final two stairs and shakily stood with him.

Instantly her hands dropped to his waist and yanked the drawstring loose; the pants fell to the floor unaided. She tried to pull his naked form to her, but his hands were in the way, busy sliding her own pants over her hips. Hers were snugger and clingy and she wasted two precious seconds shimmying them and her underwear together to the floor.

Finally there existed nothing between them. For a perfect moment he held her next to him. She could feel every long, taut muscle, his racing heartbeat reverberating beneath his skin. She'd never known his pulse to race. He was _so_ warm. It felt sublime and luscious and laced with an unexpected throbbing in her chest.

She looked up—it wasn't far, he wasn't terribly much taller than her—and willingly fell into the ocean of his eyes.

The back of her knees hit the bed. She curled one leg up and sank onto it, bringing him with her as if they were one.

_With astonishing gentleness he slipped inside her, and they were._

She wondered if her eyes widened as much as his did, lips a mere centimeter apart, her hands clutching his face and his clutching hers.

"Jesus, you—"

Her mouth smothered his as she scraped a hand down his back and drew him all the way into her. The momentary tenderness melted, burnt away by the scorching passion which flared.

She thought she _must_ have been with someone who was more beautifully passionate, more naturally in sync with her every movement and desire, who more perfectly fit within and around and against her, and later she would doubtless recall who it might have been. But damned if she could think of anyone now.

She arched into his grasp to meet his movements...on second thought, it suddenly seemed impossible there ever could have been.

At some point his arms coiled around her and he rose up to rest on his heels as her full weight slid down over him. _Oh my god...._

Her fingers wound fiercely in his hair while the other hand ran along his back as her legs wrapped to envelop him. His hands mirrored hers, until one settled on her hip. It began to smoothly guide her, yet he let her set the pace...and the last remnants of the outside world, of time passing at all, blurred out of existence.

Her lips hovered a whisper apart from his, every so often connecting for a fervent yet somehow gentle kiss, as they exchanged the air necessary to continue living and feeling and experiencing _this_. Gradually the pressure began to intensify within her until she feared she would surely shatter—

—she buried her face into his neck and screamed, every measure of her tightening around him in a tidal wave of ecstasy.

Then she was falling back onto the bed and he was consuming her with a fervency and passion absolutely like nothing she had ever felt. His body was fire on her skin, his breath desperate in her ear, his hands everywhere and—

—she gasped into his shoulder as he carried her with him on his own torrent of ecstasy. His face was tangled in her hair and his arms had encircled her to hold her against him as if she was the only lifeline he possessed, but it was okay because his embrace was warm and wonderful and....

By the time she remembered how to breathe, he was planting feather-light kisses along her cheek, across her jaw and down her neck. Her eyes slowly focused to find him gazing at her, wearing an expression of...unfettered, almost _innocent_ pleasure. It was so striking her newly found breath caught in her throat.

After untold moments—hours, days—he rolled them both onto their sides. They lay facing one another, panting slightly but grinning like fools.

She giggled devilishly. "You shouldn't have kissed me in the confinement cell."

"Yes, I quite clearly _should_ have."

Her head shook minutely; it was all she was able to manage in his embrace. "No, you shouldn't have. You _should_ have kissed me on the ship night before last."

He responded with a winded laugh. "You say that now, but if I had then, I might still be tied up on the ship."

His accent had again faded, she noticed in some disappointment. "You said I wouldn't be able to get you back in the restraints."

"I did, but that was before I knew you. Now, I'm not so sure." He kissed her, long and slow, then sighed in contentment and rolled the rest of the way onto his back. "This is going to be complicated, you know."

She propped up on an elbow and regarded him curiously. "What is? I assumed this was merely a one-time stress reliever, or maybe a 'thank you' for getting you out of confinement."

The corners of his mouth twitched, as if uncertain of which direction to curve. A shadow passed through his eyes as they darted to her then away, darkening them to the color of the ocean depths where no light reached.

She quickly smiled, broadly enough to get his attention. "And the look in your eyes tells me it isn't."

His face scrunched up in disbelief as realization dawned. "I thought _I_ was supposed to be the devious one."

"Oh, you are, you are." She placed a soft kiss on his lips; he didn't respond. She pulled back to meet his gaze. "Forgive me for being wary."

A chuckle escaped his throat, but it had a sharp, pained edge to it, reinforced by the shadow lingering in his expression. "You _still_ don't trust me."

She coaxed his eyes to meet hers. "I trust you with my life." And she did. She kissed him more deeply, and after a pause this time he did respond.

_I just don't know if I trust you with my heart._

It was several relatively blissful minutes later when he sank into the bed and she settled onto her stomach beside him. "So about this 'complicated' part...."

"I'm from Seneca, you're from Earth. We're practically Romeo and Juliet."

"Nah, as I remember it Romeo and Juliet gave a damn what everyone else thought. Hell, we've got more pressing concerns anyway. The galaxy has embroiled itself in an idiotic, pointless war, and any day now a massive alien force is going to show up and crash the party."

She groaned and rolled over to glare at the ceiling. "And even if we get somebody to listen, who says we'll be able to counter them? I have a sneaking suspicion their weapons will be a tad more powerful than ours."

His fingers drew idle circles along her stomach, tickling the damp skin and momentarily drawing her into the rather pleasurable present...but only momentarily. "Maybe if we presented a united front—but no, instead we're busy blowing up the ships and weapons and defenses we'll need to fight the aliens on _each other_."

At the sobering reality they both fell quiet for a while. Finally she took a deep breath and exhaled audibly to break the silence. "So I was thinking. We should go to Pyxis. I know it's a bit far, but it's the closest independent world to Seneca other than Pandora, which I'd really prefer to avoid. You can leave from there and hopefully find a way for your government to end this war, since we failed so impressively here."

He rose up on one arm to stare at her. "Come to Seneca with me. You can explain the Metis data better than I can and help convince them of the severity of the problem. Like you said, two voices _are_ better than one."

"Oh, you're not seriously going to use that argument on me now?"

"What? Other considerations aside, it isn't a bad point, and we need every advantage we can get."

She flinched and rolled away. "I don't...I don't think it's a good idea."

"It'll be fine. I promise _you_ won't get arrested."

"Yes, because your government is a pillar of right and justice and good."

"Of course not. It just so happens you're not an enemy combatant."

Why couldn't he let it go for the moment? Give her a little time to come to grips with the idea? A few hours earlier she had been defending the Senecans to her mother and the Board. Now she was recoiling at the notion of visiting their damn planet, as though it was somehow a corporeal evil all its own. Which of course it _wasn't,_ but....

"I said I didn't think it was a good idea."

He exhaled in obvious frustration. "Come on. _Help me_ make them listen."

She refused to meet his gaze this time. _Goddammit._ "I need to take a shower." She started to get up, but he reached out and grabbed ahold of her arm.

"Look, I know you hold no particular love for Seneca or its government. I know you blame them for your father's death. I get that, I do. But I also know you want—"

_Stop! Stop acting as if you can stare into my soul so easily!_ The detached, untethered sensation washed over her once again. She had thought perhaps she might hold onto him as an anchor, but now he was pushing and prodding and behaving as if it were all so simple...she yanked her arm out of his grasp.

"You think a week together and a quick roll in the sack means you _know_ me? I realize you're cocky, but please. You don't know the first thing about me."

She shot him a withering glare and stalked off to the bath, lightheaded to the point of dizziness from whiplashing emotions. _No, it wasn't simple at all._

Caleb banged his head against the bedcovers. In a rush of frustration he grabbed a pillow and threw it angrily across the room; it bounced ineffectually off the wall and tumbled gently to the floor.

With a harsh, bitter breath he squeezed his eyes shut...then climbed off the bed and collected his clothes from the laundry port. He'd steal a skycar from one of the residents and get to the spaceport. He'd use another ID to catch a transport to Pandora or Romane.

Two hours and he'd be gone.

After all, his mission was complete, if a failure in the purest sense of the term. The war had everyone spinning in circles chasing their tails, but he was determined to make Division, the government, the military and whoever else mattered understand they had been fooled. They were wasting precious time and resources on the wrong target, when the true threat loomed hidden on the horizon.

He pulled on his shoes and headed down the stairs. There were things he needed to do, and they did not involve getting entangled with an Alliance Admiral's daughter in the middle of a war and impending alien invasion...even if the peculiar tightness in his chest proclaimed otherwise.

He had done _everything_ in his power to get her to trust him; done _everything_ her way even when it went against his better instincts. That path had taken him away from where he needed to be, put Senecan citizens at greater risk and gotten him arrested and imprisoned. True, it had also gotten him outstandingly laid—only to be turned on in a fit of spiteful anger he did not deserve.

Dammit she was infuriating! And bullheaded stubborn. Quick to flare in temper. Ridiculously private and emotionally closed-off—

He felt his attention drawn to the wall of spacescapes once more, found himself pausing in front of the panorama.

She had somehow managed to capture in frozen images the sense of wonder and awe one experienced in deep space. The vastness and the beauty. It was as if he was looking into space through her eyes, seeing it as she must see it...and thus glimpsing a mirror into her soul.

—also intriguing, even captivating. Exceedingly talented, capable and independent. Fiercely determined and unafraid. Vulnerable and strong in equal measure. A damn revelation in bed. All in all, kind of remarkable.

His gaze rose to the balcony above. _Never have anything you can't walk away from._ Especially _a woman._

"Shit."

He grimaced and dragged a hand down his face...and went back upstairs, dropping his clothes in a trail across the floor to the door of the bath.

She stood in the shower, eyes closed and head bowed as the water cascaded over her. Before she realized he was there, he had slipped inside.

Her irises flared in outrage, sparking a pure bright silver. He thought there may have been a glint of tears in them...but it may have just been the falling water.

"What are you _doing_?"

"Invading your privacy. Sorry, I didn't want you to have any more time to get angrier at me."

She shoved him into the glass. "How dare you! Get out—"

He smiled, ignoring her attempts to extricate him from the shower. "Listen, you're right—I don't know you, not really. But I'd very much like to, if you'll allow me."

She stared at him furiously, but at least she stopped trying to shove him out. Her features could be so expressive when the mask fell away. He saw anger, then suspicion, confusion, doubt and perhaps even fear in the shadows crossing her face, in the quirking of her lovely mouth. He wondered what his own eyes were showing her, and whether it was more than he wanted to reveal. Ah well, too late now.

He recognized the softening in her expression before it manifested in the relaxing of her shoulders and dropping of her chin. It took another several seconds for her to roll her eyes in exasperation and step forward to rest her forehead on his.

"You're infuriating—and entirely too clever for your own good. You know this, right?"

He chuckled lightly and reached up to run fingers through her soaking wet hair. "Back at you."

Her face tilted up and supple, moist lips met his. Hesitant, tender, gentle. She tasted of warm spice, like nutmeg in mulled cider. Her skin had felt amazingly smooth earlier; here, softened by the steam of the shower, it was silk beneath his hands.

One arm coiled around her until his palm came to rest at the small of her back. Her body was quite slender; he would have called it delicate but for the long, lithe muscles gracing her frame. It reminded him of a dancer's body, though after watching her spend three days repairing her ship he knew the work which had actually shaped it.

Her hand in his hair tightened, the other grasped his hip and in a flash any hesitancy in her kiss vanished. Urgency was bleeding out of her and into him, and he gathered her fully into his arms as desire battled with and quickly overcame sentiment.

The water flooded over them as he pressed her to the opposite wall. His hand slipped along wet, soapy skin, desperately seeking her toned thigh. He gripped her leg and coaxed it up to his hip...then he was engulfed within her.

She gasped in response but pulled him yet closer and deeper. Demanding, needing all he had to give. As before, she was a force of nature, a whirlwind to which he could do little more than hang on for dear life. The spirit, the _fire_ he had first witnessed in the hold of her ship blazed to life in his arms.

Still, he tried to draw it out, to tease her and prolong her pleasure, and his. But she was so damn intoxicating and it was all so overpowering—the deluge of water enveloping them, the steam filling the air, the silk of her skin pressed to his and the incredible, perfect heat within her. The look of wild abandon in her eyes was like staring into a nova at the moment of its explosion.

She clenched around him, her eyes squeezed shut—and he let himself go, following her over the edge into the rapturous abyss.

They very nearly tumbled to the shower floor as they lost control of _everything_...bodies, thought, breath, time and space. He fell deeper into her as his legs threatened to collapse beneath him.

An aeon passed before the world began to regain detail and, eventually, clarity. His lips had found hers, and she grinned into them. "Less than an hour and we've already had our first make-up sex."

He laughed haltingly, still struggling to catch his breath. Reasonably confident in his legs' capability to now marginally support him, he leaned back enough to gaze at her.

"It isn't going to be boring, is it?"

He was leaning against the windows and contemplating the wall of spacescapes— _again_ —when she descended the stairs.

Alex frowned to herself. Either he was playing at manipulating her on such a deep and meaningful level as to be reprehensible...or he was like her in such a deep and meaningful way as to be extraordinary. She was a bit shocked to realize how much she wanted to believe it was the latter, and how terrified she was it could be the former.

He turned his attention to her as she reached the landing, smirking in that endearing, annoying, dangerous, boyish way which was so immensely kissable. So when he met her at the bottom of the stairs, she did.

Her arms draped over his shoulders; his encircled her waist. "I have a question."

"Mmhmm?"

"Earlier, your accent...."

He cringed and retreated slightly. "Yeah, I guess I wasn't altogether, um, in control for a while there."

"Is that how you really sound? When you're not on the job?"

"You are _not_ a job to me."

_Maybe._ "You know what I—"

His hands rose to grasp her face as he drew her into an impassioned embrace. The sheer fierceness of the kiss sent her reeling. The world spun in one direction, her head in the other, her heart in a third as his hands, his mouth, his tongue and the press of his body asked everything of her, and offered everything in return.

She was left utterly breathless as he pulled back a trace.

"Tell me you believe me." It was a throaty, desperate whisper against her lips.

_"Ya veruyu...."_

He smiled softly and at last gave her space to breathe. "Then to answer your question, when I'm home, around my family? Yes. It is."

"You don't need to pretend for me."

"I was concerned you might have negative associations with a Senecan accent."

She shook her head almost imperceptibly. "I like it. And now I'm going to associate it with—" her gaze drifted pointedly up the stairs "—spectacular sex, so...."

He laughed, but his eyes were serious as they seemed to search her face. "Okay." And with a word, his voice regained its full melodic timbre...and his smile shifted indefinably. "'Spectacular,' huh?"

"Don't get cocky—" Her grumble was cut off as his lips met hers yet again. Softer, less urgent than before. Nevertheless, the kiss was rapidly becoming more when she sucked in a deep breath and reluctantly stepped away. "We need to _go_ soon."

"Right. Okay."

She went to double-check her pack, then remembered she never had made it to the storage closet. She ducked in, ostensibly to grab a few things. Alone in the shadowy recesses of the room she exhaled slowly, closed her eyes and made a choice.

"I'll go with you to Seneca—on one condition."

She emerged to find him regarding her rather intently. "Lay it on me."

"That you can absolutely and completely guarantee the safety and security of my ship while we're docked there."

His mouth opened to respond, then closed. His eyes dropped away from her. She could only guess at what transpired in his mind as he stared at the floor, hands resting on his hips. When he looked up his expression was distressingly solemn. "Honestly? I'm not sure I can. I mean I think it would be safe, but there's a war on and it's going to be making people crazy."

She ran an agitated hand through her hair in frustration. " _Dammit_ , Caleb. I'm trying, but you're not making this easy."

He began pacing behind the couch. "But I can guarantee its safety and security on Romane."

An eyebrow arched in question.

"I know, it's not quite perfect. But it's convenient enough, not too far from here and a quick trip to Seneca. We'll take a transport from there, or we can rent a ship if you want more control. However long we need to be on Seneca, the _Siyane_ will be safe on Romane. And when our—" he paused, and his voice dropped in tenor "—or your business on Seneca is concluded it will be waiting on you. I promise you." He frowned a little. "Unless Romane gets blown up by the invading aliens. I can't do a thing about them, and I hope like hell you don't expect me to."

Her gaze roved across the loft...out the windows, where the night sky had barely begun to lighten, and back to the wall in front of her, finally coming to rest on the visual hanging at eye level: she and her dad standing atop Mammoth Mountain. They had hiked it for her thirteenth birthday. He was killed in action two months later.

Caleb was right, it wasn't perfect. But it was a surprisingly decent alternative. Off Earth, on an independent world—which arguably was _better_ than Seneca and the safest place to be given the war. Romane enjoyed the solidest reputation of any independent colony, and the location would give them at least some degree of flexibility.

He had leaned against the couch to await her decision. She nodded. "Okay... _okay_. You can tell me why you can guarantee its safety on Romane on the way to the spaceport."

His expression blossomed into a relieved smile. "It's a deal."

She couldn't help but return the smile as she picked up her pack and tossed it over her shoulder.

"Let's go."

# Part 4

### ACCELERANDO

_"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;_

_Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,_

_The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere_

_The ceremony of innocence is drowned."_

* * *

_— William Butler Yeats_

# 58 Romane

### Independent Colony

White gold swirled around hammered chrome, weaving again and again until it formed an intricate knot. Red dollops of plasma appeared to emerge from the chrome and glide through the gaps in the knot to orbit it, though it was an illusion. In reality the plasma merely hovered in a deceptive shimmer so as to imply motion.

"In my opinion, this is one of the artist's most powerful pieces. It speaks on multiple levels: how we are prisoners to our own weaknesses, how we inflict far greater damage and pain upon ourselves than anyone else is capable of, how we cannot escape who we are or a prison of our own creation. Some believe it also asserts that emotions themselves—our metaphorical heart—are a flaw dooming us to failure and despair. I myself tend to view it with a bit more optimism."

The woman placed a delicate hand to her mouth. "It's magnificent. I simply must have it."

Mia Requelme smiled with practiced ease. "Certainly. We will want to retain it for the remainder of the exhibit, but I'll be happy to make all the arrangements for you now. If you'll follow me?"

She slipped gracefully amongst the patrons milling in the gallery's exhibit space as the woman trailed behind her. It was a good crowd. Thus far the showcase was a smashing success. A third of the pieces had sold in the first two days, and it would run for another week. Antonio Castile Lesenna created art which was simultaneously garish and elegant, which represented everything or nothing depending on what the observer desired to see. It would soon make him ridiculously wealthy, Mia was quite certain.

She reached the small alcove tucked into the rear corner of the room, activated the screen and turned to her customer. "You can input your information here—"

The priority pulse asserted itself into her vision.

_Mia, I need your help._

* * *

_"Why should I help you?" she snarled._

_"Because I can get you out. I'll even get you off-planet, to somewhere you can start a new life."_

_"I already started a new life once. Didn't help."_

_The man smiled in the dim light of the alley; it made her feel safe, which was something she could not afford to feel. "But I bet you have a list a kilometer long of the mistakes you made and how you would get it right the next time. Help me, and let me help you find your next time."_

_Mia's eyes narrowed warily. He had intercepted her on a run through The Boulevard, grasping her wrist from behind as she was preparing to palm a set of disks off the adventure illusoire merchant stand. She had thought he was a cop—though there weren't many cops on Pandora—until she whirled around and saw the faded flannel shirt and scruffy beard. Then she had thought he was an undercover cop. His eyes were a cop's eyes—sharp, observant, calculating._

_And she had been mostly correct. He_ was _a cop, of sorts. Now he wanted her to give him the access codes to Eli's inner compound._

_He continued to watch her and she him...but at her prolonged silence, his gaze softened. "I tell you what. Why don't you let me buy you some dinner, and you can think it over while we're eating."_

_That was low. How did he know she was near to starving? Eli's lieutenant Paul had caught her skimming weeks ago and threatened to rat her out unless she gave him half of everything she made. She'd barely been scraping by before; now she survived on one meal a day and what she managed to steal. It was humiliating._

_She scowled and ran a hand through tangled, dirty hair. "Fine. It's your money."_

_A few minutes later she eyed him over her burrito. "What are you planning to do to Eli's operation?"_

_The guy—he had said his name was Josh, not as if she believed him—shrugged. "I'm going to explosively dismantle his chimeral production line and bring the cops down on the remains."_

_"There aren't any cops here."_

_He laughed. It bore a hint of mystery, as if to imply he knew more about Pandora than she did. "Yes, there are."_

_"Well, could've fooled me." She took another bite, stuffing her mouth full of rice and beans and olives. She loved olives._

_She regarded him a moment. He was quite handsome, with startlingly blue eyes and black hair which fell in soft, lazy curls along his forehead. And he seemed only a few years older than her. She might prefer him without the beard, but she suspected it was temporary anyway. "Why would you help me?"_

_"Because you're a better person than they are. You're intelligent and quick and you clearly have skills. I can see the potential beneath the grime. Besides, you don't like what you're doing. You don't like being a criminal, and you definitely don't like being beholden to a scumbag like Eli."_

_"How could you possibly tell all that about me? You just met me."_

_A corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. "I've been watching you for a few days and—"_

_"Impossible. I pay very close attention—I'd realize if I were being followed."_

_"Yes, you do. But I'm better than you."_

_She snorted and finished off the burrito._

_"As I was saying. I've been watching you, along with several other of Eli's lackeys. I need someone on the inside, and it was simply a matter of deciding who. I chose you. Did I make the wrong choice?"_

_She finished off the chips next and sank back in her chair. He was right of course. Shockingly, annoyingly so. She had run away from her dad and brother four years ago in search of a better life. But lacking credits, contacts or credentials, she had soon become trapped yet again._

_She knew there must be another way, a_ better _way of living. Glimpses of it teased her in the spaceport and on the exanet. She had educated herself over the last few years, far beyond what an official primary education would have taught her. Now an adult, she was able to legally speak and act for herself. She just needed a chance. One real chance._

_"How do I know you won't double-cross me?"_

_He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small translucent film. He laid it on the table but kept two fingers securely atop it. "Here's a ticket to Romane. Give me the access codes, I give you the ticket and transfer two thousand credits to you. You can leave right away."_

_Two thousand credits was more than she had earned in six months. Her pulse began to quicken. "How do you know I won't double-cross_ you _and give you the wrong codes?"_

_His shoulders rose a fraction. "I guess I'll have to trust you. Are you worthy of my trust, Mia?"_

_She stared at him a moment...and nodded._

* * *

Mia motioned Jonathan over to her. "Ma'am, if you'll excuse me a moment. My assistant can walk you through the purchase process. You're in good hands, and thank you again."

She forced herself not to rush down the hall to her private office at the gallery, even pausing to procure a gin-marinated olive off the tray of a passing waiter. The office was one of several located around the city, and as immaculate and refined as each of the others. Like everything in her life now.

The guy had showed up on Romane to check on her four months after she fled Pandora. She repaid the two thousand credits, plus interest—she had made excellent use of the time—then asked him to dinner. That had been twelve years ago.

Once the door closed behind her she sent a livecomm request. "Caleb. What do you need?"

There was a brief pause before the response came. _"Mia, how are you?"_

"I'm splendid, but you don't have to small-talk me. Are you okay? It sounded urgent."

_"I'm fine. But I need a favor. Any chance I can borrow a Class I bay at your spaceport?"_

"Of course, it's no trouble."

_"I'm also going to need the records of its rental and the ship it holds falsified. And once we arrive, I'll need the highest-grade security you can provide for the bay."_

"We?"

_"I'll explain when we get there—which should be mid-morning tomorrow local. I'm afraid I'm not sure how long we'll be using it."_

"It's not a problem, Caleb. You know that. Is there anything else?"

_"Yes, but we can talk about it when I see you. Thank you, Mia. I owe you."_

She smiled to herself. "No, you don't."

# 59 Seneca

### Cavare, Intelligence Division Headquarters

Michael regarded the series of financial transactions on the screen with painfully narrowed eyes.

Now that the initial panic of the onset of war had faded a bit, he managed to find an hour here and there to return to the Atlantis investigation. Oh, the politicians were still panicking to be certain, at least when they weren't prematurely gloating about Seneca's inevitable and sure-to-be-swift victory.

There was less panicking over the potential alien invasion, but only because very few people knew about it and most of them weren't the panicking type. The continued silence from the special forces team sent to Metis to investigate worried him, but given the communication difficulties perhaps he was being impatient.

Agent Marano was at last on his way home, and with his prize of a companion no less; when they arrived he would turn his attention more directly to the matter. Until then....

He frowned at the screen. In fairness he had probably been frowning at it for some time now, in which case the frown deepened. As Assistant Trade Director and a _friend_ of many corporations, Jaron Nythal maintained a healthy bank account nearly equal to his healthy expenditures. But if one mapped the patterns in his transactions over a long enough period—and it had taken considerable persuasion for him to get a warrant to review the man's accounts for said long enough period—recent unusual activity could be discerned. Barely.

Five deposits, three in the two weeks prior to the Summit and two in the four days following the assassination, totaled almost three hundred percent more than any previous deposit in the last five years. True, they were all for different amounts and from different payers. But it felt like they belonged together.

Two days after being released from questioning Nythal had purchased a fancy townhome in Pinciana. Prior to being pulled, surveillance had reported he toured four downtown condos on the market _after_ purchasing the townhome.

As evidence went it was far from sufficient to prove anything, but his gut and years of experience told him the man had been paid off. The question was, for what?

He had studied Nythal's history, and one thing the man excelled at was _access_. Smoothing the way, greasing the wheels. But Candela didn't need help getting access to Minister Santiagar.

So who did?

Michael was leaning casually against the wall next to Nythal's office when the man arrived for work.

His step stuttered. "Mr....Volosk, is it? I don't recall us having a meeting this morning?"

"Oh, we didn't. A couple of final questions came up. Clean-up stuff really. I thought I'd stop by and we could take care of it quickly."

"Well I—" Jaron glanced down as he opened his door.

"Excellent, it'll only take a few minutes." Michael slid in the door in front of Jaron and settled in one of the chairs opposite the desk. He looked over his shoulder expectantly until the man circled around and sat uneasily across from him.

"So, um, what can I do for you?"

"Enjoying your new townhome?"

"What? I don't—"

"Never mind. I was curious about the different access levels in place at the Summit, and in particular the surrounding safeguards. It seems like the ballroom area where the dinners took place remained fairly open and unrestricted. So tell me about the requirements to get in."

"Your men staffed the security detail. Don't you know?"

"Humor me."

Jaron sniffed and kicked back in his chair. "Well, members of the delegation were granted admission to the area reserved for the Summit. Some conference rooms required additional special clearance, and the private Alliance meeting rooms were off limits."

"Let's see..." he rubbed at his jaw "...we provided the pre-approved guests, corporate executives and media mainly, special admission codes. They also had to clear security and match the list each time. They were thoroughly investigated before being invited, of course—by your Intelligence Division, I believe."

"Right. Of course." Michael shifted in the chair, appearing to display some chagrin. "Though those 'guests' were recommended and submitted for approval by _your_ Trade Division, yes?"

"I believe so, but it wasn't my responsibility so I can't be—"

"You're the Assistant Trade Director. If not your responsibility, then whose? The Director?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, he did make several specific requests and recommendations—"

"So you _were_ involved in preparing the guest list, since you know the details."

"Uh...partially, as I have a number of contacts in the community, but...Mr. Volosk, I'm not sure I understand the point of all of this. Chris Candela committed the assassination. It's undisputed at this point, isn't it?"

Volosk tilted his head ever so slightly. "So it would appear."

"There isn't any other possibility, is there?"

He met Nythal's gaze. "No, certainly not. And with the war on, it hardly matters now anyway, does it?" He stood. "Like I said, merely some clean-up questions. If I find I have any more—clean-up questions that is—I'll just swing by for another quick visit."

"I have an extremely busy schedule, so it might be better if you made an appointment next time."

"Sure, sure, I'll try to do so if I can. I have an extremely busy schedule as well—the war and all—so I can't make any guarantees."

Michael smiled coldly. "I'll show myself out. Have a good day, Mr. Nythal."

Jaron waited until the door had closed to punch the chair in frustration. The soft leather-derived material gave with his fist, but it still hurt like a bitch. He shook his hand out while pacing in agitation across an office whose walls now threatened to close in around him.

He forced himself to wait five minutes, then another five, before leaving the office. Once outside he began hurrying down the street, but slowed as he realized he may be under surveillance. It seemed impossible—or rather would have seemed impossible until this morning. Now there lurked a cop in the eyes of every pedestrian.

But he only needed to get outside any possible electronic monitoring; then whatever surveillance he had could go fuck themselves for all the good it would do them.

When he reached the riverfront he stopped to purchase a breakfast gyro. A nice touch, he thought. He wandered over and rested against the railing, for all intents and purposes enjoying the blue-tinged morning light reflecting off the rippling water.

Instead he opened a very private address and sent a very simple message.

_We have a problem._

# 60 Earth

### Vancouver, EASC Headquarters

"She did _what_?"

"She broke him out of the detention center. I didn't even know until I received a message from her. I checked into it, and the records show him being released last night on a technicality. The surveillance recordings have been doctored, I assume by her." Richard shook his head. "I didn't realize she was capable of such a sophisticated hack."

Miriam laughed, though it carried an almost poignant edge. She sank deeper into her chair and abandoned any pretense of formality. The door was closed, and he was her oldest friend.

"Trust me, she is. I probably don't need to ask, but what was her justification?"

"She again said he wasn't here to spy on us, but rather to help us and request help in return. Also that we needed to get over this war and focus on the real threat."

"She's gone then? I didn't warrant a message."

"Yeah, they're gone—at least there's a transponder record of the _Siyane_ using an exit corridor early this morning. I suppose she could have hacked it as well, but it seems more likely they're actually gone."

"Well, that's fantastic." She paused to take a long sip of tea. "If she flies into the middle of this war and gets herself killed, I don't think I...David would never forgive me, were he here."

"It wouldn't be your fault, Miriam. He'd realize that, better than you."

"Maybe." She held the teacup to her lips and breathed in the steam until the bitter pang of loss, still biting after twenty-three years, subsided back into the recesses.

"I don't know. Perhaps I did rush to judgment with respect to her companion."

Richard regarded her with a look of incredulity. "You think?"

She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "Fine. It is _possible_ I overreacted a small amount. She just...she somehow manages to hit all my buttons, every damn time. I get so angry at her and I've no idea how to make her not be angry at me. Sometimes I wish..." her eyes closed "...I wish I could start over. But it's thirty-six years too late, isn't it?"

"You may not be able to go back, but it doesn't mean you can't start over."

"I'm not so certain...and regardless, now is hardly the ideal time for such matters." She ran a hand along her jaw and straightened up in the chair, shocked at the sentimentality she had allowed herself to display.

She busied herself refilling her teacup. "In any event, I've never known her to let sex interfere with her better judgment, so perhaps she is correct about his intentions. Which introduces a whole new set of concerns."

"You think she's sleeping with him?"

A small, arguably devious smile ghosted across her face. "I don't see why she wouldn't be. Do you?"

Richard's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "Well, he's Senecan...."

"That excuse only works until you discover the person is merely an individual like any other."

His lips pursed together in a show of skepticism, but finally he gave up and chuckled in mild amusement. "Then no, I suppose I don't."

"I didn't think so." She sighed, and the momentary levity evaporated. "Listen, is there any way you can keep her out of trouble over this? Keep her from being implicated?"

It wasn't the first time she had asked such a favor of a colleague, though it was the first time she had asked it of someone so high-ranking, and someone who was a personal friend. But he was a personal friend of Alexis, too, and would want to protect her for his own reasons.

He shrugged. "I don't really need to. There's no evidence of her involvement—or any crime at all—beyond her message to me. Frankly, I'm inclined to simply stay quiet about the situation and let the record stand. He was released due to an administrative screw-up and that's the end of it. In the absence of a trigger it's unlikely the falsified records will be uncovered, and technically he hadn't committed a crime other than providing a false identification, so...."

She nodded. "Makes sense. It's a reasonable plan." She grimaced as a livecomm request appeared in her vision. After a pause she accepted it, but put it on broadcast.

"Admiral Solovy, apologies for disturbing you."

She cocked an annoyed eyebrow at Richard. "Dr. LaRose, what can I do for you?"

"Yes. I was wondering if you might possess another hard copy of your daughter's data I would be able to borrow."

She and Richard both frowned in mild dismay. She knew Alexis had sent her Metis report to the Science Advisor; she had even greased the wheels a bit, albeit to limited avail. Since the EASC Board had a direct line to the Prime Minister she had viewed it as mildly repetitive, but most things in government were. "I'm not sure I understand the problem."

His throat could be heard clearing over the comm. "One of my researchers took the disk home with him last night to study, and he didn't report to work today. It...well it seems he's gone missing, and your daughter's data with him."

"She has a name, Dr. LaRose, and a fair number of master's degrees as well."

"Apologies. Ms. Solovy's data. Admiral, I need another copy if possible."

Miriam frowned again. "You'll need to be more clear, Doctor. Don't you have her report?"

"No...I mean I _have_ it, but I require a physical disk to move ahead with it."

"Why?"

"Why? Because I do. Regulation AAS 41767.239.0512c requires all reports be reviewed in physical form to verify their authenticity and—"

"Didn't you verify the authenticity of the physical disk when it arrived?"

"Immediately upon receipt. But I must also retain it in order to advance its contents to the next level to accompany my recommendation."

Miriam was silent a moment. She glanced out the window then at Richard. She muted the comm and laughed; it felt weary. "I must say, sometimes I can almost see where Alexis is coming from."

He tilted his head in agreement, and she scowled as she reactivated the comm. "Doctor, are you certain, given all the material you have reviewed and requirements you have followed, you _still_ require a physical disk of the data to proceed?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. You see the procedures are quite specific and—"

"Fine. Very well. I will send a request to the vault for our hard copy to be checked out. Of course we have our own procedures in place on this end, so it may take several days for you to receive it. In the meantime, I would highly encourage you to act on the information Alexis provided you to the greatest extent you find yourself capable of doing."

# 61 Siyane

### Space, North-Central Quadrant

Alex waved her palm in the direction of the cockpit to check their location. "We should be at Romane in just over an hour."

Caleb came up behind her, one arm encircling her waist and hugging her tight against him while he reached around with the other and set her plate on the table. "Excellent, plenty of time for breakfast."

She laughed and squeezed his hand resting on her abdomen before extricating herself and sitting down. He had snuck upstairs while she showered and cooked panbrioche and roasted potato wedges and sliced up fresh grapefruit. She kept telling him he didn't need to do all the cooking, but he thus far was showing no indication of listening.

He retrieved his own plate from the counter and joined her at the table. She was already enthusiastically digging into what was a delicious breakfast; the panbrioche was so fluffy and tender she would have sworn he had spent the last two hours baking it if she hadn't been curled up in his arms for much of the last two hours.

He sat down, only to stare at his food. After a few seconds he picked up his fork—then set it back on his napkin and looked up at her. "Listen...before we arrive, there's something I need to tell you about Mia."

"She's your lover. I know." She smiled over her fork and slid a potato wedge into her mouth.

"What? No—I mean, not for several years now and—" His face screwed up at her. " _How_ did you know?"

She shrugged, a hint of a twinkle in her eye. She did enjoy confounding him, even if the topic was bound to be mildly uncomfortable. "Something in the tone of your voice when you told me about her. It implied a... _familiarity_ beyond that of a mere friend. You, um...well, you sounded like men do when they talk about women they've slept with."

"I did? Damn, I'm sorry." He cringed and dragged a hand down his mouth to linger at his jaw. "As I was about to say, it happened several years ago, and it was never serious. We met on a mission over a decade ago. She helped me out, I helped her out, and eventually we became friends. Then a little more. But it was a...I'd drop by when I was in town kind of thing. And after a while we realized we made better friends than lovers."

"Okay."

"I mean it. I wanted you to know, should the past come up—and because I didn't want to hide anything from you."

"Is she going to try to claw my eyes out?"

" _No_. She is not now, nor has she ever been, in love with me. She's far too savvy for anything such as that."

Alex nodded in acknowledgement.

He reached across the table and grasped her hand. "The important thing is, we can trust her completely. She may come off as a bit cold, but it's a defense mechanism. Mia's a good person."

She nodded again. "If you say so."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Because you trust me."

"If you had intended to deceive me, you would have simply promised the ship would be safe on Seneca. There's no reason I can think of for you to go to all this trouble other than my peace of mind."

He sighed, let go of her hand and returned his gaze to his plate. "Right. As long as it's logical."

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you trust me."

Her gazed dropped to her own plate. "I told you, I trust—"

"Did you think I sleep with all the women and half the men on every mission?"

She swallowed a groan. Were they really going to do this? "The possibility had occurred to me."

"Well, I don't."

"Are you saying you never...?"

"No, I'm not. But I don't make a habit of it, and...frankly, I've rarely been in enough of a relationship for it to matter to anyone."

She leapt out of the chair and snatched her plate up to carry it to the sink. "Well I wouldn't want to start cramping your style now—" She cut herself off, wincing at how biting it sounded.

He appeared at her side an instant later. "No. You don't get to do that."

She didn't look at him. "Do what?"

"Project your worst fears about what I could be onto me as though they were somehow _real_."

Was he right? Was that what she was doing? The day before—and night—had been near to magical. Comfortable and romantic and affectionate and most decidedly hot. Despite the alien threat hanging over them, she had slept more soundly and peacefully entwined in his arms than she had in months. Now she was behaving like a drama queen, all bitchy and possessive?

She paused, her plate halfway to the washer rack; she set it in the sink and faced him. "You're right. And I don't care who you slept with, I truly don't. I'm glad you did—I'm getting to reap the considerable benefits of you honing your skills." She tried a little half-grin, but his expression refused to lighten.

"I'm sorry I snapped. You didn't deserve it. I'm merely on edge because of everything going on and, well, because I'm not entirely in control of my situation. I don't like being dependent on you—on anyone. But I'm not...you don't need to explain yourself to me. _Really_."

He reached up to run fingertips along the curve of her face. Damn but his touch still sent shivers up her spine. "What if _I_ need to explain myself? I find I don't want you to think ill of me."

She shifted her head and placed a soft kiss on his wrist. "I don't. Promise. Now go get showered. We'll be there soon."

He regarded her for another moment, his expression unreadable, then nodded and headed down the stairs.

She sank against the counter and let her head drop to her chest. What was she doing? Jealousy and possessiveness weren't like her at all. They were both adults, and neither of them was coming into this without baggage.

Yes, she was edgy from not being absolutely and unquestionably in total control of her situation. But that was her problem, not his. If she didn't get her act together she was liable to run him off before whatever this might be between them had even gotten started good.

She took a deep breath and let it out, long and slow. Then she pushed off the counter and went downstairs, dropped her clothes on the floor, joined him in the shower and proceeded to make it very clear just how much she _didn't_ think ill of him.

# 62 Earth

### Vancouver

"Gold doubloon for your thoughts."

Richard smiled in response to the voice at his ear, relaxing momentarily against the arms at his shoulders. "Tell you what. Buy me lunch and I'll bare my soul."

"It's a deal."

He laughed a little as he turned from the window. "I should warn you, I'm a married man."

Will glanced over his shoulder as they followed the maître-d' to the table. "I'll keep that in mind."

After they had been seated and their glasses filled, Richard exhaled and leaned back in the chair. "Thanks for meeting me for lunch. It's a welcome respite."

Will shrugged while he studied the menu. "Well, since the Demeter project is on hold due to the war I find I have a bit of free time at the moment."

"Have you remodeled our house yet?"

"Not yet, but if I don't have a paying project by next week I'm not making any promises. I've been thinking the wall between the kitchen and the dining area is totally unnecessary."

"Fair enough." He paused. "You know, they're going to have to rebuild the base on Arcadia. Not that I'm eager to have you so far away, but if you're interested I can—"

"No." Will's head shook emphatically. "For one, I never want to trade on your name or position. For another, I would go insane inside of a week from the ridiculous bureaucratic entanglements and regulations and procedures of working for the military. I appreciate the thought, but no."

"Money isn't a concern. You _could_ simply take it easy and relax for once. Radical idea, I realize."

The waiter interrupted them to place bread on the table and take their orders. The restaurant was fancy enough to eschew automated ordering for old-fashioned personal service. It was the sort of thing you didn't realize you missed until you encountered it again.

When the waiter had departed Will raised an eyebrow. "With a war on, soldiers dying, you working sixteen-hour days and aliens on the horizon? The guilt would be suffocating."

"Fine, I recognize when I'm fighting a losing battle." His voice trailed off as he studied his salad. He had told Will about Alex's troubling discovery, despite the fact it was classified information, because it's what married couples did—share things which truly mattered.

"So what is on your mind? Other than the obvious."

Richard blew out a breath through pursed lips. "The damned assassination. The Palluda attack. The war. I know, everyone else has moved on, but I've been in this line of work almost forty years now and nothing about any of it makes a lick of sense."

"Okay. Why?"

"Why? Let me count the ways...."

"Sure. Still, I'd be willing to bet there's one thing always jumping to the front of your mind. One niggling incongruity which sets off all the others."

He chuckled. The mind of an engineer at work, using structured failure analysis on every problem. The chuckle faded as he realized Will was, as usual, correct. "Okay. For starters, Candela. The assassin. Putting aside the fact he fits the profile of exactly zero assassins in history, which is another issue altogether, he made no effort to conceal his identity during the attack. Arguably he even flaunted it, leaving his fingerprints and DNA on half a dozen hands and practically mugging for the camera. So then—" he broke off when the waiter appeared with their lunch.

After taking a bite of the fried halibut he continued. "So then why did he work so hard to slip away unnoticed and elude the pursuit, only to commit suicide immediately thereafter?"

Will paused the spoon filled with chili just shy of his mouth. "Because he didn't want to spend the next year in an Alliance prison cell, paraded out every so often in shackles for the media and otherwise awaiting his execution?"

"Admittedly, a good reason. But he could have accomplished the same objective by stopping and pointing a weapon at one of the agents pursuing him, or attacking one. If he intended to die anyway, why was it so important he get away first?"

Will nodded intently; the matter had gained his attention now. "And if he intended to die anyway, why was it so important the world know _he_ committed the murder?"

"Exactly." Richard ran a hand along his jaw. "There's something else. Alex showed up at Headquarters the other day with a Senecan intelligence agent."

Will's eyes shot up. An odd shadow passed through them; it was gone after a blink, though his brow had furrowed in surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Quite. We arrested him, she broke him out of detention, they've disappeared off-planet...it's a long story. But the most disconcerting part is, he claimed to be here to ask for our help. He and Alex believe the assassination was not sanctioned by any Senecan authority, nor the Palluda attack by any Alliance one—something I think Miriam is beginning to suspect as well. They insist the entire war is a setup perpetrated by someone else, though God knows who that might be."

"Damn." Will sank deeper in his chair. "Is there any chance they're right?"

"I...have to concede it's not outside the realm of possibility. Given all the questions surrounding these events, perhaps more than possible."

Will delivered a _look_ across the table. Firm, almost challenging. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Ha." He swallowed. "Alex asked me for the autopsy reports on Santiagar. She seemed to think if the Senecans were able to examine the details they may be able to prove Candela wasn't the assassin."

"I'm guessing you didn't give them to her."

"I couldn't. It would be a violation of the Military Code and my professional responsibility and arguably treason. A senior Alliance military officer passing classified files to a Senecan spy? I'd be dishonorably discharged, not to mention probably spend the rest of my life in prison."

"But Richard...what if they're right? Millions of people are going to die in this war, it's inevitable. What if you can prevent that from happening?"

He met Will's gaze and found it animated by a startling intensity. "What are you suggesting I do? Simply hand over the files and hope for the best?"

"Let me do it."

" _What?_ "

"Give me the files. I'll send Alex a message—from the company even, something official-sounding related to her loft—and encrypt the files inside it. She's a smart girl, she'll figure it out. Or her spy friend will."

He reached over and grasped Richard's hand in his. "Look. I realize if it all goes off the rails you could still be implicated. But at least it will provide you some protection by putting a layer between you and the Senecans."

"Will, why would you do this? Why get involved?"

"Because I want to believe Alex is right. I want to believe this war is a mistake neither side intended. Call me crazy, but I want peace. I _don't think_ the Senecans are bad guys—not en masse. And if there is an opportunity for us to save all those lives, I want to help make it happen."

A heavy breath fell from Richard's lips, until it felt like his lungs, his entire body, had become an empty void. He'd been a lowly major in the First Crux War, responsible for only a handful of soldiers and insulated from the weighty decisions which came with power. Now there was a chance, albeit a slim one, the fate of millions rested in his hands.

His eyes rose to find his husband's staring at him with affection, but also conviction. He nodded. "Give me two hours."

# 63 Romane

### Independent Colony

They had barely made it back upstairs in time for the approach and landing on Romane, on account of the unexpectedly extended and _amazing_ shower.

Mia stepped through the hangar bay door seconds after Alex opened the hatch and they disembarked. He was certain she had been waiting outside and timed her entry appropriately. She wore a flattering yet conservative black pantsuit complemented by a silver top, her long black hair sleek and straight over one shoulder.

It still sometimes amazed him how thoroughly she had transformed herself from a scruffy street rat hacker and thief to a wealthy, respected businesswoman. He had meant it twelve years ago when he told her she showed potential beyond her circumstances, but the extent to which it had turned out to be true surprised even him.

She met them halfway and planted a quick kiss on the cheek. "Caleb, it's been too long." She had retreated before he could respond and was greeting Alex with an impressively genuine smile and extended hand. "Mia Requelme. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Alex accepted the proffered hand somewhat coolly, though he suspected it was no different from how she greeted most strangers. "Alex Solovy. Thank you for indulging us, and on such short notice."

Mia sighed in feigned drama. "I've learned by now with Caleb—it's always short notice. But it's no trouble. Very nice ship you have there. One of a kind, I'd wager."

"I'd like to think so."

"I've seen a lot of expensive ships pass through here. I suspect you are correct." She gestured to several control panels along the wall. "If you'll follow me, you can review our standard procedures and the special services we offer. I understand security is of utmost concern."

"It is."

Mia had clearly already surmised the ship was Alex's baby, the extra measures he'd requested were on her account and when it came to the ship she was the one in charge. The ability to size up a customer and their proclivities in a matter of seconds was no doubt one reason she had done so well for herself.

Satisfied things were on track to proceed relatively smoothly, he looked at Mia as they crossed the spacious bay together. The Class I bays were the largest and best-equipped offered, not merely by her but by anyone on Romane, and every aspect of it shone. "I don't suppose you happened to bring my pack I left here?"

" _Please_. It's in my office."

Alex had dived into the information at the control center, quite intently so. He drew to her side and leaned in close. "The pack contains some personal weapons and tools—I've sort of scattered extras across the galaxy, I'm afraid. Once I grab it, I am going to go buy some clothes, because I'm sure you are beyond ready to see me in anything other than this shirt. It's been a decent shirt, but I'm considering burning it."

She gave him a vague nod in response, her focus still on the details of the hangar bay. He looked over his shoulder. "Mia, after we run by your office can you come back and get Alex set up with what she needs?"

Her expression veered dangerously close to a smirk. "I'd be happy to do so."

He leaned in yet closer, squeezed Alex's hand and placed a delicate kiss at the base of her ear. It was important to him she feel comfortable in the situation, and know he was here for _her_ and only her. "I'll be back soon."

Her eyes cut up at him with a distracted glance. "Okay. Have fun."

Mia spun around as soon as the door to her office closed to stare at him in disbelief and perhaps dismay. "Caleb, darling, what have you gotten yourself into?"

He crouched down beside the pack on the floor and unzipped it. He wasn't afraid she had removed anything, but he needed to remind himself of its contents. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to, Mia _darling_."

"Miriam Solovy's daughter? Are you kidding me? I appreciate that you're adventurous, but I didn't think you were insane."

He chuckled darkly while he rummaged through the pack. "How the hell do you know who her _mother_ is?"

She glared at him as if insulted. "I'm paid very well to stay current on many details regarding the power players in this little galaxy of ours. And your girlfriend's mother is one of them. You do realize you're at war against the Alliance now, right?"

He shrugged, zipped up the pack and stood. "Your point?"

She stepped forward and grasped his hands in hers. "I have a soft spot for you, Caleb. I always have. I don't want to see you get hurt."

He smiled. "They've already arrested me. What else can they do?"

She didn't. "They can kill you, for one."

"I'm much too good to let that happen. Don't worry. We'll be fine."

"We?" She dropped his hands and took a step back. "Oh my god, you're in love with her."

He exhaled harshly—more harshly than he had intended. "Don't be absurd. I—"

"You are, you're completely in love with her. I can't believe I didn't spot it immediately." She laughed. "I never thought I'd see the day, Caleb Marano in _love_. She really must be something."

"Just stop, okay? You don't know what you're talking about." She definitely did not know what she was talking about. How could she?

She nodded dramatically, eyes wide in mocking. "Of _course_ , my mistake. Whatever you say."

" _Mia...._ "

"No, I concede the point. You're not in love. Silly of me to even suggest it. Now I'd better get out to the bay lest your girlfriend start suspecting we're in here being bad."

He reached out and grabbed her arm as she turned to go. "Wait. We're renting a ship to take to Seneca, and odds are we'll be there a few days. There's something else I need you to do for me while we're gone. I'll pay you whatever you need for it."

"Caleb, you know I never charge you."

"You haven't heard what it is yet."

Mia returned, sans Caleb, after several minutes.

She was rather beautiful, Alex thought. Objectively speaking. Of average height but with exquisite bone structure, her olive skin complimented vaguely Asian features. She carried herself with studied confidence, yet her eyes carried a hint of...Alex wasn't sure. Roughness? Grittiness? Though she gave a flawless impression of it, the woman had not been born into wealth. Of that much Alex was certain.

"How's everything look?"

"Excellent. You have a very sophisticated facility here. I must admit I'm impressed. But can we go over the additional security measures?"

"Absolutely." Mia opened a new display in one of the panels. "A cam monitors the door from the outside, which only I—and now you and Caleb—can access. As you see, this is the sole entrance to the bay except for airborne entry, but while the bay is occupied the force field is one-way. Your handprint here and this door becomes operable solely by you and I."

"And Caleb?"

"Not until he gets back here with his handprint."

"Right. Can it be DNA-coded as well?"

Mia raised an eyebrow but didn't otherwise balk at the request. "It can." Her fingertips manipulated the information on the screen, and a small drawer slid out from beneath the shelf. It held a brushed magnesium encoder.

Alex recognized its purpose and pressed her palm to it. A faint tingle against her index finger indicated the extraction of her DNA signature.

She glanced over at Mia, who was already pulling in the signature and configuring the door security. "So how did you meet Caleb?"

The woman's head tilted away as a guarded expression swept across her face.

"I don't mean to pry. If it's personal—"

"Sorry, gut reaction. My past isn't a topic I make a habit of discussing. But hell, why not. It's certainly been long enough." She added a small smile. "In short, he saved me. I was in the forced employ of the Triene cartel on Pandora, where I had run after I got tired of my father and brother using me as a mule to fence stolen goods—most notably when the last 'customer' got it in his head to relieve me of both the goods and my life."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I stabbed him. I assume he died, but who knows. Unfortunately, I ended up in a situation which was little better. One day Caleb approached me seeking help to get inside the Triene compound. I agreed, and he gave me a ticket off-planet and some credits to get on my feet. He took the whole operation down, then checked up on me a while later. We became friends of a sort."

"Then more than friends."

"Ha...told you, did he?" She rolled her eyes and muttered something Alex couldn't make out under her breath. "Don't worry, it's all far in the past. But he is my friend, and I owe him my life. So...be gentle with him."

"I hardly think Caleb needs anyone to be _gentle_ with him."

"You might be surprised." She transitioned the display to a new menu. "Here, we can also add a plasma cage around the docking area." A tap and a field shimmered to life in a box two meters beyond the frame of the ship. "And now I'm linking it to you as well. You can activate and deactivate it from here."

Mia paused, the corners of her mouth twitching. "What about you? How did you meet him?"

Alex cleared her throat awkwardly. "I, uh, shot down his ship and stranded him on a hostile planet...then rescued him from it."

"Nice!" Mia laughed; it was surprisingly rich and sultry. "That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Why he's so taken with you. Other than the obvious of course."

She felt a bit flustered. Gabbing like teenagers about a guy wasn't an activity she commonly engaged in, or had honestly ever done—at least not with anyone other than Kennedy and even then only after several glasses of wine. "What do you mean?"

Mia leaned against the shelf, crossing her arms over her chest and relaxing her bearing. "There's something you need to understand about Caleb. He spends a lot of his time—professionally—manipulating people. Finding their weaknesses and exploiting them. He's quite skilled at it, and it's kind of affected his opinion of people in general. It's not that he doesn't appreciate them—I suspect he's rather fond of humanity as a rule—but it of necessity puts him somewhat apart and above most of them."

She chuckled, seemingly to herself. "Very few individuals truly impress him, and the ones who do are unfailingly strong, independent and resourceful. And should someone actually get the better of him, well he'd be smitten for sure."

"Smitten?"

A mysterious grin grew on Mia's lips, as if she knew a secret and intended on keeping it. Okay, _that_ was annoying. "Smitten." She pushed off the shelf and focused back on the display. "Any particular name you want the rental under?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Caleb said you'd be wanting the records doctored. I can choose a name at random, or one of the many corps, but I thought I'd give you the option."

Ever the spy...but he was right. A false name would make the ship more secure, especially should her hijinks at the detention center garner attention. "It's an excellent idea, but I'll let you choose. I'm not much with the spy games."

"Stick with him, and you will be."

"Everything go okay with Mia?"

"Hmm? Yeah, it went fine." She was preoccupied when she glanced up at him, but she had to smile at the new clothes. He wore charcoal casual slacks and a deep navy shirt unbuttoned over a tee of matching hue. The bag in his hand indicated there were more where these came from.

She wouldn't have thought it possible, but the choice of color made his eyes appear an even richer blue. "I like."

He dropped the bag on the floor and joined her on the couch. "Good. Something going on?"

"I'm not sure." She sent the message she had been staring at to an aural. "This came in a few minutes ago."

_Ms. Solovy,_

_With respect to the proposed renovations to your residence, we have attached draft plans based on your specifications. Please review the changes and additions. We hope they meet with your approval._

_Regards,_

_— W. C. Sutton Construction, Inc._

"W. C. Sutton is Will's firm...but I'm not doing any renovations to the loft."

"Who's Will?"

"Richard's husband. Might as well take a look at the plans." The attachment opened to display, as advertised, a blueprint of the layout of her loft. A series of alterations were marked in green. They included the addition of marble flooring to the entrance and dining area, an extension of the kitchen another meter and a half, new windows and an additional closet on the back wall of the elevated sleeping area.

"This is weird. I've never discussed the possibility of working on the loft with him. His expertise is large commercial projects, anyway."

"What's up with the windows? They look odd."

She zoomed in on the specs running along the side of the aural. "It says they're beveled...which is absurd. Who would put in beveled windows? They would totally obscure the view—and the view is the entire point of the windows."

"Well, either your friend Will isn't much of an architect, or...hang on a second. Select the center window."

The remainder of the blueprint blurred into the background as the center window came into focus. It consisted of a pattern of several dozen small beveled squares.

"There." He pointed to one of the squares in the lower left quadrant of the window. Now that she examined it, it did seem to contain a more intricate pattern than the others. She selected it, and the square enlarged to dominate the aural.

The pattern inside consisted of an ornamental capital 'A.'

"That's what I thought. It's a hidden message for you." She looked over quizzically; he shrugged in response. "Spy trick. You should open it."

"Right...." She raised an eyebrow at the image and tapped the 'A.' A dialog opened over it:

_What was the title and composer of David Solovy's favorite musical piece?_

A wistful smile tugged at her lips as she input the answer:

_Capriccio Italien, Op. 45 by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky_

A file popped out of the blueprint to hover in the air.

_Autopsy Reports: Mangele Santiagar. September 15, 2322_

She laughed in delight and sank against the cushion. "Crafty bastard. I knew I could count on him."

Caleb grasped her face in his hands and drew her in for a long, languorous kiss. He tasted of butter and caramel coffee. _Delicious._

"You. Are. Wonderful."

"Little bit, yeah." She kissed him again before pulling back. "I talked to him after you were arrested. I told him about our suspicions and the information you were hoping for, but he said there was nothing he could do to help."

"Looks like he had a change of heart—unless this Will guy heard about your conversation and accessed the file himself."

"No. He's a construction project manager, not a spy. Besides, they're very close. This is Richard's doing. Here, let me send the file to you."

He rested his elbows on his knees and took a moment to study it. "The information's quite detailed, so hopefully it includes a key to breaking this whole mess open. But it's got Alliance security written all over it—no way will it pass through the defense net. We'll have to deliver it in person. Which is fine, because we can be in Cavare tonight."

He grinned at her, clearly pleased with the turn of events. "Let's go rent ourselves a ship."

# 64 New Babel

### Independent Colony

Olivia smiled to herself as she toured the newly claimed facility, though she never allowed it to reach her lips. Outwardly she appeared stoically critical and discerning, inspecting every surface and corner for mistakes, flaws or merely a lack of optimization.

She gestured to a series of narrow slits running along the top of the right wall. "Replace those cooling vents. We have access to newer material at half cost. And make certain to get the correct grade for this type of production."

The manufacturing facility had been 'liberated' from the Shào cartel two days earlier, cleaned up overnight and the necessary renovations were now nearly complete. This particular location would increase her supply flow of illegal cybernetic enhancements—vision and reflex enhancers, body state interpreters, sleep deprivation modulators and cyberization overclocks, to name a few—all hyper-concentrated and boosted well beyond safe limits and all carrying a decent risk of blindness, muscular detachment or even catastrophic neural stroke.

It had been a good decision on her part to take what she needed rather than expend the time and effort to build a new plant. The war was heating up in earnest, and they were already seeing a noticeable uptick in demand for the sort of enhancements the plant would fabricate. Everyone wanted to gain an advantage in the rising chaos generated by the war; she was happy to supply them with the necessary tools to do so in whatever manner they saw fit.

She took a last look around the long rectangular chamber. Workers busily installed equipment on the primary production floor. Crates filled with components lined the walls, in many cases stacked almost to the ceiling. Enforcers guarded every door, inside and out; more stood watch in a hundred meter perimeter. Shào wasn't some street gang, and she didn't expect they would take the seizure of their property particularly well. There would be repercussions, but nothing her people couldn't handle.

"I've seen enough. Carry on. Contact me if you encounter any last-minute difficulties." She nodded to Gesson and headed for the lift to the roof, entourage in tow.

The muggy blue haze of a New Babel morning greeted her as she strode across the roof to her transport. She had a dinner date with the CEO of a pharmaceutical corporation, one who had displayed a degree of moral _flexibility_ when it came to his business endeavors.

For the right price, she was confident he could be convinced to provide her the ingredients she required. Once combined with other ingredients from other pharmaceutical companies, legitimate and otherwise, the result would be a new variety of high-potency chimerals for the market, available exclusively through the Zelones cartel.

In the midst of the war, when death and destruction abounded, people inevitably sought a way to escape from it all. Yet another avenue of opportunity opening up thanks to the predictable incompetence and reactionary behavior of politicians.

That and a few well-placed missiles.

The colonized worlds which called themselves civilization represented a powder keg lying dormant for far too long. Apply the right amount of pressure and it would erupt into chaos. She could _feel_ the galaxy beginning to convulse.

The transport rose above the industrial area and banked toward the spaceport. The pharmaceutical executive didn't dare risk being seen on New Babel, _of course_ , so she was doing him the tremendous favor of traveling to Atlantis for the dinner. A one-time concession—but one time was generally all that was required.

An incoming message captured her attention as she was about to begin reviewing new cost analyses. On opening it her expression darkened to a scowl.

_Ms. Montegreu,_

_Target refused the Vancouver job. He also discovered the contents of the parcel._

_— Kigin_

She instantly pulsed Kigin.

_Is he dead yet?_

_Um, no, ma'am. I thought I should check with you for instructions._

_My instructions are for him to be dead. Now._

_Yes, ma'am. I'll take care of it._

She sighed and pinched her nose in annoyance. This was why plans existed, and why they should not be deviated from unless there was no other viable option. She succeeded in this business in part because she maintained plans for her plans, short and long-term strategies for numerous scenarios and multilayered schemes to be executed over years, even decades. Indulging ad-hoc modifications to meticulously crafted plans was a recipe for disaster which had brought down more than one otherwise brilliant leader.

She should not have done it.

The thought of informing Marcus his little 'opportunity' was a no-go crossed her mind for less than a millisecond before being dismissed. He insisted on QEC only, paranoid beyond reason about secrecy, and she did not remotely have the time to return to the office now.

And besides, she had made him no promises. She'd said she would make an effort to accommodate his last-minute special request, and so she did. Perhaps she might let him know when they next talked. But he had pushed the limits of their business arrangement in making the request, and she wasn't inclined to reward bad behavior.

She would, however, clean up the mess which had resulted though it was an inconvenience—because she, at least as much as he, held a vested interest in their arrangement continuing forward with great success.

# 65 Space, North-Central Quadrant

### Seneca Stellar System

Caleb started over to the small stairwell of the rental ship to tell Alex to dress warmly, as Cavare was quite cool at night—then froze when she ascended the stairs.

She was wearing a deep violet turtleneck made of a silky, shimmery material; when the light hit it hints of indigo and crimson rippled across the fabric. It was paired with sleek, form-fitting black pants and wedge-heeled black boots. Her hair was loosely pulled back to cascade over and behind her shoulders in waves. She had allowed a few strands to escape and frame her cheekbones. It was simple, functional and ordinary attire. It was _spectacular_.

She paused at the top of the stairs. One hand lingered on the railing. "What? Did I forget something?"

"You're beautiful." His voice came out soft and almost reverential. He had told her so the night before as well, while she had straddled him, naked in the starlight shining through the viewport above her bed. It was no less true now.

She blinked. "I...thank you. I didn't bring a lot of non-work clothes. Maybe I should have picked up a few things with you on Romane...."

He smiled and crossed the space to her, wrapping one arm around her waist while the other hand drew along her jaw. "You look beautiful in those, too, by the way. In case I haven't told you."

She appeared utterly flummoxed, which he didn't understand. He was certain he wasn't the first man to tell her she was beautiful. No computer algorithm would produce her features as the ideal example of beauty—they were too dramatic, too unique—but make no mistake. She _was_ beautiful.

Finally she relaxed into him, her lips meeting his with a whisper. "You thinking flattery will get you in my pants?"

"That's the plan."

A beep in the cockpit signaled their initial approach to Seneca, and he reluctantly disentangled from her and went to the cockpit. It was a little odd him being in charge of the flying, and he knew she found it disorienting. But for the moment at least, this was his show.

"Wait—" he glanced over his shoulder at her, startled at the outburst "—are they going to let me through? Should I have, I don't know, procured myself a fake ID or something?"

"You've been cleared."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you've been cleared. It's taken care of."

"Under my own name."

"Under your own name." He grasped her hand as she draped her arms along the headrest of the cockpit chair. "It'll be fine. Promise."

# 66 Seneca

### Cavare, Intelligence Division Headquarters

They were meeting in a conference room on the first floor of Division Headquarters, for several reasons. This way Caleb wouldn't be running into a number of people who might be curious about where he had been and what he may have been up to. Also, Volosk wasn't exactly comfortable giving Alex a red carpet tour of Division's inner sanctum. From an outside perspective Caleb could understand the concern, so he didn't argue the matter.

He input the security code, which changed every twenty hours, and his own personal ID scan at the outer door and motioned for her to enter ahead of him. Two hallways and another door, then a final door and they reached the small conference room.

Volosk had been notified of their arrival and was waiting on them. He stood and shook Caleb's hand. "Agent Marano, glad to see you made it back in one piece."

"As am I, sir."

Volosk's gaze shifted to the left. "Ms. Solovy, I presume." He extended a hand in a more formal manner. "Michael Volosk, Director of Special Operations."

She graciously accepted the proffered greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He gestured to the table and they took up seats opposite him. Caleb clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward. "I'm sending you a file I think you will find most useful."

Volosk raised an eyebrow, but his expression transformed once he received the file. His eyes unfocused for a solid ten seconds before his attention returned to them. He smiled in what looked like relief but was definitely appreciation.

"You have my sincere gratitude—both of you. As soon as we're done here I'll start analyzing this information. Perhaps...well, let's not get our hopes up too high, but perhaps we can do something about the current state of affairs. For now, though, we should talk about Metis."

Alex caught Caleb's gaze briefly, then reached in her pocket and removed a small crystal disk. The pause was almost imperceptible before she slid the disk across the table. "A hard copy of all the raw data we collected."

He accepted it with the deference it deserved. "Thank you." His head tilted in contemplation. "Alliance leadership also has this information, I take it?"

"They do."

"If I may ask, is there anything you're comfortable telling me in regard to their response?"

_"Chush' sobach'ya..._." She cleared her throat. "Pardon me. They said they will monitor the situation."

He smiled, though it came off a bit cold. "They're hoping the aliens will attack us first so they can take advantage of the opportunity."

This pause was noticeable. "Something to that effect."

"And how do you feel about their response, Ms. Solovy?"

She met his stare evenly, without flinching. "I'm here, aren't I?"

He dipped his chin to concede the point. "Fair enough. I meant no offense."

Caleb squeezed her hand under the table. "What's the word from the GOI platoon we sent to investigate? Did they find the alien ships?"

Volosk's lips pursed. "We've had no word from them since they entered Metis four days ago. As communications are not possible inside the Nebula, it's too early to draw any conclusions. They may simply still be investigating."

"I imagine they had instructions to deploy drones back out with updates?"

The man's expression was admirably neutral. "They did."

Shit. He _told_ them it was too risky to send an entire platoon in, he didn't care if they were stealth special forces. "I see. Hopefully you'll hear from them soon."

"I hope so as well." The uneasy silence lingered only a breath longer than what was comfortable. "So I've reviewed your report, but if you don't mind I'd like to go over a few details." His eyes roved over each of them; they each shrugged in acceptance.

"Your spectral analysis of the ships' composition—it returned no matches, correct?"

"Correct." She nodded, intrinsically slipping into expert mode. "Chemically, the closest equivalent is lonsdaleite diamond, but this metal is far darker in color than lonsdaleite and isn't appreciably close to a match. Whatever the metal is, it appeared quite dense and strong. Unfortunately, the sole other fact we've determined with any certainty is that the ring is constructed of a similar but not identical material."

"Okay. So we're looking at previously undiscovered elements then. And regarding the electromagnetic waves, you suggested the terahertz signals might be a form of communication. Can I ask what your thinking is?"

"Again, it's merely speculation, but a couple of things. For one, the signal was hyper-precise—focused and compressed, with no detectable bleed. This means it wasn't an emission byproduct of their technology and was clearly being used for _some_ purpose. Also, Metis doesn't have significant background terahertz radiation—but in the portal region the terahertz waves were pervasive. And lastly, because we don't use it for communications. It might not occur to us to eavesdrop on the band."

"Hmm." He nodded deliberately. "Not bad as reasons go." He was quiet a moment before shifting his attention to Caleb. "Where do you think the portal originates?"

It would be the question for him. There were no hard, objective facts or data to rely upon—pretty much no information whatsoever in fact. Nothing but instinct and observation skills born of experience, and a dash of inborn talent.

"Another dimension."

"Are you serious?" The eyebrow transformed from appreciation to skepticism.

"It may very well lead to the other side of the Milky Way or just as likely to another galaxy. But here's the thing—and I'd never have thought of it if Alex hadn't raised the idea of a dimensional portal as a conceivable possibility—the portal had to be built. And as impressive as those superdreadnoughts are, they are miniscule compared to the portal. Building it must have been a tremendous undertaking for even highly advanced aliens."

He straightened his posture, caught up in the argument. "So why send the workers and machinery and materials to build the portal across the galaxy or universe via conventional means—why spend all the time and effort—to build a shortcut? How much more time would it have taken to simply send the ships instead?"

He sensed Alex regarding him curiously. He hadn't actually had the opportunity to share his theory with her. There had been escapes to execute and sex and planning and organization and sex and meals to cook and... _well_. He grinned at her with a corner of his mouth.

Volosk, however, was frowning. "I can imagine plenty of explanations. The personnel and fuel involved, to name one."

"Absolutely. I concede the point. But I think it's safe to assume these aliens possess the capability to travel at least as rapidly as we can. So say they're from the other side of the galaxy. At most it's forty or so Galactic days' travel, in no way a trip worthy of building an expensive magic portal instead. If on the other hand we're talking another galaxy, the trip is nearly half a year at a minimum and in all likelihood far longer, in which case why expend the time and manpower to send the builders but not the fighters?"

He leaned in and dropped his elbows on the table. "And what fighters? Granted, there _could_ be soldiers, organic beings of some sort, inside the dreadnoughts or the tentacle ships—hell, there probably _are_. But we saw zero evidence of them." He lifted a hand in preemptive protest. "Before you say it, I agree you wouldn't see us from the outside of our fleet either. Still, there was a feeling, an impression the ships evoked...like nothing was present that lived and breathed."

He shrugged, consciously dialing down the fervor. "Either they travel very slow and thus need the portal, which contradicts their otherwise obviously advanced technology, or they travel very fast, which obviates the need for the portal at all. Unless it was the only way."

Volosk was silent for a long time. Finally he nodded. "Decent assertions—except for one point. If the portal is the only way, how did its builders get here?"

Caleb bit his lower lip. "I'm no expert on hidden dimensions, but...I'm not certain they would need to."

A ponderous silence again lingered for a moment, until Volosk chuckled wryly. "Well, for now we should focus on how to defend against them. More esoteric musings can wait for the victory party."

He straightened up in his chair, as if he had convinced himself of the rightness of his conclusion. "I'm trying to arrange a meeting with Delavasi and the Defense Director for later tonight, though their schedules are unsurprisingly rather full. If the two of you can remain available for the next several hours, I'd appreciate it. I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything definitive."

He stood and leveled a keen gaze at Caleb. "Until then I must get back to the details of managing an..." he managed not to glance at Alex "...unfortunate war. Agent Marano, until further notice your sole mission is the investigation of these aliens and matters related thereto."

"Of course. Any special instructions?"

"In the brief time I've worked with you, I have come to realize one thing. Of all our agents, you are the last person who needs micromanaging. Act as you see fit—but do try to avoid blowing up any more Division starships if at all possible."

"I'll do my best, sir. Though in fairness, the last one was _her_ fault."

# 67 Earth

### Washington, Earth Alliance Headquarters

The basement command center of Earth Alliance Headquarters remained a flurry of activity on this, the sixth day of the Second Crux War.

Aides ensured the secure files were loaded and all necessary information available, the refreshment table was fully stocked and the EM shielding field was in place and active. The noise amplified off the reinforced walls to create a din above which it was difficult to carry on a normal conversation.

The Chief of Staff's arrival in the bunker served as the aides' cue to depart the immediate area surrounding the situation room. They filed past the woman and dispersed—some upstairs to their offices, others to stations elsewhere in the command center to monitor war developments.

Marcus Aguirre exited the lift alongside Prime Minister Brennon. They continued their conversation as they walked down the long hallway. "Yes, sir, I believe under the regulations you definitely have the authority to appropriate the necessary—" Upon reaching the situation room he cut himself off. "But we can discuss it in the meeting." He stepped to the side and allowed Brennon to enter the room ahead of him.

The Assembly Speaker and Chairman of the Armed Forces Committee had already arrived, along with the Defense Minister. Marcus went over to the hutch in the rear of the room and poured himself a glass of water before taking his seat a third of the way down the conference table. He presented himself as reviewing materials for the meeting while he discreetly observed the others through the translucent screen.

Speaker Barrera was a long-time acquaintance and political ally. They had met for dinner two nights earlier; it was a timely reaffirmation of their alliance and a subtle reminder to the Speaker of favors Marcus had granted him in the past. It could be argued the Speaker owed Marcus for his position, but he never spoke of it aloud. He didn't need to. Such was the way of the political game. Besides, the debt would come due soon enough.

The Armed Forces Chairman was a sharp one. Retired military, he had earned several medals of valor for his service during the First Crux War. He held his current position for those accomplishments, not on account of any political skills. So though he deserved keeping an eye on, realistically he should be out of his league in the coming maneuvers.

Defense Minister Mori spoke quietly with the Chief of Staff across the table. Mori was weak, a bureaucrat when he had been in the military and even more of one in the government. Any military influence he had was far overshadowed by EASC. But he was an unabashed Senecan opponent; as such, his intense dislike of the enemy may prove useful. The Chief of Staff, on the other hand, was shrewd and highly intelligent, and loyal to Brennon to a fault. She had been at the man's side for over twenty years, since his early political campaigns.

He glanced up as the Foreign Minister walked in, followed by—

_Well this was a complication._

Mori slid his chair back and rose to salute. "Admiral Solovy, it's a pleasure to see you again. I take it General Alamatto is otherwise engaged today?"

Miriam Solovy nodded politely. "Yes, he spent the afternoon on the Orbital meeting with the Regional Commanders. He's returning now, but would be unable to arrive here in time. He sends his regrets."

Alamatto was supposed to be _here_ , and thus out of danger. He could control Alamatto. _Solovy_ was supposed to be in Vancouver, sitting in her office at EASC Headquarters like a good girl.

His face maintained a perfect mask while he tamped down his annoyance and considered his options. It didn't take long, because for the moment he had none. He couldn't call off the operation now if he wanted to—and he didn't want to, as to do so would cause far more complications than it solved. He considered trying to waylay Alamatto and delay his arrival in Vancouver...but he personally didn't have a viable way to make it happen, and those who might were not currently available.

It would be a setback, but a minor one. The primary objective and several secondary ones would still be achieved. And Solovy would soon find herself facing her own difficulties in any event. He did need to factor her continued presence into matters and formulate countermeasures, but it would have to wait.

Brennon signaled for the meeting to begin with a glance around the table. "Thank you for coming, everyone. The purpose of this meeting is to review the state of affairs one week into hostilities and discuss our strategy going forward."

His smile beamed across the table as though the room were populated by constituents. "First, the good news. Admiral Solovy?"

Solovy spared a small nod for Brennon. "Thank you, Prime Minister. As you are all likely aware, four days ago we destroyed fifteen major Senecan hyperspectral scanners, significantly crippling their ability to track our military movements and buildups. With heightened defense measures now in place we don't expect them to be able to replace the lost surveillance capabilities in the foreseeable future.

"Also, I'm pleased to report Admiral Rychen's forces engaged the Senecan detachment responsible for the attack on Arcadia and achieved a decisive victory near Desna. It was the first head-to-head battle of this conflict and represents a clear win for the Alliance."

"Excellent news, Admiral. Minister Mori?"

The Defense Minister frowned; it was an unpleasant expression on his thin lips and pinched chin. "Unfortunately, it isn't all good news. Five hours ago a Senecan strike force destroyed the production facilities of Surno Materials on Aquila. Surno was our largest supplier of the metamaterials used in the construction of Alliance starships.

"Now while this isn't an immediate emergency, it is inevitable we will suffer losses in the war and will need to replace ships. I've recommended that we invoke Regulation ERS 26608.577.2034g and appropriate fifty percent of the production output from the five next largest manufacturers of the relevant metamaterials."

Marcus cleared his throat. "I've advised the Prime Minister he does have the authority to do so under said Regulation. There is, however, public perception to consider as well. We don't want the government to appear too heavy-handed this early into the conflict."

Mori shrugged. "What are our other options?"

Solovy shifted her posture in an indefinable way which somehow increased her presence at the table. "We can approach the suppliers as customers and negotiate new contracts."

"Ha!" Mori snorted. "Wartime is not the place for capitalism. We require the materials. That should be the end of discussion. Surely you recognize this, Admiral?"

" _Surely_."

"Yes, well." Brennon nodded. "I will make a decision later today. Admiral, do our military forces have any further pressing requirements?"

"Many, sir, but we are addressing them."

Brennon smiled a little. "Of course you are. Now we should probably move—"

"Sir, if I may, there is one additional matter we should discuss."

If Brennon was taken aback by the interruption, he gave no sign of it. "Certainly, Admiral."

Solovy looked around at the others. "Forgive me if I'm stating the obvious, as I don't often have the opportunity to attend these meetings, but the information I'm about to share cannot leave this room."

Marcus had a deep suspicion as to the nature of the information and swiftly made an effort to deflect it. "Admiral, if this information is so sensitive perhaps it would be better if it were handled offline, with a smaller group?"

Her gaze snapped to him, and he felt a faint shiver run up his spine. "Mr. Attorney General, is this not the Select Military Advisory Council? Is this not the most secure location in Alliance space? I was under the impression there _was_ no 'smaller group' with which to consult."

"It is all of those things. Nevertheless, it might be more—"

Brennon's hand extended out on the table. "She's correct, Marcus. We are all trustworthy here. Let her speak."

Son of a _bitch_.

"Thank you, sir. The visuals I'm going to show you were taken inside the Metis Nebula just over one week ago."

# 68 Seneca

### Cavare

"We have a couple of hours before Volosk will be able to pull off a meeting." Caleb grabbed Alex's hand and tugged her into the parking lot. "You impressed me right and proper on Earth. Give me a chance to impress you."

Her eyes slid away with a grin. "Okay. Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

She followed him to the bike, giggling under her breath as she draped the wrap on her neck and activated the helmet, threw a leg over the bike and grasped him tightly around the waist. It was every teenage girl's wild, rebellious fantasy: speeding off on a sleek, sexy bike holding onto her sexy renegade. She would never admit to it being one of _her_ fantasies, but...it didn't suck.

The air carried quite a chill whipping past as they sped through a rather impressive downtown area. She snuggled closer against him.

Everything looked as though it had been built in the last two years; it all still carried the gleam of _newness_. And the city was large, far larger than she had been led to believe. The streets bustled with foot, vehicle and air traffic and all the hallmarks of a vibrant, lively culture. It didn't come close to comparing to the Atlantic Met, nor half a dozen other metropolitan areas on Earth. But it did have a freshness and vivacity to it she hadn't expected.

It was a few short minutes before he slowed and veered into another parking lot, to her mild disappointment. Then she saw the reflection of Seneca's enormous moon in the river across the street and grinned yet again. She climbed off the bike and wandered to the water's edge while he secured it.

He sidled up behind her, his arms encircling her waist as his chin rested on her shoulder. "Pretty, isn't it?"

She drew in a deep breath and savored the feel of him pressed against her, of his arms wrapped around her. She could get used to this, and quickly. "Very."

"Come on." He grasped her hand and again tugged her along.

"This wasn't what you brought me to see?"

"Uh, no."

They entered an outdoor market and entertainment area. Mellow synth strains, the hum of the crowd and pleasant aromas from several restaurants and grill stands filled the air, but he continued to lead her on past all the tempting diversions.

The crowd began to thin and they veered back toward the river. In the distance she saw several tall, glittering arches. Beneath the arches the water gained a faint glimmer.

They approached a simple kiosk. He manipulated the display a moment and gestured toward the water.

A small personal craft had appeared out of nowhere alongside the ledge. It had a very minimal structure, flat save for sides which bowed up maybe a meter high and containing only two cushioned couch-like seats.

"After you."

She raised an eyebrow at him but stepped in and sat down. He joined her, and the craft glided forward.

"Are you driving?"

"I could, but no, it's automated for the moment."

"Where does it go?"

"The lake."

She waited, but no more information was forthcoming, so she shifted to check out the view of downtown. The lights from the many skyscrapers reflected in warping patterns along the river, though the reflection of the moon continued to dominate. "It really is a beautiful city, Caleb."

"It is. You should probably turn around now."

"Hmm?" She twisted again in the seat. They were now passing under the first arch. It was a mammoth sculpture of bronze, copper and brushed graphite, wound through by golden optic fibers. It towered nearly a quarter kilometer above them at its peak. Already the next arch was in sight, and beyond three more arches a brilliantly lit structure rose out of the water.

She realized the river was now widening rapidly, and also had begun to...glow. Faintly at first, yet brighter with every meter. She looked over at Caleb curiously. "Bioluminescence?"

He had kicked back in his seat, his legs stretched out along the floor and ankles crossed leisurely. His hands were clasped behind his head. "Of a sort. You ready?"

She laughed incredulously. "For _what_?"

His eyes twinkled in amusement, revealing an infinite recursion of facets cut into their sapphire hue. She only tore away from them when a field shimmered into existence, extending up from the edges of the craft high enough so they were able to stand within it.

Then the craft began to submerge.

"What...?" Her voice drifted off, stunned into silence.

Fully submerged beneath the surface and still moving forward, they became enveloped by an incredible white-blue luminescence. The closest comparison was phosphorescent algae, but she discerned no trace of even miniscule particles. The water simply _glowed_ , more intensely than any nebula.

The material composing the craft turned out to be a transparent glass material. She stood, and was surrounded in every direction by the radiant splendor. The field was all but invisible, giving the impression she could reach out and immerse fingertips in the water. Colorful fish sporting metallic scales and tiny eyes periodically swam past them. One tried to swim into the craft and collided with the field, causing a slight ripple across it as the fish jerked back in surprise.

"Caleb...." She turned to find him watching her, a delighted smile on his face and a look in his eyes that sent a wicked flutter through her chest.

She plopped in his lap and wound her arms around his neck. " _Okay_. Congratulations, you've impressed me."

"Good," he whispered against her lips. "And we're not even done yet."

"No?"

"Nope." He motioned in the direction ahead of them and she somewhat reluctantly pulled away to see.

What she presumed was the large structure she had seen from the surface extended deep beneath the lake as well. As they approached, it became obvious it continued down at least thirty levels. Hundreds if not thousands of people milled about on the other side of the glass. Restaurants, several dance clubs and numerous shops could be made out as their craft circled and docked.

The field surrounding the craft vanished, and they were inside. She stepped out behind him.

This was clearly a high-class entertainment hub. The patrons tended to be well-dressed in expensive attire, though there was the occasional throng of slacker teens among the crowd. The noise level was considerable due to the enclosed environment, but not so loud she was unable to hear him beside her. As they strolled along the curving path, the floor-to-ceiling glass revealed the luminescent waters unmarred. It was actually so bright there was almost no lighting inside.

"Do you want to get some dinner?"

Her eyes cut over to him. "Why, yes I do."

He laughed and guided her toward the outside of the wide walkway. A moment later they stepped on a lift cut into the glass wall. It sped upward, swooshing past water rushing in the opposite direction. The lift broke through the surface and continued up another forty levels or so.

Then they were in the open air. A cool breeze from the lake far below drifted over them, yet the space felt warmed in some artificial manner.

The roof consisted entirely of a restaurant, complete with white tablecloths and optic candles. Though it seemed full to capacity, they were nevertheless shown to a table bordering the outer edge. Nothing blocked their view of the glowing lake below or the cityscape in the distance. The moon above them appeared close enough to reach up and touch.

She spent a good thirty seconds looking at the sights, peering down the sheer cliff of glass and twisting about in her seat, so much so she was surprised when a bottle of wine arrived at the table.

She settled back in the chair and eyed him suspiciously but playfully as he poured her a glass. "Okay, how did you get this table?"

His lips curled up in a sly smirk. "It's possible I went to primary with the restaurant manager."

"Well." She regarded him over the rim of her glass. When she spoke, her voice came out uncharacteristically soft. "I'm sorry we tried to destroy this place."

"Alex, that isn't what this is about—I mean, yes, I hoped you might realize we're not the enemy, but—"

"I know. And I'm...I'm sorry I wanted us to destroy this place."

His smile was exceptionally gentle. "Apology accepted."

She glanced around again briefly before returning to his gaze, to find it had never left her. "So what _is_ this about then? I feel like I'm being wooed, but I think we're a little beyond that stage."

"Are you complaining?"

"Nooo."

"I'm glad." He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "I know you're out of your comfort zone. I recognize it isn't easy for you to follow someone else's lead. And I just want you to know I appreciate it, and maybe convince you it doesn't always have to be so bad."

She squeezed his hand. "There's certainly nothing bad about all this...in fact, I'd say it's pretty damn wonderful."

# 69 Earth

### Vancouver, EASC Headquarters

Richard strode brusquely toward the Archives building. The late afternoon sun at his back almost hinted at warmth in the moments before it would drop below the horizon.

Much as Miriam had expressed the previous day, he found himself ruing the...extensiveness...of Alliance regulations. The assassination investigation having been closed on account of the war and the obvious-to-everyone perpetrator, all the files pertaining to it—thankfully except for the medical files due to a few test results still outstanding—had been moved to Archives and personal copies ordered scrubbed. Because that was how things were done.

Thus his trek across the EASC campus over to the Archives to review the files there. He would not be allowed to check them out and take them to his office. Because that was how things were done.

Alex's insistence that the assassination, the entire war, was a setup had troubled him even prior to his lunch with Will. Seeing as he'd now arguably committed treason against the Alliance on a bet she might be correct, it seemed a good idea to look deeper into the matter on his end as well. If he—

The blast of heat hit his back before the sky brightened, which was odd—nearly as odd as his brain insisting on noticing such details above far more dramatic ones.

Maybe he was simply too close for the difference in speed to be noticeable.

_Yes, that must be it._

He spun around at the same instant as he was thrown tumbling through the air by an invisible force.

He caught the briefest glimpse of the towering, white-hot ball of flame pluming into the sky just as the sun began to set beneath the water and he—

When he regained consciousness—slowly, groggily—the flames clawed at the heavens, but they were increasingly obscured by the thick smoke which now roiled across the broad courtyard toward him.

He scrambled backward on his hands and heels to escape the approaching smoke, which was of course a ludicrous thing to do. The smoke surged over him in a massive wave, choking his lungs and stealing the breath from them.

Shouts and screams cut through the haze in the air and in his mind, closer than the roar of the flames and screeching metal reverberating from everywhere and nowhere.

Feet pounded against the stone of the courtyard. People running. Panicked.

It occurred to him he had been almost to the Archives.

If he could get inside then perhaps he could breathe. Perhaps he could live.

He crawled to his feet...and realized the smoke was far too dense to determine in which direction the Archives was located.

The lack of oxygen spread foggy tendrils into his brain, mucking up the works and colliding with spots of yawning blackness from what must be a concussion....

He somehow managed to call up a map overlay on a whisper.

_That way._

He half-ran, half-stumbled twenty meters and fell through a door and into merciful darkness.

Hands reached down and helped him up.

He coughed smoke out of his lungs. His vision began to clear. Breath by breath his mind sharpened the fog away.

His head hurt like the devil and he suspected he'd fractured his right shoulder. But he was able to think again, and thus allow the soldier within to push aside the terror and take control.

Smoke obscured everything beyond the glass doors. A quick glance around indicated those in the lobby appeared largely unhurt, so he rushed to the lift and headed for the top floor.

The Archives building stood only thirty-five stories, but it should be tall enough to get above the worst of the smoke. When the lift slowed to a stop he hurried to the windows, ignoring the sharp jolts of pain shooting along his shoulder and neck.

The once-towering Headquarters building was fully consumed in flames and crumbling in on itself. One corner of the foundation was completely blown out, causing the structure to list and gradually sink into the gap. Midway up and again near the two-thirds point where the flames burnt strongest, entire sections of the frame were missing, sending the higher floors canting back the other way.

The destroyed building had acquired a ragged, zigzagged appearance. It reminded him of a child's haphazardly constructed tower of blocks right before it collapsed.

He used his ocular implant to capture several visuals, because the tower in front of him would also soon collapse, and he may be one of the few people seeing this particular vantage.

As the adrenaline continued to dissipate he studied the scene with a more critical eye. Based on his experience, it looked as though high-powered explosive charges had detonated at the base in the front left corner as well as at strategic points throughout the building.

No way did explosives get past security into the building—which meant the bombs must have been assembled inside.

_They had traitors in their midst._

A renewed war. Aliens on the approach. Now insurrection from within. Had Alex and her Senecan companion been more horrifically right than even they imagined?

The sirens of emergency vehicles rose above the rumble as craft began circling overhead. There was certainly plenty of water available to douse the fire...but there was also a _lot_ of fire.

God, how many people had been in the building? Five thousand? Six? Many would still be alive and trapped. Rescue personnel were already dropping beneath aircraft and attaching themselves to the burning, dangerously crumbling walls.

The pulse leapt into his vision, startling him out his reverie.

* * *

_Richard! Are you there? Are you okay?_

_Miriam. Yes, I'm fine. I was over at the Archives. Are you still in Washington?_

_On the way back. What's the situation? There's been an attack on HQ?_

_Oh, Miriam...I'm afraid it's far worse than a simple attack._

_What do you mean?_

_Headquarters is_ gone _._

There was a weighty pause.

_I'll be there soon._

When the connection ended he dragged a hand down his face; it came away coated in soot and blood.

Miriam possessed inside information, but the news would be hitting the exanet any second now, if it hadn't already. He took a deep breath and pulsed Will.

# 70 Seneca

### Cavare

They strolled along the promenade, Alex's hand wrapped snugly in his. Dinner had been delicious and romantic, and the return trip beneath the lake's surface doubly so. Caleb wanted nothing more than to whisk her away to his apartment and spend several hours ravaging every single centimeter of her lovely body. But alas, there was still work to be done. _Later, however...._

"Do you think we—" He broke off mid-sentence, frowning at the abrupt, unnatural movement of people toward one of the nearby exanet news broadcast screens. They instinctively joined the crowd, though he was also pulling up his own customized news feed.

The large screen showed an aerial view of an island in late evening light. An uneasy sensation rippled through his skin; the location looked uncomfortably familiar, though it was difficult to be certain due to the remainder of the scene.

A towering pillar of copper and crimson flames roiled to engulf a high-rise and lick at the sky. Dense clouds of smoke billowed out from the structure to flow over the island. Scattered strewn debris and huge chunks fallen from the edifice decorated gaps in the smoke. At least a dozen emergency craft circled in the air above, many dangling rescue responders beneath.

"This footage is from Earth Alliance Strategic Command in Vancouver, where fourteen minutes ago a series of massive explosions rocked the building which houses—"

"Alex, you—" She thrust a palm into his chest, holding him at bay. Her gaze was unfocused, her stance rigid. He watched her instead of the footage.

It was a full ten seconds before she exhaled and focused on him, her features losing a mere fraction of their tautness. "She's safe. She was traveling from Washington. Richard's safe, too, though he had a much closer call."

She ran a hand down her face as her attention was drawn inexorably to the screen. "Caleb...."

"I know." Had his government done this? In war everything constituted fair game, but it nevertheless struck him as incredibly dirty tactics. A hell of a lot of noncombatants worked in that building. On the other hand, wiping out a good portion of Alliance military leadership in one fell swoop would definitely knock them on their heels, sowing confusion and perhaps chaos. Arguably a brilliant tactic...but still dirty.

He grasped her shoulder. "Let's get to some place quieter where we can find out what's going on."

She nodded in agreement, but her eyes were clouded and troubled. He honestly couldn't blame her.

The crowd thinned then vanished as they wound their way to the end of the riverwalk, up the stairs and across the street to the parking lot. It was dark and maybe a third full.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It was too dark. Some of the lighting had gone out—which was impossible unless it had been deliberately eliminated.

A shadow moved in the corner of his vision.

Another deep in the recesses of the lot.

All his senses sharpened into hyper-focus as nanobot-aided adrenaline flooded his veins and fueled his limbs to enhanced speeds.

"Get down!" He shoved her behind one of the skycars the same instant a laser streaked between them from the left.

She landed on her hands and knees next to the car door. He crouched beside her but kept his focus outward as infrared augmentation activated in his ocular implant. Not wanting to risk a sound, he pulsed her. _Stay here._

He drew his kinetic blade out of its sheath and flicked it on as a heat signature grew at the front edge of the vehicle. He crawled forward, staying low and against the frame.

When a foot appeared at the rim, he grabbed it and yanked to send the attacker sprawling to the ground. In one fluid move he landed on top of the man, knocked the Daemon from his hand and slid the blade in beneath his ribcage and up into his heart.

As soon as he felt it pierce the heart he pulled it out, picked up the Daemon and sprinted to the next nearest vehicle.

The shadow he had seen in the rear of the lot moved closer. This one was cloaked, but in infrared he saw the faintest shimmer to indicate the outline of a person. He rose and aimed over the top of the roof.

One shot, center mass. The outline collapsed.

He immediately scanned the vicinity for more targets. Nothing...nothing... _there_. A heat signature slinked along the wall on the other side of the lot.

_Toward Alex._

He flung the Daemon against a vehicle three rows over and ducked to sprint back. The racket succeeded in momentarily distracting the attacker, who paused to glance in the direction of the sound.

By the time the man resumed advancing Caleb had reached him. He grappled him from behind and with a fierce wrench snapped his neck.

He dropped the body and kneeled beside her. "Are you okay?"

She nodded weakly, staring at him in the darkness with wide eyes and dilated pupils. A knot of dread began pooling in his chest. He didn't—

"Behind you!" It came out as a cracked whisper of a shout.

He spun as he stood, right leg swinging up with the motion.

His heel smashed into a wrist and jarred a Daemon out of the attacker's grip as it fired. The laser stream skidded off the hood of the skycar, cutting the front in two and burning across the wall of the neighboring building.

His opponent delivered a left hook to his jaw. His head jerked, but the overload of adrenaline meant he didn't notice the jolt of pain. He kneed the attacker in the stomach while he shifted his grip on the blade, then plunged it into the man's gut.

The attacker stuttered in surprise, but the angle had been too low and he wouldn't be dead for a while yet. Running on his own adrenaline, the man clawed at Caleb's face in search of an eye socket in which to jam a thumb.

He pulled the man into a bear hug, shoved the blade in deeper and forced it upward, slicing him open a centimeter at a time.

When the man finally sagged lifelessly in his grasp, he tossed the body to the side.

"We need to leave, _now_. Let's get to the bike."

Getting no response, he turned to Alex. Even in the dim light he could see all the color had drained from her face. She clung to the frame of the vehicle as she haltingly climbed to her feet. Her gaze roamed around wildly, looking at anything except him.

In an adrenaline-fueled combat state everything was knocked off-kilter. Time moved rapidly and slowly all at once. Light and shadow gained contrast, and the world appeared as an over-processed image, full of sharp edges and too-crisp colors. Movement leapt out as jagged gashes against a frozen frame.

He struggled past all this to see what she saw.

Three dead bodies lay within four meters. Blood pouring from two of the bodies pooled to join together and creep inexorably toward them.

Intestines spilled forth out of one; the flickering illumination from the riverwalk created the illusion of slimy tentacles slithering forward in the treacherous shadows.

The third corpse's head was twisted at an impossible angle upon the ground, eyes open to stare blankly at her and into the void.

He stood before her coated in repulsive bodily fluids. He felt the warm stickiness of blood streaked along one cheek, across his chin, dribbling down his neck.

Without a doubt, it was an utterly horrific panorama of violence and death. A tableau of nightmares.

And as he watched her recoil from the gruesome scene—and him—his heart plummeted then left him entirely. The moment he had always dreaded, worked to ensure never came to pass while trying his damnedest to pretend it never would, met him full on in her shell-shocked eyes and blanched face.

It occurred to him that perhaps Mia had been right after all. Which only made it so, so much worse.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "We _have_ to get away from here, and quickly. It's not safe. Will you come with me?"

Having reached a standing position, she gave a semblance of a nod.

Taking it as assent, he headed for the bike several rows further in...and realized there had been no jagged gash in his peripheral vision. She had made no move to follow him. His chin dropped and his eyes squeezed shut so tightly halos flared in the blackness.

He forced them open to gaze at her.

" _Please._ "

"Right...." She shook her head roughly and gingerly pushed off the vehicle, skittering to the side of the encroaching pools of blood to trail behind him at a distance.

When they reached the bike he had to remind her to put on the helmet wrap. Her hands rested warily midway around his waist; he felt them trembling through the cloth of his overshirt.

He wanted to scream and rage. He wanted to hit something and kill a few more people. He wanted to grab her and shake her and beg her with every ounce of his soul to not react like this...

...but he knew it was already far too late. And the rest of his body and brain were still in combat mode and he had to get them to safety.

"Alex, you need to hold on tighter, okay?" His voice sounded hollow and strained, like a too-taught string on an antique violin.

But she complied. He pulled out of the lot and onto the street.

They'd go back to Division, where security was high, then...well, he didn't know what then. He didn't know if she'd consent to go anywhere with him after this. If not, he could...he could send an escort to accompany her to the spaceport and she would be able to leave. Go to Romane, and from there, Earth.

He tried to focus on the road. The artificial lighting had returned to normal; in his distorted vision the added light gave the surroundings a washed out, achromatic sheen.

It was what it was. It was done and there was nothing in the universe which could change it. He accepted the deadening of his heart and began prepping the stoic mask he would desperately need in the coming hours.

He sent Volosk a message to let him know they were on their way and under assault.

_Message unable to be delivered. Recipient is not connected to exanet infrastructure. Message will be queued until it can be delivered._

Fucking bloody _fuck_.

And just like that everything became considerably more complicated. If they weren't the only ones being targeted....

But for the moment, a single thing mattered: staying alive. _Her staying alive._

He broadcast a local Division alert and slowed as they neared HQ. The information relayed to him indicated Volosk's last recorded action was to leave the office to run an errand.

He swung to the rear and came to a stop alongside the building across from the entrance.

Alex stumbled off the bike, sending another dagger into his soul.

_It didn't matter._

He kept his voice low. "Stay here a minute. I need to make sure the way is clear." She nodded mutely and backed into the wall. The void in his chest swelled to a yawning chasm at the sight of her looking at him in such a manner, shrinking away from him.

It didn't _matter_.

He peered around the corner, blade at the ready. He saw no movement nor anything out of the ordinary—save for the lump on the ground near the reserved area where the subdivision directors parked.

He knew what awaited him as he approached from the shadows.

Michael Volosk lay on his back in a pool of blood, one arm fractured at the elbow and the other wrenched behind his head. He had fought his attacker, if to no avail.

His throat had been sliced clean through from ear to ear by a gamma knife. His eyes stared blankly into the void, no different in death than the assailant's at the park.

Caleb blew out a harsh breath, his hand coming up to abuse his jaw. Volosk was an honorable, decent man. He had a wife and two young children and a spotless record. _What reason did they have to kill_ him _?_

He spun around at the echo of footsteps, arm cocked and blade raised. But it was her. His arm dropped to his side.

She approached with caution, her focus locked on the body of the man she had met mere hours earlier—until it darted jerkily up to him.

God, she looked _so_ scared.

He would give the wealth of nations to be able to convince her she never need be afraid of him. But he had no such wealth to give.

"He can't have been dead long or someone would have found him. The attackers might still be nearby." He glanced at the Division building, at the door fifteen meters across the lot. "I think we should get out of here, to the ship. It isn't safe, even here. If they got to him this close to Headquarters, they could have gotten inside."

He gazed at her imploringly. "Will you do that? Will you go with me to the spaceport at least? From there you can...whatever you want. But I need to get you to safety."

She blinked. "Of course...." She took a step, faltered and sank against the wall grasping clumsily at her right side.

"What is it? Are you hurt?"

"Yeah...I...I got nicked back there at the park...it's fine though...cybernetics will take care of it...."

Then her legs buckled beneath her.

He had already been moving and reached her a split-second before she hit the ground. One hand slid under her head, much as it had in another, far, _far_ better circumstance.

He eased her down. "Alex? Alex, talk to me."

Nothing. She had lost consciousness.

He carefully shifted her arm out of the way. Her sweater was soaked through with blood. It blended into the deep purple of the material, which was why he hadn't seen it until now.

A frantic breath fell from his lips. "Oh, baby, no...."

Time screeched to a halt while he _oh-so-gently_ rolled her onto her side. The back of the sweater was soaked in blood as well.

He lifted the sweater up to reveal entry and exit wounds. They lay in a direct trajectory, above her hip. The laser had traveled straight through and at a location which in all probability missed any vital organs.

_Okay._

He willed what combat mode still remained to the forefront. Time resumed its skewed rapid slow progression forward.

There was a med kit inside, but there may also be assassins inside—or worse, traitors from within. If they were being hunted a hospital represented a death trap, and his apartment was doubtless being watched.

The rental ship had a Grade III med kit on board. If her cybernetics and genetic enhancements were as advanced as he was certain they must be, it would be enough.

_If he got her to it soon._

The bike was clearly out. _Something he could walk away from._

He stood, walked six meters and broke into the nearest vehicle. He rummaged through the compartment; as expected, there was a gym bag. Division employees loved their workouts, if solely for the stress relief they provided.

He tore it open and removed a t-shirt, climbed out and rushed back to her. With a rip of the seam the shirt became a long strip of cloth which he wound around her abdomen and secured over both wounds to staunch the bleeding.

He gathered her up in his arms.

Though he had endeavored to smother any emotions beneath an iron façade, a cry found its way to the surface when she sagged bonelessly against him.

He choked it off in his throat as he positioned her in the passenger seat and secured the harness over her. Then he bolted to the driver's side, scrambled in and hacked the controls.

The instant the engine fired he lifted into the air and accelerated toward the spaceport at reckless speed.

# 71 Erisen

### Earth Alliance Colony

Kennedy exited the lift at the top floor of IS Design's offices, heels _clack-clacking_ on the marble floor as she strode across the wide foyer. The deep green business suit she wore was cut rather conservatively, though at least it complimented her eyes, and her hair was uncharacteristically pulled up in a dress knot—a few minor concessions to the stodgy formality of a Board of Directors meeting.

The secretary smiled as she approached. "You're expected, Ms. Rossi. You can go right on in."

"Thank you, Nance. Oh, before I forget, congratulations on your daughter being accepted to MIT. I know you must be proud."

The woman beamed. "Very much so, though I will miss her. Thank you again for the personal recommendation. I'm sure it helped quite a lot."

Her grin held a hint of teasing. " _I'm_ sure it had far more to do with her accomplishments, but I'm glad if I helped out a tiny bit."

She gave Nance a wink and continued into the boardroom. The four men and three women were engaged in a heated discussion over new efficiency measures, so she quietly took a seat along the wall.

It was several minutes until the conversation quieted down and the chairman motioned to her. "Ms. Rossi, thank you for coming."

She stood and approached the empty end of the table. "My pleasure. I'm glad to have the opportunity to—"

"A situation has arisen regarding a materials supplier which we'd like you to turn your attention toward."

What? She was here to present the final specs on the EM reverse shield. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm not clear on—"

"You're aware the Surno Materials facility on Aquila was destroyed by the Senecans yesterday?"

"Yes, sir. Most unfortunate. I know they were a major supplier of ours."

"Not merely of ours. They were also a significant supplier of metamaterials to the Alliance military. Now the Alliance is busily soaking up the remaining available supply from other manufacturers."

He glanced a little nervously around the table. "Of course this company has a long history and tradition of supporting the Alliance, and we stand fully behind the war effort. But the fact remains we will also need supplies if we expect to deliver on existing orders, not to mention future ones."

She couldn't help but frown. "Without a doubt. But while Surno was a reliable supplier, there are numerous metamaterial manufacturers on Alliance worlds and friendly independent ones."

"Yes, and they are all now being courted heavily by our competitors and every other provider of space-worthy end products."

"Ah, well, I can see the difficulty. However, as Director of the Design and Prototyping Division, I'm not certain how I might be able to help."

One of the directors, Amanda Vashi, clasped her hands on the table. "We recognize it isn't your normal area of focus. But your, shall we say, 'social' talents and networking connections are well known and respected, by this Board and the community at large. Combined with the stature of your family, we believe you would make an excellent ambassador for the company and a shrewd negotiator."

She suppressed a laugh; that had to be the most polite way of saying 'you're very attractive, can work a cocktail party like nobody's business and excel at fooling powerful men into believing you're flirting with them' she had ever heard. "I'm flattered, Ms. Vashi, but there are a number of important projects ongoing in DPD right now which I would hate to neglect."

The chairman smiled in his usual annoying, condescending manner. "Certainly there are, but I'm sure they will survive a couple of days without your direct guidance. We want you to go to Messium and persuade the president of Palaimo Metallurgy to supply us a minimum of sixty percent of our metamaterial requirements for the next year—for reasonable and fair compensation, naturally."

Her weight shifted to her back foot and she crossed her arms over her stomach, deciding she could stand to lose a bit of deference. "Can't those negotiations be conducted over holo? I really don't see the need for a personal visit."

"Palaimo's president is something of a prima donna, I'm afraid. And he is, as I noted earlier, being wooed by other companies as well. We believe a personal touch and a touch of extra attention will be required to make the deal happen."

She pursed her lips together to swallow annoyance. She didn't particularly want to trek all the way out to Messium to kiss some self-important corporate executive's ass. But she didn't see how it was particularly up to her either. With a silent sigh she nodded and gave the chairman a brilliant if somewhat plastic smile.

"Then I am happy to assist the company in any way I can. I'll make the arrangements today." She looked around at the directors. "If there's nothing else, I'd like to give my presentation now."

"Absolutely, Ms. Rossi. Please, continue."

"Thank you." She sent the presentation to the large screen above the table. "As you may recall from my earlier visit, the proposed EM reverse shield is intended—"

Nance burst into the room. The woman's eyes were wide, and she appeared out of breath though she couldn't have run more than a few meters.

"Turn on the news feed! Alliance Strategic Command has been destroyed!"

# 72 Space, Northwest Quadrant

### Orellan Stellar System

The 2nd Regiment of the 4th Brigade of the Earth Alliance NW Regional Command patrolled the Fionava-Balta-Orellan corridor, as had been its duty for more than a decade. Periodic superluminal traversals ended randomly to avoid predictable patterns and were interspersed with lengthy periods of impulse propulsion. Of course this being the Earth Alliance military, 'randomly' actually meant one of seven predetermined sequences.

Lieutenant Colonel Malcolm Jenner paced in front of the CO chair as the seconds counted down to the shift from superluminal to normal impulse propulsion. They would be at full ready when the transition occurred, as always, but particularly so after the EASC bombing hours earlier had put the entire fleet on Level IV alert status.

He had been the commanding officer of the _EAS Juno_ for all of twenty-three days, and ready state still made him apprehensive. It wasn't like commanding ground forces, where you could hear and smell and sense the situation you were heading into—where even as a commander you had a weapon in your hand and at least the illusion of control over your own fate.

Here, standing on the deck of a starship in the void of space, he could request information and give orders but do little else to affect his fate or that of his men. It was one reason he disliked space, but only the latest one.

He had tried to comprehend the appeal, to grasp the wonder and amazement others felt toward the stars. For Alex, he had tried. But he had failed.

It wasn't as if he was a luddite; he embraced humanity's continued advancement as much as anyone. He simply preferred the sensation of soil beneath his feet and wind in his hair, of fresh, non-recycled air which carried on it the scent and taste of _life_. He preferred what was solid and real, where if you could see it you could touch it, feel its texture between the tips of your fingers. As far as he knew, no one had ever touched a star.

_Not even her._

Yet here he was, commander of a starship for twenty-three days and flying into the middle of a war.

He had been happy serving as the operations officer for the 3rd BC Brigade in Vancouver. It was a good posting, with plenty of responsibility and solid officers under him. But if he wanted to make full colonel in the next decade—or possibly ever—a flight command tour was all but a necessity. And he did want to make colonel, almost as much as Veronica wanted him to.

It was only because she believed in him and thought he was capable of greater things that she pushed him so. He knew this in his heart.

So he had left behind his beautiful new wife of two months, his honorable if slightly staid job and his charming house in the North Vancouver foothills for a half-year space tour. Seventeen days in he had found himself in a war. Alex would be laughing her ass off if she could see him now....

"Flight Lieutenant Billoughy, prepare to idle the sLume drive at 14:35:00. Helmsman Xao, is the Orellan asteroid belt survey loaded into the navigation system?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. Impulse in two...one... _mark_."

In the large viewport dominating the bow of the bridge, stars crystalized into focus. Though nearly 3.4 AU away, the sanguine light from the system's red giant sun cast an eerie hue over the scene. Two of the other four frigates in the formation materialized in the port and starboard peripherals as well as on the tactical map to his left.

"All systems—"

An explosion off their port viewport blew a hole in the side of the _EAS Somerset_ 2.3 seconds after it emerged from superluminal. The shockwave shuddered across the bridge, causing him to grab for the arm of his chair while he implemented Level V alert status. Alarms rang through the deck, but he filtered the increased noise to the background.

He quickly sat down so as not to stumble around the bridge like some ground-pounder. Miniature versions of the tactical and sector maps leapt onto small screens beside him. He watched in dismay as the _EAS Caroline_ ventured forth to their starboard, never seeing the 'asteroid' beneath it which detonated and blew out its impulse engine.

_Lt. Colonel Jenner: Command, the asteroid field is mined. I repeat, the asteroid field is mined._

The field had been mapped to a three-meter level of accuracy so ships were able to avoid collisions. Now it appeared mines had been disguised to resemble asteroids to the casual observer—'asteroids' which would not be on the map.

"Science, I need active visual scans. Update navigation on new obstacles as they are found. Tactical, deploy drones in sets of four spaced one hundred fifty meters apart. Billoughy, keep our course at least two hundred meters rear of the drones. Systems, divert non-critical power to plasma shield—"

The tactical map flared red as a dozen Senecan fighters dropped out of superluminal into the middle of the asteroid field and spread to engage. Based on the speed they were approaching, they did possess detailed mappings of the mines' locations as well as the asteroids themselves.

The _Caroline_ made for easy pickings with its impulse engine disabled. It took under eight seconds for the small ships to destroy its sLume drive and blow a hole through its shields and into the port stern hull.

The comm screen to his right shouted in bold letters when their own fighters launched from the carrier accompanying them, the _EAS Sao Paulo_. The surrounding space lit up in arcing laser streams and small explosions as numerous asteroids fell victim to the crossfire.

For a breath he paused to acknowledge the scene depicted in the viewport. _So this is what space warfare truly looked like. Admittedly, it_ was _beautiful_.

"Weapons, you get a clear shot on one of those fighters, you take it. Billoughy, increase minimum distance to drones to four hundred meters and prepare for evasive maneuvers." A bright plume flared ahead; he thought it might be a drone catching a mine, but a glance at tactical confirmed it was a fighter. _One of ours._

He stared at the screen, briefly transfixed as a Senecan fighter drew its opponent into a mine, diverting at the last instant and leaving the Alliance ship to disintegrate.

" _Jesus..._ Science, get the updated scans out to the other ships."

_Lt. Colonel Jenner: Recommend all capable vessels initiate active visual scans to update navigation maps. Our optimal range does not encompass entire battle sector._

_Rear Admiral Tarone (_ Sao Paulo _):_ Michigan _,_ Hirami _, assume defensive positions off_ Sao Paulo _flanks._ Juno _, get your ass back here on the double and assume point._

The carrier, having been lucky enough to arrive at a location absent of any mines, had little choice at the moment but to hold its position. Given its size and relative lack of maneuverability, it faced certain damage and probable crippling if it attempted to navigate the asteroid field. Requesting protection was understandable.

Nonetheless, Malcolm bristled at the order. It left their fighters with effectively no support and created a giant stationary target for the enemy.

"Billoughy, reverse course and adopt a position 0.8 kilometers N 5.00° E of the _Sao Paulo_."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Those are our orders."

"Yes, sir."

"Tactical, continue deploying drones to replace those destroyed." By this point the drones were doing a decent job of clearing a path forward in about a 60° arc. Maybe the fighters would be able to use it to their advantage...he looked back at the screens. Shit, they only had four still flying to the Senecans' nine?

This was a bloodbath.

Even without the mines the battlefield favored the opponents' superior maneuverability—undoubtedly one reason it had been chosen. The Senecans clearly had identified their ostensibly 'random' routes and knew they would eventually traverse the asteroid field.

He sent a private pulse to Tarone.

_Admiral, we've lost two-thirds of our fighters and a third of our frigates. Perhaps we should consider retreating._

_Run from a few tiny fighters? Ridiculous._

_...Yes, sir._

With the dwindling number of Alliance fighters to offer resistance, several of the enemy vessels began advancing on their position.

"Weapons, be ready to lock on to the first ship to come in range."

"Yes, sir." Seven seconds later a pulse beam leapt out of the well of the _Juno_.

It was virtually impossible to escape a pulse beam once it had locked on, and the ship did not. But it did execute a hairpin turn to drop behind a real asteroid an instant before the beam reached it. The asteroid exploded into hundreds of shards, some of which surely caused damage to the fighter—yet it emerged from the debris to resume advancing.

_Dammit._

But perhaps the Admiral was correct. There was no way nine Senecan fighters could survive against the weaponry of three Alliance frigates and a carrier long enough to do any real damage.

The error in his thinking became apparent when five fighters converged toward the _Hirami_ off the _Sao Paulo's_ port flank, dancing and weaving almost too rapidly for the eye to follow. Frigates wielded only two plasma weapons.

The comm screen lit up again.

_Lt. Colonel T'soki (_ Hirami _): Request weapons support from_ Sao Paulo _._

_Rear Admiral Tarone (_ Sao Paulo _): Negative, cannot fire from this position without hitting_ Hirami _._

"Weapons, any chance we can target one of the fighters without catching the _Hirami_?"

"Possibly, sir. Searching for a target in right quadrant...locked."

_Lt. Colonel Jenner:_ Hirami _, we've got one of them for you._

_Lt. Colonel T'soki (_ Hirami _): Much appreciated._

"Weapons, if you can take any more out, do so."

But it wasn't enough. Three of the fighters were destroyed, but by the time the _Hirami_ was able to retarget, the remaining two were on top of them. They dropped in a deep arc beneath the _Hirami_ and targeted the impulse engine. It would require a lot of firepower for so few fighters to take out the engine though; maybe he could take them out before they succeeded.

"Weapons...."

"Trying, sir."

Then the Senecan vessels did the unthinkable. They accelerated and suicided into the impulse drive.

The blast ricocheted through the _Hirami's_ hull, ripping it to shreds in seconds.

He couldn't hear the metal tearing apart, nor the screams of the crew. Nonetheless it was a horrific sight, witnessing the destruction of 74,000 tonnes of starship and as many as a hundred lives. He vaguely noted the Senecan pilots had ejected just prior to impact; not quite so suicidal after all.

Still, he had to remind himself, the enemy was down to a mere three ships. Even if those ships had eliminated two more Alliance fighters while the others had engaged the _Hirami_.

"Weapons, target remaining fight—"

The tactical map flashed an angry red as two Senecan cruisers and six frigates materialized on the map.

_Lt. Colonel Jenner: Admiral, we must retreat._

_Lt. Colonel Pniewski (_ Michigan _): What about rescuing survivors?_

Another Alliance fighter vanished from the map.

_Lt. Colonel Jenner: The Senecans will pick them up. They'll be POWs, but they'll be alive. Admiral? Do we have a retreat order?_

A long pause.

_Rear Admiral Tarone (_ Sao Paulo _): Retreat. Rendezvous Fionava._

"Billoughy, engage the sLume drive immediately. Fionava heading."

It took approximately 7.2 seconds for a frigate-sized sLume drive to power up and engage. The sole intact Alliance fighter sped into the _Sao Paulo's_ bay with five seconds to spare.

Malcolm kept an eye on tactical while the drive powered up. He—

_Lt. Colonel Jenner:_ Michigan _, watch your starboard!_

The remaining Senecan fighters had cloaked in, revealing themselves less than a second before their weapons fired into the sLume drive. The developing warp bubble cavorted wildly then detonated in a massive sphere of exotic particles, vaporizing the _Michigan_ as it expanded at an alarming rate—

"Flight?"

"Drive active...now!"

The glare of the explosion blurred to nothingness as they accelerated away at hundreds of times the speed of light. He sank into the chair, stunned, as the adrenaline abandoned him in waves.

The formation had been all but wiped out, none but the _Sao Paulo_ , the _Juno_ and a single fighter surviving to retreat.

It would take nearly six hours to reach Northwestern Regional Command on Fionava. But when they arrived, Malcolm was damn straight departing the ship and finding himself some fresh air to breathe.

# 73 Space, North-Central Quadrant

### Senecan Federation Space

The first thing Alex was aware of was the chill of gel medwraps melded to her abdomen and back. Next came the dull but not insignificant pain.

Her eyelids fluttered open.

A wave of disorientation washed over her—the cushions beneath her felt wrong, the walls looked wrong, the lights...then she remembered. Not her ship. A rental.

Caleb sat cross-legged on the floor, back to the wall, hands fisted at his chin, eyes downcast. He must have caught the telltale signs of movement in his peripheral vision because his eyes shot up to her. They shone brightly, but their color had paled to that of heavenly blue morning glories blooming with the dawn.

"Hey, you're awake."

She blinked and frowned. Her brain felt like muddled mush. Had they been outside the Intelligence Division building? Everything since they left the riverwalk was a blur. "How did we get here? We were...I don't know."

"You passed out—you'd been shot. I took a skycar to get us to the ship, then treated your wounds. How do you feel? Can I get you...something...?"

He quickly stood but didn't approach her. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself, and even in her addled state she noticed the light fading from his eyes. It was as if he were disappearing away from her down a long tunnel—which was ridiculous, because he still stood _right there_.

"Water, maybe?" She steadied both palms on the couch cushion and gingerly sat up, letting her legs trail to the floor. _Ow._ Yes, she most certainly had been shot. Vague memories began to bubble up, all jumbled and fragmented. It had been the first volley, as they dove behind the vehicle a millisecond too late. She tried to arrange the memories in a sequential order, but after the laser sliced into her the rest was chaos through a smudged lens.

Her hands clutched the cushion in a death grip to keep her upright until he showed up at her side, outstretched arm holding a glass of water. She hesitantly released one hand and reached up. Still upright. _Excellent._

Once she took the glass he started pacing. The cabin in the rented ship was small, and it made her a bit dizzy to watch him constantly turning. "Are we on our way to Romane?"

"Yeah. I didn't think anywhere on Seneca was safe under the circumstances."

She sipped on the water and struggled to get her bearings and force her brain into some semblance of proper function. After a few more sips it occurred to her that he wasn't looking at her...and had yet to touch her. A troubling sensation stirred in her gut, right next to the gunshot wound.

He continued pacing. And turning. "We'll be there mid-morning. You can get back to your ship and head home. They can protect you there. I'll try to find out what the hell's going on. Maybe I can discover who's behind these attacks, who put the hit on us and Volosk and why...."

She swallowed, her throat unaccountably dry though doused with water. "You're leaving?"

His voice had a strange flat, detached quality she had never heard before; it matched his flat, blank expression as he nodded. "I'm sure you'll want to be getting back to Earth, and I should go after these guys. It's fine."

She stared at him not looking at her. " _What's_ fine?"

"Me leaving. I'm sorry you got hurt, I...I didn't want that. And I understand, so—"

"At least one of us does." She heard the sharp acrimony in her tone, though he didn't appear to. "Unless...."

The blur of the evening's events raced in crocked circles in her head—his now odd, dispassionate manner, what Mia had said about what impressed him, his own admission of why he had chosen his line of work—and the ache in her gut leapt into her chest and flared to drown any pain from her wounds.

"Sure. Okay. I get it." An incredulous breath forced its way past her lips. She was so angry at herself. She had actually allowed herself to begin to...believe. How _stupid_ must she be!

His brow contorted, as if uncertain what direction to adopt. "Listen, I know you're probably disgusted with me right now. I mean there's still blood on my clothes, even if some of it is yours. But—"

She laughed harshly. _Owww._ "I'm seriously considering being disgusted—why _is_ there still blood on your clothes?"

For the briefest moment the blank mask he wore faltered, and emotion flooded his features. He looked stricken—as though he had learned the universe was to be annihilated in the next hour, or his mother or perhaps his favorite pet had died. Seeing as none of those were particularly likely, damned if she could figure out why he might look this way.

She instructed her eVi to have her cybernetics ease up on the wound healing for the time being and send a bit more oxygen and, if need be, adrenaline to her brain. It suddenly seemed quite important she be able to think clearly.

"I didn't want to leave you alone while you were unconscious. But you're okay so..." he moved toward the small stairwell which led to the sleeping area "...so I'll go change now. I'll bring you up a shirt."

She hadn't bothered to notice her sweater was gone and she wore only a bra. Whatever. Sheer anger and disbelief had now risen to drown both the ache in her chest and the ache from her wounds. She would _not_ show weakness.

"We're not finished here."

It took him two seconds to turn around. Seconds which stretched into an eternity. The mask was back in place, while the tenor of his voice carried less inflection than a rudimentary VI. "Okay. Say what you need to."

"Gladly. Yes, I am disgusted with you for wanting to ditch me the second I'm the smallest burden to you. I knew you had a strong survival instinct and all, but I didn't think you were—"

His eyebrows drew into fierce streaks of discontentment. "I'm not—I didn't mean—"

"No, it is, as you say, ' _fine.'_ You go ahead and do whatever the _fuck_ you want to do. Don't give it a second thought." She forgot she bore a small injury, wrenched around to stand and storm off to the cockpit—because it's what she would have done on her ship—and doubled over as a sharp jolt of pain lanced into her side.

As she sank down onto the couch he materialized at her side. "Are you okay? You should—"

"Don't _touch_ me," she growled through gritted teeth.

He backed away, eyes wide with what closely resembled anguish. "I'm sorry...I only wanted...I'll leave you alone."

He again moved toward the stairs, his murmur little more than a whisper. "You may not believe me, but I would _never_ hurt you."

"You're leaving aren't you," she grumbled under her breath, and immediately cringed. She should not have said that aloud. _Dammit._ The pain was wreaking havoc on her brain-to-mouth regulator.

"That's what you want, isn't it?"

Shit, he had heard her. She closed her eyes and dropped her head against the cushion. "It is now."

There was no response; she assumed he had grown bored with the verbal sparring and gone downstairs. She sank further into the cushions, all the energy seeping out of her. She was tired, she was in pain and she was—

"I'm not certain I understand."

She winced at the realization he hadn't left after all and squinted one eye in the direction of the stairwell. He stood with one foot on the landing, the other hovering above the first step. "You don't understand what?"

"You said 'it is now,' as if it wasn't before. And earlier you seemed to imply leaving was somehow my choice."

She groaned and sat up enough to glare at him. "Do not try to play mind games with me, Caleb. I am not in the mood, and I will not let you pin this on me, _vrubilsya_? You want to leave, I get it—so just _go_ , but don't try to turn it into something else to ease your guilty conscience."

The expression of pained patience flitted across his face, but it was as if he hadn't the strength to maintain it. His gaze roved around the cabin, and when it again found her his eyes had gone harsh. Sapphire chiseled into brittle edges. His jaw could have been carved of stone, and his formerly deadened voice now bled bitterness.

" _No_. I won't let _you_ turn this into something else. If you can't take what I am so be it, but the simple truth is my actions saved your life. I am not the enemy and I won't allow you to paint me as one."

God, she wished he would end this torture and leave her alone to curl up in a ball.... Now he was deliberately taking advantage of her less than optimal state to confuse her and render her unable to fight back. It was dirty fighting and it wasn't fair.

"I'm perfectly well aware you saved my life, so thank you for doing that at least before you discarded me to run off on your next adventure. I'm so sorry it will take a few hours until you can rid yourself of me. But I don't intend to spend those hours propping up your ego, so you—"

His mouth twitched furiously. "My _ego_? What the bloody hell are you talking about? Alex, what do you think is happening here?"

"What do I _think_? I _think_ you're a selfish narcissist who only goes along for the ride until it begins to interfere with your good time. I _think_ you're an even better liar than I gave you credit for and I fell for it even though I goddamn _knew_ better! I _think_ you should—"

" _Stop_ , please, for one second." He dragged a hand raggedly through his hair. "No. After the attack you were distant and wary and shell-shocked. I killed those men and I know it was brutal and violent and ruthless—"

"Is killing people ever not those things?"

"Well it isn't always so bloody, but...." His voice trailed off as he stared at her for the first time since right after she had awoken, and she swore beneath the surface anger she saw raw pain tarnishing his beautiful eyes. _Damn he's good at this. Even now, he makes me want to believe him._

He frowned...no, it wasn't a frown. It was something else. "Are you...." He stopped, drew in a deep breath, let it out and began again. "Are you telling me you aren't horrified by what I did back there? By the violence of it, the brutality? You're not...you're not afraid I might hurt you, or simply appalled I'm a killer?"

"What? Why would I be?"

"Because it's happened before. Because good people often are. Because I _am_ a killer. And the way you looked at me, the way you—"

"I had been _shot_. I was a little distracted. Then a little weak, then a little dizzy, then, well...."

He blinked and shook his head as if trying to clear cobwebs from it. "Which you neglected to tell me."

In the recesses of her mind, her memories had been gradually solidifying and assembling themselves into a proper order. She tried to focus in on them. "I admit I wasn't thinking overly clearly, but...I thought I'd be okay. I didn't want to slow you down."

"Oh, Alex, I would do anything...." He swallowed and met her gaze once more, an odd glint in his countenance. Like a dying man catching sight of an oasis yet afraid it was a mirage. He spoke slowly. Deliberately. "You weren't planning to kick me out of your life as soon as we landed?"

"Planning when? When I woke up after being shot, of course not. As of a few minutes ago? Hell yes."

He looked confused, hopeful, terrified, all at once; he really did. At this point she was feeling rather confused herself...she checked to make sure her eVi had executed her instructions, though she recognized it commanded diminished resources.

He started pacing again, this time in considerable agitation. His movements were uncontrolled in a manner she had never seen.

Then words began tumbling over one another as they spilled forth. "I thought—I thought you were. I thought you wanted nothing else to do with me upon seeing the bloody reality of what I can be, and do, when I need to. I thought you were in horrified shock—and you were, only maybe it was from being shot and not because of what you saw and—"

The blur of the evening's events raced around in her head again, this time with greater clarity and colored by his perspective. She recalled things he had hinted at over the past days, topics he had been reluctant to talk about. What _else_ Mia had said about him—

—and in a rush it all made sense, in a crazy way that wasn't.

_Silly, hardened, sensitive man._ Her head swam from a deluge of relief and whiplashing emotions. Dammit, he was always _doing_ that to her. But she felt the strangest desire to...protect him.

"You are _such_ a dumb ass."

His face scrunched up in greater confusion, but the pacing screeched to a halt. "Excuse me?"

"You're a _dumb ass_. You honestly believe such an incredible display of badass heroics would scare away someone like me? Frankly, I'm offended. Did you take me for some delicate flower who faints at the sight of a drop of blood?"

He laughed; it had a wild, reckless timbre. "No, I would never—"

"Come here." She didn't quite trust her body to stand just yet. He was going to have to come to her. Perhaps in more ways than one.

He blinked. She watched his throat working. Finally he crossed the cabin to the space in front of the couch and crouched on the balls of his feet. He seemed to search her face but didn't stop to meet her gaze directly. _Hesitant. Cautious. Guarded._

She reached up with her good arm and wound her hand tenderly into his hair, letting it curl softly around her fingers. He sucked in a breath as his eyes closed and his lips fought to tug upward.

"Caleb." His eyes reopened at the sound of her voice. The ocean within them roiled like a hurricane, and her heart decided to go careening off the walls which held it in place.

"I've always known what you are. _Who_ you are may have been in question...." She struggled to find the right words. "I come from a family of soldiers. I understand the necessity for violence. If you hadn't acted as you did, we would probably both be dead. And I, for one, prefer being alive."

She smiled weakly. "I won't deny it was a bit jarring for a second or two, seeing you like that. But...."

Her hand drew down along his jaw to his chin, and she urged it up so he was unable to turn aside. "I knew what I was getting into. And I am _not_ afraid of you." _At least, not in that way._ "Now if this routine is something you concocted as cover for you wanting to leave—"

" _No_." He fell to his knees before her; his hands grasped her shoulders and his forehead dropped to rest against hers. "I don't want to go."

Her breath lodged in her throat. The emotion bleeding out of his words crashed through her with more intensity than she could possibly absorb. Her chest burned hot as it nonetheless insisted on _trying_.

Her throat eked out a trembling whisper. "Then _stay_."

He nodded silently against her. They didn't move for untold seconds, struggling to pick up the pieces and put themselves back together, to regain some control over the inner tumult.

Finally he pulled away a sliver. His eyes rose to meet hers as a hand rose to cup her cheek.

"You are a most remarkable woman, Alex Solovy."

# 74 Romane

### Independent Colony

"Are you ready to get to work, Meno?"

_I am looking forward to this endeavor, Mia. I expect to learn new things._

"I'm not sure we'll learn anything more worthwhile than the name of Miss Solovy's first pet or her favorite author."

_Yet that will nevertheless be something new._

"Ha. Fair enough."

Mia stood at the top of the ramp in the hangar bay, the fingertips of her right hand pressed to the embedded panel of the _Siyane's_ external hatch. The contact pad of the remote interface rested snugly against the base of her neck. Her eyes were closed—but she was not blind.

Instead she saw what Meno 'saw': a seemingly infinite three-dimensional grid of pulsing, spinning translucent orbs. The orbs grouped together in formations ranging from tiny to massive and complex. Threadlike filaments connected the groupings, and always there existed structure and order, sharp lines and hard right angles.

The grid overflowed with color. The entire spectrum was represented in the spinning orbs, every and each color all at once. When viewed in the corner of her eye, an orb appeared a prismatic swirl. If she turned her focus to one, however, it transformed to pure white light.

The orbs, of course, signified the qubits composing the _Siyane's_ security control system. Much as Schrödinger's cat, until observed a qubit held all possible quantum superpositions of 0 and 1. When she observed one, the prism resolved to white; when Meno 'observed' one, he measured its true state.

As such, her presence here was largely superfluous other than to guide Meno to the appropriate access points—and to make certain it didn't rewrite the _Siyane's_ weapons, propulsion and life support systems to be more efficient while he was in there.

Besides, she liked the view.

"Begin recording." She needed to image the security controls because when she finished it had to be put back as she found it, leaving no trace she had been there. She didn't want to cause trouble for Caleb, even if she was a little worried about him. The odds of this new relationship of his working out well in the end were only slightly north of nil...but he never had been the cautious sort.

_Recording initiated._

"Excellent. Overlay Alexis Solovy's fingerprints."

_Overlay successful. Security is requesting secondary encryption key. Analyzing._

Meno had named 'himself' at her suggestion. At the time it was devouring ancient philosophical texts and had taken the name from the Plato Socratic dialogue on virtue, knowledge and belief. It continued to burn spare cycles contemplating the notion of inborn knowledge and whether, lacking a soul, it nonetheless possessed such knowledge.

_Secondary encryption key: Д085401Н129914С. Would you like to know my hypothesis on the meaning of this key?_

She smiled to herself. Artificials were tightly regulated, monitored, circumscribed, feared and often reviled, and with good reason. Perhaps excepting the last one, anyway. They possessed incredible processing ability—but computers ran many facets of society. Those CUs were also powerful, capable of zettaFLOP calculations and zeptosecond accuracy. Yet no one feared them, because they were dumb. They did not think; they simply calculated. Oh, a well-designed VI could create a convincing impression of thought and even personality, but it was still executing defined programming.

Synthetic neural nets, on the other hand, were designed for that exact purpose: to _think_. To learn. To adapt. To improve.

Their greatest feature was also their most dangerous one: curiosity. Mia delighted in Meno's childlike inquisitiveness and thirst for knowledge. But though it wasn't registered, she otherwise obeyed all the prescribed safety precautions. Because it was like a child—a hyper-savant child wielding unfathomable power and no perspective, no wisdom born of hard lessons and experience and no sense of boundaries which might keep it in check.

So while she supplied Meno with endless zettabytes of information—history, art, literature, science, data on the very universe itself—she provided it no connections to the exanet or the local Romane infrastructure network. In fact, its hardware did not include any external networking capability, save for the single point-to-point node which allowed her to remotely interface with it. While interfacing, the only outside information it received came through her personal cybernetics. Hence the fingertips on the panel.

"Maybe later. Are there any other authorized entrants?"

_Kennedy Rossi and Charles Blalock._

"Is the secondary encryption key the same for them as well?"

_It is._

"Terrific. Register Caleb Marano as an authorized entrant and input his fingerprints. I'll let him know the key when he returns. Then mask the authorization."

Caleb hadn't specified precisely why he needed access to Alex's ship. Most likely there wasn't any precise reason at all; he would merely be preparing for multiple possibilities. She did have a good idea why he didn't simply ask for access. The possessiveness—and protectiveness—Alex exhibited regarding her ship had been blindingly obvious within thirty seconds of meeting her.

_Mr. Marano now enjoys authorized access, should he provide the ship his fingerprints and the key._

"Thank you, Meno. Open the hatch, would you? We're going to need to get him usage of the flight systems, too."

# 75 Pandora

### Independent Colony

"What? Dude, I can't hear you."

Noah leaned in closer to Dylan, to no avail. Between the strobing prism beams dancing across the sky and the synchronous musical and visual performance, he could hardly hear himself think, much less hear anyone else speak. Then again, the point of the circus wasn't to think, but rather to experience. To feel. To get wasted.

_I said do you want another drink? I'm heading to the bar._

_A beer, man—but a good one._

He leaned against the railing and drew in a deep breath, enjoying the warm night air and the smoothness of the sensory deluge.

Yet his thoughts inevitably drifted. He had caught the news of the destruction of the Surno facility on Aquila. His father must be so pissed. It wasn't his sole interest by far; Surno accounted for maybe ten percent of his holdings at most. But it would definitely sting.

When he realized what he was doing he groaned and dropped his head back to stare at the art painting the night sky. _Don't even_ think _about getting involved, Noah. Not your problem—not the business, not the war. Just keep the party going._

He accepted the beer from Dylan with a wry smile and greedily turned it up.

At that moment Ella lurched out of the crowd and fell into him. He held the bottle out to the side with one hand to avoid sloshing it all over him and grasped onto her with the other. "Hey baby, careful there."

She gazed up at him, eyes unfocused and blurry. "Noah, hi.... Whatcha doin?"

He chuckled. "Not what you are, apparently." He steadied her and tried to position her on the railing next to him, but she draped her arms clumsily around his shoulders. "You're hot, you know that righ...?"

Ella was pretty enough. But she was unstable when sober, which was an increasingly rare occurrence, and nuts when she was high. And if there was one rule he lived by on this mad planet, it was _never stick your dick in crazy_.

He eased her off him. "Yeah, baby, I know that."

"You wanna—" She reached for him again, missed and tumbled to the floor.

He squeezed his eyes shut, muttered a curse under his breath and crouched to pick her up. Sometimes having a conscience goddamn _sucked_. "Come on, Ella, I'm taking you home."

"Don't wanna—"

"Yes, you do." He rolled his eyes at Dylan and began guiding her through the reveling crowd to the lift. It wasn't terribly late; if he got her tucked into bed reasonably quickly, perhaps he'd return.

The lift circled the building as it descended, and she swayed unsteadily against him. He willed patience. She didn't...'live' was a strong word. She wasn't staying far from the club.

The lift settled to the street level and he maneuvered her in the proper direction. They walked slowly down the street, then veered onto a narrower thruway. The entrance to the residences where she stayed was located about a hundred meters farther on the left.

"Oops!" Ella tripped and stumbled forward.

Noah leaned over to try to save her from sprawling upon the ground—

—the brilliant white stream of a laser pulse sliced centimeters above his head.

"Ella, get down!"

"Wha—?"

He grabbed her arm and dragged her along the thruway, trying to stay low and near the wall. They came to a door, and he shoved her into the alcove. He slammed on the door but it appeared hard-locked. "Dammit! Okay, I need you to stay here, stay hidden. I'm going to—"

"But I wan—" She pulled away from him and staggered into the thruway.

"Ella, get back here!" He reached for her at the same instant the laser sliced through her neck and she crumbled lifelessly to the ground.

"Motherfu—" The shot had come from close range. He yanked the small kinetic blade he carried from the narrow pocket in his pants and lunged toward the shadow he saw moving against darker shadows.

He plowed into a body and they both crashed to the ground, each grappling for an advantage. He swung blindly in the dark and connected with bone, at least if the loud _crack_ was any indication. Before he could do further damage a knee came up and rammed him in the nuts, sending a wave of nausea up his chest into his throat. He fought it back and stabbed wildly while struggling to hold the flailing gun away from his body.

Abruptly his knife met pliant, sluggish resistance. When the man's grip on him fell away, he decided the knife had found the man's gut. He wrenched the gun out of the attacker's hand, climbed to his feet and pointed it at the attacker's head.

"Who do you work for?"

The man writhed on the ground, clutching at his stomach in the darkness. "Fuck you. They'll send more. You won't last the day."

"I'll take that bet." He pulled the trigger.

It took twenty seconds of banging on the door for Brian to open it. Music wafted from the living room, punctuated by high-pitched laughter.

"You need somethi—?"

Noah grabbed his shirt by the collar. "Why is somebody trying to kill me?"

"What? Hey, let go! I don't know!"

"Is it because of the explosives job? They were for the Vancouver bombing that just happened, weren't they?"

"I told you, I don't know! Give me a break, man...."

He tightened his grip instead. "Why did you offer the job to me? Did Nguyen tell you to?"

"No, man. Calm down, okay?"

"I am _not_ going to calm down. I got shot at and an innocent girl is dead!"

Brian's eyes widened into saucers. " _Shit_. Look, the request came from higher. They didn't tell me how much higher."

"Why?"

"I don't _know_."

His grip clenched to the point it began choking off Brian's air.

"Okay, okay...." Noah loosened his hold a miniscule amount, and Brian gasped in a breath. "I did overhear one thing—I got no idea what it means though."

" _What._ "

"Something about you needing to do the job cause you'd worked with some guy named Marano."

" _Caleb?_ What the hell does Caleb have to do with this?"

"I got no idea! That's all I heard, I swear. I didn't know they would try to take you out, man, I _swear_."

"Fuck." He let go of the shirt and shoved Brian into the apartment. "Don't come looking for me, you understand?"

He spun and stormed down the hallway, pausing once to punch the wall in frustration. He had no choice. He was going to have to bail, and bail _now_.

Noah scanned the travel schedule from the relative safety of a group of tourists. It was the middle of the night, but there were always tourists at the spaceport. He wore a cap he'd bought on the way pulled low over his face.

He'd sent Caleb a brief message a few minutes earlier. _Watch your back. Something screwy is up._ He'd expand on it later, if he was still alive.

He couldn't go where they would expect him to. Aquila was out, as was New Babel and Atlantis. Hell, if it was Zelones after him all the independent worlds were out. Even Romane, tempting though it was.

No, he needed to go somewhere random. Somewhere which also offered him some cover and the opportunity to make a few credits until things settled down.

He scanned the list again.

_Messium_. Boring as shit and home to more military than he'd like, but it boasted a healthy population to hide in and a robust tech industry to service. And he was technically an Alliance citizen.

With a sigh he slid away from the crowd and headed for the boarding platform. So much for the party....

# 76 Space, North-Central Quadrant

### Senecan Federation Space

Alex watched him sleep.

She lay against him, her injured side facing up and unhindered. His arms were wrapped gently around her in slumber. Despite his best efforts otherwise he had dozed off, albeit only after going to prodigious lengths to ensure she was comfortable in the bed and not in pain and had everything she needed. It had been overprotective and unnecessary and rather adorable.

She had insisted on getting downstairs under her own power, much to his frustration. 'Bullheaded stubborn,' he had called her; she hadn't disputed the point. Her wounds still ached, but she felt as if she had her bearings again. By morning she should be functional. Not one hundred percent by a long shot...but functional.

He must be beyond exhausted. She knew enough about military-grade cybernetics enhancements to recognize both what they empowered the body to do and the toll they inflicted in the aftermath. Human physiology was being pushed to its very limits. Thus far it was keeping up, but barely.

She probably should be asleep as well...even if three hours of unconsciousness really _should_ count.

Instead she watched him sleep. She allowed her gaze to trace the line of his jaw, the curves of his exquisite and talented lips and the angular path of his nose.

Her brow furrowed up a little. Something about the set of his mouth, the relaxed muscles in his cheeks and neck, the way...

...then she realized. This was how he looked when it was the two of them—when they were talking or working or not doing much of anything and the mood was easy and comfortable. He appeared more serene and peaceful in slumber of course, but it was unquestionably the same aspect.

_He_ truly _wasn't manipulating her._

Endorphins flooded through her body; it was all she could do not to laugh out loud.

Though she had allowed him into her bed, had shared secrets with him, risked arrest and even her ship for him...a part of her had still assumed he was deceiving her. Whether for some purpose or because it was his nature and he didn't know any other way to be, when he had no further need of her a switch would flip in his eyes and he would be gone.

His words and especially his actions told her over and over again he was genuine, yet she couldn't bring herself to foreclose the possibility the persona he showed to her only represented another face of the chameleon—a chameleon he readily admitted existed.

A mere hour ago she had thought her fears confirmed, thought the day a part of her had assumed would come had done so earlier than expected. Then, when he had fallen to his knees before her, raw and exposed, every sense she possessed had screamed at her to give in and believe the truth of him.

But now...why now? Was it simply that now she was ready to trust and searching for a reason to do so?

_In the end it didn't matter, for it was already done._

She leaned in and kissed him lightly then settled on the pillow to watch him wake. She shouldn't have done it; he needed the rest...but she needed him.

He stirred and shifted. After a few seconds he blinked a couple of times to reveal blurry, unfocused irises; warmth flooded them even before they grew clearer. "Hi...."

Her perception hadn't deceived her: the set of his mouth, the line of his jaw, the impression his visage conveyed remained unaltered, enhanced solely by the addition of dazzling irises. She matched his smile. "Hi."

"I fell asleep?"

"Just for a little while."

He reached up to stroke her cheek. "You should sleep."

"I did, remember? Most of the evening I believe."

"I'm not certain that counts."

"Well...." Her smile broadened. "I'll sleep in a bit."

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

She tried her best to look innocent. "Nothing."

He drew her closer against him. "It's not nothing...but since you're smiling, I'll just go with it."

She responded by kissing the corner of his mouth and snuggling into the crook of his arm.

They lay there in silence for several minutes, and in truth she might have begun to drift off when he shifted beneath her. She blinked awake and covered any drowsiness by dancing fingertips along the curly hair trailing down his abdomen to his navel.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Since we're hanging out here _not_ sleeping, mind if I ask you something random?"

"Hmm? Sure." She propped her chin on his chest to be able to catch his gaze.

"The name of your ship. I've run it through every Russian dialect and half a dozen other languages and encyclopedia compendiums, but no matches. And I was...wondering."

She laughed and scooted up onto one elbow. "It wouldn't match anything."

One side of her mouth curled up of its own volition. "So the story goes—I was three years old, far too young to remember it with any clarity—my dad and I were stargazing in the backyard one night. I babbled away, asking dozens of wacky questions only a child could think of about the stars and ships and what space was like. He was humoring me, like he always did.

"And I uttered some nonsensical proclamation like, 'One day I'm gonna be a star.' And he...he hugged me and said, ' _Na den' vy siyat' s snova siyaniye chem vse svetilo v nebesnyy nebesa_ ,' which roughly means, 'One day you will shine with more radiance than every star in the celestial heavens.'"

He chuckled. "Quite a mouthful for a little girl."

"I know, right? He had a definite flair for the dramatic. I understood ' _na den' vy_ ,' common words and all, but I'd never heard the rest before and didn't yet have a full eVi with a translator. I looked up at him, my face scrunched up in a child's perplexity, and tried to repeat it. But I stumbled over the 'vs' and 'sv' phonetics, since English doesn't often use them. I garbled out ' _siya...ssn...niye...v nebe...ne..._ ,' stopped, went back and tried again and still totally mangled it.

"Finally I stared at him in desperation and whispered, ' _siya-...ne-..._?' then waited for him to fill in the rest. He laughed, hugged me tighter and said, ' _Siyane_ is perfect, sweetheart. My little star shining brightly.'"

She swallowed away the lump in her throat. "And it sort of became his pet name for me. He didn't use it a lot, but whenever he was acting particularly affectionate or melodramatic he'd whip it out for added impact."

She shrugged in his arms. "So I guess the best way to put it is...the name represents an affirmation that I'm trying to live up to his belief in what I could be."

He pulled her yet closer, careful not to press on her wounds, and kissed the top of her head. She wished she was able to see his expression, but he held her securely against him.

"I'd wager if he were here, he'd say you're doing a hell of a lot more than trying."

"In fact..." his embrace loosened "...that's what it is, isn't it?"

"What's what?"

"What you do."

She regarded him curiously. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"How you find things others cannot. How you somehow knew the TLF wave wasn't coming from the pulsar, and discovered its origin point. How you stared into space and saw where to find a tiny, cold, silent star buried deep within nebular clouds."

She bit her lower lip, her gaze drifting away from him. After a moment she rested her head on his chest. "It's not magic or anything. It's simply...the universe has rules. Even the exceptions obey the rules. Though so immensely complex it appears to most like chaos, in truth the universe is ordered and structured and perfect.

"More than that, I _understand_ the structure. It makes sense to me. I look out into the void and I see the interconnections and relationships—the gravitational pull of a supergiant subtly tugging at a stellar system kiloparsecs away, the excess glow along the edges of ionized gas as it collides with an H I region, the _absence_ which marks a dark star or a gray hole."

His hand wound leisurely through her hair, reassuring her she wasn't crazy, encouraging her to continue. "And since I understand the way things must be, when something seems out of place, wrong or merely odd...I can recognize the reality of it. The hidden object or event or force which brings space back into alignment with the rules of the universe."

She lifted her head to crinkle her nose up at him. "But I don't get what any of this has to do with the name of my ship."

He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "When we were at the center of Metis and you were looking for the pulsar's companion, you stared out the viewport and whispered, 'Come on you little star, shine for me.'"

"No, I didn't."

" _Yes_ , you did."

"I don't.... Well, I suppose it does kind of feel as though that's what happens, but.... Even if it's true, the stars do the shining. Not me."

He drew her up his body until his lips met hers. They were soft and gentle, like the ocean breeze on a rare warm Pacifica summer afternoon. She'd never imagined a man capable of such violence, of such intensity, could also be capable of the extraordinary tenderness he showed toward her.

He pulled back a fraction to meet her eyes and gaze into her soul. "Are you sure?"

# 77 Earth

### Vancouver, EASC Headquarters

Miriam did all her staring in disbelieving horror at the unimaginable landscape of destruction from the transport as it circled twice overhead.

She had seen destruction before. During the First Crux War she had witnessed firsthand the aftermath of more than one battle. But that war had never come close to reaching Earth. To reaching _home_. This, though...she had spent the last fourteen years of her life working in the building which now lay crumbled in smoldering ruins.

By the time she stepped off the transport she was instructing on-scene EASC staff who were ambulatory to meet in the primary conference room in Administration in twenty minutes and generating a queue for the intervening minutes.

She used the limited moments to review the updated list of deceased and missing and set up a routine to customize the condolence notifications. Next she tracked down the head of emergency response and received a personal status report, implemented additional security measures beyond the hastily erected checkpoints, and lastly located Richard and give him a quick, and private, hug.

Now she stood at the front of the conference room and regarded the gathered staff members. Many were covered in dust and debris and several still bore streaks of blood.

She gave the room a genuinely sympathetic smile, an expression most had never seen from her. "I won't take much of your time. I recognize you have a great many things you want and need to do. I imagine for some of you this includes helping in the rescue efforts—but we have emergency responders from the entire Cascades region on-scene, so I ask you to let them do their jobs and instead focus on helping to restore order.

"For those of you who had offices in the Headquarters building, we will be taking over the 14th–20th floors of the Logistics building for the immediate future. This means most of you will have to double-up. It's a necessary and hopefully temporary situation. Submit your request to this address—" she sent the new account to the staff "—and you will receive a space assignment."

She paused, pursing her lips for a breath. "Take what time you need to recover your files and anything else you're able to salvage, but unfortunately there is still a war going on—and make no mistake, our adversary will be all too happy to take advantage of our distraction in the aftermath of the attack. Therefore, I must ask you to return to your regular duties as soon as you are capable of doing so. We have doubtlessly lost a number of good people and good friends today, but we cannot allow this to make us weak. It's what the enemy wants. Instead, let it make us stronger.

"Things are bound to be a bit chaotic for the next few days. Route any problems or special requests to the 'issues' queue at the same address. Also, please monitor the news updates at the address. Important information, changes and new procedures will be posted there."

She nodded sharply. "That's everything for now. Let's get to work."

As they began to disperse she grabbed her bottle of water and quickly exited. She did not have the time to entertain questions or desperate inquiries regarding loved ones. The fatalities list was available for everyone to examine and she possessed no further information. Many of them would require comfort and that above all was something she could not provide.

In front of an audience she managed to perform well enough; one-on-one, gazing into broken eyes, however.... In the long run comfort was a hollow, shallow lie, and she simply couldn't find the will to pretend otherwise.

She headed down the hall toward her next meeting, with the military police commander. It would be followed by meetings with the admin managerial staff, the transport supervisors, preliminary planning with the maintenance and construction chief, another update from the head of emergency response, and the first of what was certain to be numerous press conferences.

She wouldn't be seeing a bed for quite some time.

Some five hours later she snuck away for a moment of respite in the small gardens between Administration and Logistics. The thermos of coffee warmed her hands and the optic fibers embedded in the pavement lit the path beneath her feet against the late night darkness, though the glare from the enormous floodlights placed by the rescue crews added a sallow glow to the sky.

The death toll already stood at upwards of two thousand and was likely to double by the morning. While rescue efforts continued, the simple fact was the detonations had been scorching and violent. The few who survived the initial blasts had found themselves with no way down or out before the fire or the pervasive smoke reached them.

Even five thousand dead represented a mere blip on the scale of historic disasters. But these were the best, the most dedicated and patriotic of humanity. They were also the people essential to managing the bureaucratic intricacies of fighting a war. An indelicate and unfortunate reality.

Thousands upon thousands of troops needed to be moved around, assigned in a strategic yet orderly fashion and supplied with millions of munitions and foodstuffs and bunks. Important assets needed to be protected while blind spots minimized. Every person and resource needed to be utilized in an efficient and optimized manner.

War was a complicated affair when spread across the galaxy; it always had been. This she knew all too well.

* * *

_"Director of Logistics for the entire North American Region? Miri, that's wonderful."_

_The moonlight shone through the window to transform his beautiful eyes to liquid silver as he grinned at her. She lay facing him in the bed, snuggled up so close their noses almost touched. "Maybe."_

_"With a war on it will be an enormous responsibility and even more work...."_

_She frowned. "You don't think I can do it?"_

_"Naoborot dushen'ka, I think you will be spectacular at it. If I possessed your brilliant mind I might get to stay on Earth in a prestigious job, too."_

_"Don't even start with that, David. They're not giving you command of a cruiser because of your looks—" his mouth turned down in a playful pout "—they_ could _, of course, but it would make for a poor war strategy."_

_She kissed the pout away then rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. "I'm not sure I'm going to accept. I don't want to send you out into the middle of the war while I get to remain comfortable and cozy in our home. I should be fighting as well."_

_He propped up on an elbow to catch and hold her gaze. "You_ will _be. If you don't do this job correctly, the whole damn operation falls apart. And besides...it would give me so much peace of mind while I'm out there to know you're safe."_

_"But David—"_

_"Hush. I realize I'm being overprotective—I don't care. And you'll be here for Alex, which will make me very, very happy. She needs you."_

_"Perhaps, but she_ wants _you."_

_"Miri...."_

_"I know, I know...I'm_ glad _you're her favorite, honestly. You're my favorite, too, so it shows good judgment on her part."_

_She exhaled quietly. "Okay. If you're so certain it's the right choice, I'll take the position." She shifted to face him once more and run a hand through his hair. "But you better come back to me, you understand?"_

_He smiled against her lips. "I will. I promise."_

* * *

He had not kept his promise. But David had been right in at least one respect—she had excelled at the job. Now she oversaw logistics for the entirety of the Alliance military, and it wasn't her sole responsibility.

But she had just lost a significant percentage of the people who made it happen. She'd give it another full day, then start a recruitment search, keeping the hiring standards as strict as possible but—

Startled, she spun at the sound of approaching footsteps. Richard hurried along the path toward her. Figures...he'd be the only one to know where to find her, after all.

"Richard, you look terrible. You really should get some rest, or at least take a shower. I'm assuming you have let a medic take a look at you."

"Later." He reached her and came to a stop, at which point she saw the expression on his face.

"Is something wrong? What happened?"

"We may have a problem. I think you need to see this."

# 78 Earth

### London, Earth Alliance Assembly

Every Alliance news feed and most of the Senecan and independent feeds carried the open session of the Earth Alliance Assembly live. Some fourteen billion people stopped what they were doing to watch, likely sensing an event of import was on the horizon.

The Assembly met in the historic Palace of Westminster. It had been gutted nearly two centuries earlier, its foundation restructured to prevent it from sinking into the Thames then redesigned from the ground up to house a single congressional body and support the essentials of the modern world.

What once had been the Central Hall now formed the core of the Assembly Chamber, an enormous fan-shaped auditorium modeled after the old U.S. Congress—the justification being semicircle seating provided closer vantage points for a greater number of people than the rectangular arrangement of the former British Parliament. Homage had been paid to the original styling in numerous ways, however, from dark oak beams adorning the ceiling to brass accents gilding the doorways and classic fresco paintings decorating the walls.

The Majority Leader of the Assembly, Charles Gagnon, took the podium as the Secretary gaveled the session to order. In other circumstances it might have been the Speaker at the podium, but in the current situation such an act would have appeared unseemly and transparently self-serving.

Gagnon's gaze moved with deliberate attention across the cavernous chamber. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Senators and honored guests. I come before you now in this dark moment for the Alliance to raise a matter I never wished were required.

"A few short hours ago we experienced a horrific loss in the terroristic bombing of Strategic Command Headquarters. The enemy struck at the very heart of our leadership structure, killing not only the Chairman of Strategic Command and three of its Board members but over 4,500 of our brave fighting men and women. Men and women who had committed their lives to keeping the Alliance and its citizens safe and secure.

"While emergency responders were still pulling the dead and injured out of the rubble, ships from Northwestern Regional Command were ambushed by Senecan forces while on patrol, the victims of cowardly mining of an asteroid field. They suffered devastating losses which could have been—should have been—avoided."

He paused to sigh with dramatic flair. "The grim but undeniable fact is, Alliance governance now lies in chaos—within the military and within the administration. These latest events confirm something many of us had already begun to recognize. Prime Minister Brennon is not prepared to lead us in a time of war."

A low rumble rippled through the chamber; he waited for it to subside before continuing.

"An ill-advised Trade Summit led to the tragic assassination of Mangele Santiagar. Anemic defenses on one of our most important Alliance worlds led to the _annihilation_ of the Forward Naval Base on Arcadia. An inexcusable security lapse allowed high-powered explosives to be smuggled into EASC Headquarters, resulting in the death of thousands and the destruction of Strategic Command.

"This morning, the Prime Minister issued an executive order appropriating significant production outlays from a number of large Alliance-friendly corporations. Though it pales in comparison to so much loss of life, this move suggests he views this war fundamentally as an opportunity for a power grab rather than the grave threat it is.

"In these events and more, the Prime Minister has proven himself utterly incapable of responding to the realities of war. Nor can he provide the leadership necessary to drive us to victory over the rebels calling themselves a 'federation.'"

He nodded, as if he had only now convinced himself of the necessity of his action. "Therefore, I find I have no choice but to call for a vote of no confidence in Prime Minister Brennon and his administration. Let us adopt new leadership while there is still time to ensure the Alliance remains strong and unbowed. Mr. Secretary, I submit Special Assembly Resolution SGR 2322-3174 for an official vote."

The thin young man in black formal attire nodded and loaded the resolution into the Assembly voting system.

Perhaps cognizant the galaxy was watching, the vote went swiftly for 510 politicians. Four minutes later the vote tally flashed on the oversized screen floating high above the chamber. A low cheer erupted in the chamber, the dissonant contrast of boos echoing beneath it.

_SGR 2322-3174:_

_For: 267_

_Against:243_

Within seconds the Majority Leader had returned to the podium. "Thank you all for following reason and logic in performing your solemn duties. Per Constitutional mandate, until the next election the Prime Ministership shall pass to Speaker of the Assembly Luis Barrera, a man I have known for many years and in whom I can confidently entrust the safety of the Alliance. Speaker?"

Barrera appeared out of nowhere beside Gagnon at the podium. They exchanged a firm yet collegial handshake; then Barrera stood alone.

"Citizens of the Earth Alliance, of all free space, in service of the future of this great Alliance I humbly accept the position of Prime Minister. Under my leadership and the guidance of a new administration, we will not allow terrorists and insurgents and rebels to threaten our way of life, our freedoms or our safety. We will take the fight to them, we will show them no quarter and we _will_ emerge victorious."

In an archway along the left wall of the chamber, offstage and off-camera, Marcus Aguirre smiled.

# 79 Space, North-Central Quadrant

### Border of Senecan Federation Space

Alex rested her elbows on her knees and a palm at her chin. She felt far, _far_ better this morning. Better than she had expected. Of course, she'd never been shot before so she didn't exactly have anything to compare it to. She doubted she'd be running a marathon or hiking mountains today, but only a very observant person would notice she was injured at all.

"So what are we going to do once we get to Romane? I mean if we're truly being hunted, I damn sure want to find out why."

She felt his hands rest on her shoulders from behind. He began kneading the muscles up to the curve of her neck. "At this point we have to assume we _are_ being hunted. I can't get a handle on why, though. A number of people are aware of the alien threat now and—"

She frowned and twisted around, ignoring the dull twinge in her side. "You think this is about the aliens and not the war? Why—"

In an instant his expression morphed from thoughtfulness and affection to...horror? Cold hardness and perhaps even fury.

He backed away from the couch in an explosion of movement. "What in the bloody _hell_ is— _Jesus_!"

"What's wrong?"

His hand ran violently down his face. "Turn on the news feed...."

"What is—" Her message indicator began flashing angrily, along with an unfamiliar yellow alert. She waved the news feed on as she opened it.

_Earth Alliance Military Police Order:_

_You are requested to report to Military Headquarters in San Francisco for questioning regard—_

On the embedded screen, front and center, floated an image of Caleb.

_"Caleb Andreas Marano, an agent with the Senecan Federation Division of Intelligence, has been named as the prime suspect in the horrific bombing of EASC Headquarters in Vancouver, Earth yesterday. He should be considered armed and extremely dangerous, so approach with caution."_

Her focus started to shift to him, but froze mid-motion when the image on the screen transitioned—to one of her.

_"Mr. Marano was last seen in the company of Alexis Mallory Solovy. Ms. Solovy is the estranged daughter of EASC Director of Operations Admiral Miriam Solovy and the deceased Commander David Solovy, a well-known hero of the First Crux War. Ms. Solovy is being sought for questioning, but is not currently considered a suspect in the bombing itself."_

"'Estranged'? Thanks, Mom...."

Her eVi continued to blink and beep as an avalanche of messages rolled in; she silenced the entire interface to concentrate on him.

He paced in even greater agitation than the previous night, his eyes dark and ominous. She found herself reminded of her very first impression of him: _dangerous_.

"Caleb, what the hell is happening here?"

His jaw had clenched into a razor-sharp edge. "Apparently since they failed to kill me, they decided to frame me for mass murder instead."

He sank against the wall and brought his hands up to seize his jaw in a death grip. "Goddammit! This is fucked up beyond all reason."

"I'm sorry. This is my fault. I shouldn't have forced you to go to Earth." She stood to go over to him.

His hands fell away from his jaw. "No." He met her halfway and grasped both sides of her face. "It was worth it, no matter what happens. And you didn't force me—I chose to go."

A smile pulled at her lips, but refused to materialize. "Is it possible EASC is blaming you solely because they have evidence you were there? To put a face on the enemy?"

"Maybe...." He resumed pacing, though it had gained a more methodical, deliberate quality. "The thing is, the information I saw—before I was locked out of Division's network, as it appears I now _am_ —indicated we had no idea who ordered the bombing. I'm not at all convinced Seneca is responsible."

"Who else would do it? Terrorists, taking advantage of the war as an opportunity to sow chaos?"

"Conceivably. Still, that scenario doesn't jibe with the hit on us or Volosk."

"You think they're related to the bombing?"

He came to an abrupt stop. "They are now."

With a deep breath he visibly _willed_ himself in control. More of the barely restrained rage seeped away. "Okay. We already suspected someone or a group was manipulating events to trigger the war. The bombing could easily be part of it. Any reluctance on the part of the Alliance will evaporate if they believe Seneca attacked their military leadership. And killing me would obviously prevent me from proving I didn't do it. In which case I'm only a pawn, a convenient patsy."

"Why kill me though?"

"Same reason." He gave her a smile, yet his expression was _so_ troubled. "You know I didn't do it." The smile faded into concentration. "But why kill Volosk? It's impossible his murder is unrelated."

She found she had joined him in pacing, worrying at her lower lip while they crisscrossed the cabin. _There was something ticking at the back of her mind...._

She grabbed his shoulder as they passed one another, her eyes lighting up. "You know what you and I, Volosk and EASC Headquarters have in common? The Metis report—" and darkening again "—but others have it, too. Dr. LaRose, for one."

"Well, what's his status?"

She queried the exanet and scanned the results. "No mention of an attack...hold on." The scan had also picked up an unread message in her eVi...so she was a little behind in reading her messages. She _had_ been shot.

"I have a request from him for another hard copy of the data. It seems one of his researchers took the disk home—and never returned."

"To work?"

"To anywhere."

A frown grew across his face, tugging his mouth downward. "Okay, that's...suspicious."

The frown deepened into a full grimace. "But still, you were right before—a lot of people have seen the information. Director Delavasi, analysts and scientists on both sides, the rest of the EASC Board, probably our Director of Defense and Field Marshal. The secret's out. And they didn't try to kill LaRose—the report is simply missing."

He shook his head. "I'm not convinced it isn't about the war. If there is a conspiracy, the conspirators would absolutely want to eliminate us before we exposed it. And Volosk had the assassination autopsy reports...is that what got him killed?" He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Is he dead because I pulled him into this mess?"

"He's dead because they're bad guys. And while they haven't tried to kill LaRose, what if they killed his researcher?"

He nodded. "Right, the report. I wonder—"

She was pacing rapidly now, any ache from her wounds forgotten and fire now animating her irises. "Not the _report_. The hard copy of the raw data. Others saw the report, but I only made four copies of the raw data: for us, EASC, LaRose and Volosk."

Her gaze shot up to meet his. "We missed something."

"What do you mean?"

"There's something else in the data I captured. Something important."

He stared at her, slowly letting out a weighty breath. "Do you realize what you're saying?"

"That the aliens are already among us, or at least have agents working on their behalf? Yes, I do."

"Just making sure."

"Do you disagree?"

He shrugged gamely. "No...I don't believe I do. Because you know what? Last night wasn't the first time on this mission someone's tried to kill me. With everything that's happened I had almost forgotten about it, but three merc ships attacked me on the way to Metis. That's why I opened fire on you in the first place—I thought you were one of them."

She groaned. "And _that's_ what the job was about...."

"What job?"

"Right before I left for Metis, I was offered an absurd amount of money to go to work for the government overseeing the Alliance's deep space exploration program. The Minister for Extra-Solar Development practically fell on his knees begging me to accept the post, and accept it immediately. I don't see how anyone knew where I was headed, but it has to be related. Dammit, I knew something was up with that." With a sigh she flopped down on the couch and opened an aural.

He resumed a more leisurely pacing, and after a moment gave a wry laugh. "Are we actually saying there is both a conspiracy to foment war _and_ a conspiracy to conceal the nature of the aliens? Stretches the limits of credulity a little far."

His eyes rolled at the ceiling. "Unless it's all one conspiracy—they instigate a war to soften us up ahead of the invasion and ensure we're so busy killing each other we'll be unable to mount an effective response. Nope, _that's_ crazy. Right?"

She glanced up distractedly. "Hell if I know. You're the spy." She had begun scrolling through the data files, looking for the answer. The _reason_.

And with a blink it leapt out at her. In retrospect, it was blindingly obvious and she was a _svoloch_ for missing it. "I found it."

"Seriously?"

"Perhaps not all of it, but I found one rather important detail we missed. It's the TLF wave. I pegged the terahertz as communications in part due to the way it permeated, spreading out across the area as if to blanket the ships. The TLF though...."

She met his gaze. "It's coming from the portal. More specifically, from the inside of the portal. See, here? The furthest the wave can be traced back to is the center of the portal, at which point it's mid-waveform."

" _Damn_. But is it enough to kill over?"

"For one thing, I'm not sure it's necessarily a high threshold—see Exhibit A, the fleet of superdreadnoughts. For another, if it draws attention to the portal itself—and to whatever is on the other side of it—then to them it very well could be. Remember, nothing in the universe emits waves at so low a frequency. So the question becomes, what does?"

She fixated on the aural as her fingertips drummed a staccato étude on her thigh. "There's one way to find out."

"You want to go back to Metis? It'll be risky."

"Not _that_ risky. I'll need a new dampener field module though. Ken can probably bring one to Romane and—"

"Ken? Another 'good friend' of yours?"

She returned his smirk in full. "Ken is a _she_ and yes, albeit not in the way you're implying."

He chuckled, but she saw the strain still pulling at the corners of his eyes and the edges of his mouth. "Okay. This is a good plan. I'm in."

Her voice dropped to a tentative whisper. "I'm glad...but I'm not certain you grasp the full extent of the 'plan.'"

An eyebrow rose. "And it would be?"

"We'll see what we find when we get to Metis, but...I expect to find answers we will need to go through the portal."

" _Through_ the portal. Alex, I may be crazy, but you are _insane_."

She grinned hopefully. "Is that a problem?"

He closed the distance between them and draped his arms over her shoulders. "No. In fact, it might be one reason I—" an odd light flickered across his eyes "—think you're kind of amazing."

A tingle of dizzying pleasure raced down her spine to her toes. She kissed him softly. Languidly. For a moment the fact people were trying to kill them and they were now wanted fugitives didn't matter so much.

She sank deeper into his arms, letting him envelop her. "Maybe the key to clearing your name is on the other side of the portal."

He nodded against her lips. "Maybe the key to defeating those aliens is on the other side of the portal."

"Yeah, that too."

_Richard. Mom._

_You need to understand Caleb did not do this. Irrespective of any moral, philosophical or political considerations, he was with me every second he wasn't under military guard. It is a physical impossibility for him to have played any role whatsoever._

_Something else is going on here. Something far more sinister than a mere civil war or even a mere alien invasion. I plan to find out what it is._

_In the meantime, Richard, it would be awesome if you could clear his name (and mine). Someone deliberately framed him. If I know you, it should really rankle you. It also means this war truly IS a lie._

_Mom, do try to prevent the aliens from destroying Earth, and as many other worlds as is feasible, until we can return with answers._

_— Alex_

She sat cross-legged on the floor with her back against the couch. While Caleb reached out to whoever he could in search of any information—answers were too much to hope for—she cleared out the deluge of messages. Most of them she deleted without reply; many without reading. Not all of them, though.

_Alex,_

_Love, have you gone and gotten yourself mixed up in this sodding war? Daft idea, if you ask me—which of course you never have. Protect that lovely ass of yours and try not to die, please? The world would be a darker place without you in it._

_— Ethan_

She smiled to herself—as much at memories of a simpler time as at the message itself—and sent a quick reply.

_I'll do what I can to not die. I make no promises regarding the state of my ass, however._

_And...thank you._

_— Alex_

When the backlog had finally been obliterated she sent a livecomm request.

"Ken, you got a second?"

_"I'm just going to go ahead and assume this little unpleasantness is a small misunderstanding, or a frame job, or simply the fog of war. Are you okay?"_

"Yeah, but it's worse than you know. I need a favor."

_"Always."_

"I need you to bring a new dampener field module to Romane."

_"What's wrong with your current one?"_

"I blew it out running from the aliens. I didn't tell you at dinner the other night?"

_"No, you neglected to mention it. I told you to watch the power spikes."_

"I know, I know. I panicked. In fairness, I had good reason."

_"True enough. When do you need it by?"_

"As soon as you can get it there. Yesterday should be fine."

_"Right. I was leaving for Messium in the morning, but I can leave tonight and swing by Romane first."_

"We'll be at the Exia Spaceport, Bay D-24. You're the best."

_"I really am. I'll get to meet him now, won't I?"_

"Yes...."

# 80 Romane

### Independent Colony

Mia paced around the open space of the gallery office, prepping for the day ahead. Her movements were unhurried; in truth it was more of a stroll than a pace.

She liked to come in early, when the gallery and the neighborhood outside were quiet and peaceful. Here, unhurried by the daily frenzy which inevitably came with the dawn, she could consider what she must do, what she needed to do and what she hoped to do, and plan accordingly. On good days there was plenty of time for the last category. On bad ones, unexpected ones and surprising ones...well, she just rolled with it.

This day included a tour group from a local elementary in the morning, gallery open hours interrupted by a lunch meeting at a business owners' industry association, and the continuation of Ledesma's exhibit from mid-afternoon until late in the evening. A busy day to be sure. But she enjoyed the exhibit, so not a bad one.

She was reviewing the discussion topic for the lunch meeting when her eVi flashed a custom alert. She had a number of flagged items for which her eVi maintained a constant passive filter; if one of them showed up in any major news feed, she was notified.

Seven alerts cascaded in before she finished reading the initial one. She sank against her desk with a long sigh. "Oh, Caleb darling, you truly have gotten yourself into a mess this time...."

A hand rose to her chin. Her gaze drifted to the windows on the far wall, where the first rays of light from one of Romane's two suns began to peek over the horizon. After a moment she pivoted and walked out of the office, pulsing Jonathan as she strode through the empty exhibit room.

_Can you cover the tour group for me this morning?_

_Uh, sure...how much trouble can twenty nine year-olds be?_

_I'm not going to respond to that question except to say 'thank you.'_

Once the doors to the gallery had closed behind her she sent Caleb a message, presuming he was far too occupied to answer a pulse at the moment.

_Caleb,_

_I'll have the items you—both of you—will need ready by the time you arrive._

_— Mia_

She paused briefly on the sidewalk to consider her options, then headed to the parking lot. She'd go home first, to her very private and very secure office. From there she could hack the entry records and create an ID, which were the most important components. Then if there was time, she'd go shopping.

So this would be an unexpected day then.

This time Mia was standing at the airlock when it opened. In noted contrast to their prior arrival, she wore jeans, boots and a red cowled sweater. After all, this was no longer about formality and proper impressions; it was about survival.

She waved them back toward the rental ship and followed them in. "We need to take care of a few things before you return to your ship."

She dropped a large bag on the table and started handing out gear. "Fashionable—but not too fashionable—hat, sunglasses and jacket for each of you." Caleb accepted the items with a nod. Alex looked a little perplexed and vaguely suspicious, but after a hesitant pause took the gear.

Next to come out of the bag was several small containers. "Drops to change eye color. They last around two days. Hair dye as well." She glanced at Alex. "I'd still recommend pulling your hair up, and maybe curl it or something when you go out."

Alex frowned at her—frowned more, anyway. "Are you certain? I thought it would be better to wear it down and obscure my face."

Mia regarded her curiously, then shifted her attention to Caleb. He was leaning against the wall in an attempt at appearing relaxed. It was a good attempt; she wasn't fooled. "She honestly has no idea, does she?"

A corner of his mouth tweaked up as his head shook. "No, she doesn't." His focus drew over to Alex and... _oh god, he really is in love with her_.

"Um, hello? Standing right here?"

She gave a dry laugh. "Alex, how you've never realized this in your however-many years of existence is beyond me, but you are a rather uncommon-looking woman—especially with that hair of yours. Not in a bad way, mind you. But your image is being spammed across the galaxy right now, and people are most definitely going to remember it. So try to keep that in mind when you show your face in public, okay?"

She didn't give Alex a chance to respond. "Now I took the liberty of setting up a comprehensive false identity for you. Load it into your cybernetics and it will pass a mid-level scan, change your fingerprints, the whole works. The name's Zoe Galanis. I hope it works for you. Caleb, you have many of those. Pick one."

"Already done. Riley Knight, mechanical engineer for Atmospheric Solutions."

Alex studied the details on the ID. "How did you manage to get your hands on this so quickly?"

Mia shrugged. "I set it up myself."

Alex's eyes shot over to her. It was possible this time they showed a glint of appreciation. "Impressive."

"Well I did pick up a few useful skills during my indentured servitude. The serial number and registration for the _Siyane_ were doctored when you arrived, and as soon as the news broke I back-masked the corridor records. You'll want to load the doctored information into the ship before departing."

She checked the bag to confirm it was now empty, then turned to them, a sigh on her lips. "Listen guys, even given all this, you should try to lie low. Your faces are everywhere, and with the war heating up the Romane government is having kittens trying to make sure it doesn't piss either side off. Independent or not, they will extradite you in a heartbeat if you're caught."

Alex nodded distractedly while she continued to study the ID. Caleb smiled. "You're a lifesaver, Mia. We owe you."

_Were you able to take care of the other matter?_

_Your girlfriend has some ridiculously tight security on her ship—but yes, it's done. Secondary encryption key is Д085401Н129914С._

_Makes sense...an anagram of the dates of her father's birth and death with his initials._

_Yeah, Meno said the same thing._

_Meno?_

_My Artificial._

_Mia...._

_Don't lecture me._

_Fine, I trust you're being careful. Listen, thank you. I mean it. And know—it's only in case I need it to save us both._

_You never have to explain yourself to me, Caleb. Are you okay?_

_No. I'm pissed._

_Then they had better watch out._

She shook her head. "No, I still owe you—but I think I might see 'even' on the horizon."

He chuckled...and she suddenly realized how tired he looked. "Fair enough. We'll be here for another day, day and a half. We need to make a couple of upgrades and stock up on supplies."

Mia's eyes narrowed. "Stock up for...what, exactly?"

# 81 Earth

### Washington, Earth Alliance Headquarters

Marcus reviewed colony reports while the workers moved his furniture into the new office. He wore a perfect mask of grave concern as befitted the situation, but beneath it he was feeling quite pleased.

The Foreign Minister merited both a larger, better-appointed office and a suite filled by aides to go with it. The view was different; instead of the gardens, his office now looked out on the Potomac. It painted a congenial scene, but he didn't intend on getting attached to it.

Barrera had come to him the night before the Assembly 'no confidence' vote to bring him up to speed on developments and to provisionally offer him the post of Foreign Minister.

Barrera had emphasized the severity and gravity of the circumstances and reiterated what everyone in settled space already knew: the post was, for all intents and purposes, the most powerful one outside of the Prime Ministership itself. He had expressed confidence Marcus was up to the task of serving as the Alliance's ambassador to the galaxy.

He had reminded Marcus that while in cases of removal of a Prime Minister by the Assembly _for_ _cause_ , the position passed to the Speaker, this was not the case in the event of a Prime Minister's death or unforeseen inability to perform his duties. In those instances the administration otherwise continued unchanged, and the line of succession passed through the Foreign Minister's office before any others.

He had asked if Marcus was willing to bear such a solemn responsibility.

Marcus had carefully and thoughtfully considered the question, then answered in the affirmative.

_Barrera actually believed it was all his idea._

Marcus switched from the colony reports to personnel matters and walked over to one of the windows to give the movers more room. Most of the existing bureaucracy would remain, since it consisted of career civil servants capable enough at their jobs and generally not beholden to any party or faction.

Nevertheless, there were a number of appointments for him to make—an opportunity to put sympathetic and loyal personnel in place. Then there were additional postings which he did not bear responsibility for filling, but with respect to which his opinion had been requested.

He scanned the list...and a smile grew on his lips as for a second he forgot the need to publicly maintain a troubled demeanor.

_See, Marcus? If you are patient, solutions to difficulties will often present themselves—almost as if the winds of fate act on your behalf._

It seemed a vacancy had opened at the position of EASC Chairman, on account of General Alamatto's tragic death in the bombing. It was the Prime Minister's appointment to make, but his recommendation—along with the Defense Minister's, for the pittance it was worth—carried significant weight.

He may not be able to eliminate Miriam Solovy right away, but perhaps he could render her irrelevant until the scandal of her daughter's involvement in the bombing ultimately forced her to resign. And the best part was, he didn't have to do anything more than submit a name. He was certain the man he named would take care of the rest on his own initiative.

He pulled the draft report containing his recommendations back up and added an entry to the bottom of the list.

_Earth Alliance Strategic Command Chairman: Southwestern Regional Commander General Liam O'Connell_

When the movers had at last departed, he sank into the plush, natural leather chair. Behind the privacy of a closed door his lips rose in a smile which reached his eyes in a bright sparkle and his posture in the rise of both shoulders.

As with all plans, not everything had proceeded as envisioned. Solovy's daughter and the Senecan spy remained on the loose for the moment. Though as fugitives they were actually easier to incriminate for the bombing than his initial plan, due to Olivia's failure to deliver the final element of an airtight frame there existed a miniscule but nonzero chance the two might eventually be exonerated. Not that he expected either of them to live long enough for it to matter. Miriam Solovy lived and Alamatto did not. A high-ranking Senecan Intelligence official had been killed—necessarily so, but when it occurred on the same night a string of bodies littered downtown Cavare it risked attracting unwanted attention.

A series of loose threads lay scattered around their corner of the galaxy, any one of which if tugged on sufficiently hard would unravel the entire operation. But so long as events continued on their current trajectory they would soon move beyond the point where anyone could alter their path. The inertial force of a galaxy-spanning plan in motion would soon become far too powerful to be diverted.

He only had a minute to relax, so the boxes cluttering the office were going to have to stay packed for now. Following a quick meeting with Barrera to receive instructions and guidance as to the new administration's official stance on numerous issues, he was headed to the Orbital to meet the governors of the First Wave worlds. The meeting would be followed by visits to Romane, Sagan and several other notable independent worlds in the hopes of persuading them to express public support for the Alliance in the war.

Such support would be the first step in coaxing them under the political and military umbrella of the Alliance, but one step at a time. He should—

_We require your attention._

_Jesús Cristo!_ He scrambled to make sure the security shielding remained active from the office's previous occupant, then took a deep breath and straightened up in his chair. The alien couldn't see him—at least, he didn't think it could—but it helped set the proper frame of mind and demeanor.

"Certainly. I have news as well. Matters are proceeding according to plan, and I have achieved a position from where I will be able to exert far greater control over events."

_Your plan is now irrelevant. We warned you escalation may become unavoidable, and so it has._

"I request you exercise restraint for a short while longer. The war is approaching criticality and will soon overwhelm all other concerns. I promise you, everyone will forget the Metis Nebula even exists, much less the fantastical ramblings of two wanted fugitives."

_Knowledge of our existence has expanded beyond our or your capability to contain it. Already others have ventured near, seeking answers. We are left with only one option._

For a brief moment his polite, respectful composure cracked in frustration. He was trying to save the human race, dammit—he simply needed a little more time. "Pray tell, what option might that be?"

_Annihilation._

# 82 Romane

### Independent Colony

Alex gave Kennedy a quick hug at the hangar bay door. "Thank you so much for coming."

"Of course. But what's going on?"

"We'll talk about it in a few. Come on inside. Caleb's heading out, but he wants to meet you."

"Does he now? And what have you told him about me?"

"That you're a spoiled, over-entitled daddy's little rich girl."

"You didn— "

"I'm _kidding_. Not much I'm afraid. We've been a bit busy."

"With what you're doing that you're not telling me."

"Right." She motioned Kennedy ahead of her into the ship.

Caleb was leaning casually against the data center, an easy smile lighting his features. He pushed off the table and met them halfway, his hand extended. "Caleb Marano. It's a genuine pleasure, Ms. Rossi."

She was as always the picture of grace and accepted his hand in style. "The pleasure's all mine—and please, call me Kennedy. I understand you and Alex have had quite the two weeks."

"It's been...well, I'm very glad we met."

A wicked grin fought valiantly to pull her lips ever further up. "Indeed."

"And now, I will let you two get to work."

Alex had paused at the edge of the couch to enjoy their introduction. Caleb came over to run his hands gently along her arms while pressing his mouth equally as gently to hers. She rested her hands on his hips and, when the kiss finally ended, whispered against his lips. "Watch your back, will you?"

"Always. I'll only be gone a few hours. Promise."

As soon as he had left Kennedy spun around, eyes wide as saucers. "Oh, girl—"

"Let's go downstairs. You can help me get the module installed."

"And you can tell me how you managed to win the romance lottery while cavorting in uninhabited deep space...Alex, are you okay?"

She glanced over her shoulder from the second step. "Sure, why?"

"You're...limping. Stepping gingerly. I don't know, not barreling through the ship as per usual."

"Oh, yeah." She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "I got shot."

"You're serious."

"I told you it was worse than you knew."

They reached the hatch to the engineering well, and she gingerly climbed down the ladder. "Which is why we're heading back."

Kennedy skipped the last two rungs and landed on the floor. "Back where? Not to Metis—not to the alien ships?"

"Yep. Though there's no reason to assume the ships are still there. Regardless, we need answers and Metis is where they are."

"You're insane."

She laughed a little and removed one of the panels protecting the core engineering systems. "That's what Caleb said. But no one else is going to do it. I don't trust anyone else to do it anyway. Someone, perhaps the aliens themselves—don't look at me like that—doesn't want the portal investigated. So it's exactly what we intend to do."

"Wait. You're not planning to go _through_ the portal, are you?"

"Um..." her nose scrunched up "...probably."

"Dear god, you really are insane." Alex motioned for the module, and she handed it over. "You know, you ought to think about...." Her voice trailed off as she peered at the floor. "What happened to your hull?"

Kennedy's attention had been drawn to the wide streaks of almost luminous silver winding along the center of the hold. It matched neither the onyx of her hull material nor the muted bronze of the salvaged material from his ship.

"Caleb ripped it open with a pulse laser—to clarify, this was before we were sleeping together—and we had to patch it using scrap from his ship."

"Which you blew up," she mumbled, bending down so close to the floor she was all but lying on it.

"Right."

"What was his ship made of?"

"Amodiamond. The discoloration is on the seams where we melded the two materials together. It started changing color once it cooled. Some kind of chemical reaction I assume. Do you think it's weakening the structural integrity?"

"No, quite the opposite." She reached behind her and pulled a small scanner out of her bag, then ran it above a segment of the discoloration. "Integrity is definitely solid. Stronger, even. The materials have fully bonded together and...." She glanced up at Alex. "Is it okay if I take a piece back with me to analyze? Just a sliver."

"Sure, but why?"

"Because I think you've made something new." A metamat blade materialized out of Kennedy's bag; she carefully shaved off a thin three-centimeter long strip. She placed it in a gel pouch and dropped everything back in her bag. At Alex's raised eyebrow, she chuckled and hugged her knees to her chest. "Ship designer, remember? Exotic metals turn me on."

"Everything turns you on."

"Hey, that's low. True, but low—especially when your sex life is far more interesting than mine at the moment." Her voice lost most of its teasing tenor. "I can't help but notice you're using 'we' and 'us' a lot."

"I know." Alex shrugged. "What do you want me to say? I like him."

"Clearly. And I am the _last_ person to dissuade you from running off on a crazy romantic adventure, but this is serious business. He's accused of terrorism and murder and you're already being sought for questioning."

"He's being framed. Someone tried to kill us, and did kill his boss. Besides, I could give a fuck about political posturing."

"Believe me, I know—though I'm not certain I'd call the military police 'political posturing.' Regardless, I wouldn't be your best and most marvelous friend in the galaxy if I didn't point out there might be a few negative consequences from all..." she gazed upward and twirled her hand in the air "... _this_."

"Well, as for the frame, Richard's on it. It'll get sorted out."

"And your mother?"

Alex closed her eyes and dropped her head against the wall. "What about my mother?"

"You being implicated in the bombing is going to complicate her job, particularly since she—thank goodness—wasn't there when the bombs went off."

"I can't care about that right now, I don't have the bandwidth. My mother can take care of herself. She excels at it. And if she needs to disown me in order to keep her power, so be it."

"Alex—"

"Don't, Ken. We've had this conversation dozens of times. Nothing has changed."

"There's another war. An impending alien invasion. Your life is in danger."

" _Granted_. Look, I actually mean it. She needs to concentrate on this war—not the Senecan war but the war to come. If she has any sense—and she does, as much as I hate to admit it—she won't let me interfere. It's too important."

"Have you told her any of this?"

"Well, I think so. I mean, I told her to _do_ something. I thought I was pretty clear."

"Oh, Alex, your communication skills are legendary for a reason...."

" _Whatever_. Okay, we're good. The conduits and infrastructure were still in place so I only had to replace the main box. I'll run some diagnostics, but I don't want to hold you up." She grinned. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, _thank_ you. Now you're off to...Messium, was it? Dare I ask why?"

Kennedy groaned and glared at the low ceiling. "The Board's pimping me out for materials."

"Are you kidding?"

"Well not literally. Oh, I hope nobody expects it's going to come to anything so extreme. No, we require metamats to build ships—big surprise—and our primary supplier got blown up by your Pleasure Model's military."

"Ken!"

"Fine, _fine_...your dark, dangerous, subversively sexy intelligence agent's military. Anyway, I've been dispatched to woo a potential new supplier."

"Woo how?"

"With my name and my dazzling smile, apparently."

Caleb returned to the spaceport feeling reinvigorated. He knew it probably showed, but he couldn't help it. While out he had received a message from his sister...he read it again as he entered the hangar bay.

_Hey big brother,_

_I'm sure you have a lot going on and a lot on your mind right now, so I won't bother you with a livecomm. I merely wanted to say I am certain you had nothing to do with the bombing. I know what you do—what you really do. I've always known. I understand you were trying to protect me by keeping it a secret, but I will never not be here for you._

_I know your soul. And I believe in you._

_— Isabela_

In the space of two days, the two people he cared for most in the world—wow, the unexpected realization of _that_ truth jarred him for a second—had both willingly accepted him, darkness and all. He'd spent so much time and effort over the years shutting himself off from others emotionally, erecting walls around his heart strong enough to repel any inquisitive soul...when maybe he simply should have had a little faith.

Then again, Isabela wasn't just anyone. She was his _sister_ — intelligent, strong, loving and understanding, but not foolish. And Alex...well, she wasn't just anyone either. To say the least.

He had told her she was insane for wanting to go through the portal—and she was. But if she hadn't suggested it he likely would have, because in truth he viewed it as the only strategy worth a damn.

It was one of the most fundamental lessons in his line of work, if one many never managed to learn: when you find yourself under siege, outnumbered and out of options—attack. Don't play defense; the enemy's superior numbers or position will whittle you down until you have nothing left. Don't run away; the enemy will only shoot you in the back. Once you're backed into a corner, you've already lost.

While you're still strong, still have weapons and will and time, do what the enemy least expects—attack. Turn into the punch, grab ahold of the gun, leap into the arena. Take control of your own fate. If you're quick, good and lucky, you just might survive and be out the other side before the enemy realized what had happened.

Thus far in his life, when it truly mattered, he had been all three. Now, though....

Now the enemy was maddeningly elusive. Hidden in the shadows and presumably spread across numerous worlds. There was no target he could locate to attack in settled space—and one very clear one at the edge of it. Every instinct he'd relied upon for almost twenty years to survive seemingly impossible situations told him the real enemy, the ultimate enemy, lay on the other side of that portal.

Alex intended to go through the portal to search for answers. He intended to go through the portal to _win_.

He stepped in the _Siyane_ and found her at the data center, the Metis data spread in front of her yet again. He set his bag on the couch. "Kennedy leave already?"

"Yeah. The new module installed no problem, and she needed to head out. I've set diagnostic tests running, but everything checks out so far."

"Well at least you were able to—" In his peripheral vision he sensed an...incongruity. Something was different. His gaze shifted toward the cockpit.

To the right of the pilot's chair sat _another_ chair. A bit more minimalistic in design than hers, it fit snugly but completely within the margins of the cockpit space.

He approached the cockpit curiously. "Alex, what is this?"

She briefly diverted her attention from the data to glance over, an uncertain smile tugging at her lips. "I got you a chair."

"You...you got me a chair." It was less a question and more a statement of incredulity.

"It's only so I don't always have to be looking over my shoulder to talk to you. It's not safe, honestly. And I'm sure you must get tired of leaning against the wall."

His hand ran along the top of the headrest; the chair glided smoothly beneath it. His gaze returned to her, a vaguely stunned expression on his face. "Alex...."

Her eyes slid away from him and her voice turned formal tinged with a hint of awkwardness. "It's magnetically grounded, so it's not like I tore up the floor or anything, and we can move it if we need to. It's just practical."

But it wasn't just practical. It was touching and kind and an exceptional gesture on her part. Giving him a place on her _ship_ , even if only a simple chair—hell, _especially_ a simple chair—was tantamount to giving him a place in her life. A real place, in the form of a chair.

He crossed the cabin and wound his arms around her, pulling her away from the data and into him. "Of course it is...." His lips met hers. " _Thank_ you."

_No, she wasn't just 'anyone' at all._

# 83 Earth

### Vancouver, EASC Headquarters

Miriam paced in tightly coiled agitation around the temporary office space. With a frown she nudged the temporary hutch flush to the wall.

Nothing had been salvageable from her office. Not the antique bookcase and certainly not the antique books, of which there remained none in existence to replace them with. Not the leaded glass tumblers that had been a wedding present to her and David and not the heirloom china tea set that had belonged to his grandmother.

She picked up the teacup—part of the set she had brought from home—off the temporary desk and took a long sip, then set it back down. Too hard; it wobbled unsteadily. Unless the desk was uneven....

She looked over at Richard. He leaned against the wall, quietly watching her flutter about. "I don't care how angry Alexis may have been after the Board meeting. There is no way she was involved in the bombing."

"Absolutely not. It's an absurd idea. She's not a killer."

"No, she's not. But this Marano character?"

"Oh, he definitely _is_ a killer. His file says he took out two dozen criminal insurgents and blew up an entire hangar bay two months ago, and it's merely his latest exploit. Conveniently enough he has something of a history of using explosives to get a job done. But he's not a terrorist. He infiltrates and eliminates dangerous criminal groups in the service of his government. His record indicates no deviation into more questionable activities."

She crouched and adjusted the rug beneath the desk. Perhaps it was the source of the unevenness. "We're at war. Maybe he didn't consider it terrorism?"

"From the Senecan perspective, arguably it wasn't. But regardless, Alex swore he was never out of her sight except while he was in custody. Miriam...."

Recognizing the tone in his voice, she stood up and met his gaze.

"In the end it comes down to one very simple matter: either you believe her or you don't."

She sighed and let her eyes drift to the window. Logistics was all of twenty stories tall; outside were only other buildings. "I believe her."

A smile sprung to life on his face, possibly in relief. "So do I." The smile didn't linger as his hand came to his jaw. "Which means we have a different problem. She said he was framed, and she's right. The evidence was doctored to implicate him, and by extension, her. By whom? And even more importantly, why?

"Between the nonsensical Summit assassination, the Palluda attack nobody ordered and now this? Something is severely wrong with this entire situation. The explosives used on the upper levels had to be assembled inside Headquarters. Marano may not have done it, but someone did. They both claim the war has been manufactured by _someone_ , and I'm beginning to suspect they're right about that, too."

She crossed the temporary space and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Luckily, conspiracies and subterfuge happen to be your area of expertise. Richard, get to the bottom of this. And most of all, do whatever you need to in order to clear her name. Please." She patted his shoulder and returned to the temporary desk, her voice dropping in volume and perhaps in confidence. "I wish I knew where she's gone."

"You never know where she goes."

"This is different." Her gaze drifted once again to the windows, but the view had not improved. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Nevertheless, there's nothing I can do about it for the moment. And now it seems I have to find a way to win a war."

"There's no way Seneca can stand up to our military strength in the long run."

"It's not _that_ war which has me concerned...at least, not only that war."

"Well, one thing at—"

The priority pulse forced itself into her vision.

_Acting Chairman O'Connell requests your presence in his office in five minutes._

Her lips smacked in annoyance. "It appears I am being summoned to kiss the feet of the new Chairman."

"He doesn't waste any time, does he? He's been here all of, what, half an hour?"

"Less than." Another sigh found its way past her lips. "You know, Alamatto was a weak leader, but I'm afraid O'Connell is going to get everyone killed. You're correct—Seneca can't stand up against our military strength. But if he's in charge, they just might outsmart us."

She stood formally in the doorway while O'Connell discussed something with an aide. After twenty seconds she decided he was deliberately dragging it out in an attempt to make her uncomfortable. _Silly, petty man._

After another thirty seconds he finally dismissed the aide and glanced at her. "Ah, Miriam."

"Yes, Liam? You wanted to speak with me?"

He scowled and bowed up his stance in an apparent attempt to intimidate her with his towering, burly build. _Also, slow to learn._ "You're as insubordinate as your daughter. I believe you meant 'General.'"

"And I _believe_ you meant 'Admiral.' You may be head of the Board for now, but you are not my superior officer. In public I will grant you the respect of your position. In private I will grant you the respect you have earned. Thus far you haven't earned any."

His eyes narrowed in blatant hostility. "You arrogant _bitch_. Your lax security allowed those explosives to be planted. Your daughter gave that fucking Senecan cocksucker inside access and caused the deaths of thousands. You aren't worthy of your position or your rank." He paused, as if to see the effect of his intimidation. She refused to flinch.

With a blink he continued. "I may not possess the authority to fire you, but I plan to do everything in my power to ensure you soon find yourself out on your ass. No rank, no title, no power."

The corners of her mouth curled up in a cold, malicious smile. "We'll see, won't we?" She turned to go, not waiting or wanting to be excused. When she reached the door she paused to look back at him.

"Oh, and Liam? Thank you for the warning."

# 84 Gaiae

### Independent Colony

Seraphina breathed in the cool morning air, drawing it deep into her lungs as her diaphragm expanded. _And hold...hold._ With a slow, steady exhale she opened her eyes.

She floated a meter above the water, suspended by the resistance of the magnetic field generated by Gaiae's waters against the fibers woven into her stockings. Indigenous fish danced in the waters beneath her, their iridescent scales reflecting brilliantly in the dawn light. They were poisonous to humans, but it was no matter; neither she nor any of the other residents would have stooped so low as to impinge upon Gaiae's precious ecosystem.

The glowing pastels of the nearby fauna lingered in her vision when she closed her eyes and inhaled once more. Her ocular implant was enhanced to expand the spectrum of her sight beyond visible light into the ultraviolet range. The effect was spiritual in its beauty, but the odd hues tended to leave halos in their wake.

_And hold...hold._

She opened her eyes to a shadow.

It broke her meditation, and she suppressed a frown as she twisted around—careful to engage her core—and looked up.

The shadow slithered across the landscape until it reached the water's edge. Her frown deepened. Gaiae had no moons; there could be no eclipse.

What appeared next was of a nightmare. An impossibility. An evil blackness—harsh, bleak, cold metal surely made of the void itself.

It continued to grow in the sky, and soon veins of blood slashed the blackness like the war paint of ancient primitives.

Even as the breadth and length of the blooded darkness grew ever greater, another materialized alongside it. Then another. Soon a dozen phantasms—devils of Hades come to life—blanketed the sky, blotting out the sun and turning morning to dusk.

Seraphina stood to balance unsteadily atop the magnetic resistance. What horror might this be? She only rarely accessed the so-called 'exanet,' but she did not believe even the most powerful governments possessed ships such as these.

Gaiae was a peaceful planet. Its residents strived ever to be in harmony with all living creatures, with the land and the air and the stars. What sin against nature could possibly have brought such devils down upon them?

Then the bellies of the beasts wrent apart, and all legions spewed forth. Creatures born of the bowels of Tartarus, their arms counted greater than those of Mahākālī and writhed madly around blazing crimson eyes—a cyclopean blood-gorged eye for each creature in the legion army.

Their multitudes descended from the sky, and at last she screamed.

# 85 Siyane

### Metis Nebula

They approached Metis as quietly and furtively as the _Siyane_ permitted. Their route was circuitous, winding around the Nebula until their trajectory was nearly opposite of before.

All her instincts screamed at her to hurry, to get there faster and to generally _get on with it_. Yet along about the time her fingers stretched out to hover above the controls, Caleb's hand found its way to her shoulder or the curve of her jaw. She wouldn't have expected him to be the calm one...though if she pondered it she had to concede he had often been the patient one.

When the golden-blue wisps of Metis' outer bands at last surrounded them, she initiated the sLume drive a final time. One final run for the core at maximum speed, as swift as any human could travel across the stars.

They would drop out of superluminal 0.1 AU from the portal's location but still within the thickest of the towering pillars of gas and dust. The instant the sLume drive idled the dampener field would kick in. She had paid a princely sum for a barely legal power allocation optimizer, and now the dampener field could operate at full strength without them being forced to freeze.

Still the trip took hours upon hours. As many hours as it had taken when they had previously made the journey, in fact. Unlike the prior journey, however, this night they spent together.

They passed the hours as couples facing the unknown yet temporarily powerless to influence their fate do: they made love as if it were the first time, murmured secrets to one another in the darkness, slept for a bit, and made love as if it were the last time.

Then there was no space left to travel and their fate returned to their hands.

They returned to the cockpit as the sLume drive idled and the scene beyond the viewport sharpened into clarity. The ship hovered in luminous, dense fog; as it did not actually travel forward under separate propulsion while inside the superluminal bubble, on exiting it the ship was already at rest.

Instantly she was a flurry of activity, confirming the dampener field had engaged, beginning scans for threats or any movement whatsoever in the area and attuning the spectrum analyzer across all bands.

The flare from the pulsar leapt to life on the spectrum display. The gamma beam pulsed in a regular, rapid spin. She filtered it out—and immediately frowned. "It's gone."

"Everything?"

Her head shook minutely. "The gamma radiation, the local one whose source we weren't able to pinpoint. The terahertz radiation, too."

He leaned closer to stare at the spectrum display with her. "But not the TLF."

"But not the TLF." She blew out a long, slow breath. "Okay. Nothing to do but find out why." She started the impulse engine.

The nebular clouds soon began to thin, then abruptly evaporate as before. Yet in stark and rather disturbing contrast to before, the clouds evaporated to reveal only the void.

The ships were gone. _And so was the portal._

Neither of them spoke. They simply regarded the empty blackness in stunned disbelief. She had prepared herself for a number of scenarios. None of those scenarios involved the portal being _gone_.

_Because that was impossible._

He dropped his elbows to his knees with a heavy sigh. "So, new plan then."

"No. The portal is there."

His attention shifted from the viewport to her. His voice held calm conviction—and trust, she thought. "Okay. Why?"

"The same reason we're here."

"The TLF signal is still being generated from somewhere."

"Correct. Now the question is...." With her left hand she strafed until the ship was positioned exactly perpendicular to the direction the wave propagated. She focused the spectrum analyzer sensors in on a point in space and took two snapshots. Then she threw both measurements to a waveform screen.

A wondrous breath fell from her lips as she sank into the chair. She was looking at a phase shift across the portal.

When measured given the precise point where the portal had floated as the origin, the TLF wave exhibited a 4.65° phase difference in each direction. On its own it didn't tell her anything about the nature or breadth of the realm within the portal, as any number of cycles could have occurred inside—but it did tell her there existed a realm within the portal.

Caleb's eyes narrowed at the screen for a moment before he shook his head and chuckled wryly. "And space falls back into alignment with the rules of the universe. The portal _is_ there."

"Told you." She gave him a teasing if weighty smirk. "Now we just need to trigger it."

"Which you've already determined how to do."

The smirk softened to a smile. "Harmonics."

He glanced at the row of screens and back to her. "The gamma radiation was a harmonic of the TLF, wasn't it?"

"It was, though the frequency disparity was tremendous. I think the gamma frequency was an activation code. It kept the portal open while our alien friends traversed it and shut off once they no longer needed it. But I can mimic it."

His gaze met hers, and the look in his eyes sent her stomach into somersaults and a delightful tingle rushing along her skin. She wanted nothing more in the world than to wind her fingers in his hair and pull him close and ask him if he might tell her what the look in his eyes meant.

Instead she swallowed and focused on the HUD. Her fingertips danced on a holographic panel to her left as she built the gamma wave. Once it was prepped she maneuvered the ship so it lined up directly on the invisible point which represented the center of the former portal.

"Here goes nothing...." She sucked in a deep breath and turned on the signal.

From nothingness burst forth a perfect circle of obsidian metal. Luminescent pale gold plasma filled the ring as it expanded in diameter. In two seconds it had attained its previous size and a halo of roiling clouds had billowed over its edges.

"Well that's not something you see every day." She nodded mutely in agreement.

After the explosion of energy which had propelled the ring outward vanished, a stilled silence seemed to engulf the landscape. The vertical pool of plasma undulated as peacefully as the surface of a pond on a quiet spring dawn. Even the churning clouds appeared to settle into a soothing rhythm. Other than the portal itself, there was no evidence of technology, of an alien force or any force at all.

The TLF wave continued to pulse—steady, deliberate and strong, as though it were the very heartbeat of the universe—from the exact center of the ring.

Like the dulcet tones of a siren it called to her, singing a promise of answers beneath the tranquil waters. Waters which happened to be composed of an unknown breed of plasma and 'lapped' vertically while suspended within a ring of unknown material and origin in the void of space.

Caleb's presence beside her during the trip had been a comfort and a wonderful indulgence. But now it wasn't close enough, for him or her. He pushed out of his chair to kneel in front of her and draw her into a slow, languorous kiss.

He drew back a mere centimeter, his voice a whisper upon her lips. "You realize we could die, simply by going through."

She closed the centimeter to claim another kiss, lingering an eternal second beyond when it might have ended. She breathed in...breathed _him_ in. "I do. But if we don't go, maybe everyone dies. And even if I don't particularly _like_ most of everyone, I find I don't want that on my conscience."

He nodded against her. "Nor do I. So we go together—but only if you're sure."

She smiled—a tiny little smile—and bravely rolled her eyes as she straightened up and settled into the chair. "I'm sure. It'll be an adventure. New sights, new wonders, new discoveries. It's what I live for. You too, right?"

"Absolutely." He returned to his chair, kicked his feet up on the dash and crossed his ankles. "Lead on. Show me this supposed 'adventure.'"

"You got it."

His hand reached over and wrapped around hers as she gunned the impulse engine to full power and accelerated into the portal.

### Thank you for reading Starshine.

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# Hard Duty

### Merkiaari Wars Book 1

By

Mark E. Cooper

**Hostile aliens nearly eradicated humanity. Will the next encounter finish the job?**

Sixteen billion dead in the last alien invasion of the Alliance's colony worlds.When survey ship Captain Jeff Colgan discovers a new alien race, he's required to investigate.

As the aliens discover Colgan's ship and begin to hunt him down, the captain's mission changes from one of study to one of survival.

_Hard Duty_ is the first installment in Merkiaari Wars, a military sci-fi of alien invasion and space exploration. If you like realistic engineering, vivid battles, and futuristic warfare, then you'll love Mark E. Cooper's sci-fi work of art.

# 1 ~ Discovery

**Aboard ASN Canada**

**Year 216 AST (Alliance Standard Time)**

"Captain to the bridge!"

Captain Colgan turned over and slapped the intercom button. "What is it, Francis?" he said, still groggy from sleep and squinting at her in the glare of the comm's screen. "Lights one third!" he barked in annoyance, and his cabin brightened.

"Sorry to wake you, sir," Commander Groves said contritely, but the excitement Colgan heard in her voice did not diminish. "We've picked up a transmission."

He frowned at that. They were a long way from the core, and even the Border Worlds were a distant memory out here. Only exploration vessels such as _Canada_ herself dared venture into the deep this far.

He sat up and began pulling on his uniform. "Source?"

"Mark has categorised it as unknown sentient, sir. I've logged a possible first contact," Groves said for the log, but then she broke procedure and grinned. "This is it, Jeff, I can feel it!"

He understood her excitement, but kept his own voice neutral. "I'm on my way. Continue first contact procedures and log everything to chip for immediate transmission. Better download what you have so far to a drone... just in case."

Groves straightened her shoulders, gave a crisp nod and cut the circuit.

That had wiped the grin from her face, and well it should. The last time anything like this had happened, the Alliance had been embroiled in a war with the Merkiaari that had nearly seen Humanity exterminated. That could not be the case here; Merki transmissions would have been recognised instantly. Not only that, the ship would be at battle stations and running for home at max. That they weren't doing that was reassuring. Groves knew what she was doing, but what was to stop these transmissions coming from another murderously vicious species?

Nothing.

Colgan made his way to the bridge; by the time he reached it, he knew what he had to do. He racked his helmet beside his command station and took his seat.

"Anything further, Francis?"

"Nothing yet, sir. Our course and speed are unchanged. We have a transmission from an unknown source bearing zero-niner-zero by one-three-two degrees approximately thirty light years out. Mark is coddling his computers while they chew on the data, but I doubt we'll know much for a few hours."

_Thirty lights? Maybe a day to get there... not very far at all._

He pursed his lips as he considered his options.

Survey missions were considered hard duty stations since by definition ships and their crews were out of contact for prolonged periods. His orders left him a good deal of leeway because of that, but if he chose to go with his first impulse of abandoning their current survey in favour of investigating Mark's transmission, he had better be right about his reasons for doing so. He needed more data.

"What can you tell me, Mark?"

"Well, sir, they're definitely not Human," Lieutenant Ricks said, ignoring the laughter coming from helm and tactical. "They're not Merkiaari either."

That sobered everyone. The fear of meeting a Merki warship was very real, but it went with the territory. No one ever found anything by staying home.

"You've told me what they aren't, now tell me what they are."

"Sorry, sir, my analysis is incomplete. I've isolated multiple sources and they all seem clustered in the same region of space. At this range it's difficult to tell, but I think they're mobile. Call me crazy, but I have a hunch what I'm receiving originates aboard a convoy of alien ships. Sorry, sir, that's the best I can do from here. I can't make head nor tails of the language. It's a miracle we received anything at all—I'm getting mostly leakage."

Colgan winced. Leakage was dangerous. Unsecured communications were one reason the Merki had found the colonies so quickly. Nowadays, where tight beam comms (TBC) couldn't be used, foldspace drones were to eliminate leakage. TBC was secure, but it was limited to ships in close proximity. It was essentially a modulated laser pulse... like blinking flashlights at one another.

Drones were different. Given enough time their foldspace drives had enough capacity to cross the Human sector of the galaxy. They were slower than using courier ships, but where speed was not an issue, drones were the best way to keep Alliance worlds in contact with each other.

He wished there was a faster way to inform HQ of Mark's discovery, but they were too far out for speedy communication. The closest Alliance world to _Canada's_ current location was Northcliff. He doubted they had a courier ship on hand. If he sent the drone there, Northcliff Port Control would simply re-upload the data to another drone and pass it up the line. No, it would be better to launch straight to HQ and damn the delay. He instinctively felt that the fewer people who handled Mark's data the better.

It would take a drone maybe five months to reach HQ, and that was pushing its drive to the max—not really a good idea in this instance. Drive failure could leave the Admiralty ignorant of his intentions and whereabouts until he launched another drone with an update.

"I want a full diagnostic run on the drone," Colgan said. "Make absolutely certain that its self-destruct is armed and functioning."

Groves cocked her head in surprise.

It was extremely unlikely for anyone to track and run down a foldspace drone in flight. Theoretically they could be intercepted, but Fleet had ensured that anyone tampering with one would get a nasty surprise.

_Yeah, like a nuke in the mega-tonne range going off in his ship!_

It was locking the barn door after the horse had bolted as far as the Merkiaari were concerned, but who knew who else might be listening?

"Who else indeed?" he muttered under his breath.

"Diagnostic complete, Skipper," Lieutenant Ricks said. "All systems nominal. Self-destruct is in the green."

In the green meant that the nuke was primed but safe. It would become active and dangerous the moment it reached minimum safe distance from _Canada_ after launch.

Colgan swivelled his station forward again. "Download everything to the drone—ship's log to date as well. Set drive parameters to eighty percent."

"Updating the drone now. Destination?"

"Destination Sol. Alliance HQ."

Lieutenant Ricks keyed the drone active with his command codes, and programmed its computer. "Destination set. Ready to launch, Skipper."

"Launch."

"Aye, sir, launching... drone away... drone has entered fold space."

"Very good." Colgan turned to the helm. "Plot a course for me, Janice. We are going to have a look at these people, but I don't want a whisper of our presence to reach them. Clear?"

"As crystal, Skip!" the helmsman, Lieutenant Wesley said.

"Very good."

He waited for the course to be laid in, all the while wondering if he was about to go down in history or down in flames. Had Captain Tibet wondered the same thing when he hailed the first Merkiaari ship to enter the Human sector of the galaxy? Somehow, he thought he probably had.

And we all know how that went. Please God, don't let me be responsible for another war.

"Course laid in, Skipper. Foldspace drive is hot."

"Execute," Colgan said without the tremor in his voice he felt must surely be there.

"Executing."

# 2 ~ Memories

**Approaching Alpha Orbital Station, Thurston System**

Fire. The dream always began with the memory of fire. The buildings burned unattended, the bombardment never ending and ongoing. The shrieks of incoming shells and explosions a constant background noise to accompany Eric's panting exhausted breaths. He didn't have the time to worry about the falling glass and steel. None of them did. The Merki troops were also oblivious to the danger. Both sides had been killed by it, neither side could avoid it. The city was dead except for the combatants. Most of the population centres had suffered the same fate.

The battle of San Luis seemed never-ending. The war had brought it here months ago, and neither side seemed able to overcome the other or admit defeat. The Merki had lost hundreds of ships and millions of troops. The Alliance had lost hundreds of ships and millions of citizens and troops. The system itself had changed hands many times while the ground war continued unabated. The Alliance was currently in ascendance in space, and had managed to fend off the last Merki push. For the first time, the Alliance had prevented reinforcements reaching the planet's surface and it was having the desired effect. Slowly, the Merki had been pushed back and whittled down.

The regiment was here entire. That never happened. Never. The risk of losing every combat capable viper by committing them all to one place and battle had always been deemed too high. Yet the madness of San Luis had needed something to smash the stalemate, and when General Burgton had seen the pathetic remnants of San Luis and its people, most half mad and starving, that madness had gripped even him and infected the entire regiment. There was no going back now, no strategic withdrawal, not after seeing the cities carpeted with the bodies of their people.

Eric and the others had gone a little crazy then, and the General had let them. Vipers never allowed themselves to lose control. Their stability relied upon discipline, and the loss of it could lead to malfunction and death. It need not be enemy action that killed a viper. In the event of serious malfunctions, a unit would be scrapped for the good of the regiment. An insane viper would be a horror to behold.

Eric ran up the street screaming his wrath, not mimicking Merki battle cries as he often did, but simply letting out the berserk rage he felt at the fate of this world's people. He fired his rifle from the hip into the stampeding Merkiaari's backs as he ran. His comrades were doing the same thing, and roaring their hate. None cared that they were running into their own artillery barrage.

The other Alliance forces with them faltered and halted their advance, not willing to follow them into that hell. None to blame, and no shame in it. It was sense for them to stop and consolidate the gains they had made, but Eric and the others were all in melee mode and boosted to the maximum their enhanced bodies could take. To them, the world had slowed to a crawl. It seemed easy to dodge the flying plascrete and falling steel from buildings being blown apart by high explosive rounds pouring in upon the enemy. All illusion of course. The world hadn't slowed at all; the vipers had sped up, and they did take casualties despite their speed, but nothing like as many as unenhanced soldiers would.

Melee mode meant every resource Eric had was reserved for offence with nothing saved for defence except speed. It was god mode for a viper, and rarely used because it threw caution to the wind. Wounds were ignored, everything but battle was ignored until a unit reached that critical point when he would go into automatic shutdown and hibernation. Hibernation in the midst of battle was death all too often.

Blinking blue icons on Eric's display witnessed units down, in hibernation or dead he couldn't tell, awaiting pickup. Dozens and dozens of his comrades were falling to Merki fire and indirectly to the dangerous environment of artillery inspired shrapnel, but there were hundreds more leaping over the debris of civilisation, leaping high to climb buildings like crazy alien spiders in an effort to gain good firing position, or leaping craters and mounds of bodies to rend their enemies. It was chaos.

Eric reloaded his rifle and screamed his hate at the enemy again. He selected full auto and poured fire into them. Grenades. He used his entire supply as soon as the thought occurred; his borrowed launcher using his targeting data in a lash up that worked only because it pointed the same way along the rifle's barrel. No way to use range data. Just point and shoot and adjust on the fly.

Someone leapt past him and was blasted back, taking a shot that would surely have killed him if it had hit. Blood sprayed over him, and he wiped his face on his already dripping sleeve. He spat the coppery taste out of his mouth and stepped over the still twitching body of his comrade as another blinking icon added itself to his sensor grid. This time, he noted, the unit was definitely in hibernation. Not dead. The thought should have been a relief, but every emotion except hate was a weak and distant thing. The thought uppermost in his head was taking the injured man's ammo supply.

He used his knife to cut away webbing, and then tied it roughly across his chest like a bandolier. It didn't seem out of place; there were others already hanging from his armour. Most empty now. He didn't bother cutting them away.

_Grenades and power cells._

It meant he didn't have to stop yet. He gave no other thought to the downed unit behind him. He was in hibernation and that was all that could be said. Nothing but evac would help him now, and that wouldn't happen until the Merki were cleared out.

The street ahead was blocked, one of the towers had fallen filling the street with debris. The retreating Merki bunched up and artillery control took full advantage by hammering them in the tight confines of the blocked street. The aliens, starting to panic now, turned to enter a side street. Eric turned aside without a second to consider the danger and ran through flames. The partially collapsed building was fully engulfed; the heat unbearable on exposed skin, but he was a viper and any amount of pain could be endured if it meant he could kill more Merki.

Damage and warning alerts flashed upon his display as the temperature soared around him. He wanted to hold his breath against the smoke and pollutants in the air as well as the heat that seared his throat and lungs, but he couldn't. Not and run. His armour smoked in the heat, and he had a moment to worry about the power cells and grenades so recently acquired. What was the flash-over temp of the regiment's power cells again? He didn't have the time to check. Nothing to do about it anyway. He smashed through an already burning door, shot away a partition wall that divided offices, and saw windows overlooking a street. He dove toward them as the ceiling gave way above him.

Other viper units noticed his new direction and followed, but they were fighting their own war and Eric didn't have any advice they would listen to. It was every unit for himself this late in the battle.

Eric crashed onto the street gasping and choking on the pollutants released from burning synthetics, but TRS (Target Recognition Software) didn't care about anything other than its programming. It acquired the Merki without his input and he opened fire on automatic even as he rolled into the road.

The entire action took milliseconds, and he didn't intervene. He poured fire into the snarling aliens; other units bursting into the street did the same. The shrieking of dying aliens blotted out the roar of the nearby blazing buildings for an instant. Return fire hammered the street and buildings around him. The Merki troopers were in such a panic, their fire discipline was shot to hell.

Eric got to his feet, dodged left, right, left and jumped reaching for a handhold on a building ahead. He crashed into the wall, missed his grip, and fell toward the ground far below. He reached for another hold, anything to arrest his fall as the wall rushed by. Failed again, and kicked hard at a ledge as it flashed by him, launching himself away toward the next building over.

He grunted as he hit the target building awkwardly. Damage alerts flashed, but it was nothing serious. Left shoulder only, but it hurt and made his arm tingle. The arm felt slower of a sudden, but usable. The building had taken damage, the wall blasted to ruins, and he had smashed down on jagged broken plascrete. It was well though. A better firing position and one with better handholds.

He hung by one hand, kicked and shoved himself up until he could hook an elbow in the nearest cavity blasted into the wall by RPG attack, and rained fire onto the Merkiaari. He emptied his rifle into them and then pumped grenades as fast as he could. Slowly the enemy withered away to nothing.

Eric snarled as vipers ripped and bludgeoned the bodies in a berserk frenzy, reducing them to bits and red paste. He wanted to join them in that, but he was sane enough to realise he couldn't kill the Merki any deader than they already were.

The last few red icons on his sensors winked out one by one. It was done.

Eric let himself fall to land in the street. He reloaded his rifle and noted its power was low. He swapped cells taking a pair off the charred bandolier across his chest, and shoved grenades into the launcher he had taped under his rifle. He wished he had a properly integrated weapons system, but the new rifles were still in development. The standard Alliance rifle and launcher couldn't accept targeting data from a viper, and output was lower, but even so he would have like to have one. His temporary lash up worked, but that was all that it had going for it.

"Burgton to all units," the cold, deadly voice of the General was clear on Eric's comm, and every viper within Eric's range paused to listen. "Operation Clean House complete. Proceed with Operation Annihilate. Burgton clear."

Eric turned as did every surviving viper, and pushed himself to a ground-consuming lope, heading south. Behind him, the artillery paused for a moment, and then it thundered again at a new target. South. Operation Annihilate was the codename for the endgame of this entire campaign. Burgton wanted to teach the Merki a lesson they would never forget. As he had said in the meeting where it was conceived, they would turn San Luis into the Merkiaari's vision of hell... it was already Eric's.

Eric left the city and reached the rally point. The _Wolfcub_ class landers were coming in hot; scores of them stooping upon Eric and his comrades as if on prey. One after another they came in, ramps already descending and ready to accept the vipers. Landing struts slammed down, and the vipers raced up the ramps even as the dampers were recoiling. Moments later, the landers went to max thrust and threw themselves skyward so hard that G-stress greyed even a viper's vision. Eric groaned as the seat edge cut into his thighs.

Behind them, navy shuttles crewed by viper medics and navy corpsmen flew over the burning city on SAR missions to retrieve the fallen. Eric watched a real time view by satellite as they homed on the beacons indicating downed vipers awaiting pickup. He hoped most would be carried into orbit and back to the ship for repairs, but he knew many would go into cryogenic storage when they arrived to await their final journey back to base and a last appointment with the regiment's archive.

He broke his link to the satellite and closed his eyes, trying not to see the faces of the fallen, but vipers never forgot anything. Nothing at all.

_Computer: combat mode._

The world sped back up as he dropped back to his default condition. Alerts began appearing upon his display, some flashing for his attention. Priorities. His processor wanted instructions. Did he want to enter maintenance mode? Hell no! He would be fighting again soon. He would rely upon combat mode for now. True, it would take longer to repair his damage that way, but it would be repaired and still let him fight.

His decision caused a cascade of new data to be displayed. A shortlist of needed repairs and the wire-frame graphic to go with it, as if he didn't already know where it hurt. The worst damage was to his left shoulder, but it wasn't serious. The rest were burns and some loss of lung capacity. Damn smoke. All was repairable without need for outside intervention.

**> _ Diagnostics: 87% combat capable**

**> _ IMS: Repairs in progress.**

Eric glanced at the others, but none acknowledged him. They were all busy with internal business, same as he had just been. He was glad to see Ken Stone had made it, and Dick Hames. Both were good friends, and had been enhanced with him in the same group. Enhanced together, trained together, and often fought beside one another. Dick's armour was heavily pitted and scarred from enemy fire, but he seemed essentially intact. He could see other faces he knew, all looked weary, and all were ready to fight again. He pretended not to notice the missing faces, preferring to imagine them safe and aboard the other landers.

"What happened to your hair, bro?" Stone said raising his voice over the noise of the engines.

Hair? Eric reached up and realised he was burned bald on his right side. His helmet hadn't protected him from it, probably made it worse. It had been damned hot in that building.

"You like it?" Eric said. "New style I call Merki Barbecue."

Stone grinned and some of the others laughed. "Hell of a thing. You think we get to go home after this one?"

Eric shrugged. "No clue." The Alliance was still on the back foot and barely holding on. He doubted they would go home, but even if they did, it would be a short respite. "Don't worry about it. You'll get to increase your score—"

"Incoming Merki Interceptors! Brace for high speed manoeuvres!" the pilot shouted over the comm.

Eric tugged on his harness straps hard to tighten them. He hugged his rifle to his chest, clamping it there with folded arms as the _Wolfcub_ lurched going to max thrust. It spun upside down, veered left and suddenly a gaping hole appeared in the floor between Eric's feet. He looked through the hole, pursed his lips in thought, and turned to toward Ken who looked a bit sick. Well, it had been very close

"I don't think—" Eric began as the lander was hit again and fell out of the sky, already disintegrating.

The pilot screamed, "Brace, brace, bra—"

* * *

**> _ 0559:59 close archive file #0000063577982-3996-SL**

**> _ 0600:01 Deactivate maintenance mode... Done.**

**Diagnostics: Unit fit for duty**

**Activate combat mode... Done**

**TRS... Done**

**Sensors... Done**

**Targeting... Done**

**Communications... Done**

**Infonet... Done**

**TacNet... Done... Scanning... No units/stations found**

**> _ 0600:05 Reactivation complete**

Eric's eyes snapped open, and the dream faded away back to storage. He was in his rack aboard the tramp freighter, instantly alert as always. His programming wouldn't allow anything else of course. His 0600 wakeup call was better than gospel as far as his processor was concerned. Not that it knew or cared. It was just following its programming. Some days, more and more as the decades rolled by, he thought he was just doing the same.

"All behaviour is programming one way or the other. Mine is just more so," he mumbled, and frowned at the thought.

He was a viper. A cyborg soldier designed to kill Merkiaari in milliseconds, and he performed that task extremely well. They all did of course, the vipers, the one-hundred units that were all that remained of the once powerful SAG. The Special Assault Group had been created to augment the 501st Infantry Regiment's offensive capability during the Merki War; it's mission back then to seek and destroy the alien invaders wherever they were found. Eric and his comrades had done so with extreme prejudice, and their reward?

Continued existence.

Eric sneered at the familiar hurt. Existence. They were lucky the Alliance hadn't decided to deactivate them all. They were feared and respected still, but mostly feared. No one was comfortable in a room with something that could kill three-metre-tall alien monsters in the blink of an eye. None would seek them out to get to know them, not knowing what they thought they knew of the cyborgs who won the war for them. That war was long over, or in hiatus if you believed General Burgton's predictions. Unfortunately, Eric and the others did believe him; it wouldn't be long before the Alliance needed them all again.

Eric swung his legs out of his rack and went through his routine.

At precisely 0620 he was groomed, dressed, and ready to debark the ship. His duffel was ready to go; he had packed it last night. There was nothing in it he really needed, but as a prop it added to his cover story. He wasn't Eric Penleigh right now. He was Eric Martell, ex-merc looking for a cause. The clothes he wore and the kit in his duffel all helped with his image. He had aged his brown uniform coverall well, and it had no insignia—he had unpicked them all himself exposing the darker cloth beneath. It was actually a civ design, but it was the right type and no one could tell now that the insignia had been that of a cleaning company. It made him look like what he was pretending to be. A dishonourably discharged merc.

The ship began its final approach to station. Nothing to do but wait until docked. He sat on his rack and waited staring at the bulkhead in silence. How many times had he been on missions like this now, on missions that could have been identical except for location?

**Working...**

Eric sighed and ignored the list of codenames as it scrolled by on his display. He didn't want an answer to his question. He knew the answer was in the hundreds. It had been rhetorical, but his processor didn't care and continued its task of filling his vision with holographic data. It wasn't really holographic of course. It only seemed to hover before his eyes like a holotank display. No one but he could see it and not even he cared to read it. His internal damn computer was too literal, and vipers could not forget anything.

Anything at all.

He was programmed with perfect recall; the idea had been to make them all better killers by making target acquisition at a glance instant and perfect. The routines in his programming were complicated and numerous. Together they were called Snapshot, and there was no way to turn it off. Not even his death would shut it down, well, not immediately anyway. He had seen comrades take careful aim and one final shot after they were already dead just to take their killers with them. It was freaky as hell, and scary. That would be him one day.

**> _ 563**

Eric sighed when the total blinked on and off. He erased the list with a coded thought and his vision cleared. Five hundred and sixty-three missions the same as this one, or close enough for his damned literalist processor to count them. That probably meant a similar amount just outside its acceptable parameters. Its true/false subroutines were distressingly precise and were something every viper had to take into account when asking for data. The days of real A.I computer architecture were centuries in the past, Douglas Walden and his hacker rebellion had seen to that.

Over five hundred missions like this one, and hundreds different enough to be excluded from the list, and they all meant nothing. The days when his battles did mean something ended with the Merki War. He spent his time now killing other Humans, not murderously vicious aliens bent on genocide. It was enough to make a statue weep.

How far they had fallen.

The Alliance and the regiment was all he had. All any viper had really. They were his two reasons to exist. The General ordered and he obeyed. The General said the coups and mini wars had to be managed. So they were managed... by vipers behind the scenes when that was possible, and when not possible the General had the President's ear. Orders came down, and off they went to war once more... or battle at least. They had to keep the peace when it could be kept, and divert or bring the wars to a swift conclusion when it could not. The Alliance must remain strong when the next Merkiaari incursion occurred. And it would occur soon. Five years the General estimated. Just five more years and his existence would have meaning again.

**> _ 0700:23 Docking commencing.**

The sound of grapples and maintenance lines connecting were clearly audible. He could have used his sensors to detect people on the ship and station but there was no need. He could have slipped into the security net on the station and accessed a live feed of the ship's final approach. He used to do that, he remembered. Long ago that was. He did not think on it too hard now; if he did, his processor would resurrect one or more memories and replay them. The damn thing was programmed that way.

He checked the synthskin glove on his right hand, but as before it was intact and hiding his weapon's data bus. The data bus was the only obvious external difference between his enhanced body and a standard Human. The other one, his primary node was at the base of his spine and hidden by his clothes. As long as the glove remained undamaged, no one would know what he was.

**> _0710:12**

He watched the seconds tick by. The time on his display was set to Thurston local, as were the ship's chronometers. That was standard for all ships when jumping in system. Made things easier to manage—traffic patterns and the like. Ships received the correct time and other information like trade prices and news bulletins from the beacons.

The sounds died away and Eric stood. He threw his duffel up onto his shoulder and left his cabin to join the few other passengers debarking here. None of them spoke. All of them were civilians of one kind or another. No tourists here, but then the Betty wasn't a cruise ship. It was a freighter and only took a few passengers aboard to supplement meagre profits way out here in the Border Zone. Eric supposed these people were down on their luck spacers, they had the look. They would most likely be seeking a ship docked at station to take them on as crew, or to take them to another port where they could try again.

Eric followed the ramp out of the ship and stepped dockside. Multiple alerts competed for his cybernetically enhanced cerebrum's attention, but he ignored most of them. As always, his sensors and programming leaned toward tiresome completeness. What did he care that leaving the ship had exposed him to an atmospheric pressure drop of a few hectopascals? Did he give a fuck that the station's atmosphere was nitrogen rich and its temperature a few degrees low? No, but did his processor care, did it ever take instruction from him to suppress pointless alerts when there was no risk of harm to him? Of course not.

Nothing to do but keep on keeping on as they say.

"They're full of shit," he growled. He shifted his duffel on his shoulder, took a deep breath, and folded himself away letting his cover personae take over his features. "Just another day on the job," he whispered, the weariness in his voice not registering in his own ears after all these centuries.

Eric marched across the dock toward arrivals and departures board. He stopped, looking blankly at the departures section and was bumped from behind. He pasted on an annoyed expression and turned to see who had walked into him, already lowering his duffel to the floor.

"Oh excuse me, so sorry," the stocky black man said. "Wasn't paying attention there. Worried about my flight... can't find it on the boards."

"Don't worry about it," Eric growled turning to look up at the departures again.

"No really, you must forgive me. You will won't you, and shake on it?"

Eric gritted his teeth noticing the grins from those close enough to hear. He rolled his eyes at them and mouthed the word silently, "Bethanites!"

The onlookers grinned wider, nodding in sympathy.

Eric put on a smile and tuned toward the man again. "From Bethany's World I assume?"

"Why yes! How did you know?"

This time the laughter was loud enough for the tourist—he must surely be one as he was dressed in flamboyant colours and ridiculous looking printed patterns—to notice. He looked around uncertainly, his smile slipping and Eric was suddenly tired of the pretence.

He held out his hand for a shake. "I'm Eric, honoured to meet you. I recognise your scrupulous manner as being from Bethany. I visited there once."

"Ah, you are too kind, Eric. My name is Kenneth Hartley-Browne. Glad to make your acquaintance."

Eric clasped Ken's hand.

* * *

**> _ Connection request. Accept [Y]es/[N]o?**

**> _ Y**

**> _ Connection Achieved... Stone, Kenneth. Master Sergeant 501st Infantry Regiment, serial number DGN-896-410-339.**

**> _ Incoming data packet... downloading.**

**> _ Download complete.**

* * *

Eric shook Ken's hand and palmed the key card he held. "Sorry to leave in such haste, but my shuttle departs soon."

Ken smiled. "Quite all right. I must away to find my own transportation. Good bye to you."

"Good bye," Eric said and watched one of his oldest friends walk away.

Suddenly he couldn't leave it like that. What if this was his last op? No one stayed lucky forever. Stone was already out of sight but that was no problem. He could have hacked into station comms easily enough, or used his built in comm. No one would have been the wiser. They didn't know to monitor viper freqs, and if they had they would have received encrypted bursts of data that to them would have amounted to garbage or background noise. His tactical network was a quicker built in system dedicated to viper systems alone. Totally secure. He quickly accessed TacNet and contacted the only other viper in the entire Thurston system.

"Ken... just wanted to say thanks. For everything," he said silently, his words encoded by his processor and sent on their way.

"No big, just another recon op."

Stone's voice came to him as if his friend were standing a few feet away. He thought he was worried about the op, easy enough mistake. "It's not that, Ken. It's..." he couldn't voice it. "It's just..."

"Are you okay, brother?" Stone said, sounding concerned now.

Brother, yes, Stone was his brother in every way that mattered. His family—his birth family—were long dead and their descendants didn't know him, but he still had brothers and sisters in the regiment. Everyone wearing the snakehead patch was family. He felt better remembering that; he wasn't alone.

"I'm coming back there," Stone said.

Eric cursed himself. He'd taken too long to answer. Stone's blue icon, clearly visible on his sensors among so many green ones denoting the civs on the station, reversed course.

"No, Ken. You have somewhere to be, yes?"

"Tigris, but it can wait. You need me now."

"I'm okay, feeling my age I guess. I just didn't want to let you go without saying it's been an honour serving with you... in case, you know?"

"Bro... I feel the same. Nothing is gonna happen to you; not now, not ten years from now. Besides, the General says we have an appointment in five to kick alien butt. You wouldn't want to miss that, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it for anything," Eric said grimly. He couldn't kill enough Merkiaari in a thousand lifetimes to make up for what he and the rest of the Human race had lost. "Go, I'll be fine. That's an order if you need one."

"Nah. I knew you were fine. Stone out."

Eric watched Ken's icon on his sensors. "God bless," he whispered and turned his attention back to business as Stone headed for his ship's dock.

He had no idea what Ken's mission on Tigris was; probably something along similar lines as here on Thurston. It had no bearing on his own mission that he could see. Ken was often tasked with information gathering missions. He would be sent out to find trouble spots and assess whether the regiment needed to get involved. If it did, he would report that and facilitate any follow up missions by providing intel, or weapons, or any number of other useful things.

The download would have any data Eric needed to succeed in his own mission, and the key card was probably to access a cache of weapons or something interesting like that. No doubt there was trouble on Thurston somewhere. The authorities might not even know about it yet, but it would be there simmering and ready to boil over. He wouldn't be here otherwise and Ken was like the proverbial trouble magnet. If there was something here, it would have come to Ken's attention one way or another.

Eric found a departing shuttle easily enough, but first there was customs and immigration to go through. Basic stuff out here in the Border Zone. Thurston wasn't an Alliance member world and its citizens enjoyed a more liberal way of life. That was good and bad. Good when people played nice. No one liked too much government red tape and observation. Bad when people didn't play nice and flouted laws designed to keep the peace and ensure everyone had a fair shake.

Thurston used to have a dictatorial government based upon corporate ownership of resources. Such company owned planets were numerous enough out here in the zone not to raise too many eyebrows, but Thurston had moved beyond that now and was making a serious bid for Alliance membership. There were prerequisites for that. Democratic rule being only the first hurdle.

"Identity please," the trim looking woman wearing the blue uniform of a customs official said.

"Eric Martell, here looking for work."

"Planet of origin?"

"Alizon," Eric lied. He had no fear that his fake identity would fail. His simcode implant, though the same as millions of others implanted at birth in the core worlds and an integral part of his spinal column, was special in one important detail. It was programmable. His processor had quite a few identities saved in its database. "Where's your scanner?"

The woman grimaced. "It's on the fritz again. We're still working the bugs out of the system; only had them six months."

And there went another of the liberal benefits of living outside the core worlds on its way out the airlock. Babies born on Thurston from now on would have the simcode implant fitted. It was one of the indicators that real core world type civilisation had reached here. Not everyone would be pleased by that. Fertile ground for the kinds of problems he was often sent to deal with.

"So," Eric nodded. "What next?"

"Sorry for the inconvenience, but I'll need a blood sample before an identity card can be issued."

Eric nodded. "That's fine," he said and let her walk him through the procedure.

The old card system would be in place for decades to come. It would take that long for simcoded citizens to become the majority here. Until then, Thurston would have a hybrid system of DNA checks backed up with old style fingerprints and holographs.

When she was finished he had a shiny new I.D card. He went through immigration and boarded the first available shuttle down world. He found a seat easily; the small fast little boat was barely half full. He didn't bother stowing his duffel but secured it on the seat next to him with its safety belt. The cabin staff nodded at his precautions and didn't say a word. Things were always more relaxed in the Border Zone, but shipboard safety wasn't one of those things.

With time on his hands, he decided to open Ken's data and find out more about his mission. So far, all he knew was that he would be busting heads on Thurston. His missions always had that in common, and mostly involved him infiltrating somewhere to do it. Solo ops and escaping alive were his personal way of keeping score. After centuries of fighting, there wasn't much else to use. He wondered how Ken coped, because back in the day he had used Merkiaari kills for his personal scoreboard, but now? With the regiment mothballed, it wasn't as if rank had any meaning to him or any viper.

Eric grimaced, his thoughts heading toward a place he knew well; one he didn't want to revisit. "Going through the motions. All of us... all is programming," he murmured.

"Sir?"

Eric cursed himself. Dammit he was slipping. He hadn't noticed the steward arrive, and he'd said it aloud! Dammit, he was acting like... he shuddered. He was acting like a classic whigout wannabe—a malfunctioning unit fit only for termination. No! He was fine. He was rock solid stable. He was!

"I'm fine," Eric said, making a guess the steward was offering refreshment. The steward nodded and made to move on. Eric stayed him a moment with a raised hand. "How long to undock?"

"As the pilot said, sir, a few minutes more for traffic to clear our space."

Shit, he had missed the announcement too. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, sir."

Eric let the steward go and turned his attention inward again. He pulled up his diagnostics and ran a full scan. While that was running, he opened the download and forced himself to wait calmly for the scan to complete. He wasn't a damn burnout; he was just distracted. It happened. Being enhanced didn't make him less Human in that aspect at least.

The mission was a snoop and scoot. The data provided plenty of background information for him. Interesting. The current president of Thurston was the son of the old one, who had been an unapologetic bastard of mega proportions, but strangely not in the people of Thurston's eyes. He had limited his particular brand of vicious single-mindedness to political and business enemies, and allowed the citizens of Thurston quite a bit of freedom. Very clever of him really. They loved him for it, and never realised he was only letting them have what they were entitled to anyway. Of course, he was one of the founders of the company that owned most of the planet, and employed most of them in his mining operations. The planet was named for him!

The current President, Martin James Thurston, was cut from different cloth. Educated on Earth he had brought true democracy to his home planet when his father died and he took over. Raised to the presidency by acclamation, he immediately set about undermining his own power by legislating a five-year term for the presidency, and throwing away his own lifetime position. At the same time, he instituted wide spread reforms that made the existing parliament more than just a tourist attraction and into what it was meant to be.

His father must be spinning in his grave, Eric mused.

Of course introducing a proper parliament with real powers and political parties meant Thurston was on course to join the Alliance—a stated goal of the current government. Such things as real democracy and political safeguards were required for membership, and it was that proposed membership that had sparked the need for Eric's mission.

As always, democracy had enemies. In Thurston's case it had the so-called Freedom Movement to deal with.

In his father's time, such a terrorist group would never have flowered into a real problem. Dictatorships did have uses, and one of those was making troublemakers disappear. Eric had a lot of sympathy with that sort of thing. He preferred making such people vanish as well, but dictators never knew when to stop. Too many innocents tended to die needlessly, and that was something Eric did not approve of.

According to Ken's data, Thurston had requested aid from the Alliance to deal with the terrorists and it was granted. An Alliance Marine battalion commanded by a Major Stein had been landed to take care of business. They were not yet in position to take out the Freedom Movement in its entirety, but they had been in action a few times on a smaller scale.

His mission then was to infiltrate the Freedom Movement and report to Major Stein with everything needed for the Marines to clean house. Thurston would then complete his intention of dragging his planet into the big leagues—full membership of the Alliance.

* * *

**> _ Diagnostics: All systems are within acceptable parameters.**

**> _ Unit fit for duty.**

* * *

Eric had known he was fine but seeing it confirmed was good. He wiped the report from his internal display knowing the diagnostic would be logged and archived automatically.

Eric closed his eyes as undocking commenced and gravity abruptly dropped away. The shuttle was a civilian vessel and too small for internal gravity fields, but it still had mass. Manoeuvring under thrust had an effect similar to gravity. Eric ignored the tug on his harness as the shuttle backed away from the station, and continued reading his brief.

Travel time down to the port was less than an hour. The shuttle's departure from the station was good timing as the pilot was able to descend without needing to orbit the planet first. He didn't waste time or fuel, Eric noted, as the buffeting increased enough to be jarring. It was not on the same scale as a combat drop of course, but it was a speedier and more violent re-entry than the usual sedate ride one would expect. Eric had to wonder why.

The other passengers were concerned and whispering questions that none had the answers to. He had no more information than they, but he could make better guesses based upon experience. Either there was some kind of emergency or the pilot had been given standing orders to land as fast as possible. With the threat posed by the Freedom Movement in mind, Eric would put money on the pilot having orders to push the envelope and land fast. He didn't care either way; a quick descent worked in his favour.

With wings glowing and fuselage darkening as its nanocoat battled to absorb the heat of re-entry, the shuttle bore into the atmosphere of Thurston toward a landing at the main spaceport just outside the capital.

Thurston was a well-planned and developed example of a border world. Most had one or two cities sited conveniently in temperate zones of the available continental masses. Usually cobbled together to provide the basics, the cities would be sited close to something of interest usually a geological formation. Rare earth elements for example, needed in nanotech engineering, or heavy metals needed for use in power systems used in spacecraft. The housing in such cities had more in common with barracks built for mine and industrial workers, than the architectural marvels to be found in the core, but Thurston was different.

Thurston had more than a dozen decent sized cities already. In the core they would be classed as large towns, but make no mistake, out here in the Border Zone they were cities. And they were spread out on each of the eight continents with plenty of space to grow. Each one had its own representatives in Thurston's parliament, and all were modern with up to date services. Eric had never seen such a well thought out example of colonisation. Not even the most powerful giants of the Alliance such as Alizon or Garnet had been given such a good start.

Thurston had potential, Eric mused. Serious potential and the General had foreseen it. In a century or less, Thurston would be a power in the Alliance and its location within the current confines of the Border Zone made it a prime candidate as a future sector command node for the navy. Eric pursed his lips imagining it. Like the Kalmar Union, Thurston could become the centre of its own political entity within the Alliance. Whether it would or not, a Fleet base located here was a given, maybe one with full scale yard facilities and those were rare. Thurston did have excellent resources in the form of two large asteroid fields to feed a yard's smelters. It even had four gas giants for fuelling refineries. It was bloody perfect...

_If._

If things could be managed and guided in the right direction. It would take decades, a century even, but the General had centuries and the vision to guide the Alliance down the correct path... his path. Eric shuddered. Burgton scared him sometimes. If Eric hadn't known him so well, if he didn't know that Burgton's every waking and sleeping moment was dedicated to the good of the Alliance and the Human race, he would have shot him in the head when next they met. But he did know him, and he would continue to obey him as would the rest of the regiment no matter what was asked of them, because they did know, all of them, that Burgton was always right. Scary right. So when he said there would be another Merki incursion within five years, they knew it would happen and that the Alliance needed to be prepared for it, even if it didn't know it was being prepared. Missions like this one, and others Eric knew nothing about, were all part of it.

Eric skimmed the data Ken had put together picking out interesting facts and figures. The planet was firmly in the grip of global warming he noted, but it was a natural occurrence. The geological survey commissioned before colonisation placed Thurston in its cretaceous period. Every square meter of land was covered by steaming jungle. There were mountains visible from orbit and the cones of extinct volcanoes rose out of the vegetation like the bones of some great beast, but everything else was either water covered or teeming with native life. There were no ice caps and as a result sea levels were high. No deserts either. Thurston had eight continents. If he included the small island chains in his calculation, land equated to more than fifty percent of the surface area, and Thurston was not a small planet. It was twelve percent larger than Earth for example, and populated by Thurston's unique brand of wildlife.

"More dinosaurs," Eric grumbled. "Really? What the hell is it about the lizards that they evolved on every bloody planet we like?"

He was no scientist gleefully labelling the wildlife, but the few pictures Ken had included looked like dinosaurs to him. Big buggers some of them, and although a lot were vegetarian living off the vast jungle canopy, some were carnivorous.

Eric studied one of the meat eaters and compared it to other critters he had seen over the last two hundred years. It looked like a mutant crocodile—huge jaw full of ripping teeth, no molars that he could see. Long narrow body with a ridge of horned spikes along the spine for protection, and stood twice a man's height on four feet each having four clawed toes. The front legs each had a long curved spur, probably a vestigial toe, but what did he know?

* * *

_Computer: compare current image with known Earth dinosaurs. Query: what is closest match?_

**> _ Working**

**> _ Desmatosuchus: Dinosaur, living on Earth through the Triassic period. Approximately 245million years B.C. Carnivorous lizard analogue. Ref; link crocodile. Ref; Texas. Ref; Mass extinction.**

* * *

Eric had no idea what Texas had to do with it, but he had to agree it did look like a crocodile; a super-sized croc that spent its time eating dinosaurs under the jungle canopy, and not soaking itself in a swamp. Or maybe it did, and just came out for a snack. A hundred-ton snack.

Eric snorted at the whimsical turn his thoughts had taken. The point was, old Desmond the super croc was only one danger among thousands hidden all over the planet. The jungles were dangerous places, which meant most of the population went everywhere armed. That was common in the Border Zone where protection was a personal responsibility. Often border worlds had little or no police force, and when they did their jurisdiction rarely reached beyond the city limits.

Thurston did have police and emergency services in the cities, but had no way to extend that protection to its people if they left civilisation and entered the wilds. The wilds could be described as everywhere not under plascrete... everywhere outside the cities or mining compounds in other words.

Ashfield, Thurston's capital and centre of government, was as modern as any city to be found in the core worlds. It was just smaller, maybe a tenth the size of an average city. Despite that, the port had been built full scale and would rival the best facilities to be had in the core. Impressive foresight on somebody's part as it must have cost an immense amount.

Eric couldn't have made that decision he realised. He just didn't have the vision, but someone did. Someone had faith in Thurston's future enough to force the issue. The founders must have bled credits for decades after colonisation. Even now, the port was only using about five percent of its capacity, but if President Thurston could make his reforms stick, if he could defeat his political opponents, if he could rid himself of the Freedom Movement, and if he could persuade and cajole enough members of the Alliance council to ratify Thurston's application to join the Alliance, then that huge investment would suddenly be realised. The spaceport and the station in orbit above it would become the most important assets the planet owned eclipsed only by the resources waiting to be mined below the planet's surface and within the asteroids.

_If._

A lot of ifs had to be turned into certainties, and that was the real goal. Like dominoes falling, Eric's snoop and scoot mission should lead to Stein's Marines taking out the Freedom Movement, which should clear the way for Thurston to drag his planet closer to full Alliance membership, and decades down the line Burgton's plan for Thurston would be realised.

Eric snorted. And maybe he was just over thinking it.

Maybe the General just wanted another scumbag terrorist outfit like the Freedom Movement knocked on its arse. Eric could relate. He had spent too many years of his existence doing just that. Grandiose plan or simple plan, he was here and would see to it that the Freedom Movement didn't prosper. He really didn't like people who set bombs and killed innocents.

Eric finished reading through Ken's data and waited for landing. He had a place to start looking for a contact man and enough background information to be confident of his ability to get inside the Movement. Where that would lead him he didn't know. Wherever he ended up, he would succeed. He always did and always would until one day he didn't.

Eric's lips quirked. A little uncertainty was good for him. No way to think of random chance as just programming.

The shuttle came in hot but the landing was smooth and Eric silently congratulated the pilot. He briefly wondered if the guy had been navy. The steward came around a few moments after the shuttle finished taxiing off the runway and opened the hatch. Eric was quick to take advantage of his seat position and was the first to leave.

The port was a modern one. He didn't have to use a ladder to leave. There was a proper debarkation tube leading to a lounge. It was empty. He glanced around the lounge, his sensors trawling for threat and anything of interest. He didn't expect any dangers, but caution was ingrained after all these years and his programming backing it up was immutable.

Data flickered over his vision, some coloured to attract his attention. When it did, the data blinked on and off briefly and parked itself onto a growing list. His attention danced all over his display, pausing briefly as this datum or that caught his notice, though there was nothing for anyone else to see. If they were close enough, they might see his eyes moving a little as he changed focus, but he doubted it. He knew what to look for, and even he rarely noticed another viper doing it.

He focused upon the list and with a coded thought selected the Infonet node in the lounge.

**> _ Infonet: Logon Eric Martell account number #08965bHu532AsW... Done.**

A new window popped up on his display and Eric ran a quick search as he followed the signs in the lounge toward the exit. He wasn't surprised to find a lack of security. All of that was up at the station for outsystem arrivals and departures. Any departures from the planet though, even shuttle departures bound for the station from the other side of the port, would be another matter. Security and customs would be on that side and they never slept.

Most spacecraft were unable to land and would use the station to unload and load cargo, but most wasn't all, and out here in the Border Zone raiders were a concern. Pirates took ships, but raiders were another breed. They not only jacked ships, they jacked stations and even colonies if they could get away with it. Their ships had landing capability, and Fleet was stretched thin out here.

Raiders weren't the only concern for colonies like Thurston. Smugglers could quickly undermine fragile economies, but Thurston had another worry right now. Gun runners. The Marines really wouldn't appreciate a ship full of weapons making landfall, especially when the only customer was a terrorist group like the Freedom Movement. Security would be tight right now with a continual over watch by navy hotshot pilots patrolling in low orbit.

Eric found what he was looking for and dismissed the Infonet window.

* * *

**> _ Infonet: Logoff [Y]es/[N]o?**

**> _ Y**

* * *

Eric left the lounge but instead of heading outside for a taxi, he turned right. His search on Infonet had been for the bank that matched the key card Ken had slipped him. Banks at spaceports and on stations were common. They catered to spacers who needed quick access to funds or a secure place to leave their gear. Crew on freighters with a regular run found it easier and cheaper to stash their stuff in a deposit box rather than continue paying for an empty housing unit. Eric knew he wouldn't look out of place, even in his less than pristine faked up merc uniform.

He walked into the bank and got in line. There were a few early risers making transactions before catching a shuttle up to the station. The android bank tellers didn't care of course. When it was his turn, he slid the key card into a slot in the counter top and chose option three.

"Thank you, ma'am," the android said. "A Human member of staff will be with you shortly. Please take a seat."

"I'm not a ma'am. I'm a sir," Eric said because he was bored and twitting the droid appealed to him. "Male you know?"

"Thank you for the correction. Correction logged. Please take a seat ma'am. A Human member of staff will be with you shortly."

Eric sighed, already losing interest in the game. "All is programming... you poor bastard." He wasn't sure who to feel sorrier for; an android following its programming and completely unaware of it, or himself who followed his while denying it.

"Next please," the android said.

Eric moved away and took a seat.

Five minutes later he was escorted down to the vaults beneath the building. It was a typical example of its kind and Eric considered it no better than medium security. Plenty good enough for its purpose of storing its customer's gear, but not something governments or military would use. Security systems were in place—Eric's sensors had picked up their emissions—and the facility itself was fine—fire and bomb proof—but without simcode recognition the entire system relied upon keycards and passwords. Still, he wasn't here to critique the security arrangements, though he had done that before. He had done pretty much everything before... many times. He was here to collect whatever Ken had stashed for him.

The armed guard stopped at the last door after passing a dozen similar doors and tugged his uniform tunic straight. He inserted his card, rapidly entered a code while shielding the keypad with his body, and then stepped back as the door slid aside.

"After you, sir."

Eric walked inside and waited for the guard to lock him in. The sound of the lock engaging was quiet but Eric's enhanced hearing picked up the sound easily. He didn't want to be disturbed. The guard would wait outside the door for hours if need be. They were paid for more than weapon's proficiency after all. They were hired for their discretion and lack of curiosity too. He had pretended to be one once, he remembered. Long ago. It had been a cover for an assassination op. Not his favourite type of gig, but the guy had really pissed Burgton off by proposing to demobilise the regiment a few decades after hostilities with the Merkiaari ended. The guy's suicide had been big news back then.

Eric turned toward the opposite end of the barren room and located the interface. It was a small pedestal about waist height with a simple keyboard and card reader. He inserted his card and typed the password Ken had given him in his download.

_Velox et mortifer._

It was the regiment's motto in Latin. Swift and Deadly. Vipers were definitely that among other things, but at their most basic, swift and deadly described them well.

The password was accepted and the sounds of machinery starting came to him from beyond the far wall. The wall was grey and featureless except for a panel painted with black and yellow caution stripes about a metre square. A minute went by. The brightly painted section of wall slid out into the room attached to a steel bench or table with a metal box sitting on it.

Eric opened it and surveyed the contents.

There was duffel similar to his and containing many of the same things. He pulled everything out and quickly inventoried what he had. Uniforms, toiletries, minicomputer, three wands topped up with funds each drawing on different banks, a Raytheon .50 semi auto pistol, and a pile of loaded magazines. There was a small stash of hard currency in the form of platinum wafers too—platinum was still universally accepted even if frowned upon by governments—and a shoulder rig for the pistol.

He eyed the weapon unhappily, not having time to strip it now, but he did a quick visual on it. It was battered and old seeming, but that would be camouflage. He worked the action listening to its smooth sounding mechanics, and nodded when he pulled the trigger. Eric knew Ken wouldn't have supplied an inferior weapon, and Raytheon made good ones, but a slug thrower no matter how good wasn't his preference. They had limited ammo capacity compared with pulsers, very limited when they were large calibre like this one, and had a low cyclic rate. Vipers could pull a trigger repeatedly on the order of 0.18 to 0.25 seconds apart and do it all day if necessary. If he tried that, the Raytheon would jam. The regiment's custom made weaponry was designed to stand up to such punishment; this thing would fire one round and break.

Pulsers were more forgiving. They were generally fully automatic and a single trigger press could fire a three-round burst or empty hundred-round magazines in seconds depending upon settings. His new toy's extended capacity magazines only held ten rounds. The standard for this weapon was six rounds he seemed to recall. He was pleased to have any weapon since he came here unarmed, but had to wonder at Ken's choice. Maybe there was a reason for it, but give him a good pulser any day.

Eric quickly unsealed his uniform, letting it hang from his hips, and put on the shoulder rig. It wasn't a convenient way to wear it, but he wouldn't go around blatantly displaying the rig either. He loaded the pistol and chambered a round, before holstering it and pulling his clothes back into order.

He stuffed the clothing and toiletries back into the box along with the unwanted duffel, and swept everything else into his own already bulging duffel—he didn't want to carry two—he needed his right hand free. He slammed the lid closed and went to retrieve his card from the consol. The moment he did, the vault's hidden machinery activated and the box slid into the wall to be whisked away to storage.

Eric summoned the guard with a quick press of the call button next to the door, and moments later he was led out of the vaults and back to the bank proper.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" the guard asked when they reached the main floor of the bank.

The guard's hand didn't stray toward the weapon on his hip even once on the trip back, though he was well aware Eric had armed himself. Eric appreciated professionalism like that. Alert but sensible was good for a position like a bank guard. No doubt he had warned his chain of command somehow, because although Eric hadn't picked up anything on sensors on the way back, there were more security personnel suddenly in evidence just loitering.

"I have everything, thanks," Eric said with a small smile at the wary look he imagined he saw deep within the man's eyes.

The guard smiled professionally. "A good day to you then, sir."

"And to you," Eric said and headed toward the doors.

Eric orientated himself just outside the bank using his internal 3d map of the port and headed toward an exit and hopefully transportation to a hotel. He found a taxi outside easily; he was pounced upon by a driver before he could even raise a hand. Not many customers this time of day maybe, but Eric wasn't in the habit of taking chances.

* * *

_Computer: initiate full spectrum security scan. Range out to 500 meters._

**> _ Sensors: full spectrum sweep in progress.**

* * *

Eric let the driver take his duffel and lead him to his taxi. He stowed the duffel in the trunk and even opened the rear door for him. Eric hesitated for just a second but shrugged internally and climbed in. He could rip the door off if the driver tried to lock him in.

* * *

**> _ Sensors: no threats detected.**

* * *

A bit late now he was in the car, but good news all the same. He didn't need to attract attention before he was even settled in.

The driver got in behind the controls and turned to lean over his seat. "Where to, my man? If you want me to take you to the mines, I can do that. Have to go airborne though. Will cost extra."

"No mining for me. Now if they were fighting a takeover and needed some extra muscle?" Eric said easing into his role as an out of work merc. Corporations of all kinds had their own armies to protect their investments, or they hired merc companies to ease the way in _negotiations_ with rivals.

The driver's eyes narrowed. "Our companies are honourable, they don't use mercenaries," he said with distaste for Eric thick in his voice. "I guess you could try out for a security guard or something." He didn't sound enthusiastic.

Eric didn't laugh, but the driver's instant dislike of him made that hard. It was cheering that decent people like him still existed; people who believed in a world where mercs weren't needed. He was wrong of course, but that didn't make the guy's sentiments less warming.

Maybe Thurston could stay clean of the corruption that led to underground wars between mega corps—wars between hired armies fighting and dying not for a cause but for pay. Maybe it could keep the shadowy world of organised crime that infested the underbelly of the core worlds at bay, stopped at Thurston's interface with the rest of the Human sector of the galaxy—the station. Eric doubted it. The Alliance grew, Human's colonised new worlds in ever greater numbers, and things changed, but Human nature? That never would. Until it did, there would always be a need for people like him. People willing to fight violence with violence.

"We'll see," Eric said. "Take me to a hotel; somewhere not too pricey but close to the action."

The driver nodded and turned back to his driving, and Eric entertained himself by watching the world go by.

The road out of the port arrowed straight for Ashfield, the land between still untouched and pristine, meaning jungle covered it. Having such a large section of real estate left virgin was a conscious decision Eric suspected. The original settlers had planned things very well in other areas, why not this? It was a good idea regardless of reasons, but was probably done for safety. Shuttles were quite safe, but accidents still happened. Besides, Ashfield wouldn't stay small forever.

"Where did the name come from?" Eric said. "Ashfield."

The driver grunted and gestured out the window toward the direction they were travelling. "The mountain, it's an extinct volcano. The survey people named it Mount Ebra after one of their guys broke a leg up there or something. The geologists say this whole place, the city, the port, the land all around here is the ash field left over after Ebra blew its top. So when they decided to build here, the name was sort of natural, you know?"

Eric nodded. "I like it."

The driver grunted.

"You sure Ebra isn't just dormant?"

The driver shrugged. "The geologists say extinct, and they should know. Be a bit of a bastard if they were wrong though, eh?"

Eric laughed. "Yeah. Ever heard of Pompeii?" He craned his neck to see the huge cone-shaped mountain. It loomed hugely over the city even at this distance. "Why do we Humans keep daring things like volcanoes to kill us by building in their back yards?"

"Dunno, but it's really pretty country here," the driver said with a grin.

Eric watched the jungle wondering what was looking back at him from under the trees. Something was. His sensors were active as always in combat mode, pretty much his default setting, and was picking up all kinds of unknowns.

His data on Thurston was pretty good he would judge. Most new colonies in the border zone couldn't or wouldn't pay for the best studies, but Thurston had paid good money for what it did have. The surveys of its resources, and that included fauna and flora on top of the usual geological maps, were quite detailed he would judge. No doubt there were gaps, there always were, but the data was good and well presented. Eric remembered Desmatosuchos the super croc. Was ol' Desmond under those trees watching dinner drive by? Some of the amber icons on his sensors could be dinosaurs of one kind or another.

They were big enough anyway.

"Any trouble with the wildlife?" Eric asked as he watched a herd of something on his sensors amble along parallel to the road hidden by the jungle. "Maybe you have safaris?"

"We sure do!" the driver said enthusiastically. "Both I mean. Hunting is big here. Most of us do a little hunting when we get the time. Safaris, yeah we get them in the season. Brings in the tourists you know? Not around here though. The government pays for a cull every once in a while to keep the city safe, but some of the dumber dinos still come calling looking for a free lunch."

Eric smiled, imagining it. "Sounds like fun."

"Can be," the driver agreed. "Mostly it's a pain. Road closures and waiting for a crane to carry the carcass away. They weigh ten even twenty tons some of them. The can bust stuff up before you know it."

The contacts on his sensors must be deemed safe enough, Eric mused. Maybe they were vegetarian or something.

They entered the city and ten minutes later found them stopping outside the St James Hotel. Eric used one of his wands to pay the driver. He chose the one he brought with him, not those Ken had left. He didn't know the usernames and passwords set on them yet. That information would be on the comp, or should be.

He authorised payment and slid his wand out of the receptacle before climbing out of the car to get his duffel. The driver popped the trunk for him without getting out. Eric grabbed his duffel and closed the trunk. The driver raised a hand out his window and drove away.

Eric watched him go, studied his sensors for a brief moment watching for threats and movement patterns that might indicate he was of interest to someone, but found nothing to concern him. Good enough. He entered the hotel to get a room and some quiet time to study his brief in greater detail.

The St James Hotel was a three-star establishment, it said so right on the door he used, but three star on whose scale? The award sticker and plaque didn't say. Going by the decor and general feel of the lobby, Eric expected good food but nothing fancy, high prices but not extortionate, and generous sized rooms. Other facilities would probably come under the heading of extras. Eric had seen the best and worst that money could buy in his time; the St James Hotel would rate on his own scale as first class but not top class. There was a difference, mostly in how much useless and fancy pampering a guest wanted or was willing to put up with.

Eric had learned to put up with quite a bit but he had never learned to like it. He was a soldier first and his tastes were a soldier's tastes. Good food, comfortable bed, and within walking distance of some action at a price he could justify come debriefing was all he needed. Not that the General ever asked him how much a mission cost. He had underlings to handle budgets. He just wanted to know successful completion yes or no. If yes what were the results, was a follow-up mission advised? If no, what the fuck was he doing back then?

Eric grinned. He never went home to report failure. Not after the first time or two just after the war. That was something they had all learned. The General expected results and within reason didn't sweat how success was achieved. He was expected to get the job done with minimal collateral damage and loss to the Alliance. Note that didn't mean loss to him, or Thurston, or even Thurston's citizenry—Burgton could be ruthless when needed—it meant what it said; loss to the Alliance was to be minimised. Eric left those calculations to the General. He decided what an acceptable loss was in the greater scheme, and losing Thurston was not an option.

Thurston would become part of the Alliance. Eric would remove anything or anyone standing in the way of that.

"How may I help you?" The concierge asked and smiled a pleasant but false smile. His eyes flickered disdainfully at Eric's well-used duffel and worn clothes. "I'm afraid our prices might be... ah, a little beyond your means."

"I doubt that," Eric said feeling annoyance rise at this petty little man. "Here, take a look."

Eric inserted his credit wand into the desk and activated the balance display function. The concierge's eyes widened at the figure it showed. It was stupid, but Eric felt vindicated when the man whitened as he realised he had insulted a very valuable customer.

"My apologies, sir. Your clothes made me think... never mind. Would you prefer a suite, sir?"

Eric nodded. "I'll be staying a while; a month or so."

"Very good, sir," the concierge said. He was back in his comfort zone and working his computer. "If you would fill in the register," he continued and indicated a screen set in the desk.

Eric picked up the light pen and quickly filled in the blanks with his false identity. "Send up a meal in an hour. Steak medium rare, eggs, potatoes, and a house salad. Is there a bar in the room?"

"Of course! Fully stocked, sir."

"Good."

Eric took his wand, the room key, and headed for the elevators. He glanced at the key. Room 402, fourth floor. He called the elevator and was alone with his thoughts on the ride up.

His first order of business upon entering the room was a sensor sweep. It was very unlikely he would find any surveillance devices, but he had been burned before in the most surprising ways. It cost him nothing to do a walk through while his sensors took the place apart.

* * *

**> _ Sensors: No threats detected.**

* * *

As it should be and as expected. He wanted a shower before the food arrived so attended to that next. After he was done and wearing a fresh uniform, he stowed his duffel in the closet but took a couple of spare magazines out and put them in his pockets.

The comp and all his wands in hand, he relaxed in the sitting room and started work. Twenty minutes later and a lot wiser, he heard a knock on his door. He reached out to the hotel's rudimentary security system, slipped in, and accessed the camera in the hall. As expected it was room service at his door. He pushed his computer under a pillow and went to open the door.

"Your meal, sir," the woman said with a warm smile. "I think you'll enjoy it. We have a Human cook here. It's not out of an autochef."

Eric stepped aside to allow her to push the trolley inside. "I'm sure it's fine. In the sitting room, please."

The woman nodded and wheeled the trolley to where he indicated. She held out her scanner and Eric pressed his thumb to it authorising the cost, but he took a moment to key in a five percent tip. It would all be added to his bill.

"Thank you, sir," the woman said and sounded genuine. "You didn't need to do that. Service is all included."

Eric knew that, but he also knew the people who provided the actual service saw none of it, and they were the ones who really needed it. He wasn't being completely altruistic. He'd found simple kindness cost him nothing and sometimes benefited him in unusual ways; like the time a barman had covered his back when he got jumped one night. He hadn't needed the assist, but the introduction of an old pulser rifle fired into the club's ceiling at the right time had certainly ended the fight before body bags had been needed. Kept his cover intact. Well worth the tip.

Eric shrugged. "I can afford it."

She smiled at him brightly and left.

Always a good idea to make friends rather than enemies, and besides, it wasn't all about the job. Sometimes he just liked to make someone smile at him. It made him feel like a real person again.

Eric ate his food and then called for the trolley to be removed. The same woman fetched it, and again he insisted upon tipping her. This time he had to talk her into presenting her scanner at all. It was charming, seeing her stammer and blush.

"If there's anything else, sir, ask for me by name. Moira."

"I will, Moira. Can you set my door to _do not disturb_ on your way out?"

She nodded.

"Thanks."

Eric watched her leave on the security camera, and she did set the DND as asked. He went back to work.

# 3 ~ Undercover

**St. James Hotel, Thurston, Border Zone**

* * *

**> _ 0559:59 close archive file #0000063577982-3996-SL**

**> _ 0600:01 Deactivate maintenance mode... Done.**

**Diagnostics: Unit fit for duty**

**Activate combat mode... Done**

**TRS... Done**

**Sensors... Done**

**Targeting... Done**

**Communications... Done**

**Infonet... Done**

**TacNet... Done... Scanning... No units/stations found**

**> _ 0600:05 Reactivation complete.**

Eric's eyes snapped open. He was back in the hotel and instantly alert as always. He stared at the ceiling in silence feeling the ghosts of his past slipping away from him and back into his memory, fading, and the ache of their loss dulled from knife sharp agony to the normal ache he always felt.

He swung his legs out of bed and headed for the shower. He had a great deal to get done and he wanted breakfast before he got down to it.

He didn't call room service but ate in the dining area. Bacon, eggs, toast, fried potatoes, lots of butter on his toast, and plenty of very strong black coffee. He gleefully ignored every warning his processor flagged up for his attention. Caffeine and saturated fats for god's sake, what were the programmers thinking? It was bad enough he had to imbibe the crap the design team had stipulated to maintain his systems—nanotech could do amazing things, but repairs and maintenance needed raw materials. His bio-systems used food just as god and nature intended, but his cybernetic enhancements needed much more. Viper ration packs tasted disgusting not because all Alliance rations did, but because they were laced with metal salts and other things designed to be broken down and used by his bots. Foul didn't begin to describe the crap he had to eat every few months or so. No one liked a viper smoothie that was for damn sure.

When he finished eating, he left the hotel and walked the city streets, taking in the sights. Just another visitor, no particular place to be, looking around, blah, blah, blah. In reality he was watching his sensors intently, and building a three dimensional security map on top of the existing map he had downloaded from Infonet.

Ken hadn't bothered with the city, not because he didn't have the time, but because he knew Eric's mission was not in Ashfield. That was understandable. Ken had his area of expertise, and Eric had his. Eric didn't care that the Freedom Movement was not based in the capital—Ken's data seemed to indicate that fairly well—but he did care that every target they had hit to date was here. So, that was why he spent that entire day and the following days building up a solid security map of the city; well that, and the fact he would need something to prove his worth to a Freedom Movement recruiter.

He spent the daylight hours of that week walking the streets, riding in taxis, hopping from one train to another crisscrossing the city and using his sensors to trawl for electronic emissions. His night time hours were spent infiltrating computer networks so that he had as full a picture as possible. His data would impress, he had no doubt. Any viper could take Thurston's security apart, but he had no plan to do the terrorists any favours by just handing it over to them. He would much rather slaughter them all, but that really wasn't his mission.

The day came when he was ready to make contact with the Freedom Movement. He wiped everything on the computer Ken had left, and then physically broke it into pieces before throwing it away far from the hotel. Nothing it had once contained would be recoverable. He didn't know how competent they were, but if anyone checked his room they would find nothing to suggest he was other than the merc he pretended to be.

He left the hotel and took a taxi to a cafe he had found his first day. He liked it because it fronted onto the plaza outside the Parliament building and he could watch the bustle. He often did that when time permitted, people watching he called it. He always wondered who they were and what they thought of the world around them. It was hard to remember what it had been like, being like them.

Being Human they would see people like themselves and buildings, sky and ground, vehicles going by. They would smell the scent of jungle vegetation on the breeze, and think nothing more about any of it. They would move through the world, oblivious. How wonderful it must be.

He envied them.

When he looked at the world he saw it through layers of data. He glanced outside the taxi at a pedestrian. He didn't see people; he saw...

* * *

**> _ White male, dark hair and eyes. 1.9m tall. 97kg. 33 years old approx. Unarmed. Threat potential negligible.**

**> _ Searching... no matches found.**

**> _ Search local databases [Y]es/[N]o?**

**> _ N**

* * *

When he looked at a building, he didn't see architecture. He didn't see artistry or admirable design concepts. He saw stress points and weaknesses. He saw schematics with data appended in colourful boxes and lines leading to points of access, or places where the right amount of explosive would bring the building down, or damage it to varying degrees depending upon the mission's needs.

When he closed his eyes, he didn't see blackness. He saw sensor data scrolling by. If he shut that down, he couldn't while in combat mode, but if he could, he would see internal system data. The sky? Not really. He would see weather forecasts, thermal and atmospheric data, analysis of local conditions such as contaminants in the air, both chemical and bacteriological. There was just no way to separate himself from the machine side of him.

He _was_ the machine.

The taxi let him out at the cafe after he paid with his wand, and he sat down at an empty table outside. He didn't wait for service preferring to use the table menu to order. He scrolled through the lists on the table top display and chose a pastry that looked good and a strong coffee he recognised from his hotel. A waiter quickly appeared with his order, its android features that of a young woman. A polite smile had been programmed into its features. The android set the food and drink before him and turned so Eric could pay. The receptacle for his wand was in its back centred between the shoulder blades.

The waiter left and Eric enjoyed his pastry.

Finished with the treat, he used his wand in communicator mode and called his contact man. Ken had found the little weasel and promised money for an introduction. A lot of money. That was the reason for the platinum he carried.

"Hello?"

Eric glanced around watching visually and with sensors. None were paying him any mind but he set up a short range scramble regardless.

"The Cafe Reichard, Parliament Plaza. Thirty minutes," Eric said.

"Who is this?"

"No names. A mutual friend left something for you with me. You know of what I speak?"

The man swallowed audibly. "You have it?" He sounded scared but eager.

"Thirty minutes," Eric repeated and disconnected.

Time fled. It wasn't long before his tap into certain security cameras at junctions for traffic management, revealed a face he'd been watching for. The man wasn't alone.

Eric used the camera to zoom in and captured an image of both men. He quickly fed the data to his processor and ordered a search. The first hit came up quickly and as expected from his own data. It was definitely his contact. The search had found his bio in Ken's download. The search continued and spread out into local networks after Eric gave it the go ahead.

The second hit was the contact man again, and the data filled in some blanks but nothing interesting. His real name was Bryce Kanarion, not Syl Finnegan, the name Ken used for him. Eric had begun to wonder about that when more hits came up in quick succession. Eric grunted unsurprised by a short list of aliases, and now doubted Kanarion was the real name. It didn't matter. What did, was that Kanarion was a small time crook with contacts above his pay grade by an order of magnitude.

How did that happen?

The first hit for the other man appeared and Eric turned his attention to his bio. He pursed his lips in thought as more data started coming in. Yi Zhang was no freedom fighter that was certain and it annoyed him. Zhang was just a little man, and Eric didn't mean his physical stature. Chinese ancestry didn't always mean a small build, but it did quite often and had done so in Zhang's case.

No, he was just a businessman, and not a rich one. He owned a small factory making machine tools. No doubt he sold most to the mines. How he connected with a terrorist group Eric couldn't fathom. Every new bit of data that came up reinforced his nonviolent nature and that made Eric pause in his assessment.

Everything pointed him in only one direction, but that wasn't natural. No one was this one-dimensional. Everyone had something to hide even if it was only stealing office supplies. Not so with Zhang. If the data could be believed, he was a saint! That meant the data had been sanitised, but whoever had done the work hadn't understood how to build a truly believable bio. This one screamed false. It said, _look at me, I'm innocent,_ or _nothing to find here go away now,_ or _I love little animals and nonviolent is my middle name._

Eric snorted; yeah right. Zhang was a player, probably small time as yet—his engineering business did seem real—maybe his shady side was a hobby or something. He would keep digging.

Kanarion was supposed to facilitate a meeting, but Yi Zhang could be nothing more than a middle man if that. If Kanarion expected him to pay full price for this introduction, he could think again.

Eric followed the two men using Ashfield's cameras until they entered the plaza. He picked them out on his sensors and tagged them for targeting. Even slowed by the Raytheon inside his clothes, both would be dead before they could think of betrayal. Still, he didn't seriously feel threatened. He watched for any surveillance on himself or on his visitors and found none. He stood to greet them as they reached his table.

"Gentlemen, please sit," Eric said shaking their hands as if this were a normal meeting. Both men looked taken aback but did sit. "Kanarion... yes I know it's not your real name. You were supposed to introduce me to a certain someone. Mister Zhang here doesn't fit the bill."

Kanarion's face darkened.

"If you think I'm paying you fifty thousand for this meeting," Eric went on. "You're stupider than you look."

"You!" Kanarion began in a rage, but his companion stopped him from leaping up with a hand on his shoulder. Kanarion sat back fully and hissed the words, "If you try to screw me, you won't live to regret it."

Eric grinned nastily at the blustering man. His targeting reticule pulsed redly, spinning and centred on his forehead right between the eyes. Kanarion was only a thought away from death; his companion too. Zhang was more sensible. He had moved a little apart from his friend after his initial instinct to restrain Kanarion. A quick assessing look was all Eric needed to assure himself they were both unarmed.

Eric leaned forward. "You had a job to do. You didn't do it. Why shouldn't I just walk away? Threaten me again and I'll shut your mouth for you." He let them see a glimpse of the Raytheon under his arm, and smiled.

"If I may?" Zhang said. "He can't help you, but he knew I could. He hasn't failed."

Eric sat back and regarded Zhang thoughtfully. He kept both men targeted, but had his sensors do a sweep looking for anything interesting. A wire frame representation of both men flashed up onto his display as the sweep commenced. A few seconds later a couple of places flashed amber on the models, but none red. A query showed Kanarion was carrying a wand, but although its carrier wave showed it was active for incoming comms, it wasn't in use.

Zhang had a number of devices in his pockets. An inactive wand was one, the other two might be comps of some kind, but neither device was active. Both men's wristcomps were online of course, but unlike Eric's military issue, they had no ability to broadcast.

Eric dismissed the sweep's results to concentrate on Zhang.

"He knows to keep silent. If you agree?"

Eric quickly reviewed his log of the last few seconds, and nodded slowly as if thinking it over. Zhang had proposed paying Kanarion off so that they could get down to business.

"And you guarantee his silence?"

Zhang nodded. "He's my sister's husband."

Eric grinned, Zhang didn't sound happy about that. Eric wouldn't have been either. "Tell you what I'll do. I'll pay him twenty-five thousand—"

Kanarion cursed.

Zhang whirled toward his brother-in-law. "Keep silent fool!" He turned back to Eric. "Go on."

"Twenty-five thousand for him as payment for this intro, and he goes away. He doesn't talk about this and you guarantee it. Then, if you complete his job as you say you can, I'll pay you another twenty-five thousand. You can give it to him or keep it for yourself. I don't care which." Zhang began to agree but Eric held up a finger and pointed at Kanarion who was looking incensed. "Make me believe you can control him."

Zhang turned to his brother-in-law. "You were always a disappointment to my family," he began and Kanarion's face darkened. "But this time you accidentally did something right by calling me. Don't ruin it. I swear I will give you the twenty-five thousand. On my honour. You know my word is good."

Kanarion nodded reluctantly.

"I know you think me a fool for keeping to the old ways, but remember this: keeping my word isn't the only tradition I uphold. Vendetta is another. I swear if you speak a word of this, my sister will be a widow the next day. Do you understand?"

Eric blinked. Zhang didn't sound angry or upset. His heartbeat and other stats were unchanged, but Eric believed every word he'd said. Going by expression, Kanarion did as well. The suddenly scared man nodded jerkily.

"Good," Zhang said and turned back to Eric. "Satisfied?"

Eric counted out twenty-five platinum wafers as his answer and slid them toward Kanarion. The greedy man's hand darted out and made them disappear, his eyes glowing with excitement.

"Good bye, Kanarion. We won't meet again... we better not," Eric said evenly.

Kanarion stood and hurried away. Eric kept him tagged on sensors, but he left it to his processor to alert him should the man do something interesting. Meanwhile, Zhang had to be dealt with. He slid the remaining wafers of platinum to Zhang and the man pocketed them without counting them.

"I don't envy you," Eric said mildly.

Zhang grimaced. "My sister loves him and I love my sister. It would hurt her should I have to make good on my threat, but sometimes I think a little accident and a quick funeral for him would be better for her in the long run."

"Kids?"

Zhang shuddered. "No thank god, but she wants them. I must decide soon."

Eric pursed his lips, but then he nodded. This so-called businessman would be called something else on other worlds he had visited. Something a little more sinister. Crime boss sounded a little old fashioned and the image it conjured was a cliché, but that's what Eric was getting from Zhang's demeanour and conversation with his brother-in-law.

He remembered thinking about Thurston's future when he first arrived, and how the station stood guard against crime, but it was obviously already here dirtside. And that was a problem of another sort. Why hadn't his searches found Zhang's shadier dealings? His digging still hadn't found anything of the sort.

* * *

_Computer: Narrow search to Yi Zhang's immediate family. Include financials. Query: Is there any evidence of Freedom Movement affiliation and/or sympathies?_

**> _ Working**

* * *

Eric decided to probe a little while his processor deepened its search into Zhang's family.

"You said he did the right thing by getting you involved. Why?"

"Because I can do what he cannot. You're not the first mercenary I've hired on behalf of my... of friends," Zhang said.

Eric's eyes narrowed, he'd been going to say something else. Family maybe?

"In my line of work, I've needed such before," Zhang continued. "My friends heard that about me. When they found a similar need, they came for advice."

"I see," Eric said and did see quite well. His processor had finally found the missing data he had needed to get a handle on Zhang.

Yi Zhang's company was family owned and run as Eric had expected, and although it must be a front for some criminal activities as well, it really did produce machine tools for the mines. It was a legitimate company, but one family member had not stuck around despite that.

His brother, Hu Zhang and severed all ties and changed his name in an apparent effort to disavow its less than legal activities. A noble goal, but that was why a preliminary search had failed to find any links to Zhang. Hu Zhang, was now Daniel King, a politician opposed to President Thurston's policies.

Eric realised immediately why Hu chose the name King. It was just a Romanised version of his real name, but his processor hadn't made the connection on its first pass. Yet another reason to regret the loss of real A.I computer architecture. An A.I would not have needed him to make the connection, it would have seen the obvious. Still, Eric had the data now; that was important, and besides, he had enough problems with a dull but obedient computer living in his head. He didn't want to think about having a real A.I constantly with him. He didn't think his sanity would survive it.

"I understand you wish to join the Freedom Movement," Zhang went on after a moment. "Why? You're not from Thurston. Why do you care what happens here?"

Eric took a sip of coffee and frowned when the usual caffeine alert appeared on his internal display. He ignored it as he always did. "You know the answer. I don't care what happens here unless it inconveniences me. I'm a merc. Money interests me, nothing much else does."

"But you have money."

"Not enough."

"What is enough?" Zhang shrugged. "I'm a businessman too. I've yet to find that elusive figure."

Eric laughed. "Same here. I don't want to join the Freedom Movement. I don't do causes. If the movement didn't exist here, I would go to a planet where it did. I'm not the type to follow a cause. I follow the money, period. Now that's not to say I won't stick around for a while you understand."

Zhang grinned but sobered quickly. "So it's just another contract for you. I can understand that. My friends will want to check you out, but assuming all goes well, I think you can consider yourself hired."

Eric raised a hand. "I don't come cheap, not even on the Guild's pay scale, but I can be had. Two mil for the duration of ah... of hostilities."

Zhang paled and then laughed. "Two million credits for one man is ridiculous. I could hire ten for that!"

"Ah, but they wouldn't be me. And besides, you wouldn't get ten on an open ended contract. I did say I would stick around for the duration. For all you know that could be years."

Zhang frowned. "True. Why would you agree to that?"

Eric grinned and retrieved the data crystal he'd compiled from a pocket. "I'm glad you asked. Here's a free sample of my work. Give it to your friends. If they like it, I want the two million up front deposited to my account. You'll find details on here." He handed the crystal to Zhang. "In the very unlikely event they don't like what it contains, no hard feelings and I'll be on a ship away from here by the end of the month. Deal?"

Zhang nodded slowly. He was looking at the crystal pensively. "I will enquire."

Eric stood and offered his hand. "Nice doing business. I'm off to catch a show. Might even try to bag one of your dinos. I heard you have safaris."

Zhang nodded, still seeming distracted.

Eric walked away watching Zhang on one of the cameras feeding him live imagery. He smiled to himself as Zhang took out his wand and made a call. Eric froze the image and captured the name and number displayed on the wand. You never knew what could turn out to be important.

* * *

**Saint James Hotel, Thurston, Border Zone**

Eric returned to his rooms after the latest in a long list of leisure pursuits he had indulged in. He would rather have been on his way back to Snakeholme, but with no contact from Zhang or his friends, he had to stay here and pretend to be having fun.

_Take in the sites like a tourist, check._

_Go on a three-day safari, check._

_Take in a couple of shows, yawn and check._

_Practice on the range, making errors like a Human just in case he was being watched, check._

It had whiled away the time, but he could have gone into hibernation if that was all he wanted. No, it was more to keep up appearances than to fill time. Surely he was being monitored, if not electronically, then by Human means. He did still watch for surveillance, but he hadn't detected any. It annoyed him, because without any kind of reaction to his presence he couldn't gauge his progress.

Eric checked at the desk for messages. None again, but that was expected. Zhang could leave one on the comm in his room if he wanted, or preferably on Eric's own wand. Checking at the desk was a sign of his impatience, nothing more. He wanted to be done with this, and go home, that was all.

He took the elevator up to his floor and quickly entered his room. As soon as he entered he froze, hyper alert, and the nano-sized remote he'd left to guard the door reported in. Two intrusions within the last five hours. Why two? His sensors swept ahead, but found no one in the suite now, but someone had been here. Perhaps the hotel staff had stopped in to clean... no, he couldn't detect any aromas of cleaning products.

Excellent. If not hotel staff, then it was likely a team sent to search his room. It was the kind of response he'd been waiting for.

Well it took them long enough, Eric mused as he checked out each of his rooms. Someone had finally gotten around to searching his suite and installing listening devices. He wondered if it had been Major Stein's paranoia or whether the Freedom Movement had finally gotten with the program. If there was one thing he hated more than terrorists, it was incompetent terrorists. Professionals could be expected to do certain things, and were therefore predictable within certain parameters. With two-hundred years of experience, he had those parameters pretty well mapped now, but amateurs... he shuddered. They were a bloody menace.

The search of his suite wasn't a surprise; bound to happen eventually. What did surprise, and annoy, was how long it had taken for a reaction. His meeting with Zhang was nine days ago, and no contact had been forthcoming. That was why Eric had wondered if the search had been a Marine operation. Stein had to be jittery now that the Freedom Movement had completed the op his data crystal had outlined.

The Major hadn't been happy when Eric informed him of the operation, and the expected results. It went against the grain to allow a terrorist group to successfully jack a government armoury that way, but in the end Stein had gone along hoping that casualties would be low, and getting a man inside the movement would compensate.

The Freedom Movement had gone in hard, neutralised the security net as instructed in Eric's plan, killed everyone in the building—five guards that late at night—and withdrew in a pair of armoury trucks carrying pallets of ammunition and dino hunting rifles. They were completely unopposed and unseen thanks to the network shunts he'd included the specs for in his plan. As soon as the op went down, Stein had beefed up security, but that was fine. The Freedom Movement would have expected no less.

Bringing Major Stein into the loop had been a calculated risk. Eric knew he would need backup eventually, but he could have waited until later to make contact, but Stein was one of those forward thinking officers the Marine Corps liked so much—an effective one. Eric preferred that sort too, but in Stein's case it could have short-circuited the evolving plan. Eric had needed to hustle when he realised Stein was going to make a move that would have made the data on the crystal he'd given Zhang obsolete. That would have ruined everything.

Getting Stein alone had been hard, but Eric had managed it, and the Marine had taken it in stride when he realised what Eric was. Getting him to agree to delay his plans though, especially when doing so would almost certainly risk lives, had been a struggle. Eric never liked pulling rank. It didn't seem right to give orders to a major when his own official rank was lesser, but the truth of the matter was that Stein could have been the Commandant of Marines—unlikely in the extreme as it was an administrative position not a battlefield command—and he would still have complied... probably.

It was history and tradition that made vipers command the other branches of the military on the battlefield, not rank or regulations. Eric was careful never to abuse that. All of them were. They were feared and respected, but that respect never quite dulled the fear. No one in the regiment wanted to make that worse. Eric had to wonder how well that would work if they began recruiting again. He shrugged. It wasn't his problem.

Eric wandered his rooms as if bored, allowing his sensors to map the surveillance grid newly installed by unknown persons. It wasn't Stein, he decided as he traced more and more emissions. The gear was good tech, a little too good for the regular military. That was no insult to the Marines. They wanted rugged gear, able to do the job and take abuse without failing on the battlefield, and military budgets also preferred it that way. A score of good solid units could be had for the price of a single highly sensitive and temperamental unit meant for true espionage.

The tech in use here was not regular military issue, neither was it the absolute cutting edge, but it was spy stuff. The kind of thing a government agency would employ.

Eric frowned as another grid appeared on sensors. What the hell? Two surveillance grids in one place made no sense unless... he nodded and smiled in amusement. The high end gear probably was government. Thurston was up and coming, its agencies would need to keep pace. Unemployed mercs would surely be on the watch list especially considering recent events. Eric tagged that net as Thurston InSec for now and left it alone. It was active but passive in that the sensors had no offensive capabilities. The same couldn't be said for the other grid.

This one he tagged as Freedom Movement and hostile, because it did in fact have offensive capability in the form of sonics and neurotoxin dispensers. He hacked the net and disabled the weapon circuits, but left the passives alone. No one would realise what he'd done unless trying to trigger an attack. It was good but not high end tech; exactly what he had come to expect from terrorist organisations with off world backing, something he was seeing more and more as the decades rolled by. Maybe Burgton was right about that too.

Burgton's theory of growth over stagnation within the Alliance was something the regiment often debated. They had the time and vision to see long-term trends. Their unique perspective and ability to collate data from all over the place, gave Burgton an unparalleled ability to predict events.

After a moment's thought, Eric inserted a little subroutine into the hostile net that would warn him if someone sent a signal to attack. His hack would prevent the attack, but it would be good to know if one were attempted. Looking over his work, he carefully withdrew from the net, satisfied he was once again secure.

Nine days. That delay gave him some idea of the terrorist's capabilities he realised. Zhang must have handed the crystal to his friends that day; probably to his brother, but there was no proof of that. Didn't matter who; it was the timing that interested him. A day to get the data to someone with the authority to evaluate it, and maybe another day to decide to use it. Add to that a week to gather personnel and supplies to launch the op. Not bad, but not great. Probably supply issues rather than personnel. It was usually that way around.

They had proven his data sample was good with last night's attack. He could expect contact any time now. Fine then. He would step out for one final day of exploring. With the thought fresh in mind, he left the room and locked his door before making his way down.

He didn't have a destination in mind, so when the taxi driver asked him, he said to tour the city a while. The driver nodded and off they went. Eric had Ashfield mapped and in his database, so he simply let the man have his head and let the world go by without taking too much of an interest in any one thing.

The people interested him the most. He watched them as if they were some alien species just discovered. The children walking with their parents always perked him up. It was good to know that the cycle of life was unending. All the death he had seen was offset by new life. Not erased of course, his memories would never fade, but it did make him feel better seeing the children. They didn't know he existed, and were better off not knowing the things he did. Their lives went on separate from him and unconnected.

Eric frowned as the taxi ventured away from the areas tourists were normally interested in. The buildings were less flashy, more utilitarian. A quick check of his map told him they were heading away from the city centre toward the industrial zone.

"Hey, I said I wanted a tour. I'm not interested in factories," Eric said in annoyance.

The driver ignored him.

What the hell? Eric used his sensors and sighed in annoyance. They were being escorted in front and behind by armed men driving identical cars. Government maybe. He could rip the door off and bail, but really, what was the point? It would only draw more attention to him. He could force the driver to pull over and let him out... no he decided, he would wait and see where this leads. Maybe it would be interesting.

Interesting was one word for it, he mused as the taxi pulled into a compound. Another word for it was surprising. The compound was part of Zhang's factory complex, and was full of loading and unloading trucks. Not a government op. Eric watched as a truck lifted off and flew low over the city as it clawed for altitude. Heavy bugger that one. He wondered about the cargo. He readied himself for action when the taxi stopped and his door popped open.

He wondered if they would try to disarm him. If they did, it would at least give him a point of reference. He needed to move the mission along. If they were hostile, he could at least take out this part of the Freedom Movement's operation. He would keep one or two alive for interrogation, and use the answers to target another cell. With luck, he would learn about their base of operations. There must be one if they really planned to overthrow the government. There was no way urban terrorism alone could do it; not now that the Marines were here with air support. No, they needed to field a proper force, and that would take logistical support—equipment and personnel. If they didn't have that, the Freedom Movement would be nothing more than an annoyance to any government, but Eric didn't get that sense from them.

"No tip for you," Eric muttered to the driver as he climbed out of the taxi.

The driver shrugged, and drove away leaving Eric facing the escort cars waiting for them to make a move. The car windscreens were dialled to black. The occupants might have weapons trained on him and he wouldn't know. His sensors detected four men in each car, and they were armed with pulsers by the emissions he was receiving, but that didn't tell him if they were out and pointed. Eric turned to watch as the security gate slid shut and locked him in. It couldn't hold him of course. He could climb it or the wall if need be. He turned on the spot letting his sensors do the work for now. He had three exit strategies mapped by the time a welcoming committee came out to join him.

"Mister Martell, forgive the manner in which you were brought here," Yi Zhang said. Beside him walked another man. His brother. Eric had his picture in his database. Both men were wearing high-collared business suits that befitted their corporate status. "Unavoidable I'm afraid. There have been developments."

Eric glanced at Zhang's outstretched hand but didn't take it. He would need his hands if this went sour. "Zhang," he said with a slight nod, "and this is?"

Zhang lowered his hand. "I think you already know, but in case I overestimated you, may I introduce Daniel King? Daniel, this is the man I told you about. Eric Martell."

King didn't offer to shake. "You have a novel way of gaining my attention, Martell. Your free sample certainly did."

Eric relaxed a little; this didn't feel like a prelude to an attack. "I've found it quicker and it usually works. I like to do my groundwork before meeting clients and getting down to the practical applications of what I can offer."

King didn't smile. "President Thurston's secret police are watching your suite. They have it wired."

Eric shrugged. "I know."

Secret Police indeed. King was trying to portray himself as a patriot fighting the good fight against a despot. Eric managed not to laugh. It was amazing really, how many of these people used the same rhetoric when justifying themselves. He had heard it all hundreds of times before. He was beginning to wonder if they had read the same terrorism manual, because they all seemed to be using it for their bullshit.

King blinked. "You know?"

"Of course. No need for concern, there's nothing for them to find there. Everything I need is in my head." He tapped his temple with a finger. He didn't tell them that he had found their surveillance as well as the government's gear. "All they have is my underwear and spare uniforms."

A splutter of laughter burst out of Zhang. He turned to his brother. "See what I mean?"

King nodded. "The two million will hit your account in..." he checked his wristcomp. "About twenty minutes. Come inside to wait. You have the means to check our deposit with you?"

Eric nodded, patting the pocket containing his wands.

So, no attempt to disarm him and they would definitely assume he was armed. He would have in their place. The mention of the money clinched it. He was in the door... more or less.

King led off and Eric followed. Behind him, car doors opened and eight men brought up the rear. Eric targeted each one, but did nothing outwardly offensive. It was precautionary only. He would do nothing to halt progress. He had gained some ground, but he wasn't in yet.

Zhang led them into an empty office, not his own Eric noticed and wondered why not. Maybe all his employees weren't in the loop. Eric glanced around as King took one of two swivel chairs near the desk. Zhang headed for the autochef. Eric turned as two of the escort entered the room and closed the door. Before it closed fully and they blocked any approach to it, Eric saw the other six men arraying themselves along the corridor outside. Not very trusting, he thought with an internal grin.

Eric didn't seat himself, but did take a coffee from Zhang when it was offered. He grimaced at the taste. He detested decaf. "Assuming the transfer goes ahead without problems, what do you envision my role will be?"

King turned his chair and looked up at Eric. "I'll assume you know the situation here so won't waste time reiterating. Normally I wouldn't be meeting with a recruit like this, but your unorthodox approach appealed to me. You're no ordinary recruit and I don't expect you'll need that gun under your arm. I have plenty of trigger pullers. I want you on my team devising strategy."

Eric nodded; smart man to be thinking along those lines. It was exactly what he wanted King to think, but he hadn't needed to guide the man. It being his own idea should bolster King's trust in him and give better access to what he needed. If they had just recruited him as plain soldier, he could have been posted as a guard at the arse end of nowhere and unable to learn what he needed.

"You are fortunate," King went on. "Your plan worked so well that it occurred to people I trust that you might be an operative working for our enemy. President Thurston isn't above using InSec for his own ends despite his so precious constitution."

Eric took note of King's sneering condemnation of his President. There was something personal there; it wasn't all politics, and Eric wondered what it was about, but King was still talking.

"... our base of operations. I won't tell you where you'll be working, and you will have no access to that information even while there. If you have objections?"

Eric shook his head. It was perfect. King wanted him to work on planning more raids from a secret location as a security measure, but he was a viper. He could be deaf and blind and dropped anywhere on the planet and he would know where he was seconds later. He was only a thought away from a secure satellite link anywhere in the system. His designers would never have missed such a basic necessity. Many of his systems used the link. TacNet didn't actually need to use it—unit to unit links could be, and often were, used—but TacNet could use satellites to increase range when they were available. Sensors used them for keeping track of friendly and enemy units on the battlefield, and for navigation. Calling in air support without them could be a pain.

The point was, King could call it a secret base all he wanted, but as soon as Eric arrived, he would know where it was and so would the Marines. He would see to that. The Freedom Movement had just taken a huge step toward their extinction, and Eric a step toward heading home again.

He was pleased.

The time came and he went through the motions of verifying payment. He couldn't care less about the money and wanted to get going, but he had to play his part. A mercenary wouldn't overlook it, so he dutifully used a wand to check his balance. Two million had been deposited a few minutes earlier and he nodded to King.

"It's there. When do you need me to be ready?"

King raised an eyebrow. "I thought you understood. You will leave from here directly, and no you can't go back to your hotel."

"Don't you trust me?" Eric said.

"Of course not. You will be escorted by my men at all times until you reach our base. Once there, you can move about, but not before then, and we won't let you leave without escort for any reason."

Eric shrugged. "I agreed to a contract for the duration of hostilities. Hope you don't mind if I make that duration short."

King smiled this time. "I like your confidence. You get to leave when we have won, not before."

"Understood. I estimate three to six months," Eric said. "But that depends on resources and your willingness to cooperate with me and use them as I direct. I don't need to take command or expect to, but I do need your fighters to at least consider what I say."

"They will do what I tell them," King said coldly, his eyes suddenly hard. "You will have access to our logistics data, and I expect you to evaluate what we can and can't do with what we have. I want ideas. If you have a way to increase our capability, I want to know about it immediately. You will be my adviser as far as my people are concerned. Adviser only. They won't take orders from you."

Eric shrugged. King was a paranoid bastard. "Okay by me. I'll need a way to talk to you, unless you're coming with?"

"No. I can't be away from the capital right now. I'll give you a number where you can reach me or someone I trust."

"Fine."

King stood and prepared to leave. He spoke with Zhang a moment before leaving the room. The eight-man security team did not follow.

"Well," Zhang said and clapped his hands together cheerily. "I have transportation all arranged for you. Your... watchdogs? They will take over from here. Good luck to you."

Eric nodded to him and followed his keepers out of the office. They led him outside and into the compound toward one of the transports he had seen earlier. He climbed into the cargo bay of the nearest when told to, and sat on one of the crates. His watchdogs climbed in to join him, and moments later the transport lifted off. He didn't know his destination, but using a satellite link he followed along and plotted a few points of interest. A minute into the journey he decided they were heading for the spaceport. He guessed they would be taking a shuttle somewhere. No matter.

He closed his eyes and leaned back pretending to sleep.

# 4 ~ Sanctuary

**Planet Harmony, Shan System**

"Do you see him?" Tahar whispered, his black-tufted ears stood erect and alert atop his grey furred head.

Shima tried to penetrate the gloom beneath the trees and find what her father had seen, but the shadows were too deep, and her eyes blurred with the distance. She silently cursed them for not being as keen as his. Sometimes she felt like clawing them out of her head. At least then she wouldn't see the disappointment on her father's face every time he looked at her.

She knew where the Shkai'ra stood. It was a warm and peaceful presence within her mind, very different to the fierce glow that was her father. The breeze suddenly shifted in her favour, teasing her with the Shkai'ra's scent. Her claws slid from their sheaths and dug into the moist soil beneath her paws. A frustrated growl rumbled deep in her chest.

"Do you not see him even this close?"

She wanted to howl in despair at the pity she heard in his voice. "I feel him, my father... I almost see him," she lied. She knew which sub-species it had to be. There were a great many of the Lesser Shkai'ra at Sanctuary East. She doubted it could be one of the much rarer black tailed variants of the species. "A Lesser Shkai'ra. A big one, yes?"

Tahar's ears flattened in distress at her lies. "No. He's black tailed—barely adult and very small."

He was disappointed in her. She could feel it. The pain that caused her was worse than anything else she could think of. Her father was the best hunter and tracker in her family. Chailen, her younger sib, might grow to be as good, but she was barely adult. It was too soon to be certain.

"I..." she began, but she couldn't finish her apology. She lowered her head almost to the ground in shame.

Her father pretended not to see a reason for shame. "Come. I will take you closer so that you might see."

He crept forward still on four paws like a shadow, then froze with his right forefoot raised. His ears pricked and swivelled, listening for danger hidden in the dense undergrowth. The sun was lowering in the sky, deepening the shadows and heralding the arrival of Sanctuary East's night hunters. His whiskers drew down, and his nose twitched as he scented his quarry.

Shima waited motionless, less than two paces behind him. The breeze shifted and she caught the scent of the Shkai'ra again. It was calm and unaware of them.

Tahar eased his paw to the ground, and with his head low between powerful shoulders, crept toward his quarry. Left forefoot, right hind foot and pause. Right forefoot, left hind foot and pause again. Shima mirrored her father's movements and was concentrating on him to such an extent that she failed to notice when her sight finally resolved the Shkai'ra.

Tahar stopped and looked back at her in question.

She was so close to the beast that one pounce would have been enough to take it down. The Shkai'ra was a young male, barely old enough to forage for himself. Although his fangs rivalled hers, his other weapons were still undeveloped. Two knife-sharp horns presaged an impressive rack that would eventually grace his proud head.

"He's beautiful," she whispered almost inaudibly, and Tahar flicked his ears in agreement.

The Shkai'ra froze in mid-chew and Shima held her breath. It raised its head warily, looking for the source of its unease, but Tahar's pelt was a mottled shadow, and Shima took after him in her looks if not in her abilities. It failed to see them, and went back to using his wickedly sharp hooves to dig for more roots.

Shima took one more step and slowly raised herself onto her hind legs. She could almost touch him now. One more step and she reached toward him.

The Shkai'ra turned to look back and froze.

The moment stretched out into an eternity. She stared into those innocent eyes in wonder, feeling connected to her ancestors as never before. It was so easy to think of herself as one of those primitive hunters. She would have known nothing of the wider world; nothing of engineering, or genetic farming methods—known nothing of history or philosophy. Her only concern would've been the wellbeing of the clan and her people; her only task to hunt for food and protect her clan.

The moment passed.

She felt the barest of touches on her outstretched paw and the Shkai'ra was gone in a blur of speed. She would never forget that moment or the feel of its hide as long as she lived. She watched it race into the trees, until losing it to distance and poor vision. She could still sense it running blindly away from her—still scent its fear on the breeze. There was nothing wrong with her other senses. It was only her eyes that made her a cripple among her people.

The Shkai'ra was long gone when Tahar stood tall once more and led Shima back to their camp. She looked back once but the wonderful beast was gone. She and her father were its natural enemy. It didn't know it was safe. Sanctuary East was a preserve. The Shkai'ra weren't the only species to need such a place, but they were the most endangered.

"We must leave before the sun sets," Tahar said when they reached camp.

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry I lied. I wanted you to look at me like you do at Chailen... I'm sorry."

She ducked her head, looking at the ground and not at him. She was tired of seeing the disappointment on his face, but his anger would be worse. She busied herself tidying their supplies. They would be ready when it was time to begin the long walk out of Sanctuary East and back to the world. She retrieved her harness and slipped it on. Its weight felt odd after so long wearing nothing but her pelt.

"You are my first cub," Tahar said softly from close behind her. "I love you no less than Chailen."

She forced herself not to turn. "Chailen is special. You should love her more."

Tahar sighed. "Look at me. Please look at me. I can't keep talking to your tail."

Her jaw dropped open in amusement and her ears quivered of their own accord. He used to say that when she was very small.

"Stop trying to make me laugh."

"Laughter is good."

Tahar led her to the fallen tree they had been using as a table. Visitors to Sanctuary East were encouraged to take only the minimum of supplies into the preserve. Harming the animals was against the purpose of the preserve, and bringing technology other than an emergency beacon was discouraged. It was a matter of pride among those who came here to bring only what their ancestors had used.

Tahar sat upon the fallen tree beside her. "I'm proud of you, Shima, so very proud. So what if you cannot hunt like the great Jasha? I cannot either, nor could anyone if you believe the stories. We are no longer hunters, Shima. We are beyond such things now. Hunting is not important any longer." He mimed grasping something and throwing it away. "It's a hobby, nothing more. You and Chailen are the future; I'm the past as much as hunting is."

"Don't say that! You are great, everyone knows it."

He snorted. "A great fool for not teaching you better. You have surpassed me in all that matters, Shima. You make me proud to be your father, but you don't see it, do you?"

"I see disappointment when you look at me."

Tahar's eyes widened and his ears flattened. "I have never felt that. I have been angry on occasion, amused quite often, but never disappointed. _Never_ disappointed, Shima." In a hushed voice he said, "What you see is my guilt, not disappointment."

"I don't understand. You're not disappointed that I lied—that I cannot hunt?"

"That you felt you needed to lie is my failure not yours. You can hunt well enough. You don't need eyes for that, but as I said before, it doesn't matter."

She could hunt after a fashion. The Harmonies were strong in her, and her nose and ears were very keen. Not much of a compensation for her poor sight, but it was better than nothing.

"Your mother wanted cubs very much."

"I know—"

"Hush. You don't know this. She could never tell you, and I... well, I'm telling you now. When your mother and I were first mated, we worked together."

"I know this," Shima protested again. "You and she were system controllers up at the new station."

"Hool Station, yes. I know that's what you were told. We did not work there, Shima."

"But everyone knows."

Tahar flicked his ears in agreement. "Everyone knows because that's what we told them."

"You lied to everyone?"

"Not everyone. My father knew, and so did Elder Harman. It was Harman who asked my father to bring Nidra and me to him."

"I don't understand. What has this to do with Chailen and me?"

"It was a time when our people believed that we would re-build the Great Harmony among the stars. We had succeeded at so much in such a short time. So why not? Our scientists were discovering new things almost at every turn. It was a wonderful time. After the war, Child of Harmony became more than ever a special place to us. It proved we could leave our homeworld and survive."

Tahar looked around at the trees. "Harmony is old, Shima. All planets are of course, but it feels old. Do you understand?"

Shima flicked her ears affirmatively. "Everything is known, every place has been found—"

"And explored, yes. Child of Harmony feels different. The gravity is wrong, the air a little too thick. The sun looks too big... do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Everything feels new?"

"That's it exactly. Everything is new. It makes you feel that anything is possible. You will see that for yourself when we land at Zuleika."

Shima flicked her ears in agreement. She was looking forward to it. She would miss Harmony, but her studies were complete and it was time to use them on Child of Harmony. This was their last cycle before the ship took them to their new home.

"Your mother and I worked on a project that we hoped might give our people the stars. Oh, we didn't design it, but we helped build and test it."

"Test what?"

"A new kind of drive," Tahar said staring into the distance at only he knew what. "We were all very excited. Your mother and I were tasked with designing a process and implementing it for the construction of the prototype. It was a massive coil assembly."

She leaned forward eagerly. "How did it work?"

"It didn't work. Oh, we built it to specifications all right, and within deadline too, but the drive fused solid the first time it was tested. The second was the same and the third. Your mother thought it might be the phase-lock."

"Phase-lock?" Shima recognised the term, anyone would. "You mean you worked on the FTL project?"

"Yes."

She stared at her father hardly able to believe what she was hearing. The faster than light project had been the culmination of Shan space development, and a complete failure. FTL had been proven an impossibility and the project was shut down.

"Your mother published her theory and was asked to join the design team. She accepted of course, it was a very great honour. The fifth prototype was built. I was so proud of her, Shima. Nidra's ideas seemed to work. Computer projections were almost exactly as predicted, but she was concerned by the slight difference in her calculations. She stayed aboard the ship to supervise the initiation of the drive. I found out later she had feared a core failure. The drive was activated and the core failed as Nidra predicted."

"And mother?"

"She was injured, but she healed." Tahar sighed unhappily. "We didn't know, Shima. We couldn't have known."

"The project was abandoned wasn't it?"

"Yes. Prototype Seven blew up on activation and destroyed the ship. The entire crew was killed—all two hundred. Your mother cried for days. They were our friends, Shima. It was her design that failed and she felt responsible. The project was terminated and we returned to Harmony. We wanted to start again. We thought that having cubs would help us forget the past, but we didn't know."

"Know what?"

Tahar's voice was very low. "Nidra gave birth to six cubs the first time, Shima. You had five sibs, but all except you were born... wrong. They died. The kin mothers said it happened sometimes and that we should try again. So we did."

Shima stared at her father in pained disbelief.

She'd asked her mother a long time ago why she'd given birth to a single cub. It had happened not once but twice. Two litters with only one cub each was very rare. Five cubs were average. She had feared another genetic fault might have been bestowed upon her like her weak eyes. When her time came to have cubs, would she also be cursed with small litters? She had nagged her mother to send her for tests. The results were both good and bad. Bad for her sight, but good for her future cubs—it was very unlikely that she would pass on her deformity to them. As far as anyone could tell, her litters would be normal in every way.

She shouldn't grieve for her five lost sibs—she had Chailen, and Chailen had her, but she did. Why hadn't they told her?

"Nidra wanted to try again straight away, Shima, but I said wait. That's why you are three orbits older than Chailen. Nidra had four cubs the second time—it was horrible." Tahar swallowed and went on in a voice choked with grief, "Nidra nearly died and Chailen as well. The other three were... _malformed_. They couldn't have survived."

She clutched her father's paw. "Was it the accident?"

Tahar's ears struggled erect. "Yes. The FTL drive is unlike others. I cannot explain it so that you can understand, but when it's activated it uses space itself to create a gateway to another place. When the core failed, Nidra was exposed to that other place for a tiny moment, but that is all it took. When everyone realised what that meant, it was already too late for your mother. Orbits later she died still believing a way could be found to survive in that place, but all the elders disagreed. The project was terminated. The other place is just too dangerous, Shima. No shielding known would be adequate to protect us from it, and without it FTL is impossible."

"You should have told us, father. Why didn't you tell us?"

Tahar looked down. "Guilt. Chailen is lucky to be alive. All the tests say she is perfectly healthy—a miracle the healers said."

"And me?" Shima said softly.

She knew what he was going to say. She'd known for a long time that she would be blind long before her middle years. It was a genetic disorder. Little was known about such things, though research was ongoing. What she did know was terrible enough. She had a degenerative disease of the inner eye—the part healers called the retina.

Tahar squeezed her paw. "Your mother died from the effects of the accident, and your sight is poor because of it. I hope you can forgive us for not telling you the truth," he finished in a whisper.

Shima hugged him while inside she shrieked in anger. It wasn't him she blamed. It was fate. Even now she wouldn't say that the FTL project should have been abandoned. She was its victim, yet she believed the elders were wrong to cancel the project. What did the future hold for her people if not the stars? Where would everyone live? Would there be feuding among clans like before the Great Pact? Her hackles rose and a shudder ran through her.

"You're cold, Shima. Let us go now."

She did not want to stay here any longer. Child of Harmony awaited her. "Let us go."

# 5 ~ Survey

**Aboard ASN Canada, inner asteroid belt, Shan system**

Captain Colgan stepped out of the elevator onto _Canada's_ bridge and paused just inside watching his crew with pride. Months spent hiding in an asteroid field belonging to an alien species, and they were still as excited and as dedicated to the task as they had been on day one. He could feel their excitement and shared it. It was a heady feeling, knowing he was doing something important, and yes, momentous. The anticipation they had all felt upon emergence from foldspace had not gone away or even lessened. They were learning new things at every turn.

Colgan was eager to be on with his day, but the dimmed lighting warned him that he had a few minutes yet before the watch changed and _Canada's_ day cycle began. He was early, something he normally avoided so as not to appear like a mother hen. If there was anything spacers liked less than a captain who didn't trust them to do their jobs without supervision, he didn't know what it was.

A minute or so later, the lights brightened slowly to full. Behind him the elevator doors opened and day watch personnel filtered onto the bridge. Colgan smiled and nodded greetings as they murmured their good mornings. He had never been one to insist on formalities like saluting, certainly not on his own bridge, but some did have their place and good reasons behind them...

"Captain on the bridge!" Lieutenant Ivanova announced precisely on time, informing everyone that she'd passed command authority to him.

Like that one, he thought wryly.

"Carry on," he said heading for the just vacated command station. Anya removed her helmet from the rack and Colgan replaced it with his. "Anything to report, Anya?" he asked as he took his seat.

Ivanova grinned and rolled her eyes at the chuckles from the others as they handed over their stations to their opposite numbers of the day watch. "Well yes, Skipper, now that you mention it, there are a few small things." She leaned over Colgan's shoulder and with a few deft keystrokes displayed a summary on his number one monitor. "It's all there, sir; no reports of malfunctions or incidents shipside, but plenty about the Shan as usual."

Colgan smiled. There was always a raft of new intelligence about the Shan every morning. In fact, so much data was flooding in that his crew couldn't keep up. Over ninety-five percent had to be archived for later study, but what else could they do? They needed an entire university of researchers to keep up with things. Instead, they had a couple of hundred eager sailors to help _Canada's_ small but perfectly formed science department. Most of the crew had little to do with the actual day to day survey work that was _Canada's_ mission, most were concerned with running and maintaining the ship's systems.

"Thanks, Anya, have a good rest."

"Thanks Skipper, but we thought we would head over to the rec-room for a few hours and watch the feed."

Colgan nodded. Shan watching had become something of a communal pastime amongst the crew. The big screens rarely showed anything else these days. The crew could access data about the aliens and their planets from any terminal on the ship of course, and the ones in the rec room were always busy with people doing that, but for generating a buzz there was nothing better than watching a live feed from the remotes. Colgan did it himself on occasion, but for entertainment, he preferred to study the Shan alone in his cabin. He would have to announce another lecture soon. He had more than enough new stuff already, and his last lecture was two weeks ago.

"Have fun then," Colgan said.

"Thanks, Skipper," Ivanova and her merry band said, as they left the bridge together.

Colgan watched them go with a smile, then touched a control to turn his command station to face front again.

The main viewer had a tactical overlay of the entire system displayed; the many coloured icons monitored and updated by _Canada's_ computer represented Shan ships and stations. The system was a rich one, something that pleased Colgan on behalf of the Shan. It meant they could trade and compete with member worlds of the Alliance when they joined, but more importantly, they could maintain their independence if that's what they chose to do.

It wasn't his job to protect the Shan from his own people, he was here to learn about them and encourage them to join the Alliance, but he felt a responsibility to do it anyway. He honestly believed they would benefit greatly from membership, but he also knew there were downsides. There were sharks in the Alliance—member worlds with economies based upon exploiting others—who could do huge harm here. He was determined to arm the Shan with knowledge of these dangers, and others... like the Merkiaari.

Compared to many Alliance systems, this one had very little space traffic in the outer system. That was because Shan ships preferred to work closer in. With two habitable planets, something that still amazed and excited him, much of the space traffic clustered in that region would be freighter traffic. There was plenty of it. More than an Alliance system would use in similar circumstances, but that was understandable—Shan ships were slower. They made up for the lack with numbers.

Further out, and the system became the almost exclusive preserve of the Shan navy, and it was to these ships that Colgan's attention was drawn. They were beautiful and deadly. White hulled and sleek, they looked built for speed, but again that was deceiving. Colgan knew they were much slower than _Canada_ and his ship wasn't by any means fast. The Exeter class cruiser was an old design and most had been decommissioned or converted into survey ships just like _Canada_ years ago.

Slow or not, the Shan ships were still a threat to the mission and had to be watched. Normally that would be his XO's job at Tactical, but Colgan had decided after a couple of months in system without being detected to allow _Canada's_ computer to handle it while the officer of the watch, himself on this occasion, monitored the situation ready to intervene if necessary. That was why the tactical overlay was prominently displayed on the main viewer. Francis, meanwhile, was having fun learning about the Shan by overseeing the current survey operations of the Shan colony world. Colgan had a deal with her to trade places in a few hours so that they could both keep current with the ship's operations and the Shan.

Thinking about keeping current brought Anya's list to mind, and he turned his attention to his station's number one monitor. While his crew worked quietly and efficiently around him, Colgan used his control wand to highlight items of interest on the display, and open the associated data packets on his number two monitor. Splitting his attention between the two displays and the main viewer, he worked undisturbed for almost two hours, when Baz Riley interrupted him with coffee.

Colgan took a sip and sighed. "God that's good. Thanks, Baz."

"You're welcome, sir," Baz said and moved to supply the others with their mid-morning coffee.

Colgan finished his drink and then turned his attention back to the main viewer. Another Shan exercise was underway, and he was struck once again by how familiar it was all becoming. Their ships were always training or running fleet exercises in the outer system. They sometimes used asteroids in the outer belt for target practice, just as Alliance Captains would. It was all very normal, and Colgan shook his head at the thought. It made him wonder about things. Fundamental things, like what it all meant that a Human ship could travel all this distance to find alien beings doing the same things as people back home. He was no philosopher, but he thought it boded well that he could see similarities between the two races on the ground and in space.

There were many differences of course.

Shan, like Humans, were mammalian but unlike them, they had evolved from felinoid quadrupeds into a race comfortable walking on two or four legs. On four legs, they were faster than a cheetah, but unlike a cheetah's max range of about two hundred metres, Shan could chase prey for kilometres before tiring. They had reasons for evolving such a turn of speed. Their prey was even quicker in some cases, and some had serious defences in the form of horns and fangs. Seeing a Shan chasing something so fast was amazing.

Outwardly, Shan were as different as could be from Humans, but they were alike in other ways. They built cities and spaceships, formed relationships and had children, laughed and cried just as Humans had always done. They had different expressions and language, different philosophies and dreams, but despite it all Colgan had very high hopes they would kindle something great for his own people, something that could dispel the fear of non-Humans that the Merkiaari had fostered in mankind—a pan-species Alliance.

_It could happen. It really could happen in my lifetime... if I don't fuck it up. Please, don't let me fuck it up!_

The Alliance had to grow; it had to throw off the lethargy and gloom inspired by the fear of the Merki. Over the last two hundred years the Alliance had been inward looking, its exploration of space half-hearted at best. Consolidation had been the watchword for two centuries, and yes, it was important to safeguard what they had, but expansion was the only cure for what ailed the Alliance now. The infighting and mini-wars between member worlds had to stop before they got out of hand. They had to look outward again.

The Merkiaari were a terrifying foe, but Humanity had beaten them once and would again, alone if it had to, but what if it didn't have to? If they could only do this right.

Colgan took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. They wouldn't screw up; he wouldn't allow it and neither would Francis Groves. His XO was of similar mind where the Shan were concerned. When President Dyachenko learned what they had discovered here, Colgan was sure he would see the possibilities and get the Council to offer the Shan people membership in the Alliance.

He must.

The first drones should be arriving at Sol any day now. Depending on the response and how quickly a follow up mission could be put together, Colgan estimated he had four to six months before another ship could possibly reach him with new orders. He had no idea what those orders would be. There were many possibilities. He might be ordered to return to his previous survey mission, or to hold here and assist the contact team he hoped would be sent. No way to know for sure, but he hoped _Canada_ would be ordered to stay.

Commander Groves entered the bridge a couple of hours later to relieve Colgan so that he could go play. He smiled wryly at the thought, and removed his helmet from the rack.

"You have the con, XO," Colgan said heading for the elevator and tucking his helmet under his arm. "Call me if you need anything."

"Aye sir, I have the con. Have fun!"

Colgan looked back trying to look stern. "I am embarking on serious study, Commander, not having fun."

"Oh, of course you are, Skipper. Silly of me," Groves said and the others laughed.

Colgan grinned and waved as the elevator doors closed. "Deck two," he said and the elevator jolted into motion.

**Centre for Agricultural Research, Child of Harmony.**

Shima bent to examine the damaged plant, and then glanced up at Adonia. "And you're sure this field hasn't already been tested?"

"I already told you. It was assigned to us. No one has been out here since sowing Area Six."

Shima's tail snaked briefly over her shoulder in annoyance before she forced it to be still. It wasn't Adonia's fault that she sounded like a grumpy elder talking down to a particularly difficult cub. She was senior in years and experience, but Shima had been placed in charge of evaluating Area Six, a position Adonia felt was rightfully hers. Shima sympathised, truly she did. Adonia was part of the team that had pioneered the variants of grain currently being grown here, and as such knew more than Shima how much work and time it had taken to get this far. Adonia felt there was no one more qualified than herself to evaluate the crop, but there were rules.

Child of Harmony might not be Harmony, but it still followed the Homeworld's rules and regulations, and they stated that no one involved in a project was allowed to evaluate their own work. Those regulations held true in all forms of research, not just in genetics. Shima believed they were proper and good, but they were almost designed to cause ill feeling between researchers. Shima's own projects would have oversight when the time came, and knowing her luck, Adonia would be assigned to write the report.

"I know you did, Adonia, but see here?" Shima indicated the damage with a claw. "Someone has been taking cuttings here."

Adonia's ears flattened and she stalked forward to glare at the offending stalks of grain. She paused when she saw the damage, and straightened to look around as if expecting to see someone running away clutching his booty.

"Perhaps some animal?" Adonia said a little more deferential now that she knew Shima wasn't using her position frivolously. "It happens."

Of course it did happen, and part of the reasoning for open field tests like this was to see how the crop stood up to local conditions, but no animal she had ever seen or heard of had caused this damage. It was too neat. The cuts too precise. Her own sampling kit would leave wounds similar if not exactly the same.

Shima flicked her ears and stood erect. "Well, it doesn't matter. I will choose another few plants to sample and we can move on."

Shima chose plants from different rows and sections of the field at random, labelling each cutting with the time, date, row and field numbers, before putting each in its own sealed sample container. She tagged each plant she cut. Visitors with questions would know who to approach. That was procedure, and she followed it to the letter, especially now she knew that someone had failed to tag an earlier sampling. She wondered why anyone would want to hide taking a cutting like that. She shoved the thought away as irrelevant to her work and moved to the adjacent field. Adonia's again worse luck.

Twice more in different fields, she noticed signs of surreptitious sampling of the plants. It was very puzzling. She didn't draw attention to what she found this time. There was nothing to be done about it now and such cuttings did not risk the parent plant in any case. Still, it made her wonder if perhaps the elders had sent someone to make an independent inspection—a verification of their reports? Did the elders think they would falsify reports? How dare they? No wait, there was no evidence of that. No evidence of anything really. It could just as easily be another researcher wanting to run his own tests, but why do it this way? Any researcher at the centre could take cuttings any time they liked. All they need do is leave their own tags.

Shima was just finishing up and was about to return to Adonia who had sat out the last field's inspections in the car, when she found the culprit. She didn't know at first that it was responsible for the cuttings, and didn't think about it when she saw movement down low among the plants. One moment she was sitting on her haunches writing out a label, the next she had sprung full stretch in a dive to capture the... it.

What under the Harmonies was it?

Shima stared at the thing gripped firmly in her paws. It was some kind of machine, not an animal at all. It struggled in her grasp, but she held it easily. It was shaped like a flattened ball and had shapes and designs moulded into its dull grey surface. Her father was an engineer, and she recognised a remote when she saw one, but what was it doing here? Tahar and others used such things but only in space where it was too dangerous to go, or was simply easier to programme a remote to do the work. Shima had never thought to find one in her fields.

Holding it with one paw, she held it up to her face and sniffed. It smelled alien, like nothing she had ever encountered.

Little doors opened in its sides and mechanical arms reached out probing its surroundings. Shima watched in fascination as it reached all around itself, obviously trying to find what had caught it. It touched her paw and tried to lever her fingers up. It didn't hurt, but she moved her paw and took hold again in a place it couldn't reach. The arm retracted and the door closed. Another opened and another arm came out, a different one because the end terminated in something she recognised as a sampling tool. It was used for making cuttings.

She wasn't letting that touch her.

Shima turned the device over looking for its off switch. It still struggled in her grip, but had no obvious means of propulsion. Maybe it was using anti grav like the hover cars? Shima wondered if Tahar knew that engineers had managed to miniaturise things to this degree. She decided to give it to him. He would enjoy taking it apart and learning how it was done.

She turned it over looking for an off switch and found more hatches. She forced a claw into one and popped it open. She recognised the controls for what they were, but she frowned at the markings on each one. None of the characters made any sense to her, but above the keypad there were two more buttons coloured red and green. She pushed green, thinking that green obviously meant safe and this cursed thing would only be safe when off, but nothing happened. She pressed red and the remote became a dead weight in her hand.

Good enough.

Shima put the deactivated machine in her bag with her sample containers and went to join Adonia in the car. She decided not to mention her discovery. She didn't want to make a fuss, and besides, if she told anyone someone might claim it before Tahar could look at it. Behind her, two more grey shapes slipped out of cover and began taking samples unworried that their brother had been captured. They were very stupid machines. They didn't recognise what Captain Colgan would call a shit storm, even when confronted with one.

Shima didn't notice.

**Aboard _ASN_ _Canada_ , inner asteroid belt, Shan system**

Specialist Yager glanced worriedly around and back to her station. She had to tell someone, but the captain was still here and he would yell at her and... she sighed morosely. It wasn't her fault, really it wasn't. She was a good avatar driver. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Sure, she'd had her share of glitches come up, who hadn't? She'd always been able to get herself out of trouble. She'd even earned a commendation when one of her remotes went dark on the job once. She had saved it, and many thousands of credits, using a pair of recon drones to find it and another sampler remote to bring it on home. She'd deployed them on her own little SAR mission, complete with a properly planned search grid and everything. It got a few laughs from the guys and free drinks. It was a good story, but this time she was screwed, and she knew it.

"Captain?" Yager said quietly still feeling sick. This reaming was gonna hurt. "I sorta have something to tell you."

"Say that again?" Colgan said calmly. He was quite proud of how calm he sounded.

Yager's face heated. "I lost a remote, Skipper. I mean I know where it is but... but... well, it's gone." She swallowed sickly and the rest came out in a rush. "Oh crap, I screwed the pooch! Shit sir, I know I did, but I don't see what I could have done different! The Shan woman... female? Whatever, she was busy doing her own thing, and I made my boys all hunker down out of sight, but she saw one of them somehow. I don't know how, sir! Damn she was fast! She was on me... I mean the remote. She grabbed it faster than lightning, and I couldn't get free."

"Where is it now?" Colgan said. This little disaster had potential. Oh yes indeed, it had potential to spiral right out the airlock, the system, and the entire stellar neighbourhood. "I assume you're tracking?"

Yager mumbled something.

"What?"

"I can't track it. She shut the fucker down! Excuse my language, sir... sorry."

Colgan nodded, not caring about Yager's slip, he had more on his mind. "Play back the incident for me."

Yager seemed glad to be able to do something. She quickly faced her station and began working it with speed and precision.

Colgan watched as Yager's team of remotes took their samples and analysed them. He remembered reading some of the results of prior samplings. The crop had grown. Another month and it would be harvest time. The Shan weren't as advanced in genetics as the Alliance, but from data taken from these fields earlier in the growing cycle, he knew the Shan were within sight of some pretty spectacular breakthroughs. They had been huge advances when the Alliance made them. Given a hint here, a hint there, the Shan would leap decades ahead of where they could be if left alone. They had the understanding right now to implement current Alliance genetic enhancement methods. They just needed a little push, and the technology to make use of what they learned.

"Here she comes, sir. See, I sent them all into cover?"

Colgan nodded. Two of the samplers were in the irrigation channel and there was plenty of foliage to cover them. One was in the next row over from the Shan female. Yager had told it to go to ground and it had done so before the Shan scientist arrived. Yager was right. It shouldn't have been detected, but it was.

"Holy..." Colgan hissed as the alien dove toward the remote from a crouch. She had just leapt at full extension like a cat after a mouse. She caught her mouse, and started examining it. "Well..."

"Yeah," Yager said sourly.

Colgan watched as the remote tried to free itself, and winced when the Shan female popped the main access hatch in its underside. Talk about luck, she had opened the right hatch first time. Opening any of the others would have dumped the contents of its sample bays.

"And... lights out," Colgan said as the female hit the off switch on her second try. "Okay, we need damage control. No saying what she's going to do with it. She might not tell anyone, or she might go screaming about aliens to their version of the newsies. She might do something else entirely. Nothing we can do now, no matter what she decides. Tell me about samplers, Yager."

"Like?"

"Like, how screwed are we if they take it apart. Like, can they find the others using anything they can learn from it? Can they find the satellite relays, and backtrack the data feed to us?"

Yager whistled silently and frowned in thought. It was obvious she had thought about some things in advance but not that the satellites might be endangered, and certainly not the ship.

"Okay, they will learn that someone not Shan is in the system, no way will they miss that, sir. The remotes aren't very advanced compared to their own tech, but there are some differences. There's the anti grav for one thing, and then the controls are all labelled in English. They can't find any of the others we have deployed, but I'm sure they'll guess we have them down there. They all use different channels and they're all encrypted. They will _theorise_ the presence of the relays," Yager winced at Colgan's sharp look. "The transmitters aboard our equipment, any remotes the Alliance uses for that matter, are low powered. They have to be for security. The Merkiaari taught us that, sir."

Colgan nodded. "So they'll figure out the satellite relays exist. Can they find them using your sampler?"

"No sir, but they can start a search. The relays are relatively tiny things and stealthed really good, and I mean _really_ good, sir. The Shan would literally have to stumble into them. I'm pretty sure they won't find them, sir. The area they need to search is vast."

Tension eased in Colgan's shoulders. "Good, and what about us?"

"If they don't find the relays, they can't use them to find the ship," Yager said quickly and obviously vastly relieved to be able to say something positive.

"If they don't find the relays," Colgan repeated.

"If," Yager nodded.

"If they do?"

Yager swallowed. "If they do, they can't find us if we move, but they could take the relay apart. If they figure out its range, they'll learn we're in the inner belt somewhere. I mean, we could be running silent anywhere in range of our relays. We don't have to be in here, but they'll think of the asteroid belt first. Won't they, sir?"

Colgan nodded. "I would."

As far as Colgan could see, there really wasn't much point in relocating. Not yet. They couldn't retrieve the remote, and without that there was nothing he could do to stop whatever happened from happening. All he could do was watch and be prepared to move if and when the time came, which he was already doing anyway. So, the only thing he need be concerned about was preventing any more losses, and especially in the same location. The Shan female might, unlikely though it is, keep silent about the incident. She might not think the remote was alien tech. She might be dim as a stump and think it was home grown. Hey, it could happen right? Whatever she did now, finding more of them in her back yard would be a bad thing.

"Right, recall all your remotes and move to another sector well away from this one. This place is now off limits to everyone. Let's hope she doesn't tell anyone. If she does, I'm not letting them get their paws on more of our stuff. Clear?"

"Clear, sir."

Colgan nodded and walked away, frowning. Yager slumped in her chair, relieved to have avoided a reaming, but then stiffened when he turned back to regard her.

"Oh, and Yager?"

"Sir?"

"If I catch you running missions so close to a populated area again, I'll have your arse up on charges. We're not playing games here. I know you're good at your job. I don't need you trying to prove it with stunts. You could have sampled that field during local night and avoided all this. Are we clear?"

"Very clear, sir!"

He nodded, and went back to work.

"Holy shit," Yager said under her breath.

Colgan pretended not to hear her.

# 6 ~ New Life

**Zuleika, Child of Harmony**

Shima didn't get the chance to give Tahar the device she'd found. He was working on Hool Station and couldn't visit so soon after taking up his duties there. She put it away as a surprise. She and Chailen spoke with him every few cycles on the comm, telling him about work and friends. Chailen spoke often about Sharn.

Shima had the feeling that unlike other times a male had caught Chailen's eye, this time it was serious. Tahar agreed privately that Chailen was smitten for good, but he wasn't concerned. He had talked to Sharn's family in confidence and had checked certain things were in order. They were in good standing with their clan; Sharn's father was warrior caste, while his mother belonged to the healer caste. She could trace her lineage back through the generations with many notable healers among her ancestors and was more than worthy herself to rank alongside them.

Unlike Tahar's own family of scientists and engineers, Sharn's had never been honoured with producing cubs strong enough in the Harmonies to join the Tei, but that was no black mark against them. Many fine families never reached so high, and Tahar's own had only three as far as his line could be traced. Shima's mother, Nidra, had been strong in the Harmonies just as Shima herself was, but Nidra's oldest sib, Thrand, had been the one invited to join the-clan-that-is-not and change his name. Tei'Thrand was greatly honoured in Shima's family, and Nidra was said to have been very proud of her sib and his achievements. Shima didn't know him well, but he seemed nice enough for an uncle rarely seen. Shima sometimes wondered if she might have been Tei if not for her deformity. Where would she have been now if not for her eyes?

She really couldn't say for sure. Shima loved her work, and couldn't imagine herself a warrior as many Tei seemed to choose. She could hunt as well as any, better than many in fact even deformed as she was, but to be a warrior trained to kill and destroy rather than follow her heart into research? She just couldn't imagine it. The-clan-that-is-not held a special place among the Shan, and Tei were honoured. No matter their chosen paths they were always leaders and advisers. Set above others, to lead, to advise, and to inspire with one's own performance... Shima thought it must be very tiring, but that is what it meant to be Tei.

Shima finished the report on Adonia's work and submitted it a few cycles after catching the remote. Her findings were all positive, and she was able to make good progress on her own work. Adonia moved from colleague to friend and introduced Shima to her family. They visited with each other and spent some of their free time together. Shima took Adonia hunting, and she seemed to enjoy it. Adonia took her to the coast where they walked on the beaches and climbed rocks or explored the caves.

Shima's circle of friends grew, and Zuleika soon became home. Child of Harmony and the city no longer felt so strange, though the planet still had the power to surprise. She might be working outside for cycles then suddenly notice all over again how odd the sun looked in the sky—so much bigger than back on Harmony. Or she might notice how thick the air was or how much stronger she felt, but then she would forget about it only to be surprised all over again when something reminded her.

Shima spent most of her evenings caring for Chailen when she chose her own home to return to instead of Sharn's after school, which was about half the time. Caring for her sib was not duty or chore but love. Perhaps it was because she was her only sib, perhaps not, but Chailen was special to her and Tahar. Next orbit, Chailen would be adult and would choose her own path. Shima didn't think she would follow Tahar into engineering, and certainly she would not be a scientist. Perhaps she would mate Sharn first. If so, she would probably become a healer. Sharn had the Harmonies given talent for it like his mother.

Adonia adored Chailen, as was only right, and of course wherever Chailen happened to be Sharn invariably was also. The four of them explored the city together sometimes, Adonia and Sharn conspiring under their breaths with heads together in an effort to find new things for Shima and Chailen to see or do.

Everything at home and at work was wonderful.

When Shima was finally able to give her father the present she'd found for him, she didn't expect the reaction she received. He had been smiling and joking with her and Chailen, but then he took the gift box and his manner changed.

Tahar looked inside and paused in surprise. "Where..." he reached inside and lifted out the remote. "This is..."

"I found it at work," Shima said oblivious at first to his strange reaction. "I was in Area Six. I had to sample some of Adonia's work for her quarterly inspection and there it was. Isn't it amazing? Where do you think it came from? I thought it was probably a remote sampler checking up on us, but why would the elders authorise something so silly? They can just read our reports any time they want—"

"The elders did not send this," Tahar said in a strange voice. "Tell me again what it was doing."

Shima glanced at Chailen who gestured with her tail that she didn't know what was wrong either. "Well, I didn't see it do anything really, but I found some of the plants had been damaged. Sampled but not tagged properly. I was tagging one of the plants myself when I caught sight of that thing. I pounced on it. It did try to get away, but there are controls underneath. See?"

Tahar had turned it over and opened the hatch. His ears flicked acknowledgement. "Yes I see. These symbols... which one did you use to turn it off?"

"The red one."

"Red, you're sure?" Tahar said sounding puzzled. "Green surely?"

"No it was red. I tried green first and nothing happened. Why, what's wrong?"

"Probably nothing," Tahar said with false cheer. "Thank you for the gift, Shima. This is very unexpected." He raised the device to his face and breathed in to sample it. "Most unexpected, but greatly appreciated. Thank you."

Shima smiled. "I thought of you right away. I knew you would like it."

Tahar replaced the remote in the box. "I do, I can hardly wait to play with it."

Chailen laughed and Shima did too.

Tahar didn't.

Tahar could hardly keep thoughts of the alien device out of his head all that cycle, but finally night fell and he was able to take his treasure to his workroom and delve its secrets. Alien. There was no doubt in his mind it was alien, but how could such a momentous thing come into his cub's hand and then to his just like that? It was incredible! It was like the opening chapter to a saga where the hero stumbled upon some great thing that would change the world. He snorted. This was no heroic saga, but the device certainly had the power to change his world... or its masters did any way.

Thoughts of the aliens themselves sobered him. He really should report this find and hand it over to the decon team that would surely be dispatched to spirit it away, but he just couldn't do it. He had speculated on alien origins for years. Engineers like him could hardly fail to do so when so much of the tech they worked with was based upon alien principles and designs gleaned from the war years.

Most modern Shan tech had a basis in Merkiaari artifacts left behind by them. Anti-gravity drives for example, used in planetary transport everywhere today, were little different than those found within the Merkiaari grav sleds used to attack his people hundreds of years ago. The principles derived from those hated war machines, were the foundation of the tech used to produce artificial gravity within Fleet ships. The stations in orbit could not have been built without alien technology to base them upon, and many other things taken for granted now would not have been thought of without it. His people had much to be proud of, but without the war they would be far behind where they were today. Perhaps still in ships without gravity and powered by solid fuel rockets of all things!

No, he wanted to play with his present first. He would report the discovery. He would. But he wanted to satisfy his curiosity first. Nidra would have loved this, he thought wistfully as he entered his workroom and set the box down on the table. His mate had always felt that the Merkiaari were just one of many aliens 'out there' waiting to be discovered. Tahar had to admit it made sense. Why would the Merkiaari have warships and weapons unless they expected to need them? Obvious really. They must have encountered other races before. That observation was one reason Nidra had been so determined to make her designs work, which in turn led inexorably to the accident and her death.

Tahar stared down at his gift. "Well my love, it's time to open the box and learn what has come calling this time."

He wasn't completely irresponsible. Trouble would find him for doing this regardless, but to lessen the consequences he recorded everything he did with full voice and video capture on his comp. He raised the device out of its confinement and discarded the box. Holding it before him, he turned it over and around so that he had a record of every side and surface. He used a claw to point out the various hatches and spoke calmly and clearly.

"It's definitely a remote akin to those I use up at Hool Station. Shima said this one was taking samples of plants, so it's not likely to have welding equipment aboard it or electrical testing sensors like one of mine. It's very light. I don't recognise the material. I don't think it's made of metal, or if it is, it's unlike any I have seen or heard of used by us. Shima said she used the red button to deactivate it. I'm going to try the green now to see what happens."

Tahar gripped the thing firmly and pushed the green button. Nothing happened at first but then Tahar realised its weight had diminished further. Carefully he released the device and allowed it to float unrestrained. He was delighted by this evidence that it used anti-grav for propulsion.

Of course he had suspected it from the moment he saw it—there were no thruster ports or wheels, so what was left? His people had so far failed to make anti-grav drives in such a compact form. That was how he knew it was alien and not home built. Besides, it literally smelled alien. This remote, insignificant in itself, would revolutionise how anti-grav drives were made. His clan would do anything to own this thing. With it they could design an entirely new generation of tech.

Tahar shivered, his delight tainted by dark thoughts as he foresaw some problems. If the knowledge was released in the wrong way, it could cause chaos. The makers of current designs could be ruined. He chewed his whiskers in concern but could see no way to avoid it. It wasn't his place anyway. Perhaps the elders would release the knowledge to everyone all at once so that no one was given unfair advantage. Whatever, that decision was far above him.

He watched the device hovering and realised it wasn't going to do anything else. That told him something as well. Its pilot was no longer in control of it. It wasn't one of the self-guiding pre-programmed models he sometimes used for repetitive tasks. If it had been, switching it on should have been enough to trigger its programming. That it waited for input seemed to suggest it needed a driver. He didn't have the equipment here necessary to replicate a control station. A shame, he would have enjoyed putting it through its paces. He would have to be satisfied learning its secrets through dismantling. He took hold of it and turned it off.

The next cycle dawned with Tahar still hyper alert. He had segs of recordings and a box of alien tech parts. He knew he could put it all back together but didn't see a need. Besides, when the authorities saw it they might ask him to reassemble it and join the team to investigate its secrets. He would give up his place on Hool instantly if offered that. He had no doubt big things would come of Shima's discovery. He wanted to be part of something great again. With that in mind, he knew who he needed to inform first; Nidra's favourite sib, Tei'Thrand.

Tahar knew perhaps more than was good for him about the clan-that-is-not. For instance, he knew through Tei'Thrand that all was not as harmonious within that clan as perhaps it appeared to be to outsiders. The war had broken more than the Great Harmony. It had caused factionalism within Tei ranks. Tei'Thrand belonged to the most progressive group, those who believed in change and pursuing the dream of creating the Great Harmony anew amongst the stars, but they had taken a huge blow when the FTL project failed so disastrously. Since then, their opponents had held sway.

Tei who opposed change couldn't seriously be called regressive, no matter Tei'Thrand's scornful use of the word to describe them. They didn't want to roll back history and return to a time when clan fighting clan with crude stone and bronze weapons was the norm, but they did want to limit progress to small incremental steps. Very few of them chose outward looking castes such as the scientists, and none were spacers—ever. Tei'Thrand's group embraced space and the Fleet. All of Fleet's ship commanders belonged to that progressive outward looking group.

There were of course Tei who belonged to neither faction. Those who saw merit in both stances or were for harmony no matter how it be achieved, but by their very natures they did not have a strong voice in Tei councils. They were always seeking conciliation and tried to mediate between those they thought of as the extremists of their clan. Negotiation and compromise was their position in any dispute. Not a strong position to start from. They were never warrior caste.

Tahar checked the time and decided to call Tei'Thrand right away. The male wouldn't mind being awoken for this, not once he watched the video in the data packet Tahar had prepared for him. He wasn't sure what would happen, but something would and wanted to be a part of it. That might be tricky to achieve if Tei'Thrand decided to keep the information quiet. He could easily suppress it, telling only those he trusted within his own clan. Or the elders might order Tahar to surrender the device and keep his silence. All kinds of scenarios played out in his head as he waited for his call to be accepted.

Tei'Thrand appeared on the screen. "Tahar! How good to see you, it has been too long."

Tahar bowed his head. "Tei, an honour as always. I apologise if I woke you."

"Not at all. I was already up... meetings later. I wanted to get a few things done before that. How are you and the cubs doing? All settled in now?"

"We're fine. Chailen is making friends fast as always. Too fast," he growled thinking of all the males who came sniffing around her those first few cycles. Tei'Thrand laughed, and Tahar gestured his embarrassment with a dip of shoulder and tail. "I think we should block out some time for her mating ceremony soon. She hasn't said so, but I think Sharn is the winner. I doubt she will choose her caste before mating."

"Hmmm. Normally I would not approve of that order of things, but I know Sharn's family and their clan is solid. They won't let the pair stray too far from the proper path."

That was Tahar's feeling as well. He had investigated Sharn's credentials as was only proper, and had found nothing to fear. He would make for a good mate, and his clan had many fine healers within its ranks. Perhaps Chailen would be inspired to join them.

"Listen Tei, Shima has found something that you need to see. It's a little... well, shocking. Can I send you a packet? I would like to wait while you watch if that's all right?"

Tei'Thrand blinked. "Well, if it's not too long."

"Eight segs, but I don't think you will need to watch the entire thing now. You will understand after watching the first tenth of a seg. Maybe right away if I know you."

"You intrigue me, Tahar. And yes I know you did that on purpose! Very well, send it."

Tahar did so with a few deft keystrokes and waited.

"I have it... hmmm, you weren't joking. A big video file eh? Let's see..."

Tahar watched Tei'Thrand's puzzled expression dissolve as he played the video. It didn't take even a tenth of a seg. Tei'Thrand's ears were quivering with excitement after watching the opening sequence.

Tei'Thrand focused upon Tahar again. "Where is it now? Does Shima know what she found; does she know to keep her silence?"

"I have it here with me, still disassembled, and no, Shima doesn't know what we have. She thought the elders sent it to check her work." Tahar smiled at the thought. Tei'Thrand didn't. "No point in alerting her by telling her to keep it a secret."

"Agreed. I'm coming over to collect it."

Tahar hesitated. "About that—"

"No games!" Tei'Thrand snapped. "This is momentous news. Astounding... dangerous."

"I am aware," Tahar said stiffly. "There are many people I could have notified. I chose you for a reason."

"We are family, Tahar, but this goes beyond that."

Tahar waved that away impatiently. "I am not trying to blackmail you, you idiot!" he snapped. "The thing is yours regardless of what you decide to do, but I would appreciate a little consideration. I did come to you after all."

Tei'Thrand relaxed. "Apologies. Yes, you did come to me. What consideration?"

"When the time comes, I would like to be included somehow. My work up at Hool is..."

"Boring?" Tei'Thrand said with a laugh.

"Unsatisfying," Tahar qualified. "I miss the time Nidra and I enjoyed on the FTL project. That was a once in a lifetime thing I know, but now? Surely something will come up. Even if it's limited to in system propulsion."

Tei'Thrand inclined his head. "Your background is consistent with any team set up to research that sort of thing. I would not have to try very hard to have you included I'm sure. Nidra... I wish..."

"Yes. I wish too, every morning and every night," Tahar said sadly, but then straightened. "Thank you. I will expect you here shortly."

"I'm leaving now," Tei'Thrand said and closed the connection.

Tahar sat back and stared at the blank screen thinking about what he had set in motion. He had no doubt that Tei'Thrand would turn this discovery into something that would benefit the progressive thinkers of his clan. Tahar had no problem with that; he had a lot of sympathy for their beliefs and his caste would as well. Things were going to change again, hopefully for the better, but change they would. That would not make the traditional land bound, and some would say backward looking, Tei happy. They could make things difficult.

"I wonder what the elders will say about it," Tahar mused.

Not that he would ever learn that. He doubted there would be any announcement of this discovery. No, the alien device would quietly disappear. Suddenly new discoveries would just happen, and researchers would announce a breakthrough. That is how Tahar expected things to proceed. No mention of aliens he was sure. They didn't need a panic amongst the populace, but quietly the Fleet commanders would be told to keep extra vigilant. Tei'Thrand would use back channels or something like that. Tahar had no real idea what Tei'Thrand planned to do, but he would surely do that at the very least.

Tahar would have been very surprised to learn that Tei'Thrand had no plans to inform anyone except a handpicked group from his own clan, and utterly astounded to learn the group had allies within the council of elders itself.

# 7 ~ Abducted

**Earth, capital world of the Alliance**

Professor Brenda Lane stormed into her office to find it being ransacked. She had been informed just moments ago that a dozen people in uniform had descended onto the building looking for her.

"What the hell are you people doing?" she yelled upon entering her office. "You," she said, pointing to a man with a lot of colourful ribbons on his chest. "Tell them to put those back."

The soldier glanced at her then away without speaking. He was reading a page of notes from a compad and took no further notice of her, even when she stood glaring up at him from just a pace away.

The items Brenda was referring to were her reference texts. Two women in uniform were stripping her shelves, and placing everything into padded aluminium cases. She hurried forward and tried to take the current book the soldier was holding, but the woman was built like a gorilla and wouldn't let go. Brenda turned away only to find a man stripping her computer files.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Don't worry Ma'am, I'm being real careful."

"I don't care. You leave that alone," Brenda said trying to shoulder him aside.

"Now don't do that, Ma'am, I have my orders." He gently but firmly moved her aside. Another man stepped forward and barred her from approaching the terminal.

"What orders?"

"If you'll calm down, Miss Lane, I'll explain."

Brenda whirled toward the door and found the owner of the new voice. He was a general or something. His chest was covered in flashy ribbons. She stalked over to tell him off, but before she could get a word out, he spoke again.

"First things first. You are Professor Brenda Lane?"

"You know damn well I am. Who the hell are you?"

"Commander Freylin. You are _the_ Brenda Lane—professor of exobiology, and xenology?"

"I said yes, dammit!"

"If you will come with me please?"

"I'm not going—hey!" Two very large men laid hands on her. "Let me go or you'll be sorry."

The navy ratings smirked. They hustled her out the door, and were followed by two more as escort. Freylin walked quickly through the corridors ignoring her squawks of outrage.

"Help! I'm being kidnapped, somebody call security!"

People poked their heads out of the classrooms and labs as Brenda screamed bloody murder. James went further. He stepped out of his classroom and confronted her kidnappers.

"What do you think you're doing? I demand an explanation."

Brenda silently cheered.

Freylin frowned in annoyance. "And you are?"

"Professor James Wilder."

"Professor of what might I ask?"

"Palaeontology."

"Has that any links with exobiology or xenology?"

James frowned. "With exobiology certainly... in a way. Palaeontology is the study of life in the geologic past. It's the analysis of plant and animal fossils. Exobiology deals with present day life on other planets, so you see there is a tenuous link."

"Enough of the lectures, James," Brenda said in exasperation. "Can't you see I'm being kidnapped?"

James flushed. "Quite right. Sorry, Brenda." He glared at Freylin. "I must insist that you let her go."

Freylin ignored him. "Fossils? They can be found on any life bearing planet?"

"Of course."

Freylin nodded thoughtfully, and then shrugged. "Jones, Hopley," he said to the two unencumbered ratings. "Professor Wilder will be accompanying us."

"Aye, sir," Jones said and moved to take Wilder in hand.

Brenda shook her head in exasperation. James protested and tried to free himself, but Hopley moved to take his other arm. Seconds later, they hustled out of the building.

"See here, you can't do this," James said.

Brenda grinned even while thinking nasty thoughts at Freylin. "I think they can James."

"But I haven't done anything."

"Neither have I, but here I am... and they're ransacking my office. They're stealing everything not nailed down."

"Not stealing, borrowing," Freylin said absently as they reached the car. "That reminds me..."

Freylin turned to his driver and ordered James' office ransacked similarly. The man saluted and ran off to see to it. Brenda and James were bundled inside the car followed by their keepers.

"All right!" Brenda shouted. "Stop pushing me will you?"

"Do you promise to be good?"

She fumed, but what was the point of struggling when she had no chance against the two muscle-bound gorillas. "I'll be good," she grated between clenched teeth.

It went much easier after that. James was quick to agree when asked the same question, and Freylin sat opposite them to await his driver.

"Where are you taking us?" Brenda said.

"Yes, and what's it all about I would like to know." James turned to Brenda. "You aren't a subversive are you?"

"James," she gasped in outrage. "I have no idea what's going on."

"All will be explained to you," Freylin said as his driver climbed into the car and started the turbine.

As the car pulled away, Brenda noticed a military loader pull up and receive the cases containing her files and reference texts. What the hell was going on? "Am I being arrested for something? Deported?"

"Deported!" James blurted in shock.

"You're not under arrest. We need your help with something." Freylin raised a hand to prevent further questions. "That's all I will say until you join the others."

"What others?" she demanded but Freylin stubbornly refuse to answer.

Brenda fumed in silence for the rest of the journey.

Their destination was a surprise. The spaceport seemed an unlikely place for a meeting, but then this entire thing was pretty damn unlikely. Freylin climbed out of the car followed by James. Brenda hesitated, but one look at her jailers was enough to make her climb out hastily. They didn't lay hands on her this time, but they hovered close as if expecting her to run. She wouldn't do that. Electrified fencing surrounded the spaceport.

"This way." Freylin said and led the way inside the terminal building, but instead of heading toward one of the gates, he turned right and entered the V.I.P lounge.

Once inside, their keepers left them to roam freely through the lounge, while they joined others like themselves standing guard at the exits. Relief swept through her. James and she were not the only ones here against their will. Being kidnapped didn't seem so bad when there were a dozen of you. It was silly, but she felt safer in a group. More than that, she felt comfortable with the people in this one. She recognised them. They were all highly respected scientists in the fields of exobiology, xenology, linguistics, physics, astrophysics... she knew them all, though James seemed not to. He was the odd one out. He was only here because he had intervened in her kidnapping.

"I'm sorry I got you into this, James."

"Not to worry. This is the most excitement I've had in years."

Brenda smiled at that, but she could see he was tense. "Let me introduce you around. We might learn something of what is going on."

"Good idea."

They mingled with the others listening for tidbits of information. Nothing anyone said made the least bit of sense, until another woman was hustled into the room by two burly navy types.

"—listening to me? I'm going to sue you!" Janice Bristow shouted through the door.

Brenda grinned. "Hello, Janice."

Janice whirled still glaring, but then she brightened. "Brenda! It's been too long. And who is this handsome fellow, a new man in your life?"

She felt herself blushing. "This is a colleague of mine. James Wilder, this is Janice Bristow. Janice was my mentor way back when I first decided exobiology was my thing."

"Pleased to meet you," Janice said and shook James' hand. "Xeno, or exo?"

"Err, neither I'm afraid. Palaeontology."

"Palaeontology?" Janice frowned in thought. "That doesn't make sense."

"He tried to stop them kidnapping me and got swept up as well," Brenda explained.

Janice's face brightened. "Thank heavens for that. For a minute there, I thought I had it all wrong."

"You know what's going on?" she asked eagerly. "What?"

"It's plain to see, Brenda. She never could see what was right under her nose," Janice confided to James.

James grinned.

Brenda spluttered. "I so can see what's under my nose!"

"Well then, you should have worked it out by now. The bloody navy waltzes in and kidnaps a dozen preeminent scientists from the fields of xeno and exobiology among others. All their work is stolen; all their possessions are packed up. It's simple."

"Janice," she growled. "Just tell me will you?"

Janice beamed. "The Merkiaari are coming back."

James inhaled sharply in surprise, but before he could demand an explanation, or a source for Janice's shocking reasoning, Freylin returned to the lounge with another man in tow. Brenda recognised him instantly, as did most of the people in the room. It was Admiral Rawlins. Rawlins was First Space Lord, which meant he was responsible for everything that was wrong with the military. She scowled. His presence could only mean things had gone from bad to worse.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Freylin announced as he led Rawlins toward the podium and the microphones set up at the front of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you would all kindly take your seats, the explanation I promised will now be forthcoming."

"Admiral?" Janice yelled over the hubbub. "When are the Merkiaari coming?"

There was a stunned silence as everyone turned to Rawlins to hear his answer.

"My dear lady," Rawlins began, but Freylin leaned in to whisper her name. "Professor Bristow, you're not here to study the Merkiaari. They're old news and let us hope they remain so. You're here at my invitation to see something I hope will be a boon, not a bane to the Alliance. Now, if you will take your seat, I will get started."

Janice grumbled and Brenda grinned.

Rawlins waited until everyone was seated. He glanced briefly at a compad, and began an obviously prepared speech. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Alliance needs your help. I apologise for the manner in which you were brought here, but secrecy is important. A while ago, one of our deep space survey vessels received a transmission coming from ships of unknown origin. An investigation was undertaken, and it was discovered the transmission originated from an unexplored system." He turned to Freylin. "The first slide please."

The room darkened and a picture was projected upon the wall. The room erupted into excited whispers as first one slide then another was shown.

"Two of them!"

"Absolutely unheard of!"

"Both inhabited do you think?"

"Probably. Look at that atmospheric ratio... pollutants indicate industries."

"My God, she's right."

Rawlins raised his voice to calm their excitement. "I'm sorry for the primitive method of displaying this information, but time is short and the lounge is not equipped with a holotank. You can view everything we have aboard ship should any of you be interested." He grinned and received laughter in return.

"Interested he says. My God, this is the greatest opportunity this century!"

"For the last two centuries."

Rawlins nodded. "It's a great opportunity, and a great responsibility. I'm sure you all realise why I can't let you tell anyone outside of this room about the Shan."

"Shan," the name was whispered throughout the room.

Brenda squeezed James' hand and grinned at him. He looked stunned, as did many in the room. The news was fantastic. "Can you believe this?"

James looked down at her hand in his and shook his head. "No."

"The fools would panic..." someone was saying behind them.

"People can handle it surely? We've known for centuries that we aren't alone."

Rawlins broke in before the whispers became a full-blown debate. "I can't take the risk. The President has decided to keep this information secret until the Shan have been contacted. I want you to journey to their system to learn all you can about them. We have much to tell them, not least, we must warn them of the Merkiaari. If we could find them, then so can the Merki."

Brenda cursed under her breath. Rawlins and the bloody navy were going to screw it up again. "You would infect the Shan with Humanity's prejudice regarding the Merkiaari?"

Rawlins frowned. "I hardly think one could call it prejudice, Professor?"

"Brenda Lane."

"The Merkiaari are dangerous, Professor Lane. They attempted genocide in their war against us. Is it fair to leave the Shan ignorant and perhaps in danger? Do they not have the right to decide for themselves whether the Merkiaari pose a threat to them?"

"I suppose so," she said unhappily. "As long as it is their decision and not one forced on them by us."

"I have no intention of forcing the Shan to do anything. I want them to be our friends, Professor. For that to happen they need to learn to protect themselves. Every day that passes, their ships are broadcasting the whereabouts of their homeworld. That has to stop before the Merki find them. We all know what will happen if they continue as they are."

"That is a militaristic point of view. There are those among the scientific community that support the idea of communicating with the Merkiaari. I'm of the opinion that they can be reasoned with, and should be."

Rawlins' smile was condescending. "That's your opinion Professor, but I could find billions who would disagree with you. I do not have the luxury of taking such chances with the lives of our people. If the Merki want to talk to us, they know where we are, but I will not go to them when doing so risks lives."

Brenda would have argued, but the majority of her colleagues were more interested in speculating on the best method to communicate with the Shan.

"Now then," Rawlins said and silence descended once more. "We come to the point where you have a choice to make. You can volunteer to join the contact team we are sending to the Shan, or you can go with Commander Freylin where you will have all knowledge of the aliens wiped using hypno."

"Outrageous," Janice spluttered.

Brenda agreed. How could he justify such a thing as mind wipe, when it was only ever used in the most heinous of criminal cases? It was more than outrageous, it was an unthinkable misuse of the legal system.

"Not at all," Rawlins continued smoothly as if unaware of the shock he had caused. "I cannot allow news of the Shan to leak out. You will not be harmed, I assure you. Hypno is a well proven technique. Those of you choosing to go, please rise and walk through the door behind me. You'll be met and shown to the shuttle. Those choosing mind wipe, please remain seated and you will be attended to."

There was a moment of silence before everyone stood and trooped out to the shuttle en masse. Rawlins looked insufferably pleased with himself. Brenda stood and began to follow Janice to the shuttle, but then she realised James was not with her. She turned back to see what was keeping him. Janice stopped by the door and waited for her to catch up.

"Come on, I want an aisle seat."

James remained sitting and looked wistful. "I'm not going."

"Of course you are. Come on, Janice is waiting."

"You go on. I'll wait for the hypno people."

Brenda frowned uncertainly. "You mean it. Why not come... is it me?"

James snorted. "Of course not. Look, I'm here by accident, Brenda. You're the reason I'm here, not my expertise. I'm not needed for the mission. If Rawlins knew, he would have barred me from his presentation. There see, here he comes now."

Brenda turned to find Rawlins heading her way. She took James' hand and pulled him to his feet. "You're coming even if I have to drag you there," she hissed under her breath.

"Is there a problem?" Rawlins said.

"There's no problem, Admiral, I'm not—" James began.

"Feeling well," Brenda burst out. "Nothing to worry about. I'm sure it's just the excitement."

James began to protest, but she elbowed him in the ribs to shush him. Rawlins was frowning. He turned to Freylin and raised an eyebrow at him. Brenda begged Freylin with her eyes not to say anything.

Freylin cleared his throat. "Hmmm, I'm sure _Invincible's_ doctor will screen everyone aboard ship, sir. Captain Monroe was briefed thoroughly on our current thinking regarding first contact procedures."

Rawlins wavered. "May I?" He took James' arm and queried his wristcomp. It reported no health warnings. "We can't possibly risk contaminating the Shan. If he's ill, and his bots haven't taken care of it..."

She nudged James and whispered. "Please?"

James looked doubtful, but he nodded finally. "It's just butterflies, Admiral. I'm feeling better already."

"Very well." Rawlins turned to Freylin. "Signal _Invincible_. I want a full medical workup performed on him the moment she's secure from jump."

Freylin nodded. "I'll see to it, sir."

"Good." Rawlins turned back to Brenda. "The shuttle won't wait forever. I suggest you hurry."

She took James by the arm and dragged him toward Janice where she waited near the door.

"What was all that about?" Janice said as they hurried to the gate.

"Nothing," Brenda said. "Everything is fine now.

# 8 ~ Decisions

**Aboard ASN Invincible, uncharted space**

Professor James Wilder ambled along the decks of _Invincible_ feeling sorry for himself. Why had he agreed to come along? Hypno wasn't so bad. He knew the rumours about the government turning people into loyal robots was just paranoia. It was used for more things than punishing serious crime. It was commonly used in medicine for one thing. Hell, anyone watching the latest release of Zelda and the Spaceways was agreeing to be submerged into the action via hypno.

Hypno didn't worry him, but Brenda did. She would be more than a little annoyed if she knew how he worried for her, but that didn't change how he felt. As a student of history, he knew the past wasn't all that rosy, but he couldn't help thinking that the days when armoured knights fought for a lady's favour were better than today. He might have been a lady's champion. He certainly fantasised about it enough, but instead of charging the foe, he was on a mission where his area of expertise wasn't even needed.

Women can be so intimidating at times.

He stepped around a maintenance detail working on a section seal. He eyed the circuitry hanging from the access port as he stepped over the power feeds lying on the deck, but none of it meant anything to him. A crewman—crew-woman? Whatever, she scowled at his nosiness and he raised a hand in apology.

"Sorry," he said backing away.

They were strong, women were—independent and career orientated. Where once they would have waved from the battlement as he rode to war, now they went to war, and he waved instead. He grinned at the image of Brenda standing over the gates of some castle waving, and shook his head. She would be galloping at the head of the army, not awaiting his return.

James turned a corner oblivious to his surroundings and those who populated it. He had let Brenda think she had talked him into coming along with her enthusiasm for meeting the aliens, but his fear for her was the real reason. The thing was, the data now seemed to show there was not the slightest chance of any danger from the Shan. Unlike the Merkiaari, they were civilised beings. He was sure they would be open to reason. So then, he was redundant twice over. Brenda didn't need a protector and wouldn't accept one even if she did, and his expertise was useless here. He was feeling out of sorts—bored and restless. Hence this little stroll, which was becoming a habit of his.

He was so distracted by his melancholy thoughts that he found himself confronted by a sealed hatch without realising where he was. He laid his palm over the scanner hoping it would open. Fleet was extremely security conscious for obvious reasons. Wherever this hatch went—Fleet called doors hatches for some reason—it was not sensitive. It slid aside, and he stepped through.

"Oh!" James said in embarrassment. "I didn't know..." he said backing up and preparing to flee.

"That's all right, sir," a crew-woman said sitting on her bunk and watching a game of chess in progress.

"Yeah, come on in. You don't play chess do you?" another said.

He nodded. "As it happens I do. The name's James—James Wilder?"

"Yeah I know," the chess player said. "I'm O'Malley—Trish to you. The big ugly one is Sam Lundquist, but we just call him Swede."

James nodded at the man on the upper bunk. He was a truly huge example of a Swedish hero out of legend. Bulging muscled arms stressed the material of his uniform to bursting point even while relaxed. Good thing Fleet uniforms stretched to fit all types.

"Good to know you, Swede," he said with a polite nod.

"Likewise," the giant rumbled.

"You're from Earth then?"

Swede shook his head. "Kalmar."

"Kalmar... then why do they call you Swede?" The worlds of the Kalmar Union were on the periphery of explored space.

"My folks settled on Kalmar from Earth," Swede explained. "The locals called us Swedes because of the way we looked, and the name stuck. I kind of like the image you know?"

James nodded. Swede certainly looked the part anyway. James acknowledged the others with a nod and received names and specialities in such profusion he had no chance to remember them all. He did associate certain faces to names, but not many. The man they called Whiz looked like one of his students back on Earth—a gawky kid name Andrew. Whiz was named for his ability to fix anything just by glaring at it. Then there was Pug—real name Edward Stockely. His nickname came from the state of his face, which was bruised and battered most of the time, and ugly all of the time. He liked to fight anything in a uniform different to his own. His nose had been broken so many times, the doctors had given up repairing it—hence the nickname.

O'Malley waved James forward and indicated a bunk near her and the board she was studying. He sat and glanced around. Dozens of eyes were on him. Some of the crewmen smiled or nodded, others looked speculative, many had been reading letters or books on their compads, but now they were watching him.

"Crew quarters," O'Malley said absently and not looking up from the board.

James blinked. "What?"

"You were wondering what this place is."

"I was. How did you know?"

"She's psychic," one of the others said and laughed.

The comradely feel here was strange to him. He was used to his colleagues fighting him for position and tenure, not laughing and trading friendly insults. Maybe he had missed something when he chose teaching instead of adventure in the navy—nah, too many rules to follow.

"Are you?" James said when they quieted.

"No, but I can see you're pissed about something," O'Malley said and moved her bishop to block a possible mate in three.

James could see a way around the trap Trish had laid. He smiled at O'Malley's opponent, but he did not speak. Whiz frowned at the board obviously wondering what he was missing.

"Going to talk about it?" O'Malley asked.

James shrugged, why not? "My area isn't really suited to the mission. To be honest, I'm feeling a bit left out."

O'Malley snorted and all the crew shook their heads at him in disbelief. "Tell him Swede."

"Yeah Swede, tell him," they chorused.

"Tell me what?"

"Civs," Swede said in disgust. "You know what we do when that sort of thing happens to one of us?"

James shook his head thinking that he should find out.

"I'll tell you. The Chief gives him a job, or the Captain does if he's an officer, and tells him to learn fast."

Laughter and insults rained down on him, but James gave as good as he got. There were advantages to being a historian after all. He knew a lot of cuss words.

"It's not that easy," he said when his new friends quieted. "It takes years of study to become a xeno-biologist or exo-biologist or any of the other disciplines needed for the mission."

"You're a prof right?" O'Malley said and James nodded. "That makes you clever right?" James nodded again. "In Fleet, we work as a team. We don't go out looking to be heroes and saving the day on our own. We leave that crap to the Marines."

"You're saying I should just join in and help out?"

"Course! Everyone needs a hand now and then, and besides, you might learn something in the process."

Could she be right? He knew next to nothing about most of the things needed for the mission, and it would take longer than he had to learn, but what else did he have to do? Nothing.

James stood to leave. "Thanks guys. It's been fun, but I've got work to do." Before heading for the hatch, he leaned down to whisper into Whiz's ear.

Whiz grinned and made his move. "Check and mate," he said in glee and everyone howled in laughter.

"Hey!" O'Malley cried in outrage. "You cheated!"

Catcalls and more insults rained down from all sides as the others pounded Whiz on the back in congratulations.

"No way, he cheated! Jimmy told him the move I tell you. It's not fair..."

The hatch slid shut on O'Malley's cries of woe and James chuckled. With his hands in his pockets, he whistled a popular tune as he made his way to the briefing room. Captain Monroe had turned it over to the contact team for their studies.

He supposed this was a momentous time for the Alliance, but he knew the old saying with regard to living in exciting times and took its meaning to heart. So much could go wrong, but his colleagues—so busily collating the data they had been given access to—were the cream of the scientific community. Rawlins couldn't have chosen a better team to ensure a smooth first contact. James knew he wasn't in their league, or Brenda's worse luck.

James strolled into the briefing room a short time later and watched his colleagues at their work. Linguistics would be critical to their efforts. He decided to have a word with Professor Singh who was the leading man in the area. Janice Bristow also took a keen interest in linguistics, but her main area of study was exobiology. She was too busy to help much, though James was sure she wished to. He crossed the room and stopped behind the busy man.

"Professor Singh?" he said softly, and Bindar looked away from his work to frown up at him. "May I have a moment of your time?"

Bindar hit the pause icon on his terminal and removed the earpiece he was using. "It's good to see you, James. We've missed you around here. Where have you been?"

Bindar sounded genuinely pleased to see him, which made James feel like an idiot for not thinking of this sooner.

"Making friends with the crew. I was wondering if you needed any help?"

"Well..." Bindar said uncertainly. "This is an exhausting task, James, and ordinarily I would jump at the chance, but linguistics isn't something you're really familiar with."

James smiled and sat next to the Professor so that he might explain. "Both of my areas aren't needed Professor—"

"Call me Bindar. We're friends, James."

"Thank you, Bindar. As I was saying, my area of expertise isn't required. I was rather at a loss for a while, but then someone advised me to help out with whatever the rest of you needed."

Bindar's face brightened. "That is a different matter. A lot of this is simply menial work at this early stage, any college student could do it..." Bindar's face darkened in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to suggest that you... ah anyway, what I'm doing is isolating and cataloguing the verbal exchanges _Canada_ obtained for us. It's painstaking work, and I must warn you, James, it's rather boring."

James grinned. "That's okay. I'll do that and you can begin the translation. Would that be agreeable to you?"

"Agreeable?" Bindar cried almost bouncing in his seat. "My dear friend, I would be eternally in your debt! We have so little time to learn what we need to contact our newest neighbours. Your sacrifice will help immeasurably!"

"I wouldn't call it a sacrifice."

"I would," Bindar said forcefully. "You haven't been listening to those awful recordings for weeks."

James laughed and swapped places with Bindar so he could take over the terminal. Bindar sat and switched on another screen and brought to life his software. He had designed it to make the translation easier, but the database of known words was empty at present. He would begin filling it soon enough. When he was done, they would all start to learn how to speak the alien's language.

James inserted an earpiece, but he didn't start just yet. He went through the professor's work studying and learning as he went. It was fascinating, and he soon saw the pattern Bindar was imposing on the chaos. Bindar had been listening to the recordings and picking out the individual words before cross matching them for context. For instance, he had a list of words always, or nearly always, spoken at the end of a sentence. He had tentatively labelled the set as phrases of leave taking; in English, a comparison might be good-bye, or see you soon. Other sets were labelled as nouns and adjectives, while still others were broken into groups such as words with a technical bent. Those came from ship to ship communications.

The only column completely empty was labelled Common Phrases and James wondered why that was so, but Bindar was busy. He decided he knew enough to begin.

He keyed the terminal to resume, and winced at the yapping growl of Shan speech. He lowered the volume and began to make out what he was supposed to be listening for. The yaps and growls appeared to be some kind of emphasis placed on the words. He heard it at the termination of each sentence mostly, but certain words always had emphasis put on them. He reversed the recording and listened while reading _Canada's_ observations. He tried to associate the words with observed movements of the ships.

Ha! He had one already. He typed the word _Chakra_ into the noun column. The Shan crew seemed to use the word a great deal. Perhaps it was the name of their Captain?

Interesting...

# 9 ~ Checkmate

**Aboard ASN Invincible, uncharted space**

Brenda watched James chatting with Bernard and smiled secretly. A couple of weeks ago, James had wandered around doing nothing and feeling sorry for himself, but now everyone was clamouring for his help on their projects. Bindar was the first to see him as something other than a fifth and unneeded wheel, but he certainly hadn't been the last. When he ran out of recordings to transcribe, James was swamped with requests for help on other projects to the point where he was the busiest among them. He was on his third project now. Brenda was determined to have him next.

"You should marry him," Janice said in an offhand way as she paged through her printouts.

"Don't start that again."

Brenda was tired of Janice badgering her. Didn't the woman ever let go? It had started with a mention of how good James was with Bindar, and then how nice his eyes were, and then how good he looked in uniform, and then back to his work. On, and on, and on, for two whole weeks. She just never gave up.

"If you won't marry him, at least take him to bed."

"Janice," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"You're attracted to him, and he to you, so what's the problem? You don't have to marry for life. Just keep him for a few years then trade him in."

"Ha, ha. I'm not you, Janice."

"Obviously. If you were, you wouldn't be turning into an old maid."

Brenda winced. Janice was only teasing, but it was too close to the mark for comfort. She was fifty years old—a third of her time gone already and she was still alone.

"I'm sorry," Janice said with concern. "I didn't mean it; you know that don't you? I just want to see you happy, kiddo. Don't live your life regretting what might have been."

Brenda shrugged uncomfortably. "I have my work... we're part of something huge here. I don't need—"

"Crap," Janice whispered crossly. "Hey, this is me, Janice remember? I taught you about boys and where to get them—remember? I know you, Brenda. I've seen you with other people's kids. I've seen you standing alone watching them."

"So I like kids. So what?"

"So you want some. I had mine early, so I could watch my great-great grandkids grow. If you don't get off your duff and start breeding girl, you're going to miss it all."

"I could adopt; I could even have one implanted. I don't need a man to make babies."

"No, no, no. Don't even go there. I don't need a man to make babies, but you definitely do." Janice looked her directly in the eyes. "Definitely. Besides, kids aren't everything. A husband makes for a great bed warmer, and they're fun at parties."

Brenda grinned, but then looking at James she sobered. "He's not interested."

Janice sighed. "Again you fail to see. He's the strong silent type—he's shy."

"Shy? The man is fifty-two years old!"

"So? Age doesn't cure all ills, Brenda. Some people go through life without actually living it."

Brenda flushed. That described her as much as it did James. When she didn't answer, Janice shook her head again and went back to work. Brenda could almost hear her friend's thoughts; they were so obvious. You just can't help some people, Janice was thinking, and she was right. Janice was right about a lot of things.

She _was_ lonely.

Her career had been one long series of successes, and at the time it had seemed like all she wanted, but as the years rolled by, she was seeing things differently. What real difference did it make who discovered this thing or that, as long as someone discovered them? She had only one life to savour; she should be living it to the max.

She watched James preparing to leave. "I'll see you later," she said to Janice. Taking a firm hold upon herself, she met James at the hatch. "James?"

"Hey Brenda. What can I do for you?"

Take me to bed like Janice suggested?

"Take me to... dinner," Brenda said lamely and cursed herself for not following through.

"Sure. How about tomorrow?"

"Why not now? It's about that time."

"Sorry, Brenda, can't do it," James said reluctantly. "I have something on tonight."

"Oh," she said in disappointment. What if it was one of the crew? It had better not be, or she would... what? She had no call on him. "Can I come?"

James raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Sure, glad to have you." He palmed the hatch sensor again.

Had Brenda more courage, she would have said something different, something Janice would have approved of, but the words stuck in her throat. She was like a schoolgirl on her first date.

"So, where are we going?"

"Crew quarters," James said glancing at her and then at the time displayed on his wristcomp. "C-Shift doesn't go on duty until twenty-two hundred."

Twenty-two hundred? That uniform was going to his head.

"And that's good?"

James smiled at her. He had a really good smile. "Very. I have a tournament to win."

Brenda refrained from asking, but she was wondering when he had made the time to find friends among the crew. Maybe during his sulking period? Janice was obviously wrong about him. If he made friends so easily, he couldn't be shy. That was a depressing thought. If he wasn't shy, then he just wasn't interested in her. She felt like begging off now, but it was too late. James palmed open a hatch and stepped into C-Shift's quarters.

"Hey, Jimmy, how you doing?" a crewman said with a grin.

"Great, Swede, where's Trish?" James said looking around and taking no notice of the giant man as he pulled his uniform on over naked skin.

"In the shower. She won't be long. Can you take her?"

"No problem," James drawled with a grin.

Brenda was staring at the giant. He was huge. He had blonde curly hair and blue eyes, and muscles... muscles everywhere! Her face heated when she realised she was staring at his abs, and imagined what she would have seen if they had arrived a few moments earlier. God!

"Hey, Jimmy, where are your manners boy?" A battered looking man said, as he walked by and hooked a thumb toward Brenda.

"Oh, sorry guys." James' face flushed. "This is Professor Lane. Brenda, I want you to meet my friends from C-Shift, which," he said loudly in a parody of conspiracy. "Is rumoured to be the only one that knows what it's doing."

"Damn straight. C-Shift rules the night," someone yelled loudly.

James grinned. "Yeah, but not the day!"

Brenda looked on in confusion.

"A and B shifts run the ship during the day cycle," James explained.

"Ah," she said finally catching on. These people had just awoken and would be going on duty at ten. They had hours yet, but they were moving as if there wasn't time.

"The little one is Whiz, and you know Swede," James said pointing out his friends. "The hairy one is Pug for obvious reasons and..."

Brenda smiled at James' friends, and received nods or an occasional handshake in return. James was completely at ease, but Brenda felt a little uncomfortable with so many sailors close by. The military was an unfortunate fact of life in the Alliance. She had so far managed to keep her distance from those who killed people for a living, but these were James' friends. She would try to make an extra effort not to upset anyone.

"Ready to have me wipe the deck with you, Jimmy?" a woman with wet hair and a towel over her shoulder said as she came in.

She was wearing her uniform, thank goodness, though no one seemed prudish here. Living so close together would eliminate such childish concerns in a flash.

"Hi, Trish. You have no chance, as you well know." James ushered Brenda forward and in front of him. With his hands on her shoulders he made introductions again. "I want to introduce you to a good friend of mine. Trish O'Malley, meet Brenda Lane. Trish has delusions regarding her chances of beating me in chess matches."

Brenda was finding it hard to stay smiling. This O'Malley woman was staring at her in challenge, but when she looked at James, it was like a cat looking at a fish within reach of her claws. Remembering her promise to try hard at being nice, Brenda kept a smile plastered on her face and shook O'Malley's hand.

"Let me finish dressing, and I'll be with you," O'Malley said to James and hurried away.

James sat on a bunk near the chess set, and Brenda hastily claimed a space next to him before one of the others stole it. Whiz looked disappointed, and sat on the other side of the aisle instead. A good many were interested in the contest it seemed. The upper bunks were full of spectators.

"Are you all right?" James said. "You look a little pale."

"Fine," Brenda said shortly still thinking about O'Malley, and how she would like to snatch her bald for looking at James that way.

"You sure?"

She relented a little. "I'm fine, James. Can you beat her?"

James shrugged. "Oh sure. I usually do win. Well, three out of five anyway."

"Great," she said not caring one way or the other. "How many are we doing today?"

"Just the one for the title if you like."

"Title?"

"Champion of C-Shift," James said with an embarrassed chuckle.

Brenda laughed and bumped him playfully with her shoulder against his. "You're not part of C-Shift."

"Sure he is," O'Malley said as she sat down opposite James. Her hair was miraculously dry now and styled to accentuate her high cheekbones. It annoyed Brenda immensely. "He's an honorary member."

Everyone agreed.

Brenda watched the game but was bored very quickly. She didn't play, and so didn't understand the differences between the pieces. An hour went by as a move by James was countered by a similar move from O'Malley, and nothing seemed resolved. Both players were taking the game seriously, but the spectators came and went only to come back again to check on who was winning. This was a routine they seemed to have acquired over more than a little while. Brenda imagined James and O'Malley sitting together for hours during the week's long journey playing chess and chatting.

She didn't like it one bit.

James took more pieces off the board than O'Malley, but he didn't seem pleased when his opponent took a tall one of his—one of a pair that looked alike.

"Bishop," Swede said. "He's a goner for sure."

"Is a Bishop important?" Brenda whispered.

"Can be. If he can protect his king, he might last a while longer."

"Which one is the king?"

"You serious?" Swede said incredulously. "That one," he said and pointed.

"Do you mind?" James said in annoyance at Swede's finger hovering over the board.

"Sorry." Swede grinned at Brenda and rolled his eyes.

"Jimmy is worried," O'Malley said with a smirk. "He should be, there's no way he can take me now."

"Oh, I can't?" James moved a horse that Swede said was called a knight.

O'Malley smiled. She moved a piece like a castle. "Check—"

James pounced the instant O'Malley released her castle. "And checkmate."

"Wahoo!" Swede yelled. "No one saw that one coming; he suckered her."

"Wait," O'Malley yelled over the congratulations coming from all sides. "I can still take him."

"No," James said confidently and turned away from the board.

"I can." O'Malley glared at the offending chess set. "It's... checkmate," she sighed.

Laughter and insults rained on O'Malley, but she yelled a lot worse back at her tormentors. Everyone howled with laughter.

"Another?" O'Malley asked hoping to get her own back.

"Not tonight, Trish," James said with eyes only for Brenda. "I have a dinner date."

"Your place or mine?" Brenda asked with a smile.

"Mine." James took her arm like a lord with his lady as they left.

Brenda liked that. A lot!

"I didn't know you cooked," Brenda said pushing her now empty plate aside, and reaching for her coffee.

James smiled. Plastic plates and plastic cups were hardly romantic. Where was the candlelight he had imagined, or the red roses in their silver vase? If he lit a candle in here, he would have alarms screaming all over the ship, and a very irate captain bearing down on him. Fire in space was not a laughing matter.

"Oh... you know," he said with laughter bubbling below the surface. "Living alone you learn how to press a button like a pro."

Brenda laughed.

She could laugh, but it was true. Aboard ship, autochefs were the only source of food and drink, but with a little careful button pressing, it was surprising how good a meal one could concoct. He had practiced and learned some good combinations on this journey. Brenda seemed to agree.

"I've known you for years, James, yet I don't know you at all."

James pursed his lips and shrugged. "Not much to know. Boring and dusty professor of history—"

"And palaeontology," Brenda cut in with a grin.

He smiled and inclined his head. "And palaeontology. He has tenure in Oxford, the pre-eminent university of the Alliance." He leaned forward and in an exaggerated whisper said, "On Earth yet."

"Stop clowning," Brenda said laughing.

"I'm not clowning."

Brenda's laughter died. "You don't have to hide from me, James."

"I'm not hiding, what makes you think I'm hiding?"

"Will you stop? You always hide behind jokes and witty remarks. You don't have to, not with me, and not with the others. It's you that everyone likes, not the front you put up."

He didn't know what to say. He did seem to have made friends here, but he always joked around. Sarcasm was his middle name. But was it really? Didn't it start to be this way when he turned thirty-five and still unmarried? He couldn't remember; it was too far back.

James took a sip of his coffee and shrugged. "All right. I'm unmarried, no family to speak of, no prospects—"

"You're doing it again, James. You should stop putting yourself down. Tenure at Oxford is no small thing. If you think it is, ask those who try without hope for what we have."

Brenda was right, but it seemed a small thing way out here. They had navigated through the Border Zone and were into the void of unexplored space now. What mattered out here was the team, and its goals. The Shan had to be warned about the Merki, and hopefully they would then join the Alliance for the betterment of both races.

Brenda finished her coffee but waved away James' offer of a refill. "What of your parents? They must be exceptionally patient to put up with you."

"They're dead," he said flatly.

Brenda gasped. "I'm so sorry! How did it happen?"

"They were killed in a meteoroid collision on the way to Mars. A pebble the size of my fist hit the station. It was a freak accident, never happened before or since as far as I know."

James had been devastated. He was only twenty-nine when he received the news that he was alone. He had expected his parents to be with him until his hundredth year at least, but they had died instantly in the decompression of a transit tube. Three more steps, and they would have been safe behind an emergency hatch, but they hadn't known to hurry. No one had. The hatch had slammed shut in their faces within microseconds of the pressure drop being detected thereby saving the station, and sentencing them to death. The hatch saved thousands of lives on the station, but at the same time it killed a dozen people in the tube including his parents. The government hailed the designers of the station as heroes. A dozen dead was a small thing, he thought bitterly.

Brenda reached across the table and held his hand. "James I..." she squeezed his hand again. "Can I have a tour?"

"A tour?" James said looking up in confusion.

"What's through there?"

"The..." he flushed. "The bedroom."

"Show me," she said quietly and pulled him to his feet.

Brenda led him into the room and turned to face him. She slowly removed her shirt and trousers to stand before him clad only in her panties. A moment later, she stood in her bare skin. She was so beautiful.

"Brenda I..." his voice broke.

"Shush," she said and came into his arms.

The feel of her in his arms was... and her back was so smooth. They kissed, and the world went away for a minute. His uniform fell away as if by magic and they were suddenly on the bed kissing and stroking each other.

"Lights—" James began but Brenda said no.

"I want to see you, all of you."

He smiled. "Lights full." He didn't notice the slight increase in illumination as he lost himself within her.

**Aboard ASN Invincible at jump stations**

"Time?" Captain Cynthia Monroe asked her helmsmen.

"Two minutes to translation, Skipper. Jump drive in the green, jump stations report ready to jump," Lieutenant Keith Hadden said without looking away from the chrono on his board. His finger was hovering over the manual override, ready to intervene should the computer fail in its task.

"Good," Monroe said. She turned to Commander Hamilton at scan, but Hamilton was already concentrating upon the data her station was displaying. Monroe left her executive officer to her work and nodded to Lieutenant Davin instead. "Sound battle stations, Martin."

Martin Davin, a veteran of navy service nodded and the strident wailing of the alarm sent men and women scrambling for their stations. Some buttoned themselves within weapons blisters, and brought laser cannons to life while repeatedly running diagnostics on targeting software; others were careening down corridors and into central damage control, yet more were climbing into hard suits so that, should the unthinkable occur, they could work in vacuum to save the ship when damage made working in sealed uniforms unsafe.

All over the ship, men and women pulled on their gloves and sealed their uniforms. Helmets went on, and life support hoses were pulled from consols to be connected to ports waiting to receive them in their uniforms. Connected to the ship, those armoured cables and airlines represented life for three-hundred and twelve passengers and crew.

"Battle stations report manned and ready, Skip," Davin reported.

"Good. Time?" Monroe said.

"Thirty seconds," the helmsman responded.

"Tactical on main viewer," Monroe said looking away from her small repeater displays.

"Aye, sir," Commander Hamilton said.

The endless otherness of fold space was replaced with a blank screen. That would change as soon as the ship translated into normal space. The sensors would then have something they were designed to handle to work with. Sensors in fold space were basically useless for anything beyond visual range.

"Ten seconds," Keith Hadden at the helm said into the silence.

"Point defence online, Skipper. Targeting computers active, autoloaders functioning normally," Irene Weps Bishop said.

Monroe nodded, but she didn't answer; she was bracing herself for the jump disorientation to come.

"Five seconds, four..."

"Shields to maximum," Hamilton ordered.

"Aye, sir, shields show maximum attained. Power levels equalising. Negative draw on auxiliary generators."

"...one. Translating!"

_ASN_ _Invincible_ jumped...

Monroe's head rolled back against the restraint. The bridge was twisting like a screw, and her crew were frozen, unaware of her regard. She felt sick to her stomach as the jump turned her ship inside out, and her with it.

_Falling..._

_...Twisting and falling and..._

Monroe's eyes rolled up, and she sagged in her restraints. She was unaware that she was drooling into her helmet. Her mind shrieked in disorientation as her body became disconnected from her control. She felt nothing now, floating and spinning and falling. It was all in her head, but real for all of that.

_Falling..._

_...Twisting and falling..._

_...and here!_

"Oh God..." someone said and gulped air in an effort not to vomit.

"Trans—" Hadden panted. "Translation complete, sir. Point two five seconds elapsed."

"The referent," Monroe gasped. "Have we acquired the referent?"

"Scanning... scanning... scanning... _referent attained!_ "

"Precautionary: charge the jump drive," Monroe snapped.

"Aye, sir. Charging the drive from auxiliary."

" _Contact!_ " Commander Hamilton sang out. "Multiple contacts... _my God!_ We jumped into the middle of their entire fleet!"

"Weps, stealth mode active maximum!" Monroe snapped as the shock brought her back to the here and now. It was such a sudden turn of events that her stomach forgot to be sick any longer.

"Aye, sir. Fields spinning up—fifty percent, seventy-five, one-hundred percent, sir."

"Talk to me, XO," Monroe said intently. They were well inside weapons range of the alien ships. "Were we seen?"

"I don't think so. They're on some kind of manoeuvres. It would be a miracle if they saw us for the few seconds we were visible."

"Keep an eye on them. Helm, new course..." Monroe said and glanced down at her displays. "New course, zero-four-five by one-two-eight degrees."

"Course plotted and laid in, sir."

"Best speed!"

_ASN_ _Invincible_ swung and leapt onto a new heading roaring across the system toward the outer asteroid belt that her tactical display insisted lay not far away.

"Time to the belt?"

"Three-niner minutes, Skipper," Hadden said.

Monroe nodded. "Show me those ships, XO."

"Aye, sir. Targets designate: Alpha One through Alpha Thirty," Commander Hamilton said and brought the ships onto the viewer one after another. They were beautiful and deadly looking. "Heavy cruisers, tentative assessment: _Excalibur_ class heavies."

" _Excaliburs_ eh?" Monroe said. "That's a lot of muscle."

"Yes, Ma'am. Targets designate: Beta One through Ten. Light cruisers."

"Class?"

"Hard to say, Skipper. They look fast but have limited weapons. We have nothing like them. The Merki would kill them too easily. If I had to, I would class them as weak _Sabres_."

A weak _Sabre_ class light cruiser they could handle with ease, but not the heavies. Still, _Invincible_ was here to avoid conflict, not start it. Monroe began rattling off orders one after another without pause.

"Continue on course. Point defence to standby, shields to standby, secure from battle stations! Stealth mode remains at maximum while within this system. All clear?"

"On course, zero-four-five by one-two-eight degrees," the helmsman said quietly confirming _Invincible's_ heading.

"Aye, aye," Bishop said and began punching her keys to comply.

"Aye, Skipper," Lieutenant Davin said and his voice boomed throughout the ship. "Now hear this: Secure from battle stations, secure from battle stations. That is all."

"Very good," Monroe said rolling her shoulders trying to free herself of the tension that had set up shop in her. "We seem to have come through unscathed. Let's try to keep our record clean shall we?"

Everyone sighed and chuckled, all except Commander Hamilton who kept her eyes glued to her screens tracking her targets. That was as it should be. Fleet didn't like taking chances and neither did Monroe.

# 10 ~ Visitors

**Aboard ASN Canada, inner asteroid belt, Shan system**

Anya Ivanova leaned way back in _Canada's_ command station and stretched. She groaned as her vertebrae shifted and popped. She sighed and sat up straight again. At 0200, it was hard to keep alert. Sitting in one place was not helping.

"I'm going for a quick walk around the deck, Steph." Anya said, but Second Lieutenant Stephanie Mills did not answer. "Steph?"

Stephanie looked up from the plot with a frown. "Something has the Shan stirred up, ma'am. I have four heavies converging on one of the light cruisers. I don't know what to make of it."

"Hmmm," Anya joined Steph at the consol. "Might be part of the exercise they're running..." she broke off as she stared at the data being displayed. "Huh. That's no training exercise."

"That's what I thought ma'am. See here?"

Anya frowned at the icons Steph pointed out. "Yes... Where was the cruiser when you first noticed this? Did you record it?"

"Yes ma'am, of course. The Skipper was very insistent."

Anya smiled. The Captain had been very thorough about recording everything they observed about the Shan. He would have made a good teacher, she often thought. He held weekly lectures for the crew about what he had learned from his studies.

"Replay your scan on the main viewer would you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Anya took her place at the command station again and watched the recording. "Advance it to the point where the light cruiser breaks off."

The picture blurred as it raced forward then cleared as it resumed playback at normal speed. The light cruiser was on the edge of a formation of six light cruisers, itself the vanguard of the Shan fleet. An opposing force of eight heavies fled the pursuers, but suddenly the cruiser veered away without warning.

"That's it ma'am."

"Hmmm," Anya pursed her lips and leaned forward as she plotted the ship's courses in her head. "There was nothing to warrant this?"

"Nothing on my visual scan, no ma'am."

"Peculiar... peculiar to say the least."

Anya frowned, going over all the possibilities and ticking them off in her mind. Ship malfunction... a possibility but unlikely. The ships were not slowing to rendezvous to give aid to a stricken vessel. Collision avoidance? A very good possibility out there near the asteroid belt, but why not come back on course and rejoin the main body once immediate danger had been avoided? Why would the other ships leave formation to join the first ship? That left one thing she could think of, a dangerous thing but perhaps not unexpected considering where they were and the mission.

"Back it up again would you?"

Stephanie worked her controls, and the light cruiser appeared to reverse course.

"Overlay the scan with your system grid," Anya said and Steph did that. "Display location of the outer belt." There was something about the course change that suggested the outer belt was of interest to the Shan light cruiser. The schematic appeared and Anya knew at once that her conjecture was correct. The Shan were definitely interested in the outer belt and she knew why, or thought she did. "Scan for a jump signature, please"

"Ma'am?" Steph said puzzled.

"There might be traces of the translation."

"What trans... yes ma'am."

Anya knew what it had to be, but the Skipper would want hard data. While Lieutenant Mills scanned for the jump signature, Anya woke the captain.

_Bee-beep, bee-beep._

Colgan groaned. It never failed. Whenever he retired late, something always came up that was guaranteed to wake him early. He slapped a hand down on the damn cut-off and blinked blearily into the viewer.

"Colgan."

"Sorry to wake you, sir," Anya said. "I have something you need to see. The Shan are all riled up, I think we might have company out here real soon."

"You think?" Colgan said rolling out of his bunk and reaching for his uniform. "What do you mean, you think?"

"Steph is running another scan now, but I thought you would like to be up here when the data came in."

"You thought right, Lieutenant. I'll be there shortly. Have Baz rustle me up a cup of something hot."

Anya grinned. "Black coffee coming up, sir."

Colgan broke the connection and yawned widely. He should have gone to bed early, but the Shan were so fascinating! How could anyone sleep when there was so much to learn?

An hour later, he was sitting at his command station nursing his second cup of coffee and frowning at the scan data. He could see why Anya was suspicious—he was too, but definitive evidence was proving in short supply.

"How is that sweep coming?" he said, turning to Stephanie. "Anything?"

"Something definitely came in, Skipper, but the traces are too vague to pinpoint the mass. It could have been one of ours, but I can't tell from the scan."

"Hmmm." That was about what he expected. "Helm, take us up slow. I want to take a peek over the top of my rock."

Janice grinned. "Aye, aye, sir. Z plus two thousand metres."

Colgan watched the asteroid they were hiding behind slowly drift down below them on his number two repeater display. "Keep a sharp eye on your scan, Lieutenant."

"Aye, aye, Skip."

Janice slowed the ship and _Canada_ was finally able to bring all her instruments to bear. The emergence was confirmed almost straight away, but the culprit was still illusive. The last traces of drive activation were still dispersing and would be gone very soon. No scan tech ever born would have been able to tell what came in system from so little data.

"Concentrate your scan upon Alpha-One, Lieutenant. Let the cruiser lead you to them."

"Aye, sir."

Colgan waited and sipped his coffee. He glanced aside at the ship's chrono. A-shift would be on soon. "Steph, I want you to stay on this. Commander Groves will be up shortly. Bring her up to speed ASAP."

"Aye, Skip," Steph said happily. She wanted to stay and see this thing to its conclusion.

Shift change came and went with no sign that anything remotely like an intruder had ever entered the system. The Shan fleet turned back to its normal operations leaving the original light cruiser, designated Alpha-One, to its search. Sometime later, Stephanie and Francis were still whispering together as they puzzled over the master plot of the system they had displayed at their station. Neither woman had found what the Shan were looking for. Francis was exceptional at scan, and Steph was no slouch either. Whatever the intruder was, it was damn tricky.

"What do we know about that ship, Francis?" Colgan said and highlighted Alpha-One on the main viewer with his control wand.

"Not much, sir. Alpha-one: Shan ship in the light cruiser range. It was patrolling the zone when we came in. Since then, it has led two of their training ops with distinction. I would like to go aboard and meet her captain. I like his moves."

"Let's hope we get the opportunity."

"Sir?"

"What is it, Steph?" Colgan went to join her at Scan. He leaned upon the master plot's table dispay, reading the data absently "What have you found?"

"Could be nothing, Skipper, but see this?" Mills punched up another view. The current view cleared to be replaced by another sector of the Shan system. "Watch gamma-eight-niner, sir."

Colgan frowned. "I don't see anything—"

"There, sir. That's it."

For just an instant, something flickered into being. Vectors and velocity painted the target, but then it disappeared as it had come with no explanation. _Canada's_ computer must have been as puzzled as Colgan felt because after a second's hesitation it deleted the data. Normally, if a target was lost from the scan, the computer would update the plot and paint the data yellow to designate a lost or stealthed target's presumed heading. It did neither of those things.

"A glitch?"

"I don't think so, Skipper," Mills said uncertainly. "It's as if the computer had picked up a ship with a faulty I.F.F"

Colgan frowned. "I don't follow."

"See, if I was a captain of say... a cruiser entering a possibly hostile system, I wouldn't want the Shan to find me."

"Obviously."

"Yes, sir," Mills agreed. "I.F.F might give the game away and it might not. Probably it would, but I wouldn't want to risk it either way, but what if I had to meet someone in that system?"

"Us?" Colgan noted the computer deleting another instance of the phantom target. "You think he's dicking about with his signature?"

"Yes sir, I do. It would be really easy to make our computer think it had a glitch. I know I could do it."

"From the inside," Colgan agreed. He could think of two ways right off. "But from outside?"

"Yes sir. I could do it."

"Hmmm." He wasn't sure he liked that, but now wasn't the time to think about it. Colgan went back to his station. "Run a plot and extrapolate the phantom's probable entry point into the inner belt."

"Aye, sir."

"Janice?"

"Sir?"

"As soon as Steph gives you a course, I want you to take us there. Keep us down to five percent of max. That should keep the Shan ignorant of our movements."

"Aye sir."

**Aboard ASN Invincible, approaching Shan inner belt**

"Slow to one tenth," Captain Monroe said and swivelled her station. "Anything yet?"

"Nothing, Skipper," Commander Hamilton said. "They might have been detected and had to jump out."

"I doubt it. The Shan couldn't find us. If Colgan was careful, he should have remained undetected. What's that Shan cruiser doing now?"

"Still patrolling the belt skip."

"That's good." She turned to Martin at communications. "Keep transmitting."

"Aye, aye ma'am," Lieutenant Davin said.

It had taken them days to sneak away from the outer belt. The Shan had taken it upon themselves to run a training op of some kind almost in their laps. It had taken some skilful ship handling by Keith Hadden to extricate them. Now all they had to do was find _Canada_ and her mission would be successfully completed.

"The report said that Colgan was using the inner belt to survey the system. Where the hell is he?"

"Could be anywhere by now, Skip. He's been here almost a year—" Kersten began without looking up from her plot, but then her eyes sharpened. "Contact! Target designate Charlie-one—Alliance survey vessel." She looked up and grinned. "It's _Canada_ , Captain."

Cynthia smiled in satisfaction. "Helm, intercept course."

"Aye, aye. Coming to new heading three-four-six by zero-zero-two degrees," Lieutenant Hadden said, making the course correction and _Invincible_ swung to port.

"Get me _Canada_ as soon as we're in range, Martin. I want to say hello."

Davin nodded. "Yes ma'am!"

**Aboard ASN Canada, Shan inner belt**

James stepped off the shuttle and into _Canada's_ number two boat-bay. Brenda stopped beside him and took his hand. He smiled down at her, but she didn't see. She was looking around the bay with interest. The others whispered among themselves while half dozen of _Canada's_ crew trotted by and up the ramp to retrieve their belongings from the shuttle. Standing in a line ahead of the contact team was their reception committee.

Captain Monroe went to greet _Canada's_ captain. James nudged Brenda gently and they tagged along.

"—my first officer Commander Groves. This is Lieutenant Ricks, my comm officer. Mark is the reason we're all here."

Ricks demurred. "It could have been anyone, sir. It was blind luck that I was on duty at the right time."

"Lucky for all of us," Captain Colgan said.

Monroe shook hands with Colgan's officers and introduced her Exec before turning to Janice. "This is Professor Bristow, Jeff. She heads up the contact team. I will let her introduce you to the others."

"I am glad to know you Professor—" Colgan began.

"Call me Janice, please."

"As you wish, Janice. I am pleased to welcome you and your team aboard. I will have your things sent to your quarters. If you need anything, please let me know."

"Thank you, Captain, but the only thing we need is a place to work, and access to your computer and database. Let me first introduce you to the others." Janice said turning to James. "Professor James Wilder, history."

James smiled and shook the captain's hand. "Nice to meet you, sir. I'm looking forward to seeing what you have learned."

Colgan inclined his head. "Welcome aboard, Professor."

"Professor Brenda Lane, xenology and exobiology."

"Welcome Professor. I look forward to hearing your views on the Shan."

"Thank you, Captain," Brenda said and shook hands.

"Professor Bernard Franks, cultural studies."

"Cultural studies?" Colgan said in puzzlement. "What do you study?"

"Rather it is whom do I study, Captain. I specialise in the Merkiaari. The President thought I would be useful."

Colgan raised an eyebrow at that. "I see. Welcome aboard, Professor."

"Professor David Harrison, biology," Janice said.

"Nice to meet you, Professor."

"Likewise, sir," David said. "You have a very fine ship here. I know quite a bit about the Fleet and—"

Janice interrupted with a gentle squeeze of David's shoulder. "Please, David. Leave that for later if you would."

"Sorry, Captain."

"Not at all, Professor. I am very proud of her. We'll find time to talk later."

"I look forward to it, sir."

"Sheryl Linden, physics and engineering design," Janice went on, and motioned Sheryl forward.

"I have heard of you, Professor," Colgan said pumping Sheryl's hand with enthusiasm. "If I'm not mistaken, you pioneered the development of the skip capable drive."

Sheryl shook her head. "You are mistaken captain. The ability is inherent within all fold space drives."

"Yes, but you made it possible to actually use it. Before your research, two out of three ships smeared themselves all over the quadrant whenever they tried it."

"It was simply a matter of proper calibration—" Sheryl began but stopped herself. "Forgive me, Bindar. That was rude of me."

"There is nothing to forgive, Professor Linden," Bindar Singh murmured quietly. "I am sure your achievements are more than worthy."

"Captain Colgan, this is Professor Singh. He is our linguistics expert," Sheryl said, introducing her colleague herself by way of an apology.

"Honoured, sir," Bindar said with a small bow.

"The honour is mine, Professor Singh. I have a lot to show you. We have been recording everything since the day we arrived. Much of it is verbal communication. Mark has been working on it, but he's not really trained in your field I'm afraid."

"I will start at once!" Bindar said eagerly.

"No hurry, Bindar," Janice said, and laughed gently at his downcast expression. "Let us get settled in at least. I'll call a meeting first thing tomorrow... have you a place for us to work, Captain?"

"You can have the briefing room whenever you need it, and all the labs are open to you of course."

"Thank you."

Colgan turned to Ricks. "Show our guests to their cabins please, Mark. Make sure they know how to use our equipment and can find their way around."

"Aye sir. If you will follow me, please?"

Janice nodded and led the team after the lieutenant.

# 11 ~ Discovered

**Aboard Chakra, on extended patrol, Shan system**

Tei'Varyk, commander of the light fang _Chakra_ , was perplexed. It was unlike Tarjei to be wrong about something like this, but if she was not, where was the target? It had been long orbits since the Murderers of Harmony had destroyed the Harmony of Shan, but that made his people more vigilant not less. The Fleet had never been so strong, and it would get stronger still as new construction was added.

The Twin Worlds of the race had lived in peace for many hundreds of orbits, but then had come the war. War, he mused, a strange word that had no place in the mouth of any Shan. It even sounded alien, which of course it was. The race had no word for this thing that the Murderers called war, and so they used the alien word rather than foul the language of the race by adding one more harmonious. The elders were wise in this. How could something without harmony be given a harmonious word? It was much better to use the harsh sounding alien one to remind everyone what it meant.

Tei'Varyk glanced at the repeater display on his right side. It was displaying a schematic of the outer asteroid belt with mining operations and other information blinking in the blue of known targets.

"Jakinda, come about to a new heading of... zero-zero-zero by zero-two-seven."

"I hear, Tei," Jakinda acknowledged the order. "He comes to a new heading: zero-zero-zero by zero-two-seven."

"Good Jakinda," Tei'Varyk said and turned his station toward his mate. "Tarjei, his eyes to maximum. Sweep a cone forty-five degrees either side of us."

"I hear," Tarjei said. "His eyes see nothing, but I am vigilant."

He flicked his ears in acknowledgement. "You are his eyes."

"I hear," Tarjei said dropping her jaw and baring her teeth in a smile.

With the press of a button, Tei'Varyk centred his station again and reviewed what he knew of this phantom target. It had appeared at the extreme edge of _Chakra's_ envelope only briefly before submerging itself in the debris of the outer asteroid belt. A traveller (comet) he had thought, but it had not re-emerged from the belt, and there had been no impact detected. Tarjei, by coincidence testing _Chakra's_ eyes at maximum, had locked up the object briefly, and the glaring red of unknown target splashed itself across half the displays on the command deck.

The warning sirens shocked everyone immobile for moments only before his finely trained crew responded as their training demanded. _Chakra_ had turned toward the target. His eyes had swept the belt at maximum power, but they'd failed to find any clue to the phantom's whereabouts.

The elders had heard his report with worry evident in the way their muzzles and whiskers twitched. They ordered him to patrol the asteroid belt until a satisfactory answer was obtained. That was almost half an orbit ago—two seasons of searching and nothing to show the elders.

"Indications negative, Tei," Tarjei said unhappily. "I have failed you and him."

"Never say that," Tei'Varyk said harshly. "We will search until the end of the orbit if we have to. Do not concern yourself with failure. Look ahead in harmony."

"I hear," Tarjei said with her hackles raised and her tailtip restless. She was not in harmony.

The distress in Tarjei's voice was obvious. Her ears were plastered flat against her head—a sign of just how upset she was with her failure. Tei'Varyk saw the misery in her eyes before she looked away from him and back to her controls. He should comfort her tonight. They had spent so little time together while on this patrol. It was hard to remember the last time they were alone. Tarjei and he had been mated for only a short time. For all intents and purposes, they were still the strangers from far off clans they had been last orbit.

"Jakinda," Tei'Varyk said turning his attention reluctantly back to duty. "We have scanned every particle of the outer belt have we not?"

"Yes, Tei," Jakinda confirmed.

"Is there any area of the belt we cannot investigate properly?"

Jakinda was quiet for a moment. "No, Tei."

"Then it is not here," Tei'Varyk said with finality.

Jakinda turned away from his station to face Tei'Varyk. "If not here then where?"

"The inner belt is the only place to hide. It must be there."

"But that means it _is_ a ship."

"Must be," Tei'Varyk said grimly. "Jakinda, new heading: best speed to the inner belt."

"I hear," Jakinda said and spun back to his consol. A moment later, _Chakra_ swung toward the inner system. "Time to the inner belt... approximately four cycles."

"Good."

Jozka spoke up. "Should I inform the elders?"

Tei'Varyk hesitated. "No. If I'm wrong, it would be foolish to distract the elders. The rest of the Fleet will remain on patrol while we check the inner belt."

"I hear, but if you're right we may need help."

Tei'Varyk chewed his whiskers thoughtfully. _Chakra_ was a light fang, but what he lacked in firepower, he more than made up with agility and speed. He felt confident they could escape any trap to warn the elders.

" _Chakra_ is fast. If we find the phantom, we run it down and disable it. If we can't do that, we run for help."

"I hear, Tei." Jozka turned back to his station.

**Aboard ASN Canada, inner belt, Shan system**

"Dammit!" Captain Jeff Colgan said as he watched the Shan ship approaching.

The stupid fools were seen! They must have been!

_Canada's_ bridge crew kept their eyes lowered to their stations as Colgan vented his spleen over the ineptness of a certain ship's captain, namely Cynthia Monroe. Monroe was skipper of the light cruiser _ASN Invincible_. Unfortunately, she seemed to believe the name extended to her own abilities.

"Get me _Invincible_ ," Colgan said through gritted teeth.

"Aye, sir," Lieutenant Ricks said, and moments later the Shan ship on the view-screen was replaced by Cynthia Monroe.

"What can I do for you, Jeff?"

"I assume you're monitoring the Shan light cruiser."

"Of course."

"That ship has been patrolling the outer system without deviation since I've been here, Cynthia. Then you show up and it starts a search pattern. Why do you think it's heading here now?"

Monroe frowned. "It's patrolling not searching—"

"Don't give me that," Colgan began hotly, but then realising he was berating a fellow captain in front of witnesses, he forced himself to calm down. "You and I both know you were detected, but that doesn't matter now. That ship has just finished an exhaustive search of the outer belt and found nothing. Now it's coming here to do the same thing. That ship isn't going to give up until it finds us... or rather you."

Monroe's eyebrows shot up. "Me? What have you got in mind?"

"My mission is too important to abandon, and you're faster than me anyway. I suggest you run for it and allow the Shan to catch a glimpse of you before jumping out. With luck, they'll give up the search when they see you go."

"Dangerous, Jeff," Monroe said worriedly. "Without me you have no backup at all."

Colgan shook his head. "Not so dangerous as all that. Under no circumstances will I fire on the Shan, so adding your guns to mine is pointless. Besides, if you're careful you could sneak back in after the system settles down again."

Monroe nodded reluctantly. "Do you or the boffins need anything before I go?"

Colgan sighed in relief. "I can't think of a thing. I've no doubt the profs would like the entire Alliance database, but they'll make do. They had better!"

Monroe chuckled but it was a strained sound. "Well, if I'm going I might as well do it now. Good luck, Jeff."

"And to you."

The screen cleared to show the Shan ship decelerating hard as it approached the belt.

Colgan watched it come, and felt only admiration for a people that could build such beautiful ships. They were sleek and agile, but they lacked jump technology. They had fewer weapons than a Human ship of the same class, but for all of that they were beautiful. Human ships were never so fine looking—they were designed to kill Merkiaari, not look pretty.

"Split screen," he ordered. " _Invincible_ on the left."

"Aye, sir," Ricks said and the screen changed to show both ships.

_Invincible_ was manoeuvring. She had lain doggo against an asteroid for weeks, but now she was breaking for open space.

"Any indications that the Shan have seen her?"

"None, Skipper."

Colgan frowned. "Damn peculiar. They barely caught a glimpse of her when she came in, but that was enough to start a manhunt. Now when she strolls out into the open, they don't react at all."

" _Invincible_ is still in stealth mode, Skipper," Commander Groves said. "Maybe the Shan can't see her."

Colgan pursed his lips, not sure he agreed. "She was stealthed when she came in. They saw her then."

"Maybe not," Groves mused. "Maybe they saw the jump signature."

"They don't have jump technology."

"True, but does that mean their sensors are inferior?"

"You're right." He had become so used to his technological superiority that he had assumed it covered all areas of ship design, but that was not proven. Just because _Invincible_ was jump capable with superior weapons didn't mean she had superior sensors. "Inform _Invincible_ of your thoughts, XO."

"Aye, sir," Groves said and keyed a channel open herself.

While his exec was doing that, Colgan concentrated on watching the Shan ship. _Invincible_ was almost clear of the debris now. She would be firing up her mains any minute. Surely, the Shan would see that. They must.

" _Invincible_ concurs with our assessment, Skip," Groves said.

Colgan nodded. "Sound battle stations, Mark."

Throughout _Canada_ , the, siren screamed and her crew ran to emergency and battle stations. In the bowels of the ship, damage control parties scrambled into hard suits, while elsewhere, the crew pulled on their gloves to seal their uniforms and put on their helmets. The system was a good one, proven time and again against the Merkiaari, but of course civilians had never needed to seal themselves into unfamiliar uniforms.

There were difficulties.

"Ma'am, you have to twist it clockwise," an exasperated Chief Williams said to Janice Bristow, as he tried to make her stand still long enough to show her the proper way to suit up.

"Why didn't you say so?"

"I assumed anyone with half a brain would know that when you tighten something, it's clockwise!"

Brenda smirked, but then her face flushed when she noticed the plumbing connections in her uniform. "No way! That will never fit!"

Williams, looking harried, turned to see what the problem was. "Ma'am, these uniforms are proven technology. It will fit. They always fit."

"Put it on, Brenda," James said hustling her toward the hatch. He was already in his plain white uniform and was sealed except for his helmet. He had worn one since the first day of their journey, and was told he looked good in it. "I know it will feel odd, but better safe than sorry."

"Easy for you to say," Brenda grumbled as she stripped in the privacy of an adjoining cabin. "You don't have a pipe the size of..."

"I get the picture," James said hurriedly. "You'll be pleased to have it if you're caught short."

"What?" Brenda's voice came muffled through the hatch.

"I said, you'll be pleased to have it if you're caught short."

_Mumble, mumble, mutter!_

"God, this thing is huge. Arghhh! Goddamn sonofa—"

"Are you all right in there?" He reached toward the scanner to open the hatch. "Do you need any help?"

"You stay out there, I'm nearly done."

James smirked but he was pleased to see her come out fully dressed and sealed into her new uniform. It hugged her figure and suited her. Janice was putting her helmet on, and James did likewise. He looked around and found his colleagues all sitting and strapping in. He took Brenda's arm and led her to an empty seat where he helped her connect her life-support and strap in. He sat beside her and held her hand.

"The boffins are sealed and secure, sir," Williams said and strapped in nearby.

"Understood Chief. Keep an eye on them, they're important," Lieutenant Ricks said over the comm.

"Aye, sir."

"All stations report manned and ready, Skipper," Lieutenant Ricks said.

Colgan nodded. "Good."

"The civs are all secure, sir," Ricks reported again a moment later. "I have Chief Williams babysitting."

"Good work," Colgan said. "I'll have to schedule some training for them. They took way too long to get themselves sealed."

"They weren't wearing uniform, Skipper."

"Why the hell not?" he said and glared at Ricks, but he knew why. "From now on they wear the uniforms we supplied. No exceptions—it's damn dangerous."

"Aye, sir. I'll inform them."

Colgan nodded and dismissed the civs from his thoughts. "Weps, under no circumstances are you to open fire on the Shan."

"Aye, sir," Lieutenant Ivanova said. "Point defence?"

"Point defence free."

"Aye, sir," Ivanova said happily. "Point defence now active. Auto loaders functioning normally, targeting computers online."

Colgan nodded. "Helm, be prepared to move on a moment's notice. I don't expect we will have to, but be prepared all the same."

"Aye, sir."

**Aboard Chakra, approaching inner belt, Shan system**

"Commencing deceleration," Jakinda announced.

"I hear," Tei'Varyk said. "Eyes to maximum, claws to standby."

"I hear, his claws are sharp," Kajika said.

"I hear, his eyes at maximum. Indications negative at this time," Tarjei said, but her voice was harmonious.

Tei'Varyk smiled at her. They had spent the journey to the inner belt alone together. It had been a wonderful time, full of quiet conversations and lovemaking. He felt much closer to her now, and knew she felt the same. They had needed the intimacy to cement the bond. They were truly mated now, and Tarjei was calmer and more harmonious for it.

He was too.

Tei'Varyk studied his displays and chewed his whiskers thoughtfully at what was reported. Nothing. He had been so sure, but it looked as if they would be searching for a long time just as before. He looked away for a moment, but his eyes snapped back to his display just as a red light blinked into being followed by numerals detailing velocity and vectors.

"Detection!" Tarjei shouted.

"Identify," Tei'Varyk snapped, as the computers realised the target was unknown and, sirens wailed. "Silence that."

"I hear," Jozka replied and cut the sirens.

"Unable to identify. Target: alien warship. Type unknown, class unknown. Weaponry exceeds our own by... two orders of magnitude—" Tarjei reported and continued detailing the target.

Order of two! That meant this alien ship was as close to a heavy fang as made no difference. _Chakra_ was a light fang, fast and manoeuvrable, but the heavies were all weapons and power. Was this alien built along the same lines?

"Pursuit course," he snapped. "Sound alert!"

"I hear," Jozka said, and another siren growled throughout the ship making hackles rise.

Crew males and females dashed on all fours in some cases, in an effort to be first at their stations. Such primitivism aboard ship was frowned upon usually, but not when the ship was on battle alert. Whatever worked, was the watchword in these cases.

_Chakra_ swung nimbly onto a new heading.

Tei'Varyk's tail lashed with his excitement. He had to force it to be still. "Why did _Chakra's_ eyes find him so easily?"

"Unknown, Tei." Tarjei tried to refine the data on the alien. "We found him, but the intruder was already leaving the belt at that time."

That was very wrong. Why leave the safety of the belt when _Chakra's_ eyes had failed to find him time and again? It made no sense. Things that made no sense lacked harmony and were therefore suspect.

"Fire to disable as soon as he's in range," Tei'Varyk ordered.

"I hear," Kajika said calmly. "Target locked, but still out of range."

"Inform the elders of what is occurring," he said without taking his eyes from the display. They were gaining, but much too slowly. How could a heavy fang, even an alien one, accelerate so fast?

"I hear," Jozka said.

Tei'Varyk pressed a control on his station and another screen lit. "Tei'Unwin, _Chakra_ pursues."

"I hear, Tei. I have been monitoring."

Tei'Unwin was _Chakra's_ alternate commander. It was comforting to know that _Chakra_ would be well cared for when he was gone.

"I knew you would be. In the event _Chakra's_ command deck is destroyed, I order the alien disabled at all costs, even that of _Chakra_ himself."

"I hear," Tei'Unwin said grimly. "It will be done."

Tei'Varyk keyed the screen clear and noted the alien was pulling ahead. It was incredible. No heavy fang could accelerate like this.

"The elders say good hunting," Jozka said.

"I hear," he said. "Anything else?"

"They say _Hekja_ , _Hoth_ , and _Neifon_ come."

His ears twitched and relief flooded through him. "I hear."

Three heavy fangs should be more than enough. The alien was still opening the range, but it was deep in system and would not escape. Even if he knew where the ship was trying to escape to, he was certain it would not succeed. He wished he knew where it thought it was going. Tei'Varyk shifted uncomfortably at his station. Unanswerable questions always made him twitchy. This one had been asked time and time again without an answer. Who knew where the Murderers came from?

"Display current location of _Hoth_ , _Hekja_ , and _Neifon_ ," he said.

The viewer cleared and a tactical map of the system appeared. The three heavy fangs were moving to envelop the alien while _Chakra_ chased him into the trap. It was too easy. He knew it was, but what else could he do?

Nothing.

"Go to maximum emergency power," Tei'Varyk said quietly and ignored the hisses of shock.

"I hear," Jakinda said prayerfully. "Accelerating to maximum emergency power."

Now they were gaining, Tei'Varyk noted with approval.

**Aboard ASN Invincible, Shan System**

"The cruiser is gaining, Captain. CIC reports that the three heavies will be in range in two minutes," Commander Hamilton reported.

Monroe nodded and studied the data on her number two monitor that CIC (Combat Information Centre) had gathered for her. She turned her attention to another of her repeater displays. Her number one monitor was currently mirroring in miniature the data displayed at Commander Hamilton's station.

"Very good, XO," Monroe said and turned to the helm. "Charge the jump drive."

"Aye, Skipper," Lieutenant Hadden said. "Drive will be hot in three minutes."

"This might be a little tight," she murmured uneasily. "Weps, point defence free, but no aggressive action. _Defensive only._ Clear?"

"Aye, aye, sir," Irene Bishop replied. "Point defence online, no aggressive action."

"Helm, go to evasive when necessary. Don't wait for the order."

"Aye, aye, Skipper," Lieutenant Hadden replied tensely and firmed his grip upon _Invincible's_ stick.

**Aboard Chakra, in pursuit of alien ship, Shan System**

"Alien in range. Target lock confirmed... _firing!_ " Kajika said.

Tei'Varyk watched _Chakra's_ claws reach out to rend the alien ship, but he missed. Tei'Varyk leaned forward to study the data more closely. No, he hadn't missed. _Chakra's_ eyes reported a definite hit, but the alien was unaffected.

"No effect," Kajika reported.

Tei'Varyk's hackles rose. If _Chakra's_ main energy mounts could not hurt it, what would? "Engage with secondary weapons, engage with everything!"

"I hear," Kajika said. "Launching torpedoes, firing secondary mounts, firing primaries."

Tei'Varyk watched the torpedoes impact and detonate, but this time they definitely missed. Just as they reached terminal range, something detached from the alien and the torpedoes impacted it. Again, _Chakra's_ torpedoes flew straight to the target, and again they were decoyed off track.

"Save his torpedoes. Go to maximum rate of fire on all energy mounts."

"I hear, Tei," Kajika said making the adjustment on his panel. "Firing energy weapons at maximum."

" _Chakra_ slows!" Jakinda reported.

Tei'Varyk flicked his ears in agreement and watched grimly. _Chakra's_ weapons were energy hogs. Maximum rate of fire was causing him to sacrifice energy normally reserved for propulsion.

"Continue action," he ordered grimly.

"I hear," Kajika said.

"I hear," Jakinda said. "Main propulsion heating beyond critical. Failure imminent."

"Reduce by twenty percent and continue pursuit," he said without fuss. He had been monitoring the situation closely on his own panel.

"I hear," Jakinda said in relief as _Chakra's_ great engines cooled into the safe zone once again.

_Chakra_ was losing the alien now, but it would remain in range for a while longer. The heavy fangs were just coming into range, and would have to take over from _Chakra_ unless Tei'Varyk could somehow slow the alien. He could think of no way to do that. Everything he could do was being done.

"Alien wreckage detected," Tarjei yelped in glee.

"Well done, Kajika!" Tei'Varyk howled his own excitement. "Continue action."

"I hear!"

**Aboard ASN Invincible, Shan System**

Damage control parties scrambled in the darkness trying to patch the hole in _Invincible's_ defences. She had lost her aft launchers and boat bay, but worse than that; she was breached from frame two hundred all the way to two-fifty. Over a dozen crewmen were killed when shrapnel shredded their uniforms opening them to vacuum.

Finally, power was restored and the full horror was revealed. Dead crewmen littered the deck with blood and fluids splashed over the walls where the absolute zero of space it had frozen it solid.

"All right people," O'Malley said coldly. "There's nothing we can do for them. Get that blast door shut. We seal this section or we can't jump."

Swede lifted the wreckage clear by main strength and forced the hatch shut. Men rushed forward to help and welded it in position. The damage control party moved on, repairing what it could, sealing what it could not.

On the bridge, smoke hung thickly, but no one took notice. Monroe raged at the loss of her people, but she would not be the cause of another interstellar war. She could not, _would not_ , fire back. She grimly held to her composure and watched the heavies bear down on her.

"Damage control to bridge. She's sealed, Skipper, but I don't know for how long," O'Malley reported.

Monroe's eyes snapped up to Keith Hadden at the helm. " _Execute!_ "

"Executing."

_ASN_ _Invincible_ gathered herself and jumped into fold space as a dozen torpedoes raced through the wake caused by activation of a jump drive. The tiny computer brains were no longer able to find a target, and as a safety precaution, they detonated.

**Aboard Chakra, Shan System**

"Target lost," Tarjei said fiercely.

Everyone grinned and began celebrating their victory, but Tei'Varyk stared at the empty display in puzzled silence. There was something just before the final explosion, he was sure of it.

"Tarjei, look for debris," he said quietly and caused a profound silence to descend upon the command deck.

"I hear. Scanning for debris, indications..." she said in stunned realisation. "Indications negative!"

Hisses of shock and outrage sounded from all sides as they realised the alien had escaped. How was it possible? One moment it was fleeing, the next it was gone. The explosion had blinded _Chakra's_ eyes for a moment, but that was not enough time for the alien to escape.

Tei'Varyk studied his now empty tactical display. "Jakinda, search pattern at last known coordinates."

"I hear," Jakinda said and brought _Chakra_ onto a new heading.

Tei'Varyk turned his station to Jozka. "Contact _Hoth_ , _Hekja_ , and _Neifon_. Tell them what we have discovered and ask that they search with us."

"I hear," Jozka said.

He flexed his claws in frustration. There was nothing on _Chakra's_ display to say the alien had ever existed. Tei'Varyk flicked his ears in annoyance with himself and turned to Tarjei.

"Replay last action."

"Time index?" Tarjei asked.

"Just as the heavies fire their torpedoes."

"I hear."

Tarjei displayed the data frozen on the main viewer. Everyone, except Jozka who was busy talking to the commanders of the heavy fangs, turned to watch the screen.

"Advance at twice speed... stop," Tei'Varyk ordered when the scene reached the point he wanted. "Play at one half."

"I hear." Tarjei turned a control on her panel.

Tei'Varyk watched again as _Chakra's_ claws reached out to tear and rend the alien. He noted the tiny amount of damage he had inflicted, and his lips rippled back in worry and fear.

"Slow to one tenth," he said.

"I hear."

The torpedoes approached at a crawl, and then it happened. Space itself shimmered and twisted. The alien ship seemed to glow blue for an instant before twisting violently and disappearing. Tei'Varyk's shock was complete, and so was that of his crew. The alien had not been hit by the torpedoes and destroyed, it had escaped somehow. The torpedoes lost lock as they watched and detonated as they were programmed to do in these cases. The screen flashed white as the violence of the explosion overloaded _Chakra's_ eyes, and then the star speckled black of space returned.

"The alien escaped us," Tei'Varyk said quietly. "Contact the elders, I must tell them what has happened."

"I hear," Jozka said.

"Reverse course back to where we first encountered the alien."

"I hear, Tei. _Chakra_ turns to new heading, one-two-eight by zero-zero-two."

Why had the alien shown itself and then run? Was it possible there was more than one? It could be. They had been unable to find one, why not two or three or even more?

"The elders await," Jozka said.

"I hear. Call Tei'Unwin to take my place here. I will speak to the elders in my chambers."

"I hear, Tei." Jozka hunched over his consol.

Tei'Varyk stood and left the command deck. He was tired after all the excitement of the pursuit. He had been sitting for far too long, but strangely his legs felt wobbly. Fright. No doubt he would start shedding later. His people always shed when stressed—it was part of being born Shan. Would they ever find a cure for it? His people had made so many advances in the time since the war, that one would scarcely recognise the way they lived these days.

The war wasn't all bad he supposed, though it was a shocking thought. If not for the war he wouldn't be living in space, which he loved, commanding a ship that he also loved.

"Where do aliens come from?" he mused as he made his way along the empty corridor. "Other planets orbiting other suns obviously."

That being true, how did they travel the vast distances from one sun to another? Faster than light travel had been theorised by the elders since time began. It was generally accepted as being impossible, but what if it wasn't? The Murderers came from somewhere, and now these new aliens had also come. He had accepted that these aliens were not the Murderers of old. It became obvious as soon as he had a clear view of their ship. Maybe the blue light and the twisting was an FTL drive. But it was impossible... was it not?

Tei'Varyk growled irritably. He entered his chambers and keyed the terminal alive. The screen lightened to show three very old and grey-streaked Shan.

He bowed. "Honoured elders, I fear I have failed you."

"Nonsense, Tei'Varyk," Kajetan said from her position in the centre. She was the speaker for the elders. " _Chakra_ was the only ship to detect the alien intrusion. The only ship to find them again, and now you are the only one to have noticed this new data. We are pleased with you."

"I hear, Kajetan. _Chakra_ is on route to the inner belt to discover what the alien ship found so interesting. I have theorised that there might be more than one ship."

"Evidence?" Kajetan demanded.

"None eldest, except intuition. _Chakra_ was unable to find the alien, yet he came out of hiding right before us knowing he would be discovered. This strange light and twisting may be a way to overcome the FTL restrictions we have long debated. If this is so, why did he wait to use it?"

"Why?"

"I believe he was luring us away from something he wanted to protect," Tei'Varyk said guiltily.

"Another ship?"

"Perhaps, or an asteroid base."

Hisses of shock and anger told him what the elders thought of such an idea.

" _Chakra_ will hunt to find the answer," Kajetan ordered. "Is there anything you require?"

"Not at present, but I would advise you to hold _Hoth_ , _Hekja_ , and _Neifon_ in readiness nearby. These alien ships are very fast."

"We hear. It will be as you ask. Good hunting."

Tei'Varyk bowed and the screen darkened.

# 12 ~ The Next Step

**Aboard ASN Canada, Inner Belt, Shan System**

James pushed aside his empty plate and stirred his coffee. How quickly things change, he mused watching Brenda eating her breakfast. A few months ago such a simple thing as sharing a meal with her would have seemed impossible, but now nothing did. Brenda's choice to move in with him was responsible for his new outlook on life, and he was so very thankful. He never wanted to be alone again.

"What are you thinking?" Brenda said.

"Hmmm?"

"You were light years away, James. I asked what you were thinking about."

James smiled. "I was thinking how much I love you."

Brenda's eye lit with pleasure. "Really?"

"Yes."

"I love you too, James. I know I don't say it very often, but I do. You know I do..." she frowned worriedly. "You do, don't you?"

He chuckled. "I know you do, but it's nice to hear it now and then."

Brenda shrugged ruefully. "I never was very good at telling people how I feel."

"Me neither," James agreed. "Maybe we can learn together."

Brenda nodded. "I can't wait to show you off to my parents. They gave up on me and men a long time ago."

"I doubt that."

"It's true. They used to be worse than Janice with all their hints about marriage and wanting grandchildren." She shook her head gently. "When they find out about you..."

"They'll disown you?"

Brenda grinned. "No, they'll be the first Humans to reach orbit without mechanical aid!"

James chuckled. "Can't wait to see that."

Brenda finished buttering what the autochef insisted was a British crumpet. She knew better, as did he, but although it looked wrong, it actually tasted quite good. "What do you have planned for today?" she said and took a bite.

He sipped his coffee and then leaned back in his seat. "I have an idea on how to help Bindar. The translation is taking longer than he hoped—we haven't learned near enough phrases to attempt first contact."

"Hmmm, I know." Brenda frowned. "Janice is worried about him. He hardly sleeps. She says we're way behind schedule on the language side, and there's no sign of _Invincible_."

That was a worry. Captain Colgan said _Invincible_ had planned to sneak back in system once the dust settled, but she hadn't yet. _Invincible's_ damage had been light, and chances were good that her crew was fine. James was worried for Trish, Swede, and the others, but Colgan was very sure. He said the probable reason for her non-appearance was that she had been ordered to stay out. James thought it more likely that Captain Monroe had seen the mess they were in, and had decided to stay out on her own. Whatever the reason for her extended absence, _Canada_ and all aboard her were running out of time.

_Chakra_ had not given up when _Invincible_ jumped out-system. If anything, the Shan captain was more determined to find them, not less. Hardly a day went by without _Canada's_ battle stations alarm sounding. The first time had been so unexpected, it almost stopped his heart.

What followed was a mad scramble to seal his uniform all the while trying to watch Brenda as she fumbled with the unfamiliar connections. Teaching Brenda how to use her uniform and its connections properly was the first thing he did after Colgan announced their successful evasion. He accepted no arguments. Only when she had shown him that she could seal her uniform, and connect herself to life support, did he relax enough not to watch her all the time. He only watched her half the time now... well, three quarters... maybe.

"How can you help him?" Brenda stood and dumped their plates into the autochef. The plates quickly disappeared to wherever dirty plates go aboard ship.

"Hmmm?" James said still thinking about _Invincible_. He hoped Trish and the others were all right.

"Bindar."

"I think I have a way around the speech problem. My historical studies have helped me there."

"That's great," Brenda said excitedly.

"I hope so. I plan to talk with the Chief about it. If anyone can make it, or know someone who can, it's him. What about you love?"

Brenda grimaced. "I'm still stuck on this harmony thing. I know it's important to them. They have so many sayings that link to harmony, but I can't get a handle on it."

James nodded remembering his own speculations regarding the harmony question. They all had their pet theories, but none of them were convincing to his mind.

"I hate to say this, Brenda, but I think you should move on. I agree it's important, but you can't afford to get bogged down with unanswerable questions."

"You're right." Brenda sighed. "I know you're right, but it doesn't make sense. The Shan talk of the Great Harmony, and the Twin Worlds of Harmony, or the Twin Worlds of the Race living in harmony, when in reality they fly around in multi-megatonne warships and train everyone to fight. How is that harmony? Who do they fight—anyone?"

James shrugged. "I said I agree, but maybe the answer is more in my field. Maybe they did live in harmony in the past, and then something happened to change it. That might be the reason for the sayings you mentioned—they're all that remain of an older civilisation."

Brenda sighed again. "I'll move on, it's the only thing to do."

He stood and kissed her. "I'm sorry, but I think you're right."

They stepped out of their cabin and separated, Brenda to the briefing room, and James to find the Chief.

Finding the Chief wasn't hard as it turned out. James knew many of the crew by sight if not by name and prevailed on them for directions. He stepped into generator room four, and found a pair of legs sticking out of a control station with the Chief attached.

"Chief?"

"Yeah?" a muffled voice said. "Whatdoyouwant?"

"I need help."

"Don't we all," came Williams' voice clearer now as he wriggled out of the tight space.

James grasped the man by the ankles and pulled him the rest of the way out.

"Thanks."

"The contact team needs a little help, Chief. We're falling behind schedule because of all these alerts. Every time _Chakra_ turns up, we have to stop work."

"Yeah? Sorry to hear that, but what do I know about aliens?" Williams said scratching his head. "I can build you an autochef that makes the best pizza this side of Earth if you want, or beef up your pulser so it can knock out a tank with one shot—course you only get one, it uses a lot of power you know? But aliens..." He shook his head. "Nah, don't know any."

James smothered the laugh that threatened. "What I need is a device to convert our voices into the alien language, and the alien's voices into ours."

Williams' face brightened. "A translator eh? Sounds interesting. I just might be able to help you there."

"Oh?" he said feeling his hopes rising. So easy?

"Yeah, come with me."

James followed Chief Williams deep into the ship until they entered a cluttered workroom that Williams called his own.

"See that?" Williams pointed to a piece of equipment with circuitry hanging out of it. It must have weighed as much if not more than James did and stood taller.

"What is it?" he said circling the thing and looking it over.

"That's the voice recognition unit for the ship's whole damn computer that is," Williams said with a glare for the offending item.

"Doesn't the ship... you know... need it or anything?"

"Nah." Williams smirked. "It's busted. The new one takes up a third the space this one does and costs ten times as much. I could probably fix her up for you."

James looked at the thing doubtfully. "Well thank you, Chief, but how will we carry it when we go aboard the Shan ship?"

"Carry it? Carry it! You never said nothing about carrying it."

James smiled contritely. "Sorry, Chief. What I need is something portable that will do the job, like... I don't know. Like a compad." He pointed to the mini-computer in Williams' top pocket.

"A compad," Williams said slowly. "Are you out of your mind? A compad! How the hell am I going to get all that junk in one of these?" he said kicking the recognition unit and waving the compad under James' nose.

James stepped back a little. "I don't know, but the Captain said you were the best damn miracle worker in Fleet. He said if you couldn't do it, no one could."

Actually, Colgan knew nothing of this, but he would as soon as James could run over and coach him... ah, tell him what he was supposed to have said about Williams.

"He did?" Williams swelled, but then his shoulders slumped. "How the hell am I going to get all that crap in a compad?" He scratched his head in distraction. "Tight beam it? Nah, no bloody good around corners. What I need is a way to transmit without worrying about the damn leakage. The Alliance would make me a bloody saint if I figured that one out."

James nodded. Unsecured communications were one reason the Merkiaari had found the colonies so quickly. TBC (Tight Beam Communications) was secure, but the system was limited to ships in close proximity—it was essentially a modulated laser pulse... like flashing lights at one another.

Where tight beam was impractical, fold space drones were used to eliminate leakage. Given enough time their fold space drives had enough capacity to cross the Human sector of the galaxy. They were slower than using courier ships, but where speed was not an issue, drones were the best way to keep Alliance worlds in contact with each other.

All that was beside the point here though. As Williams said, TBC was no good around corners and fold space had no place within the confines of a ship.

Williams rummaged around in the junk pile. He grunted in satisfaction when he found a metre rule and turned back to measure the compad and recognition unit. He shook his head at what was revealed and double-checked his measurements.

"Can't be done... can it?" Williams muttered. "How about double thickness? Can't see why not. Bloody civs can sew bigger pockets for them."

That sounded promising. He watched Williams working and realised he'd been forgotten.

"I'll leave you to it then, shall I? I could come back to check on you or—"

"Where are you going?" Williams said and glared. "You can help me with this piece of crap for a start."

"Ermmm... I have no idea how to—"

"Course not, you're just a civ. Look, we have to fix this piece of junk and reinstall it. Only God knows what the skipper will say when I tell him about shutting the computer down."

James smiled sickly. Shutting the computer down while they were hiding from _Chakra_ , was not a good idea. He had to see Colgan, and fast.

"I don't see how I can help you, Chief."

"How strong are you?" Williams said looking him up and down.

"Well, I don't know... why?"

"Coz you can help me hump this piece of junk over here that's why."

James helped him lift the recognition unit, and together they shuffled across the room.

"Damn civs..." Williams mumbled. "Trying to get me into hack with the skipper..."

James grinned, but then he winced as something shifted painfully in his back. He was grateful when Williams finally gave the word to lower his side onto the test bed. He massaged his back while the Chief hooked the unit up to the diagnostic computers ranged along the wall.

James leaned from side to side and winced. It felt as if he had popped something in his back.

"Not enough exercise, that's your trouble," Williams said as he tested one circuit after another. "I do hope you ain't expecting me to program this translator of yours. If you are, you can forget it. What you're talking about needs something a lot more sophisticated than I can do."

James shook his head. "That's not a problem. Bindar, that's Professor Singh, has a program that runs on _Canada's_ computer just fine. What we need is something that can hear voices and speak back in the right language."

"That's okay then. If his program runs all right now, it will run okay on what I have in mind."

James watched as Williams ran a diagnostic and wondered what he had started. "What have you in mind... if you don't mind me asking that is?"

"Don't learn if you don't ask questions." Williams straightened and waved a hand at the unit. "This crap is too damn bulky... heavy too." He eyed James as he stretched his back. "The new one... remember I told you about the new one that costs ten times as much?"

"Yeah, I mean yes of course."

"Well that one is tiny compared to this one. It's still too big for what you want, but it's small enough to make mobile. I have an idea how we can link into that compad idea of yours."

James realised he was staring. "You want to take out the new one and put that piece of... you want to put that junk back in?" he cried incredulously.

"Yup!"

Oh God, Colgan wasn't going to like this! He had to explain the situation before Williams said something and brought the wrath of God... well the wrath of the Captain down on him.

# 13 ~ Predator and Prey

**Aboard ASN Canada, Shan Inner Belt**

"Easy, eeeeasy," Captain Colgan said as his ship navigated the clutter of the asteroid belt. He realised he was on the edge of his seat ready to pounce on the helm controls, and forced himself to sit back. Janice, _Canada's_ helmsman, took no notice of his hovering presence at her back. "Steady as she goes, helm."

"Steady as she goes, aye," Janice verified automatically. She remained hunched over her controls and didn't look up.

Colgan glanced around his horseshoe shaped bridge. In front of him, on Janice's left, Anya Ivanova sat at tactical and monitored the feed piped to her station from Scan. Her job was to keep a wary eye on the Shan heavies, and update her targeting solutions. Colgan was determined they would never be used. The Shan heavies were waiting for _Chakra_ to flush him out, but that wouldn't happen. He would never let himself be forced into the open.

Along his left side were two empty observer stations, while to his right, Commander Groves sat at Scan studying the data _Canada's_ sensors provided her. She was tracking _Chakra_ , and looking for a suitable hiding place. The plot table's colourful display hid her face behind shadowy patterns, and painted her uniform with scrolling alphanumeric lists of data. Colgan could almost read the current situation just by glancing at her uniform.

Behind Colgan's right shoulder, next to the unused holotank, was the comm shack. Lieutenant Ricks was monitoring Shan comm chatter. Opposite him on the other side of the bridge was engineering. Ensign Steve Carstens, their youngest crew member at nineteen, was manning the station. He had a direct link to central damage control. He monitored _Canada's_ systems and dispatched maintenance teams if required. A thankless task, but necessary. Computers were by no means infallible.

Colgan surveyed the faces of his crew one last time. Everyone was busy at their stations trying not to look at the tactical overlay currently displayed on the main viewer. It showed _Canada_ trying to put distance between herself and the Shan ship they believed was named _Chakra_. They were sneaking away using the clutter of the belt to hide their movements. Although most of its stations were manned, the bridge was unnaturally quiet.

Lieutenant Ricks finished receiving a report and turned to relay it. "Stealth mode is still inactive, Skipper."

" _Chakra_ is closing," Groves said a moment later.

Colgan nodded. The asteroid belt was like a maze, a perfect place to lose _Chakra_ , but the Shan captain would not give up. _Chakra_ would lose them one day and reacquire them the next. _Chakra's_ skipper was learning his moves, but there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do about it. Not with three heavies lurking just beyond the belt.

Their game of cat and mouse had become serious. _Invincible_ had jumped outsystem over three months ago, three months of silence spent hiding from the Shan hunters, but now _Canada_ was in serious trouble. A minor collision yesterday with a piece of rock disturbed by the game they were playing, had since blossomed into a full scale disaster. The hit had been amidships, and had seemed of little consequence at first, but when the damage report came in, it revealed a more serious problem than scratched nanocoat.

The rock had damaged _Canada's_ emitters without which she was visible to _Chakra's_ sensors. When active, stealth mode made _Canada_ electronically invisible. She could still be seen with the naked eye of course, but one tiny ship in the vastness of space was almost impossible to spot. A ship hemmed inside an asteroid field without stealth, had few options but to hide behind a lump of rock and hope no one was watching from that side.

"Get me an update on repairs, Mark," Colgan said.

"Aye, sir." Ricks turned back to his station and contacted damage control.

"There's one," Commander Groves said looking up from the navigational plot her station was displaying. "Transferring to main viewer, sir."

The image on the forward view-screen changed to display a section of the inner asteroid belt. _Canada's_ friendly blue icon blinked on and off with her heading and velocity appended to it. _Chakra's_ baleful red icon was closing on their previous position, like a hound on the scent of a fox. Groves circled an asteroid on the plot table, and the main viewer updated itself.

Colgan pointed his control wand at the circled asteroid, and copied it onto his number two monitor. Data denoting the asteroid's size and composition began scrolling down the right side of the screen. The computer analysed the data and highlighted the important points in red. The asteroid was big enough to conceal two ships the size of _Canada_ with room to spare, but more to the point, it was of the right composition.

He highlighted the asteroid on the viewer with his control wand, and it began flashing. "Put us in the shadow of that one, Janice."

"Aye, sir. Manoeuvring... two percent only."

Two percent was nothing, but more thrust would disturb the smaller particles of the belt. With _Chakra_ stalking them, Colgan had ordered that two percent was to be used until further orders. So far it had worked.

"I have that update, Skipper," Lieutenant Ricks said.

"Let's have it."

"Five hours... minimum."

Hisses of shock went around the bridge. Groves looked at Colgan sharply. She would have made some comment, but his quick head-shake silenced her. Everyone had assumed the damage to be minor and easily fixed, but now they knew that wasn't so. They were beginning to feel like the prey _Chakra_ so obviously thought they were. They didn't need to hear their XO agreeing with them.

"Tell them that's unacceptable." Colgan's stomach began to seethe. "I want every swinging dick in damage control up to their elbows in circuitry right now."

"They already are, sir."

At the press of a button, his station turned to face the comm shack and Lieutenant Ricks. "Explain."

"The Chief says the rock we hit punched a hole right through the secondary control runs, Skipper. The entire thing fused solid when the overload hit the chips. They're having to make new emitters from scratch, not repair the old ones."

Colgan frowned. "I see." He should have known that already, but with _Chakra_ bearing down on him, he hadn't taken the trouble to ask. He glanced at Francis and beckoned her over. She would have to sort this mess out. "Get down there and see what can be done to expedite repairs, XO. If we don't get those emitters back soon, I'm going to run out of hiding places."

"On my way." Groves entered the elevator at the rear of the bridge.

Colgan turned his station to face the main viewer. "Display tactical overlay," he ordered. His eyes narrowed as the schematic appeared. "Remove all ships more than twenty minutes' flight time from us."

He watched all ship codes disappear except _Canada_ , _Chakra_ , and the three heavies that they had no name for. They were skulking about just waiting to pounce on anyone foolish enough to stick his nose outside of the belt.

"Centre overlay on _Canada's_ current position and display previous hiding places."

The display was cluttered with the known positions of thousands of asteroids, but a dozen icons were blinking—his hideouts, each discovered and abandoned when _Chakra_ bore in. They were widely scattered, but now that he looked at them all at once, he could see a pattern forming. That wasn't good. If he could see it, he knew damn well the Shan could.

It took a certain composition of metal asteroids to hide _Canada_ effectively. Iron core, with enough nickel and molybdenum to camouflage her sensors and beam weapons. For the millionth time Colgan wished _Canada_ was a light or heavy cruiser, almost any proper warship would do. _Canada's_ beam weapons were mounted externally to save space for her labs. Her missile tubes obviously had to be internal for access to the magazines, but a warship had all of its weapons mounted internally. Only the muzzle of beam weapons truly needed to be exposed, and of course warships had sealable gun ports.

Not so _Canada_.

She had been converted from an _Exeter_ class light cruiser into the survey vessel she was now. Most of her weaponry had been gutted to make room for her labs, her remote sampler storage bays, and her drone storage bays, which were over-sized. Carrying extra drones gave _Canada_ a greater range. Survey missions tended to be long ones. Sending back regular reports was part of that. Beam weapon and sensor grid construction both relied on alloys with heavy concentrations of certain metals, which would give the Shan a good way to find _Canada_ if they knew what to look for.

_Chakra_ knew what to look for, Colgan was sure of it.

All of his asteroid hideouts were of similar size and composition. It didn't take a genius to realise that all the Shan had to do was survey the belt for the correct type. When they did, they would have every possible hiding place he could use. Knowing his time was running out gave him a sharp twinge in his stomach. His damn ulcer was acting up again.

"Someone send for a glass of milk," he said grimacing at the pain in his gut.

"It's on the way, sir," Ricks said sounding concerned.

"Asteroid approaching, sir. Two thousand metres... passing fifteen hundred, sir. Twelve hundred... one thousand metres, sir."

"Knock it off, Janice. Just park us will you?" Colgan said holding his guts. Where was the damn milk?

"Aye, sir. Sorry."

He relented a little, no sense displaying his worry to his crew. It was important they believe he knew what to do even when he didn't.

"Sorry, Janice, but my guts are acting up."

"That's all right, Skip." Janice eased her charge closer and closer to the mountainous looking asteroid. "All stop. Grapples deploying... good catch, sir."

"Well done."

They had done this a good many times now, but grappling an asteroid wasn't easy. More than once they had grabbed one only to have the damn grapples wriggle loose. Asteroids might look solid, but they weren't always reliable. They sometimes shattered or separated when stressed. This time all went well. _Canada_ pulled herself in close to the asteroid until it looked like a gigantic cliff on the bridge displays.

"One metre separation, Skip."

"Can't you get us in tighter than that?" Colgan said with a small smile.

Janice spun to look at him in outrage, and everyone laughed. She realised he was joking and smiled sheepishly. She turned back to her controls and went through her usual routine of shutting down all nonessential systems.

"Your milk, sir," crewman first class Riley said.

Colgan started. He hadn't heard Baz approach. He took the offered glass and drank the milk straight down. He felt the effect almost instantly. Excess acid, that's all it was. He had never had trouble with stress before this mission, but the constant threat of being destroyed, or worse, initiating hostilities with the Shan, was taking its toll on everyone. Doctor Ambrai wanted to adjust his IMS (Integrated Medical System), but the procedure would mean being laid up in bed for days. He didn't have time for that. Ambrai would have to wait until after the mission to reprogramme his bots. The milk would have to do.

"Thanks, Baz."

"You're welcome, sir." Riley took the empty glass and left the bridge as silently as he had entered.

Colgan turned his attention to the tactical overlay on the main viewer. He punched in a command on his control wand, and transferred the data to his station's number one monitor. The small repeater display gave him the ability to manipulate the raw tactical data without inconveniencing other stations on the bridge. In the heat of battle, his access to such data saved time and could save lives.

"Display _Chakra's_ current position and heading," he ordered.

The main viewer cleared to show _Chakra_ approaching, but it was obvious by her heading that the Shan had lost them once again. How many more times could he get away with this?

"Give me an all hands channel, Mark."

"Aye, Skipper. Channel open."

"Ah hmmm, this is the Captain," Colgan said. He always felt a little silly announcing the obvious. He cleared his throat and continued. " _Chakra_ is still hunting us, but we're safe for the moment. I will keep you informed of developments. Keep to routine and stay out of the way of the damage control teams. That is all." He turned back to Ricks. "Call the boffins together in the briefing room and have Commander Groves back up here to take my chair."

"Aye, sir."

Colgan stood and stretched the kinks out of his back. He winced as vertebrae popped loud enough for him to hear. He'd been sitting too long. He stepped around his station and went for the elevator.

"If anything else breaks, call me," Colgan said before stepping inside. Everyone laughed, but as soon as the elevator doors closed, his shoulders slumped and the false cheer dissolved from his features. "Deck two," he said and the elevator jolted into motion.

What the hell was he going to do?

He was out of contact with the Alliance. He had no idea what the Admiralty would do when they learned the Shan had shot up _Invincible,_ but he feared the answer. He could safely assume the Alliance wouldn't start a war over a single shooting incident, and that was good, but that left quarantine as their only other reasonable response. If he was right, they would right off _Canada_ and his crew. So sorry. Needs of the service and all that. They might even construct a memorial somewhere out of the way. Somewhere that no one would ever visit. Can't scare the civs after all.

The only way out for his ship and those aboard her, was to make contact with the Shan, and hope friendly relations resulted. He had to rely solely on the civs for that. Assuming the boffins had learned enough to do it, he would be going ahead with phase-two of the President's plan without orders or even his sanction.

So be it.

The elevator stopped and Colgan stepped out. The deck was deserted. His crew would be at their battle stations for a short while yet. They had learned through hard experience not to stand down immediately after an apparently successful evasion. _Chakra's_ captain was a hellishly lucky bastard, and he could be unpredictable.

The Shan skipper had nearly trapped _Canada_ twice in recent days by using his shuttles as observers. By positioning them high above the asteroid belt's ecliptic, _Chakra_ had used them like remote sensors. It was by the narrowest of margins and good luck, Groves had noticed and countered them in time.

He wouldn't underestimate _Chakra's_ skipper again. His crew would stay at battle stations until they were absolutely sure their evasion was successful.

Colgan entered the brightly lit briefing room to find twelve white uniformed men and women sitting around the cluttered table looking anxiously at him. The clutter represented months of painstaking work on their part. Printouts and compads lay on the table in such profusion, the high gloss finish of the simwood was completely hidden. All the wall screens were on—a dozen screens each displaying different aspects of the contact teams' studies. There were pictures of Shan going about their lives, pictures of their peculiar (to his eyes) cities. There were lists, and graphs, and god knows what else displayed wherever he looked.

In the centre of the table, the holotank was displaying one of the natives turning slowly within the holomatrix. The adult Shan stood on his or her hind legs—Shan sexes were hard to differentiate. To Human eyes, both looked almost identical. The females had underdeveloped mammary organs, hard to spot covered as they were by fur, while male genitalia were protected and hidden by what he could only describe as a pouch similar to that of a marsupial.

Colgan turned his attention back to those he had come to see. They had long since become familiar to him. In a way, they were part of his crew now. An unofficial, but vital part.

"I'm sure you know why I'm here," he began after he found a spare seat and made himself comfortable. "Since _Invincible_ jumped outsystem, we've been on borrowed time, and it has just about run out. I have no option but to contact the Shan."

The twelve intent faces broke from concerned stillness into eager anticipation. Their excited murmurs filled the room. This was what they had worked for all these months—worked hard for.

"...contact the elders do you think?"

"...see how we can."

"Their language is full of..."

"...and what does harmony mean to them?"

James was the only one to pick up on what Colgan hadn't said. "I have a question for the Captain."

Colgan nodded. "Ask."

"When did the drone arrive? We've been hiding or running since _Invincible_ jumped outsystem. I don't remember you securing from battle stations long enough to pick one up, Captain."

"I'm sure you already know the answer, Professor. There was no drone. Our mission is unchanged."

Janice frowned. "Your career—"

"My _career_ is my concern, Professor Bristow. I am one man. _Canada_ holds the lives of two hundred and twelve within her. She, and all of you, are my responsibility. Don't think I haven't considered taking a chance and trying to jump out, because I have. There are three heavies skulking about out there. Three of them. We're no match for even one."

"Something else is bothering you... what?" Brenda asked him.

"What do you think the Council will do when they hear about _Invincible's_ battle damage?"

Concerned whispers erupted.

"Quiet down people," Janice called loudly. "What do you think they'll do, Captain?"

"Panic I shouldn't wonder."

"They wouldn't order an attack would they?" Brenda asked.

The silence was absolute.

"No," he said firmly. "We defend the Alliance; we do not make war on those not threatening us."

Brenda didn't look convinced. "But?"

"But, the Shan did fire on _Invincible_ even though she was running and not threatening them. Some of our people are dead, Professor Lane. Our forces will be on high alert, but not, I think, charging here to the rescue. We are on our own. If I'm right, the Council will quarantine this system. The aliens have no jump technology, so that's all they need to do. None of that helps us or our situation. For all I know, our mission here has already been scrubbed."

Brenda clenched a fist and hammered the table in frustration. "The Shan only did what we would have done in their place. For God's sake, haven't we learned anything from our mistakes?"

Colgan frowned. "We learned plenty. We learned the galaxy is a dangerous place. We learned to be cautious while exploring, and vigilant in the defence of our sector. Finally, we learned to blow away the Merki wherever we find them."

Brenda reddened. "You all know my thoughts on the Merkiaari," she said breaking eye contact with Colgan and looking around at her colleagues for support. "The war needn't have happened if a team like this one had been sent to talk to the Merkiaari."

"You're wrong, Brenda," James said. "The Alliance was attacked without provocation on the border of our sector. We lost a dozen worlds before the alarm was even taken seriously. When it was finally understood what was happening, delegations were sent to talk to the Merki. None lived longer than five minutes."

Brenda glared. "That's because they sent military ships."

David Harrison, a professor of both sociology and biology raised his hand to attract Colgan's attention. "She's right, you know. The Merkiaari did fire first, but wouldn't we do the same in that situation? I know I would."

Colgan shook his head. "No. We would have hailed them first." At the sceptical looks he received, he explained. "It's standard procedure. When an unidentified ship jumps in system, it's queried for its identity and intentions. Even an Alliance carrier with IFF screaming its identity, would be challenged before routing it to docking or wherever else it's heading. The Merki would have been challenged the moment they entered the system by port control if no one else."

"We'll never know now," Brenda said still looking sour.

"On the contrary." Colgan knew what was going through her mind. She thought he was spouting the same militaristic garbage that she so vehemently denied was the truth. He was in a way, but it wasn't garbage. "A review of the ship's data recorders and logs recorded during that period is part of our officer training at the academy. I assure you the Merki were challenged repeatedly."

Brenda looked rebellious but a gentle squeeze of her hand by James calmed her.

"We're drifting a little far afield here, Captain," James said. "You want us to contact the Shan in hope of opening full diplomatic relations at some future time?"

"In essence yes. I admit I'd be satisfied for now if you could just tell them not to shoot."

Colgan sat back to listen as the professors debated what they knew about the Shan. He idly picked up a nearby compad and glanced at it, but it was not very interesting. It was just a check list. He gathered up a few more and began building a tower while listening to the conversation between David and Brenda.

"He should be male," Dave said when asked about the speaker for the elders.

"Should be, or is?" Brenda asked.

"Well... Lieutenant Ricks tried to enhance the imagery for me, but I was still unable to see clearly. From what I've managed to glean from snippets snatched here and there, _Chakra_ is commanded by a male."

"Where does that take us, David?" Janice asked.

"I'm assuming the Shan are male dominated like most Human societies were in the past. I know it's different today, but from what I've been able to determine the Shan still look at things that way."

"I don't agree," James said.

Colgan raised an eyebrow. James was not usually one to put himself forward at these things. Being the odd one out, he had little to contribute to the group that others weren't better qualified to offer. Most of the time he assisted the others on their projects. Everyone liked him, and all were glad he was there to assist, but they also realised his field was a little redundant in this situation.

"Why not?" Janice asked with encouragement in her voice.

James leaned his forearms on the table and interlocked his fingers. "It's this harmony thing."

Someone groaned and muttered that the harmony issue was a dead end.

"It's not," James said stoically.

"Prove it," Sheryl said with a smile.

James sighed. "You know I can't, but think it through. How can there be harmony if there's discrimination between the sexes?"

"There can't of course," Sheryl said. "But that's what I'm saying. Where is there harmony on the twin worlds of the Shan? Nowhere, that's where."

"You're missing the point, Sheryl. Their language is replete with sayings such as, and I quote: Look ahead in harmony, and what about this: May you live forever in harmony. Those are direct translations."

"If we have the translations right," Sheryl reminded him.

Before Professor Singh could protest that his work on the translation could do the job, Janice did it for him. "Those tapes are accurate. I would stake my reputation on it."

Colgan knocked on the table to draw everyone's attention. "You're staking a lot more than that, Professor. All of our lives depend on them."

That silenced everyone.

"I stand by them," Janice said.

"Those sayings are old," James said, taking back control of the conversation. "I hesitate to say they have a religious significance, but they certainly have a cultural one."

Bindar stood and crossed the room to the autochef. He selected coffee and took it back to his seat. "Religion can be a powerful factor in the development of a society. Look at the multitude of religions on Earth. Wars were fought over it; bombs were planted because of it. A powerful force it is, but I see no sign of a religion among the Shan. Their world is completely devoid of the things we associate with worship of a deity. What does that say about their culture?"

"That's my area I think," Bernard said. His area was cultural studies specialising in the Merkiaari, but as the Shan were only the second alien species to be discovered, he was the closest thing the Alliance had to an expert. "I do happen to agree with James on this. The Shan are remarkably open with each other, and lucky for us their communications security doesn't exist."

"They don't think in that way," Colgan interjected. "As far as they know, FTL is impossible and the only people in the system are Shan." He shrugged. "Up to a point, we were the same before the Merki War. We didn't concern ourselves too much with signal leakage, and where security was necessary, we just encoded the data stream. The Shan know nothing of the Merkiaari so..." He shrugged again.

"But they do know about us," James stressed. "They're going to start adding two and two, Captain. The FTL thing is already in the open. They saw _Invincible_ jump outsystem. If I was an elder, I would be worried about talking in the open. If we don't contact them soon, the Shan will be the ones contacting us in a few years."

"We were in space for centuries before we cracked the problem. If they start now they will still take that long."

"You're wrong there, Captain." Sheryl said. "We didn't even know FTL was possible when we stumbled onto the answer. The Shan have seen it in operation. It won't take them anywhere near as long to figure it out."

Colgan frowned. Sheryl Linden was greatly respected in her fields of physics and engineering design. She was worth listening to. If she thought there was a risk of the Shan developing a workable fold space drive, then he believed her.

"Can we get back to the present issue?" Bernard asked impatiently. "I thought you were desperate to have us perform a miracle for you."

Colgan smiled. "Quite right, Professor Franks. I do need a miracle. I need _Chakra_ off my back. More, I need the Shan friendly and willing to allow me to fire off a drone to Alliance HQ."

"Well then," Professor Singh said. His area of expertise was linguistics, but unlike Janice Bristow whose interest in the area was secondary to her studies in exobiology, linguistics was his passion. "We have an extensive library of Shan verbal communication. Ship to ship traffic has helped us no end with the translation. The various broadcasts from the high orbitals, mining outposts, and planets have helped fill in a great many holes in our understanding. The—"

"Excuse the interruption, Professor," Colgan said. "Are you saying the tapes are not ready, or that they are?"

"I'm coming to that, Captain. I've been unable to eradicate all errors, but that's to be expected without a native speaker to converse with. Most Shan words are pronounceable after a fashion by Humans. Janice and I believe that in time we could learn to speak without artificial aid."

Janice nodded and gestured at the holotank. "Their physiology dictates the shaping of their language. As you can see, their mouths are completely different, more like a feline's muzzle than anything else I can think of. Certain sounds will probably sound odd to them, but we think they will understand the attempt."

"Yes," Bindar went on. "But for now, we will supplement the spoken word with the tapes you're so interested in, Captain. They are ready for testing. Though gaps remain, we believe they will suffice."

"Gaps," Colgan said without expression. "How big are these gaps?"

"We have perhaps seventy percent of the Shan vocabulary, or rather we believe so." Bindar was obviously uncomfortable with the uncertainty, but under such hardships as constantly racing to emergency stations whenever _Chakra_ closed on them, it was remarkably good luck they had managed to reach seventy percent and not a figure much lower. "On the plus side, we have an extensive library of common phrases that will be very helpful."

"Take me to your leader, things like that?" Colgan said with a grin, and the others laughed.

Bindar sighed. "Not that one, Captain, but how about this: we come in peace, don't shoot."

His laughter died. "I like that one very much. Can you teach it to me?"

"I'll dupe the chip for you, Captain. We should all start carrying the translators chief Williams tinkered together for us."

"Well done, Bindar," James said.

"Outstanding dedication. Can't wait to try it out my friend," Bernard said enthusiastically to the embarrassed professor, and the others chimed in with similar things.

Bindar blushed at all the attention. "Thank you, thank you all. Janice was extremely helpful."

Janice snorted. "I hardly knew where to start."

Colgan broke into the congratulations. "So, we have the means to converse with them. Now we need the opportunity."

James glanced at Brenda and then back to Colgan. "I've been thinking about that, Captain. It seems to me that _Chakra_ is the only source of Shan we have available."

"That's obvious."

James nodded and glanced at Brenda again. She frowned obviously wondering what he was going to say. "I suggest we send one man in a lander well away from the ship and allow it to be captured—I volunteer."

"No," Brenda gasped looking at her lover in horror.

James took his time with his inspection of the lander. A week had gone by since he volunteered for this mission; a week of intensive training and strained silences between him and Brenda. Both had taken their toll on him, but despite it all, the excitement of meeting a Shan face to face had not left him.

Despite their disagreement, Brenda had done her part. All week she had worked beside him, tirelessly helping him learn what he needed to know to make the mission a success. But at the end of each day, when they retired to their cabin, Brenda would eat in silence and then go to bed—without him. She had made it plain he wasn't welcome in her bed, not even to sleep.

James stopped and peered around the empty bay. He didn't want to leave without trying to straighten things out between them. He had hoped Brenda would come to see him off, but she hadn't yet, and he couldn't delay much longer.

After their last meeting with Colgan, Brenda was angry. It wasn't that she didn't understand why he had volunteered for the mission. She did... or so she said. What made her mad, she said, was that he hadn't discussed it with her beforehand. He tried to explain that until that moment, he hadn't known he was going to volunteer, but she wouldn't hear excuses, and she was right. Although he hadn't known Colgan would pre-empt the President by going ahead with phase-two without orders, James had long ago considered ways in which it could be done. His work with Williams on the translators was a big part of that. He tried to tell himself that he hadn't lied to Brenda, but deep in his heart he knew the truth. He had been working toward this mission almost since the day he offered his help to Bindar.

James climbed up the ramp to the shuttle, but stopped in the open hatch to look out at the empty bay. Brenda wasn't coming; he knew that now. With a sigh and a heavy heart, he sealed the hatch and made his way toward the cockpit. He was a damn fool. Brenda was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. She was funny, and passionate, and clever, and oh so beautiful. He loved her more than anything, so why had he let this wall develop between them? Their last argument had been the worst.

Brenda had tried to make Colgan let her accompany him, but the captain said letting a civ carry the mission was bad enough, he wasn't about to make the situation worse by adding another. The ensuing argument had nearly caused Colgan to send Commander Groves on the mission instead, but even he knew there was a greater chance of success if someone familiar with Bindar's work was there to operate the translators. Brenda knew that as well as anyone. The sneaky woman had studied up while helping James prepare for the mission. She knew as much if not more than he did now, and she had tried to use that to persuade Colgan to let her go with him. It hadn't worked.

James took his place in the pilot's chair and activated the lander's systems. "Alpha One ready for take-off," he announced over the comm.

The view-screen lit and Lieutenant Ricks appeared. "Alpha One, stand by for final instructions."

"Okay... I mean, copy that, _Canada_. Standing by."

Ricks grinned.

A moment later, Captain Colgan came on. "I'm depressurising the bay now." He turned to nod at someone out of view and then turned back. "Be careful out there, James. I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose me either," James said with a grin. He sobered a moment later. "You'll look after Brenda if something should happen. It won't of course, but if it should?"

"She'll be fine. I'll see to it."

"Thank you, sir."

Colgan nodded and the screen darkened.

James took a deep breath and released the docking clamps. The lander was a dream to fly in simulation. Nice acceleration and good handling. The real thing was different enough to make him bite his lip as he eased it over the deck toward the hanger doors. As he approached, they cranked open to reveal the blackness of space populated by chunks of rock moving slowly by. As expected, _Canada_ was already underway. He firmed his grip on the yoke.

"Here goes nothing." He throttled up the lander's main engine and shot out of the bay like a missile.

As soon as he was well clear of _Canada_ , he eased back on the throttle and turned his ship toward the asteroid she had been using to hide from _Chakra_. He couldn't see the alien ship yet, but he didn't waste time. As soon as he was close enough, he used his manoeuvring thrusters to align the lander with the asteroid, before programming the computer to maintain the shuttle's position. The Shan should detect him easily.

With nothing to do until the Shan arrived, he decided to make himself a snack. He had missed dinner earlier. Brenda hadn't felt like eating after their meeting with Colgan, and neither had he. They had both been too upset. Brenda had locked the bedroom door against him, and hadn't even said good bye when he left for the boat bay.

He unbuckled his harness and floated across the cockpit toward the hatch. Landers like this one were too small to have gravity generators, but they did come equipped with a galley. As he approached the hatch to the main cabin, he glanced at the cases strapped to the deck behind the co-pilot's seat. They contained the gifts he and the others had put together for the Shan. One of them was filled with compad translators, while others were full of picture books and other things designed to teach Shan about the Alliance. The largest contained Williams' master unit, or what he called The Box of Crap. James grinned. Only he knew why Williams called it that.

He opened the cockpit hatch.

Brenda floated a short distance ahead of him. "It's only me," she said brightly.

James gaped. "I don't believe it. How the hell did you get here?"

Brenda grinned. "Magic."

"But I looked..."

"I was in the locker," she said hooking a thumb over her shoulder at her hiding place.

"You're going back!"

He turned and pulled himself into the cockpit.

"No I'm not." Brenda kicked against one of the seats and launched herself in pursuit. " _Canada_ must be out of range by now."

"Brenda please. I need you to be safe."

Brenda pulled herself into the co-pilot's seat. "And I need to be here. If you want to be a hero, that's fine, but I'm staying."

James gritted his teeth. "We've been through this. We agreed it makes sense for me to go."

"Oh no you don't. You agreed, I never did and you know it."

"But you said—"

Brenda finished strapping in. "I said I understood the point you and the captain were making, not that I agreed with it. You are the odd one out, you can be spared, and you do want to do it. All that's true, but I love you and I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"I'll get the, Captain." He strapped himself in and searched the controls for the one he needed. He was so flustered he couldn't find it. "He'll make you see sense."

"It's that one," Brenda said pointing to a single control among dozens of similar buttons and switches.

"I remember my training, thank you."

"Well do it then."

"All right, I'm doing it!" James glared, and Brenda smirked. "Alpha One to _Canada_ ; respond please."

" _Canada_ copies."

"I have a problem here—a stowaway."

Lieutenant Ricks' jaw dropped. "A what?"

"What is it, Mark?" Colgan said out of view of the pickup.

Ricks turned away from the monitor. "Professor Wilder says he has a stowaway, Skipper."

"For the love of God, who would be stupid enough to... where's Professor Lane?"

"I don't know, Skipper."

"She's here," James called.

Brenda grinned and waved at the monitor.

Colgan was snarling something. "...have his damn hide. I told him to watch her dammit. All stop! Prepare to reverse course..."

"Contact," a voice sang out. "Bearing one-eight-zero. It's _Chakra_ , Captain. She's coming fast."

"Sound battle stations," Colgan barked and the wailing alarm sounded. "Put Wilder on screen."

A moment later, the captain glared out of the monitor at Brenda. His face was red with rage, and she swallowed nervously. She opened her mouth to explain, but he began first.

" _Chakra_ will have you in..." Colgan looked aside then back. "Three minutes if she doesn't blow you out of space first. I can't stay, and we'll lose TBC lock any second. For Chrissakes don't mess it up or I'll—"

The screen turned to fuzz.

Signal Lost

James flicked a switch and the screen darkened. He turned slowly toward Brenda with his jaw clenched and stared at her in silence.

Brenda shifted in her seat. "I'm glad we're together. Glad do you hear?"

"I hear you. I love you more than life, Brenda. I wish you had stayed aboard _Canada_. It's not safe here."

"We live together, or we die together..." she giggled. "I sound like a character in Zelda and the Spaceways."

"Let's hope we're still around for the next episode," James said peering out of the cockpit window looking for their guests.

# 14 ~ The Chase

**Aboard Chakra, Shan System**

"He's running," Tarjei shouted in her excitement.

Tei'Varyk flicked his ears in agreement, but why run every time, why not fight? Every time _Chakra_ found him, the alien tucked his tail and ran. And what about the other one? Firing into his ship should have made him mad enough to fire back, but he hadn't. Why? He chewed his whiskers in agitation. Why, why, why? He hissed and spat as if tasting something he didn't like. Unanswerable questions always left a bad taste. He hated that!

"Search for the asteroids as we discussed," Tei'Varyk said. "When you find the closest one of the right size, we will get there ahead of him and be waiting. He will not escape us this time."

"I hear," Tarjei said. "Lairs to your screen."

He studied his displays. "Remove any he has used before, Tarjei. I don't think he will chance using them again."

"I hear and comply."

Tei'Varyk noted the first ten or so had disappeared, but already there were numerous asteroids on his display and more appearing as he watched.

"Remove target asteroids that would require him to backtrack in order to reach them."

"I hear," Tarjei said and did as he asked.

"Good, very good." There was an asteroid almost exactly on the alien's current heading. "I believe I have him. Jakinda, new course—"

"New contact!" Tarjei said as the bridge alarms signalled an unknown target ahead.

"Silence that!"

"I hear," Jozka said and the alarm fell silent.

"Is it another light fang or a heavy?" Tei'Varyk asked intently. The aliens might be lying in wait for him.

"Neither, Tei. The target is at station keeping, and in the open a short distance from the alien's previous hiding place. The asteroid was occluding _Chakra's_ eyes, but he sees him clearly now. It's small, no weapons of any kind." Tarjei looked up from her controls in confusion. "It seems to be a cub lander."

"That doesn't make sense..." A cub was useless in space. It was only carried aboard to ferry crew to and from a planet or mining base. "What's it doing now?"

"Nothing, Tei. It's waiting for us to kill it."

"Let us do that then," Kajika said eager to kill something after so long on the hunt with little to show for it.

"I hear, Tarjei," Tei'Varyk said ignoring Kajika's lapse in discipline.

He understood Kajika's feelings, but he didn't want to be hasty. He might learn the secret of the alien FTL they had witnessed. Although it seemed unlikely a cub would have the ability, there might be something interesting. He had to choose soon or he would over fly it. He hesitated a moment longer then turned to Jakinda.

"Bring us alongside the cub."

Hisses of displeasure surrounded him and Tarjei looked at him in worry. He flicked his ears at her keeping his face bland and she grinned.

"I will take this gift they have left me, and I will learn what they're about. I know where the alien fang will hide, do not worry. Look ahead in harmony and obey."

"I hear. Commencing deceleration," Jakinda said.

**Aboard ASN Canada, Shan System**

Colgan sighed as _Chakra_ decelerated. "It worked."

"So far," Groves qualified. "You should have let me go, sir."

"I didn't know you spoke Shan, Francis," he said in mock surprise. "You should have said. It would have saved a lot of work!"

"We have the translators and—"

"XO, I'm no happier than you are, believe me, but Wilder can speak Shan enough to get by, and the translators are untested in the field. Besides, Professor Singh estimates gaps of at least thirty percent in the tapes."

They weren't really tapes of course. The so called tape was actually a complex bit of programming that no one but Bindar Singh understood. The program itself resided on a chip in the translator's master unit, and used an algorithm of Singh's own devising to access a huge database of Shan and Human words.

The result was a master unit connected by a modulated carrier wave to compads that could, theoretically, allow a Human to converse with a Shan. There were so many things that could go wrong with the system, that Colgan felt almost physically ill thinking about it.

"I understand the reasoning," Groves said. "But civs are like sheep. They need a sheep dog to protect them."

Sheep dog? He grinned. "I'm the sheep dog?"

Groves laughed. "Well, I've heard rumours you're as hairy as one." Everyone chuckled at the by-play, and tension eased throughout the bridge. Groves and Colgan exchanged knowing smiles and then settled back to business. "Orders, sir?"

"Steady as she goes, XO. We hide and wait for Wilder to get in touch. He knows how."

"Aye, sir," Groves said and went back to her station at Scan.

Professor Lane had guts, he had to give her that, but she might well have ruined the operation. Wilder had been keen to go, but how keen could he be now that his lover was with him and in danger? He only hoped Wilder could overcome the handicap and still pull it off.

" _Chakra_ is ninety metres from the lander, Skip," Groves said and then nodded. " _Chakra_ is at full stop."

Colgan leaned back and crossed his legs. "Very good, very good indeed. Helm, continue on course."

"Aye, sir," Lieutenant Wesley replied.

**Aboard Chakra, Shan System**

" _Chakra_ , at station keeping. Alien cub to his starboard," Jakinda said.

"Range to target one-hundred heikke," Kajika added, but his earlier outburst did not re-materialise. He was only reporting on the condition of the target, as he should.

"I hear," Tei'Varyk said. "I will suit up and investigate this gift. Kajika, you will attend me. Have Tei'Unwin and Kon'stanji informed."

"I hear," Kajika said in excitement.

"I hear," Jozka said and spoke quietly into his pickup.

Tei'Varyk turned to Tarjei and then glanced meaningfully at Kajika. Kajika was so frustrated; it had to be relieved in some way. A little spacewalk seemed just the thing. Tarjei flicked her ears to show she understood, but she was far from happy about it.

"Tei'Unwin and Kon'stanji come," Jozka said.

Tei'Varyk stood and headed for the hatch. "Let us go now, the alien is far away and the cub awaits us."

**Aboard Lander Alpha One**

Brenda's knuckles whitened as she clutched the arm of the acceleration couch. "Oh, God, they're coming over."

James nodded but he was preoccupied. Brenda had seemed unafraid, but he heard the fear in her words. Some people used God as part of everyday speech without really looking at what that meant, but never Brenda unless severely stressed. Reducing Him to a mere word, an expletive quite often, seemed wrong to him, but even he did it on occasion. Where was reverence, where was simple respect in that? God wasn't something Brenda spoke of to him, though he knew she was a believer from her trips to _Canada's_ chapel. When she unconsciously said it straight out like that, he knew she was scared.

"The outer door is open."

Brenda nodded but didn't take her attention from the monitors displaying the huge alien ship. "Have you checked the Box?"

"It's fine. I've triple checked it, but you could try your compad again if you want."

"Good idea." Brenda fumbled at the pocket on her right thigh. She snarled in frustration when the flap refused to cooperate with her. She was getting madder than hell with it when James intervened.

He reached out and captured her hand. "Shush, it's all right. We're together."

Brenda stopped fighting the flap to look into his eyes. "Forever?"

"Always."

Brenda leaned forward and they kissed for a long moment.

The insistent beeping from the instrument panel brought James up for air.

"They're here."

"At least they have courtesy, these aliens," Tei'Varyk said.

"I don't like it, Tei." Kajika ignited his thrusters for a short burst. "I will enter and hunt for danger." He drifted forward toward the open hatch.

"Be not so hasty. I am Tei, not you," Tei'Varyk said with his muzzle rumpling in annoyance. "When you are Tei, you may advise me, not before. We go in together."

In the end, Tei'Varyk managed to enter a few tails in advance of Kajika, but that was merely courtesy taking over at the last moment. Kajika could not, even after all he'd said, ignore his ingrained habit of deferring to a superior. Once inside, they looked around for a way to proceed. Kajika suggested cutting through the inner door with their weapons, but a blinking light next to the outer door solved the problem.

Tei'Varyk pressed the red button and the outer door slid shut. With a pleased nod, he noted a breathable atmosphere slowly replacing the vacuum of space within the airlock.

"We can breathe the alien atmosphere at least. That is good to know."

"Why?" Kajika asked as the inner door began to slide open.

"It says we have something in common..." Tei'Varyk broke off when he was confronted by his first sight of a face so obviously not Shan.

This was the first time a Shan had met an alien since the Murderers of Harmony had annihilated almost ninety percent of them so long ago. Utter shock held Tei'Varyk immobile, but Kajika was a hunter first, last, and always. His reflexes were the best—he was the claw of _Chakra_. His paw came up smoothly with his beamer held ready, and his first claw twitched.

The weapon bucked, and the alien flew back.

"Noooo!" Tei'Varyk howled as the alien bounced limply from the seats and into the overhead.

"I killed it for you, Tei—" Kajika began.

Tei'Varyk shouldered Kajika aside and snatched his weapon away. "You have dishonoured me," he howled with hackles bristling with rage. " _Chakra_ is dishonoured!"

"But it's alien."

"Can't you see? It's not of the Murderer's race you brainless cub! It's too small, and where are its fangs and weapons?" Tei'Varyk growled and aimed the beamer between Kajika's eyes. "I should kill you for this."

"But I did it for you," Kajika whispered staring into the beam emitter without seeing it. "For you."

Tei'Varyk lowered the weapon sick at heart. He turned to find a second alien attending to the first. His hopes leapt. There was one left, perhaps something could be salvaged.

Tears scalded Brenda's eyes as she grappled with James' limp body. She pulled him down from the overhead, and finally strapped him into a seat. She was muttering all the while that he wasn't dead. In her heart, she knew he was gone, but still she went through the motions of her pretence.

"You're not dead, James," she said to his closed eyes. "I love you, and you can't be dead. Not so soon."

Brenda smashed open the medikit ignoring most of its contents as they floated through the air and clustered around the ventilation duct. She worked the nano injector repeatedly, pumping ten times the amount into him that would normally be required. It couldn't hurt him to have too many working on the job. When she'd done all she could, she finally did what she had been dreading. She laid her head upon his chest.

Nothing... no wait, there was a slow beat!

"Oh God, thank you," she whispered and wiped her tears away.

The burn in James' uniform looked hideous, but Fleet knew the danger of fire in space better than anyone. The material had extinguished itself very quickly.

She grabbed a pair of scissors that were floating by, and cut away the burnt area as carefully as she could. She winced as she pulled it free. Blood welled and floated on its way toward the ventilation duct. Blood flowing was good, she told herself; it meant he still lived. The weapon had cauterised the wound in his side, but her messing with it had broken it open. Still, as she watched, James' bots got on the case and the blood slowed.

She cleaned the wound and snatched a medipad from those drifting around her head. They were self-sealing sterile bandages used on battlefield injuries to prevent infection. Brenda felt that a very fine idea and applied it to his side. She frantically looked for something else to do, but there was nothing. His bots would save him, or...

No, his bots _would_ save him.

Brenda had been ignoring the aliens in the airlock, but now she looked at them, and felt nothing but loathing. She noted the smaller one had been relieved of his weapon and looked dejected. His ears were laid back, and his nostrils were wide as if facing into a strong wind. The taller of the two had also removed his helmet and was watching her.

Brenda ripped open her thigh pocket, and activated her compad. She would flay the hide off both of them for this.

The alien worked feverishly on its companion. Unbelievably, the thing... whatever it was, had survived a point blank shot from Kajika's beamer. Incredibly tough these aliens were. Just like their ships.

Tei'Varyk watched the second alien apply various things to its companion, and noted the blood as it drifted by; it was red like a Shan. The creatures breathed the same air, though he caught a great many strange scents in it, and now another thing they had in common made itself known. Red blood.

He breathed deeply and tried to distinguish the scents. Fear was prevalent, and with it came anger and pain. Both were from the second alien, and now that he was becoming used to it, he noted differences between the two. The wounded one was bigger and stronger looking. The other was slimmer and shaped differently in the front. The covering it was wearing hid many details, but he assumed it was female. The aliens didn't have fur on their faces, nor on their paws. Neither had decent fangs or claws, and their faces were horribly flat. They did have a kind of fur on their heads, but it wasn't what he would call a worthwhile amount.

He tried not to think of them as sick, but the lack of fur made that hard. Shan shed for a number of reasons, fright was one, but the more common reason was illness. These things were alien. Lack of fur was normal for them.

"Tei," Kajika warned as the female alien fumbled at a device of some kind.

Tei'Varyk began to raise the beamer, but remembering the last time, he lowered it ready to accept what would come. What he received was not what he had expected.

"You fatherless curs. You ### ### killed him," the device she held said in terrible Shan, but it was still undeniably Shan.

Kajika growled at the insult, but quieted at a rumple-muzzled glare from Tei'Varyk. Kajika had done more than enough this day. Tei'Varyk turned back in time to receive another flood from the alien, and noted she was speaking into something descending toward her mouth. The thing, an alien voice pickup he assumed, was anchored to what might be alien ears. Her ears, if that's what they were, were positioned oddly on the sides of her head, and not on top as was proper. They were immobile. How did they express themselves?

"...came in ### and harmony, but ### do you ### do? You ### him! We ### to ### you to the ###!"

Tei'Varyk chewed his whiskers in frustration. There were too many missing words. It was obvious the aliens had been studying them, and now _Chakra_ had forced them to act before they were ready. He heard the last word, not from the device she held, but from her own lips.

Merkiaari!

Tei'Varyk's ears plastered themselves to his skull. Shock heaped upon shock. How did this alien know of the Murderers? Was it possible that she had come from them?

"### ### ### to say ### yourselves?" The alien female looked from Kajika to Tei'Varyk and back impatiently. She scowled. "Well? ### the ### got your tongues?"

"Merkiaari?" Tei'Varyk said careful to enunciate the word clearly. "What do you know of the Murderers?"

The alien's face screwed up in an expression Tei'Varyk could not interpret. She said something that did not translate. She shook her head at the device she held, and tried again.

"### Merkiaari killed ### ### during ### war. ### of my people were killed, ### ### ### won in the end."

Killed Humans? Again there had been no translation, but Tei'Varyk assumed it was the name of their race she spoke. Humans had fought the Murderers and won but at terrible cost, the female said.

"Say again," Tei'Varyk said desperately trying to understand the gabble coming from the device the alien held.

"I ###, Humans ### ### in a ### war. We ### ### it the ### Merki War. ### worlds..." the creature screwed her face up, and raised a paw.

"What's it doing, Tei?" Kajika whispered.

"Teaching me to count," Tei'Varyk replied watching the creature pointing to her blunt claws and saying a word each time.

"But... yes, Tei," Kajika said miserably.

"...nine, ten. Understand?" the creature said. "Eight tens ### worlds ### destroyed ### the Merki ### the ### Merki War. ### ### of my people died."

Eighty worlds, did he have that right? Eighty worlds had been invaded and seriously damaged with millions upon millions upon millions killed. Eighty worlds! The enormity of the Humans came crashing down upon Tei'Varyk like a herd of Shkai'lon. His people dared not make enemies of these aliens.

"It lies," Kajika said. "Eighty worlds is foolish. Why would they need so many?"

"I ### not lie," the alien spat angrily. "### you talked ### him ### ### shooting, he ### ### shown you."

"Ja..." Tei'Varyk coughed and tried to sound the alien name again, it made him feel as if he were about to chew his tongue. "James," he said slowly and noted the female's quick glance toward her companion. "He will live?"

"I ### so," she said and screwed her face up at the device she held. "Yes," she said and bobbed her head up and down.

Her action was what Tei'Varyk might have called a strange type of bowing before now, but he believed it was more likely to represent a Shan's flicking of ears to indicate agreement. The face screwing seemed to mean frustration, or perhaps irritation.

"My name is Tei'Varyk, and this is Kajika. We are sorry for your companion's hurt."

He ignored Kajika's protest at the naming. To name oneself in such a fashion was suggestive of a courtesy offered and received, but they had received none.

The alien listened to the device in her ear and nodded. "My name ### ### ###, and my mate's name ### ### ###. You ### ### of _Chakra_?"

The device couldn't handle the naming, but Tei'Varyk heard the alien's own voice naming herself and her mate. He was no longer surprised at what the aliens knew of him and the race. They had probably been watching him for a long time. The Human word for Tei was Captain... or so it seemed.

Tei'Varyk tried to bob his head instead of flicking his ears, and ended up doing both. "Yessss," he said using the Human word and mangling it only slightly. "I Captain."

The alien bobbed her head, and looked pleased if his judgement of her expression was correct. She checked her mate once more before beckoning him to follow her. She kicked against a seat to launch herself toward, he assumed, the cockpit of the lander. He watched as she floated out of sight through the hatch.

"Don't go, Tei," Kajika said. "It's all a trick. Eighty worlds, the Murderers attacking them. It's too convenient. They've come to confuse us, and make us weak before the Murderers come again."

"I am Tei. You will obey me. I will hear more and then decide what is to be done."

"I hear." Kajika bowed so quickly he nearly somersaulted in the lack of gravity.

Tei'Varyk rumpled his muzzle, and flattened his ears at such foolishness. Kajika was embarrassing him. He kept Kajika's weapon, but left his helmet next to James strapped into a spare seat, before pushing off to see what he could learn.

This cub, he absently wondered what the Humans called it, was designed to carry many Humans. So many seats were obviously meant for use. How many were aboard their ship? _Chakra_ carried a hundred crew, but a heavy fang like _Neifon_ carried almost three hundred. A mere cub with so much capacity probably meant the Humans used bigger crews than his people would think necessary.

Tei'Varyk followed the alien, no she was called Brenda. He followed her toward he knew not what.

# 15 ~ Gifts

**Aboard Lander Alpha One**

Brenda floated through the hatch and into the cockpit, when she would rather be looking after James. She knew his bots were working. The military used good ones, and unlike the less able civilian kind, they were designed for wounds like this, but she still worried. She tried to tell herself that sitting next to him and holding his hand would make no difference to his recovery, and that his bots were all that could save him now, but still she wished to be with him. Unfortunately, her duty to _Canada_ called her to deal with James' abusers. She didn't much like that.

She turned and held herself in place by grasping the engineer's chair. The Tei, or was it just Tei? Whatever, he came in quickly followed by Kajika. She couldn't help her dislike of Kajika. He was the trigger-happy bastard who had shot James.

Tei was looking at the controls and instruments with interest, but when she claimed his attention by the simple expedient of waving at him, he drifted closer and grabbed a panel to steady himself.

James and the others had planned this day well, but now that he was wounded, Brenda would have to follow through. First, she had to sort out the compads. She opened a box of them and withdrew one, hesitated for a second, and pulled out a second for Kajika.

"For you," Brenda said into her mic, and the compads spoke in Shan. She grimaced as only the second word was translated and tried again. "A gift, yours to keep."

That was better, and Tei was pleased to accept them. He bowed to her. "I ### nothing ### offer ### in exchange, but ### come ### _Chakra_ you ### ### my hospitality."

Brenda bowed understanding enough of what he said. She showed Tei how to use the compad as best she could by a few words and miming. She tried to show him that the words went into the microphones and then through the compads into the Box, before the Box sent them back out of the compads in the correct language.

Tei flicked his ears, and then nodded in the Human fashion giving her hope that he understood some if not all of her explanation. Kajika was obviously not as interested as Tei was. He was holding his compad loosely, and hadn't put on his headset as Tei had done. The fit was not perfect, those mobile ears were a hell of a challenge, but it did seem to work reasonably well.

The next thing was to give them some basic information about the Alliance and Humanity in general. Where possible the literature had been compiled using hard copy diagrams and pictures, where that was not possible, Brenda would have to try to explain. Nowhere was jump technology mentioned, or any kind of astrographical data that might compromise the locations of Alliance worlds. Data of a military nature was absent also of course, but there was still a great deal regarding the threat the Merkiaari posed as well as day-to-day life in the Alliance.

Brenda had been against the inclusion of the Merkiaari material, but now it looked as if James had been right about the Shan. From Tei'Varyk's reactions, she knew that his people had met the Merkiaari before. It seemed obvious to her now that there had been a previous civilisation, perhaps the very Harmony of Shan they had all puzzled over, and it had been shattered by war. Merkiaari were those the Shan named the Murderers of Harmony, and that made a great difference to her thinking.

Before today, she had always subscribed to the view that the war was Humanity's fault for sending military ships to greet the Merki, but now she knew the Shan had also suffered through contact with the Merki. Once was an accident, but twice?

No.

Tei'Varyk was studying the pictures with great interest. He wasn't so much studying them, as flicking through to get a feel of what the folders contained. Brenda watched his ears flatten and prick erect, flick and twitch, all the time wondering what it all meant. He didn't appear upset as he floated with the folders hovering near to his paws, but some of what he saw must be confusing for him.

"Ask questions, I answer," Brenda said speaking pidgin Shan, which the translator obediently converted into English to the confusion of both Shan. She was about to repeat herself in English, when Tei spoke. She had been understood after all.

"Why come?" Tei said copying her example.

"We hear talking. We come warn you to stop. Merkiaari find you when you talk so loud. We know this. It happened to us. We talk quiet now."

Brenda was pleased with that. Most of the words had translated flawlessly, but she was not as pleased with the result it caused. Tei was agitated, and Kajika didn't look happy; his muzzle was rumpled and his ears were flat.

"Talk... talk is why they came? They no like talk?" Tei'Varyk said intently.

"No, no, no," Brenda said and shook her head. "They want to kill anyone not Merki, but not know where we are. They follow our talk... find us. They kill us and listen more. They follow talk, kill us again. We come here... try save you. We not know we too late."

Tei'Varyk believed her. So much made sense now. The alien fang running and not firing back, the other one always running and hiding, again without firing. Leaving behind two of their people in a cub lander was a desperate attempt to communicate, but would the elders believe it?

He glanced at Kajika and saw the disbelief on his face, in the angle of his half laid-back ears, but Kajika wasn't a deep thinker. He was a hunter first, last, and always, which was good in a claw of _Chakra_. A Tei had to be more. He had to look at a situation and see not only what was, but what could be also.

The Humans were a horrible danger to his people, but they could also be an incredible boon. Handled right, this meeting might see the Harmony of Shan resurrected stronger than ever.

"You want be friends?" Tei'Varyk said in cub talk.

"Yes," Brenda said.

"You want help us kill Merkiaari?"

"If ### come, we stop them."

"No," he said feeling this was an important point. "Not protect us. Help us learn how to protect ourselves."

"We help you," Brenda said bobbing her head. "Want you not hunt _Canada_ —our ship. We need to send ### ### ### ###," she screwed her face up at the bad translation. "We need send message home."

Kajika hissed. "We can't let them do that. More might come."

"Quiet you fool," Tei'Varyk said but it was too late. The device had already told Brenda Kajika's words.

"You not help us send ### ### ###, we not help you," Brenda said quickly in reaction. "My Captain... my Tei say he not let you ### his ship. We destroy ### ourselves first. You not ### ### you help ###."

Tei'Varyk's chewed his whiskers in annoyance. The alien was so angry that he could barely understand her.

"We have these two," Kajika said. "This lander might—"

"I won't tell you again. Be silent or suffer for it back on _Chakra_!" Tei'Varyk blazed in anger. Brenda had been friendly, but now the conversation had slipped over into hostile territory.

"I nothing, my mate nothing, ### cub ### nothing," Brenda said coldly. "Cub not ### our planets, little distance only... understand? Not go like _Canada_ go. You learn nothing ### it. We ### be friends, but we not give you ###. A gift for a gift, ### we be friends forever. We not like Merkiaari; you not like Merkiaari. We kill them, help you kill them, but _Canada_ small ship—not made ### fight. Help ### send message home... help come. _Canada_ little ship. Made for explore—understand? Find new things, new places; not fight."

Brenda had let something slip, and Tei'Varyk's reaction to it told her that she had. She bit her lip and reddened. Did that mean she was embarrassed? It probably did, because she should be. Her ship was not for war, she said, but was instead for exploring new places. Imagine being in command of such a one, able to go anywhere and see anything.

He would revel in such a life. There would be new systems and planets for the taking, Shan venturing out and making those planets their home. A new and perhaps better harmony could be created. Not a warship she said. That was extremely useful to know. It said the alien ship would be easy to destroy, but he didn't want to. He wanted it all. He wanted the stars for his people. He had no doubt the Human Tei would see his ship destroyed before allowing it to be captured. He would do the same in the Human's position.

"I not say yes, I not say no. Elders say," Tei'Varyk said finally making a decision.

"You go back _Chakra_. Talk elders ### come back and say. We ### here," Brenda said.

Tei'Varyk flicked his ears in agreement, but then bobbed his head for good measure. He offered her the pictures back, but she said they were a gift. He bowed as best he could and she did the same before giving him a container to safeguard the talking devices and gifts.

Brenda knew she'd gone wrong, but for the life of her she couldn't see how she could've done differently. She'd slipped by telling Tei'Varyk that _Canada_ wasn't a warship, but he would get a surprise if he fired on her. _Canada_ wasn't a warship any longer, but she had been one once. She could still defend herself long enough to escape into fold space.

Brenda watched Tei'Varyk fit the compads and other things neatly into the container and seal it. They would be quite safe from the cold and vacuum of space. When they were ready, she escorted them to the airlock, all the time looking worriedly at James. Shouldn't he have awoken by now? Surely the bots had made an impression on the wound after all this time, but if they had, she saw no sign.

The Shan sealed their helmets and stepped into the airlock.

Tei turned to face her. He raised a paw and Brenda did the same before closing the inner door to start the exit cycle. She watched in silence as the outer door opened and her guests left.

"Brenda?" James croaked. "Did I miss anything?"

Brenda gasped and spun to see James looking at her with a grey and sweating face. She was by his side and kissing him before she'd thought to move.

"Are you in pain? Of course you are. I'll get you something my love; you'll be all right. I injected the bots, and Fleet has good ones and—"

"Shush, I'm not in pain," James said then grimaced. "Not much. I missed the whole thing didn't I? Some hero I turned out to be..." he said as his eyes slipped slowly shut.

"You sleep now. Tomorrow you'll be well again," Brenda said and sat next to him holding his hand with tears of joy in her eyes.

**Aboard Chakra, Inner Belt, Shan System**

Tei'Varyk stormed onto the command deck in a state of high excitement and agitation. The Humans could be the saviours of his people, but like all good things, there was another side to the story. What if the Humans came here, but did not allow Shan to learn their technology? What then? His people would be like cubs to them. His people needed friends and partners, equal partners, not some kind of master or parent.

"Kon'stanji, you are claw of _Chakra_ ," he said as he took his station from Tei'Unwin.

"I hear but..." Kon'stanji hesitated to ask.

"Kajika has shamed me. His punishment is reduction to alternate claw."

There was some little shock at that, but relief as well. For all they knew, the aliens might have killed Kajika. Only Tei'Varyk knew that if anyone had killed Kajika it would have been him, and it would remain that way.

Tei'Unwin had not yet left the command deck. Tei'Varyk wondered how much he should divulge. He had yet to speak to the elders about his meeting with the aliens. Would they expect him to keep the meeting secret? Keeping it secret might make it easier for them to ignore the aliens. That was something he would not allow if he had his way, but it was not his place to make such decisions. He chewed his whiskers and decided to risk their displeasure.

"We have a great opportunity before us," he began. "There are two aliens aboard the cub, and they are friendly."

Gasps and yips of shock surrounded him. Tei'Varyk dropped his jaw and waved his ears in amusement. What did Humans do when they were amused? He glanced at Tarjei and saw worry mixed with relief at his return. The worry was the same as on all the other's faces, but the rest was for him alone.

"You are certain, Tei?" Tei'Unwin asked. "Really certain they mean us no harm?"

"I'm certain of nothing. Never am I certain beyond some small doubt. You are the same or you would still be Kon'Unwin, but I feel they are not an immediate threat to us. I've been given gifts, and I have spoken with the female whose name is," Tei'Varyk paused and tried to sound the alien name. "Brenda. Her mate is James. I have been gifted with a device that turns my words into Human speech. They have the same devices to turn their speech into ours. It's not a perfect translation, but the errors are small enough for understanding."

"Humanssss?" Tei'Unwin sounded the strange name, but he garbled the last syllable. "They are not like the Murderers?"

"No, they're very different. They're much smaller and carry no weapons on their persons. They have no fangs or claws." He hesitated. "They say they came to save us from the Murderers, and I believe them."

The command deck went silent. Tei'Varyk looked around and saw complete disbelief on every face except Tarjei. She looked afraid for him, and worse, of him also.

"Tei," Tei'Unwin began uncertainly. "May I have leave to speak with Kajika?"

Tei'Varyk flicked his ears. "You have my leave."

Tei'Unwin bowed and left in a scrabble of claws. He was in a hurry to verify Tei'Varyk's words, or refute them.

Tei'Varyk looked around at his crew's worried faces. They deserved more from him. "I know you doubt me. I have given the Humans nothing but my word that I will speak to the elders about our meeting. The Tei of the ship we have been chasing will not allow us to capture him; he will destroy him first. I would do the same if I were he. That ship has FTL capability beyond any doubt. The Human Tei will never allow us to take him."

"Then we should destroy him," Kon'stanji said. "Surely?" he added with his ears at half-mast.

"So, to, does Kajika advise me. I see..." Tei'Varyk said quietly and his crew leaned forward with baited breath. "I see perhaps too much in these Humans. They were attacked by the Merkiaari. Eighty Human worlds were devastated. Eighty. Do you see what that means? I see a chance for our people to go out into the void and begin rebuilding the Harmony of Shan bigger and stronger than ever. I see Humans tracking down the Murderers with us and destroying them utterly. That's what I see."

"And what do the Humans see, Tei?" Tarjei asked.

"They see strength in numbers, I would judge. They came to warn and protect us, but I would have them help us learn, so that we might protect ourselves. We are not cubs. I would see us out there among the stars as equals."

# 16 ~ Contact

**Aboard Chakra, at station keeping, Shan Inner Belt**

Tei'Varyk chose his personal chambers to discuss the situation with the Humans. Besides James and Brenda, Tarjei and Tei'Unwin were also present. Strictly speaking, Tarjei should not have been invited. She had neither the rank nor the experience to warrant her inclusion, but he valued her insights.

She was here because he wanted her close, and he was Tei for _Chakra_. If Tei'Unwin didn't like it, he would keep silent if he knew what was good for him. Tei'Varyk had put up with more than enough questioning of his authority. He would allow no more of it.

"Your people would accept this?" Tarjei said.

"They would ### it," James said excitedly.

Tarjei flicked her ears in annoyance at the garbled translation. The Humans did not understand her signal of displeasure of course.

"Say again."

Brenda tried first. "They happy if Shan do this thing."

Tei'Varyk winced at the static coming from his earpiece. Brenda had spoken the name of the race in Shan, and the translator had not understood her mangled attempt.

"How many Humanssss..." Tei'Unwin said trying to think of a simple way to ask his question.

"How many against it?" James offered and Tei'Unwin gratefully accepted that. "We have two hundred and thirty-four worlds, Tei. ### one ### billions of Humans. I ### tell you ### ### figure."

Brenda added her thoughts. "Only fifty-eight worlds ### against coming here."

"Only fifty-eight?" Tei'Varyk said slowly. Did he have that right? "Only?" he said exchanging a concerned look with Tarjei. "These fifty-eight would stop us?"

"No," James and Brenda said together, but James went on. "One hundred and seventy-six in favour of us coming here, Tei. It is enough."

"Your elders allow this?" Tarjei said in dismay. "You do not care about the fifty-eight worlds against us?"

"We care, but the Alliance is ### by ### vote. All worlds agree to ### by a ### vote. You see?"

Tei'Varyk believed he understood. Two-hundred-and-thirty-four elders led the Alliance, but as with everyone, they did not always agree. The Shan system was better. Kajetan always spoke the final word of decision. The other elders helped her to decide, but she, and only she, decided what was to be done.

"I understand," Tei'Varyk said. "We have two worlds. We have two votes?"

"Ah... no, Tei. The twin worlds of the Shan are..." James looked flustered and Brenda spoke up.

"All Alliance systems have one vote. Your system is the only one with two ### worlds that we ### ever discovered, but the pattern is set. One system, one vote."

Tei'Varyk thought that was probably best. Two votes might mean Child of Harmony voting against Harmony at some future time. He could not conceive of a situation that might warrant it, but best to rule it out now.

"What of our fleet?" Tei'Unwin said. "We will not give up our ships."

Tei'Varyk couldn't prevent his shock from betraying itself at the thought. His ears plastered themselves against his head, and his nostrils flared as if facing into a strong wind. He was embarrassed when his lack of control allowed his tail to wind itself around his leg. A cub of two orbits could control himself better.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. His tail uncurled slowly. Thankfully, Tei'Unwin was too intent on the Humans to notice his immature reaction.

"All our worlds ### their own soldiers, but there is only one Alliance navy—" James began.

"We will not give up our ships," Tei'Varyk snapped.

James raised a hand. "You won't have to, Tei. Your fleet is yours to do with as you wish, but I hope ### ### will join it to ours to protect us all. We will help you build bigger and better ships; ships with FTL capability. Do you want this?"

"Very much," Tei'Varyk said and the others agreed. "Very much, but we will not give up what we have without a fight."

"Nor should you," James said but Brenda did not look happy.

"Brenda does not agree?" Tarjei said picking up the Human's scent. She was not in harmony.

"I agree you should not give up your weapons, but why ### we ### talk of war and hurting? Why not talk about nice things?"

"Such as?" Tarjei encouraged.

"### for instance."

"What is nanotech?" Tei'Varyk asked sounding the Human word carefully.

"What is the average lifespan of your people, Tei?"

What did that have to do with anything? "Fifty orbits," he said and wondered at the shock on their faces. "Kajetan is very old. She is sixty-one orbits, but that is very rare."

Brenda nodded. "Through the use of ###, James and I ### live one-hundred and fifty years, and ### even more. ### is ### ### ### improved all the time. A standard year is equal to one point three Harmony orbits, Tei. That means we should live, barring accidents, to the age of one-hundred and ninety-five orbits."

"One-hundred and ninety-five orbits!" Tei'Varyk gasped. How was it possible? "You will give us this nanotech?"

"We will. All ### citizens receive ### treatments as children. I hope it can be adapted for your people."

One-hundred and ninety-five orbits with Tarjei. He had to make Kajetan agree. Tei'Varyk glanced at Tei'Unwin, and saw the same kinds of thoughts in the slant of his ears and twitching whiskers. Tei'Unwin went still and his ears twitched upright.

It was time.

"You must speak to Kajetan," Tei'Varyk said.

"Your elder?" James said.

"She is eldest," he agreed. "You ### speak with her and make her see."

"Don't you think it ### be better if you—" James began.

"No," Tarjei blurted in her agitation. "No. You ### do it, James. Tei'Varyk isn't an elder."

"Neither am I."

"But you are alien. Varyk is one Tei among many; you are something other. She will hear you."

James glanced at Brenda uneasily. "All right. When?"

"Now," Tei'Varyk said instantly and was echoed by the others.

James was nervous as hell. Thank God Brenda was with him. He stood before the blank screen with Brenda on one side and Tei'Varyk on the other. The other Tei, Tei'Unwin, was standing with Tarjei in the background. They had wanted to be present and Tei'Varyk had thought it a good idea. The more the merrier as far as James was concerned.

"I don't know what to say," he whispered. "I wish Bindar was here."

Brenda squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Just introduce us and be polite."

"Oh thank you. I had that part figured out."

"You'll be fine," Brenda said. "Just listen to what she says and wing it. She's an elder, she must be a reasonable person."

"Why?" James hissed as the screen flickered on.

Tei'Varyk stepped forward and bowed quickly. James stayed where he was hoping Kajetan and the other elders would not notice him. No such luck. He watched with a sinking feeling as Kajetan's ears lay back in shock. The other elders stared with white-rimmed eyes at the first alien face they had ever seen. James hoped he and Brenda wouldn't be the last.

"Honoured Kajetan, honoured elders, I have disobeyed you. I could not follow your orders." Tei'Varyk bowed twice in apology. "I could not destroy our chance, perhaps our last chance to become what we are meant to be. The Humans offer us a way to make the Great Harmony greater than ever."

There was silence from the elders. They were still in shock at Tei'Varyk's betrayal. James thought now would be a good time to take charge and stepped forward. He tried to imitate Tei'Varyk's bow, but then turned to him in confusion when the screen darkened.

"What has happened?"

"I don't know," Tei'Varyk said and spoke in rapid Shan to Tei'Unwin.

James could not follow what was said, but whatever it was had Tei'Unwin racing out the door in a scrabble of claws.

"I think we're in trouble," Brenda hissed and nodded at the stricken look on Tarjei's face. "She's afraid. Tei'Varyk disobeyed—" she broke off as the screen re-activated. "James..." she hissed.

"Tei'Varyk, attend," Kajetan said imperiously. She was alone now and by the tone of her voice, she was not pleased.

Tei'Varyk bowed. "I hear, Eldest."

"By what right do you choose what is best for our people?"

"By clan right and my authority as Tei, Eldest."

Kajetan's eyes blazed. "You dare. You dare use clan right for this!"

"I dare, Eldest. For this nothing else will suffice."

James had no idea what clan right was, but by Kajetan's reaction, he knew Tei'Varyk was on thin ice. He was about to introduce himself to take Kajetan's attention away from Tei'Varyk, when she turned to him.

"Speak."

James raised an eyebrow at that. Who was she to order him? Brenda shoved him forward, and he swallowed his protest. He stepped forward and performed his bow, but made it less than before. Kajetan would have to earn more from him. So far she had failed to do that.

"Eldest, I am called James Wilder. This is my mate, Brenda Lane," he said and pause to allow Tei'Varyk to interpret. "We were sent here by the Alliance to contact you in hope of making new friends."

Kajetan listened to Tei'Varyk's translation with ears and whiskers twitching. "What is this Alliance?"

"The Alliance is comprised of two hundred and thirty-four Human populated worlds living in harmony," James said not wincing at the exaggeration. "We are governed by the Council, which is like yet unlike a Council of elders. Our elders wish to extend the hand of friendship to all Shan."

"Friends do not invade our space. Friends do not skulk about and spy."

James winced at Kajetan's vitriol. "We have learned to be cautious, Eldest. Two hundred years ago, my people met a race that tried to kill us all. You know them as the Murderers of Harmony. They are Murderers in truth. We call them Merkiaari."

Kajetan hissed and spoke with Tei'Varyk. "You believe this—why?"

"I have spoken with James and Brenda for many cycles, Eldest. I have seen what they brought with them. They would offer us a place in their Alliance, but more than this, they offer FTL for our ships and something called nanotech. Eldest I... the Great Harmony can be built anew, built among the stars."

"This is true?" Kajetan said.

James nodded. "I give you my word that what I say is true. I would not lie to you. FTL is one of many things we offer, and nanotech is available providing it can be adapted to work for you. I have been assured by people I trust, that it will simply be a matter of research and reprogramming. Biologically, our two peoples are fundamentally the same. I do not foresee a problem."

Kajetan listened to the translation. "What is nanotech?"

Oh yes!

James felt like dancing with excitement. He had her, he was sure he had her. Kajetan was no longer belligerent; she was curious. Brenda seemed to agree, she was fidgeting as if she couldn't keep her feet from dancing.

"Nanotech is a medical process designed to prevent illness and extend life," he said simply when he realised Kajetan was still waiting for an answer.

"Extend life?" Kajetan said with her whiskers twitching. She glanced from James to Tei'Varyk and back. "How, and by how much?"

"I am fifty-two years old, Eldest. That is the same as sixty-eight orbits. I will live, barring accidents of course, for another hundred and twenty orbits... perhaps more if fate is kind."

Kajetan hissed in shock. "You are an elder of your people?"

James smiled. "No, Eldest. I am young yet."

Kajetan blinked at that. James was almost her age yet he was too young to be an elder. "What is your proposal?"

James closed his eyes in abject relief. "First, Eldest, I must ask that my ship be allowed to emerge and be given safe passage. Second, I ask that you and my Tei discuss the future of our two peoples face to face. Third..."

**Aboard ASN Canada, in orbit of Harmony**

Never had the launching of a drone had such ceremony surrounding it, Colgan mused. Next to him stood Tei'Varyk of _Chakra_ , gazing with pride at the view-screen where the six heavy cruisers, heavy fangs he should say, of _Canada's_ escort were displayed. Six heavies as escort should have filled him with pride that his ship was viewed with such respect, but all it did was intimidate him. He wished he had a carrier here, that would even things up right nicely.

Jump technology wasn't everything, he had found. Good weapons and good sensors made up for a lot, and those ships had both in abundance. He had learned a great deal since detecting the probe Wilder launched to survey the agreed upon asteroid. The signal might have been agreed upon beforehand, but it was still a tough decision to make. When he finally did come out of hiding, he was greeted by that little lot out there. Colgan remembered thinking he was a goner for sure, but then the lander suddenly appeared out of the shadow of the heavies, and Mark received a tight beam message...

"Hello Captain," Wilder said. "I've brought some friends over, if that's all right?"

"Friends?" Colgan said as his crew ran futilely to battle stations. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, sir. Tell the Chief the Box worked great." Wilder grinned and pulled Professor Lane into view of the pickup. "Can we come in?"

That had been two weeks ago. Two weeks of discussions with the elders of the Shan—sometimes heated, sometimes not, but always ending amicably thank goodness. Today was the day to consummate the agreement hammered out by his team. It was far from what they had wanted to accomplish here, but they definitely had a foot in the door. All in all, Colgan felt he was ahead of the game. After all, _Canada_ was still in one piece and so was he.

"Contact Kajetan please, Mark," Colgan said.

"Aye, sir," Lieutenant Ricks said and used the jury-rigged equipment donated by Tei'Varyk. "On screen, Skip."

"I greet you, Kajetan... elders," he said standing and bowing to the screen.

The elders were wearing headsets modified by Shan from the Chief's originals. They listened to the translation and bowed to him in return.

"With your permission, we are ready to launch the drone," Colgan said, careful to enunciate the words clearly for the bridge recorders and the translation package.

"I would speak to Tei'Varyk, Tei'Colgan," Kajetan said.

"As you wish, Ma'am," Colgan said and stepped to one side giving Tei'Varyk unrestricted access to his elders.

Tei'Varyk spoke rapidly in his own language. Colgan cupped his earpiece, and concentrated trying to ignore the gaps that Bindar had managed to reduce, but not eradicate.

"...I stand ready to verify the agreement we have with the Humans."

"Good," Kajetan said. "But that is not what we wish to discuss with you. I trust Tei'Colgan to do as we agreed; whether that means his people will also... we shall see. You have served well, Tei'Varyk. You have served our people better perhaps than we ourselves have."

The elders standing with Kajetan mumbled their agreement.

"I thank you, but I did not follow your orders."

"That is not known outside of this group," Kajetan said sharply. "It will remain between us. However, _Chakra_ is for Tei'Unwin."

Tei'Varyk's stood stiffly with his ears flattened tight to his head and his nostrils flared wide as if facing into a gale. He was hurt by the loss of his ship, as any Tei or captain would be. Colgan stepped forward to protest, but Kajetan surprised them all by waving her ears in amusement.

"Be not so distressed. Have I not said you have served well? We have two new tasks for you and any who will follow you from _Chakra_."

"Tasks?" Tei'Varyk said hopefully.

"Yes tasks. The first is that you be the eyes and ears of the elders..."

That translated as ambassador, Colgan was pleased to hear. He liked Tei'Varyk. Their discussions regarding the cat and mouse game they had played over the last few months were interesting. Duty permitting, he looked forward to a great many more discussions on many subjects.

"The second task is to oversee the completion of _Naktlon_ ," Kajetan said.

"A heavy fang for me?" Tei'Varyk gasped.

"Why so surprised? You would have moved on from _Chakra_ in an orbit's time, two at the most. Did you plan on leaving space and the fleet you love then?"

"Never!" Tei'Varyk said horrified at the idea. "My mate and I wish always to serve in space. It's where we belong."

Good answer. It was something Colgan would have said himself if asked that question. Space was his home, exploration his life and goal. He supposed he would be given another ship someday—a heavy cruiser like Tei'Varyk probably, but when that day came, he wanted to be able to say he had made the most of his time aboard _Canada_. This mission would burn brightly in his memory that was for sure.

"Tei'Colgan," Kajetan said. "You may proceed with your launch."

"I thank you, Kajetan, elders," Colgan said and bowed. The screen cleared and returned to showing the heavies hanging in space. "Download the logs please, Mark."

"Aye, sir, downloading... download complete."

"Very good," he said and was about to give the next order, but he hesitated and turned to Tei'Varyk. "Would you give the order for the elders, Tei?"

"Honoured," Tei'Varyk said and turned to Lieutenant Ricks. "Download the elders' message to your drone please, Mark," he said saying the last two words in English. Already his grasp of English was improving.

"Aye, sir, downloading... download complete."

"Set drive to eighty percent," Colgan said. "Coordinates: Alliance HQ."

"Aye, sir, drone programmed. Destination: Alliance HQ."

"Give the launch order please, Tei."

Tei'Varyk flicked his ears in acknowledgement. "I hear. Launch the drone."

"Aye, sir, launching. Drone away... drone has entered fold space, sirs," Lieutenant Ricks said.

"Very good," Colgan said at the same time as Tei'Varyk's, "I hear."

They smiled at each other. A Human smile, reflected against a Shan's ear-twitching jaw-dropping grin.

"Well done everyone," Colgan said to his crew. "Nothing can go wrong now."

The bridge crew cheered.

# 17 ~ Answers

**Zuleika spaceport, Child of Harmony**

James stood upon the taxiway and breathed deeply. The chill air was full of alien scents that delighted his senses. After so long aboard ship walking under the open sky was a relief and a pleasure. The breeze picked up and he faced into it. He could smell the ocean, but could not see it from here even though it was only a few short kilometres from the port; he had crossed the coast on his approach.

"It's beautiful here," Brenda said smiling with eyes closed into the sun's warmth.

"You're beautiful, but I agree it beats living aboard ship."

"Flatterer."

Brenda took his arm and they walked slowly toward the busy buildings. The port was a huge place, and although the Shan were different in many ways, some things were similar. Zuleika spaceport had a control tower with a three-hundred and sixty-degree view just like a Human port, and the taxiways and runways could have belonged to any number of Alliance worlds. The buildings were not the same, but even here James could see they had the same purpose as those found at a Human port. Hangars and maintenance depots were little different wherever you happened to find yourself. They had to be. The ships they serviced all had similar requirements. Things like repairs and refuelling.

The architecture was unlike modern Human buildings. Back home, they would be made of steel and glass, but here he saw a lot of wood and stone. It looked odd in such a high tech setting as a spaceport, but pleasing to the eye all the same.

"We have a reception up ahead," Bernard said from his place next to Janice. "More speeches I shouldn't wonder."

"You know very well that the Shan do not go in for such things," Bindar said promptly.

"I meant us, my friend!"

James chuckled. Captain Colgan had asked him to give a speech to the crew when Brenda and he had first arrived back aboard _Canada_. He gave a second more detailed report at his debriefing with the senior officers, and after that, another debriefing by his colleagues in the contact team.

When the news broke that contact had been made with an alien race, there had been a great deal of unrest among the Shan. There had been panic in the cities with thousands of Shan simply dropping everything and running for the hills. They were understandably afraid of aliens. They remembered the Merkiaari too well to believe Humans were friendly.

Kajetan and the Council of Elders had made broadcasts one after the other to calm their people, but it wasn't until Jeff Colgan and Janice Bristow were called upon that calm began to return. Jeff had helped the elders by answering their questions during live broadcasts. He explained about the Alliance, and how the Fleet protected it against the Merkiaari. His willingness to meet and talk with the Shan alone and on their own turf helped the situation immensely.

As the weeks past, each of the contact team's members had played their part in the broadcasts. James had drawn on his knowledge of history to paint a picture of the Alliance and how it came to be. David held a class on Human physiology, mainly due to some highly respected Shan healers asking their elders to facilitate it. The session was recorded and broadcast the next day and had been repeated pretty much every day since then.

Bindar had found himself trying to teach the Shan the rudiments of the English language, while Sheryl was inundated with requests about her knowledge of science and technology—especially nanotech. The Shan were fascinated by everything Human related.

There were very few Shan who did not know at least one Human name, and many knew them all. Cubs would choose their favourite Human to learn about; they took pride in their knowledge and made a game of besting each other with questions on the subject.

He'd had enough speechifying for this lifetime, James decided. "I vote Brenda gives the next one, if one there is."

Brenda punched him on the shoulder. "Hey no fair!"

"It's fair. I haven't heard one speech out of you this entire trip!" he said, rubbing his arm as if in pain, but he was joking.

Brenda had chosen to teach the Shan about the plants and animals found by the Alliance on alien worlds. The Shan were fascinated by her and who could blame them? He was too.

A small group of Shan approached to greet them. James stiffened when he recognised the aged Shan female at the centre of the group. There could be no mistaking that patterned pelt and grey speckled muzzle. It was Elder Jutka. This was the first time Jutka had deigned to meet the whole team. Before this, only James and Brenda had spoken with her, and then only via the comm.

James bowed deeply. "You honour us, Elder."

"You honour us, Elder," Brenda said with a bow. "May I introduce my colleagues?"

"You may proceed," Elder Jutka said, her nostrils flared as she gathered alien scents. Her whiskers, grey with age drew down at something she smelled, but rose again a moment later.

Brenda inclined her head politely and introduced the others. "Janice Bristow, professor of exobiology."

Janice bowed. "You honour me, Elder."

"James has spoken highly of you," Jutka said and touched her paw to Janice's palm in greeting.

"David Harrison, professor of biology," Brenda said and David stepped forward.

"You honour me, Elder," he said and bowed.

"I look forward to hearing your thoughts on what you have discovered," Jutka said inclining her head in return before touching David's hand.

"Sheryl Linden, professor of physics and engineering," Brenda said ushering Sheryl forward.

"You honour me, Elder."

"Ah!" Jutka said, her ears quivering and straining forward. "I look forward to discussing this thing called nanotech with you. It is a fascinating concept. To think such tiny machines can exist..." Jutka twitched her ears in puzzlement. "How can it be possible?"

"I have my reference texts aboard _Canada_ , Elder. They are all in English, but perhaps you would like copies? I'm sure you can have them translated, or perhaps I could go through the relevant sections with you?"

"Yes, yes!" Jutka said excitedly and shocked everyone—especially the Shan accompanying her—when she bowed to Sheryl. "You honour me with your offer of teaching, Sheryl."

"The honour is mine," Sheryl said solemnly.

Brenda was at a loss for a moment and it took a nudge from James to put her back on track. "Ah... I... This is Bindar Singh, Elder. He is our professor of linguistics. He's the sole reason we can converse and understand one another."

Jutka bowed even as Bindar did. "I thank you for bringing our two peoples together, Bindar."

"You honour me, Elder," Bindar bowed again. "I could not have accomplished my goal without a great deal of help from the others."

James smiled. "You must excuse Bindar, Elder. He is too modest, but we love him anyway."

Bindar's face heated in embarrassment. His friends chuckled and murmured their agreement. Jutka dropped her jaw in a grin and her ears flicked and twitched in what was great amusement in a Shan.

"I understand you are here for just a short time."

"That is true Elder," James said. "We cannot leave our work unfinished for too much longer. The Council will require a complete report before they can brief the next team."

"It is important work," Jutka agreed. "I have arranged for you all to stay in Zuleika with me and my mate. I have planned a tour of our city and of the Markan'deya. You will find it interesting James, considering your area of study."

"The Markan'deya?" James said uncertainly. "The... ah... memory of the people?"

"The memory of _the race_ , I believe," Bindar corrected. "A museum perhaps."

"Museum?" Jutka said trying the Human word carefully.

"A place where records and items pertaining to our history are displayed," Bindar explained. "People visit a museum to learn about our history."

"Then you have your own Markan'deya."

"We have many museums, Elder. On Earth—our homeworld—there are hundreds. Some are dedicated to Human history, others to natural history. There are even some dedicated to old wars—lest we forget how terrible war is."

Jutka's ears went flat. "You must see our Markan'deya. If you want to learn what it is to be Shan, you must."

"We all wish that," Janice said.

"Come then, let us go now," Jutka said turning away.

James exchanged glances with the others before they all hurried to catch Jutka and her escort. The elder had been very grim. James was careful to stay behind the Shan, but Jutka imperiously motioned him and the others forward so she might speak with them.

"Tell me of the Alliance."

Janice took up the question and launched into their well-used explanation. She knew it by heart. They all did. "The Alliance is composed of two-hundred and thirty-four—"

"No, tell me of your people. I have heard enough of your Council and Fleet for now. What are your people like? What do they do, how do they live?"

Janice smiled. "People are people anywhere, Elder. Some live in cities, some in space on our stations and ships. We have teachers and soldiers, factory workers and farmers, actors and musicians, scientists and doctors... the list is endless."

"Actors?"

"People who entertain others, Elder," Brenda said. "We like to write stories and watch people pretend to be the characters. We have plays, and holodramas written to mimic real life, but often the story is fiction."

"Lies used to entertain?" Jutka said doubtfully.

The Shan had a rich aural and written history. Those stories were re-enacted at special times, but James only now realised they were all factual accounts of real historical events. His mind raced over the data he had been compiling for months aboard ship. No fiction at all. None. Why hadn't he realised what that could mean? If looked at from a Shan point of view, fiction was another name for lying.

"Not lies, Elder," James hurriedly explained. "All those who watch them know the stories are not real life. The holodramas work because people willingly submerge themselves in the stories. Humans enjoy them. I always like to imagine myself as the hero who gets to save the Alliance."

"Ah! You wish to be other than you are, I can understand the fascination. If the Harmonies had not chosen my course, I would most likely have become an engineer as my father was. I sometimes like to imagine myself inventing some great new thing. Something so special everyone would know my name." Jutka smiled remembering her younger self. "The Harmonies however, have a way of guiding us along unsuspected paths."

Jutka stopped beside a big ground car waiting to take them to Zuleika. It hovered above the ground on a cushion of air. No anti-grav meant no flying and a longer trip.

"Sometimes we all feel that way, Elder," James agreed with a nod. "I like my life and my work, but it does no harm for me to imagine what would have happened had I taken another path."

Jutka climbed aboard the car followed by the ladies; Bernard and David were next, followed by Bindar and James last. There was plenty of room to sit comfortably and they continued their conversation uninterrupted by the quiet power up of the hover car. It glided smoothly along and James thought the Alliance should take note of this mode of travel. Alliance roads were notoriously uncared for, and travel upon them was often uncomfortable and noisy.

They drove into Zuleika and James split his attention between Jutka and her people going about their business outside. He felt truly privileged to be here. Zuleika was a lovely place full of open parks and delicate seeming buildings. The Shan didn't go in for mile high towers or anything near it. Instead of building vertically like a Human city, the Shan had chosen to build Zuleika horizontally with many connecting bridges between buildings spanning wide streets. Those bridges were a marvel in themselves. There didn't seem to be anything holding them up! The spans could almost be made of air they were so fragile seeming.

James watched dozens of Shan crossing a bridge and knew it was not air they were walking upon. It must be some kind of metal—a super strong alloy that could be used to construct such wonderful things as those bridges out there, yet not clutter the city with supports and pylons. Sheryl would be fascinated when she noticed them, but she was deep in conversation with Jutka and all her attention was focused upon the elder.

"Look there," Brenda whispered to him and pointed at a group of young Shan chasing each other in a park. "Are they playing?"

"Not playing," Jutka said raising a paw in apology to Sheryl for interrupting her. "They practice the hunt."

"The hunt? They're still cubs!"

"Barely two orbits old I would say," Jutka said glancing at the cubs as they drove by. "We begin training early."

"Two years old..." David said in astonishment.

"Shan grow very fast compared to us," Brenda said. Xeno-biology was one of her disciplines. "Six years old is adult for Shan."

"Seven orbits," Jutka corrected.

"I thank you, Elder," Brenda said inclining her head.

Seven Shan years was adult? James wondered how old Tei'Varyk and Tarjei were. If seven was adult, then they might be as young as ten! No, that couldn't be right. It would surely have taken Tei'Varyk longer than that to learn everything he needed to know. Then of course there was the experience necessary to be promoted to command a ship. The Shan only had forty-one warships at present. Forty-one captains from among millions of Shan made Tei'Varyk a very special Shan.

The Markan'deya was different to the other buildings in Zuleika. It was a large round building separated from the rest of the city by wide boulevards and set in the centre of a forested park. Access was by foot only, and to this end, their car pulled into a space beside another similar car. The Shan seemed to prefer walking or running to riding in cars. James had seen very few on their way to the Markan'deya. He gazed at their destination trying to reconcile the differences he found in this one building. It looked nothing like those in the city.

There were no bridges this time, and no sign of the light and airy feel of the city. It was all heavy stone columns and walls as if belonging to an earlier age. It was striking, but ugly in a way James could not put his finger on. It was as if the Shan had deliberately made it this way as a warning. He did not like what that said about its contents.

The Markan'deya had been deliberately set apart from the rest of the city, yet it was still at its heart. There was a symbolism here that was not lost on Bernard. His area was cultural studies specialising in the Merki. The President had decided his expertise on an alien culture would be valuable to the team.

He was right.

"Harmony again," Bernard rumbled quietly. "You set your past at a remove, Elder. It's as if you wish to separate yourselves from those living back then, yet you do not wish to forget them. Is that not so?"

Everyone was quiet. Bernard was greatly respected and he was always worth listening to. This time they waited with baited breath to see if Jutka would answer the one question that had stumped them all. Where was harmony in Shan culture?

"I believe the Human word for Zuleika would be lovely or am I wrong in this?" Jutka said seemingly avoiding the question.

Bindar answered, "Not wrong Elder, but I believe a closer approximation would be the word fair or perhaps even intelligent. Intelligent city?"

"No," Jutka said. "Zuleika then means fair city, but there is nothing fair about the Markan'deya Bindar. We remember, but it is a hard memory and one without harmony. That is why this place is separate from our city. The Markan'deya is at the heart of things, at the heart of all Shan. By coming here we remember our past, and what was lost. Our past is the Markan'deya."

That was as long a speech as James had ever heard from any Shan barring Kajetan. They all silently exited the car and followed Jutka toward the Markan'deya. All of them were apprehensive about what they would find and took no notice of the crowd beginning to form in their wake.

Jutka stopped at the huge door. "This is what we are," she said and opened it.

They followed Jutka inside and were confronted by the snarling visage of a huge Merki female. James and his friends froze in shock.

"Be not alarmed," Jutka said grimly satisfied with their reaction. "It is not real."

"It looks very real to us, Elder." Janice stared with fascination. She moved forward to view it from all sides. The Shan had set the figure in the centre of the room. It gave the impression that it was barring the way further into the building.

James meanwhile was looking around the anteroom. There were relics displayed in glass-like cases spread around the room. They were remnants of weapons almost exclusively, but the walls were what fascinated him the most. There were scenes of Shan life lovingly drawn and painted covering the walls. The artistry was excellent, but James found the contrast between the scenes on the walls and the broken beamers and launchers in the cases both striking and puzzling. There seemed nothing to link the two.

"They were painted from memory by the survivors of the war. This one..." Jutka said gesturing at a pastoral scene. "This one shows my people living a simple life. We knew nothing of technology and did not care. We were happy in our villages. We raised our cubs and hunted when we were hungry."

Jutka moved to the next scene showing some kind of meeting between elders.

"Here we see my people have prospered, but the clans were becoming too large for the range they claimed. A meeting of elders was called and a solution was sought."

"What was the solution?" Bernard asked, studying the artwork with interest.

"The clans were made into one with each of the elders working together to govern all the clans equally. It was the birth of the Great Harmony. The clans themselves were joined by blood when mates were chosen from different clans. If not for the creation of the Great Harmony, we may well have starved as we depleted more and more of our resources. There were many times more Shan in those times."

Bernard was nodding enthusiastically. "Your people turned away from the hunter gatherer life and towards permanent settlements and farming."

"Had we not learned to farm and husband the animals we fed upon, we would surely have starved," Jutka said and move to the next scene. "This one shows homeworld many orbits after the founding of the Great Harmony. We extended our settlements more and more until they became towns and then cities. We had learned to feed ourselves and were no longer chained to the land. We had more than enough for everyone and had more time for other pursuits.

"Here we see my people discovering electrical power. Before that time, we had used the wind or muscle power to do what was needed."

"How long after the founding did this occur elder?"

"Many generations," Jutka said. "Almost three hundred orbits."

"Three hundred!" Bernard gasped.

"Yes, a long time."

"That was not what I meant elder," Bernard said. "You advanced from a hunter-gatherer society and into an industrial one in just three hundred years. That is amazing!"

"Why?" Jutka said with interest. "Three hundred orbits is almost six generations of my people."

"Yes, but you see elder, it took Humans many times longer to reach the same level."

"I see, and you believe this is significant?"

"Well... yes!" Bernard said. "Don't you?"

"No. We are all of us different from one another. How much more different then must two races be?"

"Well said," James said.

There were murmurs of agreement from his colleagues but Jutka simply twitched her ears and moved on to the next to last scene. James judged from the subject matter that this one depicted more recent history, and Jutka confirmed it a moment or so later. James listened to her describe the launching of the first probes to the outer planets of the Shan system while he studied the images. The scene showed the actual launching of the probe against a backdrop of cheering Shan.

"And the last one," Jutka said moving to stand before the picture. "This is an important time in our history. Homeworld was becoming overpopulated and we desperately needed new range. The probes gave us the data we needed to find Child of Harmony, and our scientists gave us the means to reach and land here. This ship was the very first to be launched to Child of Harmony, but it was not the last. As you can see, we began building ships as fast as we could in an attempt at colonising this planet. We succeeded."

The painting showed a large fleet of ships assembled above Homeworld with others already on their way to Child of Harmony. On the surface, a city—Zuleika perhaps, was already under construction. The colonisation was an amazing achievement for any race, but for the Shan it was survival. Shan females gave birth in litters. Five or six cubs at a time was the average and overpopulation had obviously been a concern.

"How long ago was this?" James said already guessing it would be around a century. The Shan had met the Merki around then.

"One hundred and twelve orbits."

"Just before the war?"

Jutka did not answer. Instead, she moved to the door guarded by the Merki statue. "In here are the answers to your questions," she said and entered.

**Kachina Mountains, Child of Harmony**

"It's very beautiful here," Brenda said looking around her. "It smells wonderful."

Jutka raised her muzzle to scent the wind. "There are many such places on Child of Harmony, but we have come here for a reason other than the scenery."

"Of course, forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive. Beauty is always worth noting, but come, let us go on."

Brenda and the others followed the elder and her entourage along the rock-strewn path, if path it was, and up into the foothills of the Kachina Mountains. It was slow going, Jutka was old for a Shan and so were Janice and Bindar, but there was no hurry. The Markan'deya was a horror but it had one redeeming feature. It had given them an excuse to find out what a Keep was like.

As Brenda climbed higher, she could not help remembering what Jutka had shown them inside the Markan'deya. Jutka said they would find answers through that door, the one guarded by a Merki female. They had found answers all right, but Brenda had found sadness and pain—and nightmares...

They had followed Jutka through that door and found the end of the Great Harmony. Hundreds of cases filled the hall and thousands of horror stories were painted on the walls. It had made her sick to her stomach and Bindar was white-faced. She had wanted to run away from what she saw, but she felt almost obligated to look.

"The Murderers came and destroyed our ships," Jutka said indicating the first images. "We had no weapons, no defence against them. On the surface of Homeworld, there was panic and disbelief. We did not know what was happening, or why it was happening. The Murderers bombed our major cities and then descended to the surface to round up my people. Millions upon millions of Shan were killed before we learned to use the Merkiaari weapons against them."

"What of this one?" James whispered loath to break the horrified hush that had fallen.

Jutka turned to see what James had found. "My people fled to the deep forests where they hid from the Merki and slowly starved. While those lucky enough to acquire weapons fought the Murderers, their mates and cubs starved."

Brenda studied scene after scene of atrocity. Cities burning, Shan fighting unarmed and dying against huge Merki, cubs running as Merki ripped apart their parents... it was horrible.

"And this?" Bindar said.

"The first Keep," Jutka said.

"What is a Keep?"

"A refuge—merely deep caves. My people were dying in their millions, we had no choice but to hide. If we had not, you would have found our worlds empty. We would all be dead."

"I understand, but may I see this cave?"

Jutka was still and so were those with her. Bindar was about to apologise when she twitched her ears in agreement. "I will arrange it."

Brenda stumbled up the rock-strewn path and thanked James as he saved her from an embarrassing fall. She needed to keep her attention on the here and now, and not on the Markan'deya's upsetting images.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, James. I wasn't watching where I was going. I can't help thinking about the Markan'deya."

"I know what you mean. I dreamed about it again last night."

"Me too," Brenda admitted though she had not been aware of James awakening. "Did you get a few hours?"

"Ummm, about four or five... minutes."

"Yeah."

Jutka led the way up into higher elevations until they reached a kind of plateau. A cliff-like wall of rock, the beginning of the mountain proper was a sheer barrier before them, but the so-called path did continue by turning hard right and following the base of the cliff. The plateau was a small flattish outcropping of rock with large boulders seemingly scattered around at random. Appearances can be deceiving however.

"We must wait a few moments to be recognised," Jutka said and sat upon a boulder with the aid of her friends. She was very old for a Shan and was tired.

"I do not see the Keep, Elder," Bernard said looking around. "Are we close?"

"Very," Jutka said dryly and her companions dropped their jaws in amusement. "You will see it soon, do not be concern—"

A rumbling split the air and the cliff opened. Brenda watched in amazement as a huge section of rock slowly slid into the ground revealing a lighted passage that ran deep into the mountain's bones. Jutka rose to her feet and led them to the welcoming committee just now approaching from within the Keep. There was a moment of confusion as Jutka's companions moved ahead with the Shan equivalent of The Box. The newcomers were outfitted with earpieces and pickups so Brenda and her team might understand them.

"Honoured Elder," a Shan from the new group said. "Welcome to Kachina Twelve."

Twelve? Brenda blinked in amazement. The opening in the mountain was huge with the passage disappearing into the distance hinting at the size of this place. How many Keeps could there possibly be?

Jutka introduced Brenda and the others then introduced the leader of the newcomers. "—and this is Tei'Kerttu. She has the honour of being Tei for Kachina Twelve."

"Honoured," Brenda said with a bow.

"A very great honour," Bindar said.

"Honoured,"

"—noured Tei," James said.

"Honoured to meet you Tei, I have many questions," Bernard said.

"Welcome, welcome all," Tei'Kerttu said in reply. "Your wish, Elder?"

"Our new friends have many questions about our past, Kerttu. I want you to show them what a Keep is, what it does, and how that is achieved."

"At your command," Tei'Kerttu said with a bow.

Jutka turned away and addressed herself to James. "I will leave you with Kerttu. She will see to your needs and your return to my home."

"Thank you, Elder."

Jutka and her escort left then and Tei'Kerttu took charge of Brenda and her friends. They were ushered inside in order to close up the mountain. Kerttu explained that the Keeps were always sealed to prevent detection. They should only be opened in an emergency, but an elder's word was law and this was a special circumstance.

Brenda followed Kerttu into the mountain listening to her explanations of what they saw. In a spare moment between questions, she asked what she had been wondering about.

"How many Keeps are there?" Brenda said. "I mean, this is Kachina Twelve. Is there a Kachina Thirteen or even a Kachina Twenty?"

Kerttu hesitated but her elder's words had been specific. "There is a Kachina Twenty," she admitted reluctantly. "There are hundreds of Keeps on Child of Harmony, and hundreds more on Homeworld. Some are even larger than Kachina Twelve, not many to be sure, but some. Forgive me for not saying more, but I am not comfortable discussing this."

"We understand Tei," James said and the others murmured agreement. "If we had such places, we too would keep the information secret. You have my word of honour that I will not reveal what I see here," he said and the others were quick to agree.

Brenda was not sure they should agree to that actually. They were here to learn about the Shan and report to the President and the Council. Swearing not to reveal what they learned was a little too much like disloyalty for her peace of mind. Unfortunately, it was obvious she would learn nothing further if she did not agree.

"You have my word, Tei," Brenda said a little late and felt guilty for saying it.

"I thank you," Kerttu said, "but I will not reveal anything that might compromise Keep security or their locations."

James was a little put out by that, but Brenda actually felt happier with the problem out of the way. If Kerttu did not reveal any secrets, she did not have to worry about reporting what she did reveal.

They had to stop briefly when they reached a huge vault door. Kerttu was required to input some kind of code to open it. The door reminded Brenda of an airlock from the outside, but when it opened she realised no air lock was ever built so strong. It was designed like a cork. It was round and stepped down in diameter with the largest size outer most.

"That is the biggest blast door I have ever seen!" Sheryl said in awe. "How heavy is it?"

"I do not know," Kerttu said in surprise. "I am a warrior not an engineer, but I am sure I could find out for you."

"No, that's all right." Sheryl said as the door completed swinging open.

Kerttu led them inside and the door slowly swung closed with a hiss of compression seals. "This is a vacuum chamber. If ever the door is attacked, it is hoped the lack of atmosphere in here will prevent the shock being transmitted to the inner door."

"It has never been put to the test?"

"A prototype was tested in the outer belt where it was bombarded by the fleet. The results seem to indicate the inner door can resist a ten-megatonne detonation but only as long as this chamber remains uncompromised. Should the outer door succumb, there are two more of these chambers to breach before the Keep itself is breached."

Sheryl was an engineer chosen to join the contact team to evaluate the Shan's technical knowledge. If anyone was qualified to judge the effectiveness of the Keep's defences, it was she.

"An impressive system, Tei, but have you hardened the Keep against other forms of attack?"

"Such as?"

"Were this on an Alliance world I would expect to see shields, heavy weapon emplacements, and perhaps even nano assemblers."

Kerttu was interested. Her ears were pricked forward and her nose was twitching as if she scented something on the wind worth her time. "Weapons we have, but I do not know what shields and nano assemblers are. You must explain these things to me."

"I would be honoured to do so, but to understand my discipline you would need to study for many orbits. Let me see if I can simplify what I mean," Sheryl said with a frown. "Nano technology is simply the use of microscopic robot machines to perform pre-programmed tasks. We use them for all kinds of things from performing intricate surgery to building components for an Alliance dreadnought. In your case, you could use them to repair damage to the door the instant it was detected by the nanites. If set up properly, they can be used to reverse the damage even as it is occurring, which would increase the life of the defence this door represents."

Kerttu's nose was twitching and it was obvious how pleased she would be to have nanotech to enhance her defences. "And the shield?"

"That is both easier and harder to explain. Shields are three fold. First is the physical armour to withstand impact forces, but you have that. Alliance armour is designed to resist energy weapons as well. The surface of the armour should be as reflective as possible to deflect the beams, and finally we have shield generators, which produce extremely intense magnetic forces using the jump vanes of a ship to deflect charged particles. Shields are best used on spacecraft, but they can be adapted to work in a planetary environment... after a fashion. They are rarely used in atmosphere, and to be blunt Tei, I would not recommend doing so."

"Why not?"

"Because, should the unthinkable occur, the generators could be destroyed liberating all the energy they have stored. Aboard ship there are ejection mechanisms and blow out panels to reduce damage, but within your mountain here it would be a disaster."

"Dangerous indeed, Sheryl." Kerttu said. "More dangerous than it is worth surely?"

"Not aboard a warship going into harms way, Tei. A ship without shields would be easy meat for the Merkiaari."

"Our fleet does not have these shields, but the Murderers will not find them easy."

"I did not mean to imply—" Sheryl began as she realised that her comments could be taken as a condemnation of Shan defences.

Tei'Kerttu's ears twitched. "Be at ease. I have heard the Alliance will help us in many ways if we join."

"That's true," James said as the inner door opened and they progressed further into the Keep. "You have done wonders here, but with the help of the Alliance I believe you will create many more."

Brenda smiled at James' eloquence. He had come a long way from the shy professor of history she had known back in Oxford. Somehow, James had become the unofficial leader of their group and he was good at the job.

Kerttu escorted them through each of the blast doors and vacuum chambers and into an elevator that went down deep below the mountain. Brenda stepped out of the elevator and into the Keep proper. It was truly huge just as she had guessed. Sub-level one was the equivalent of twenty stories below the main entrance, a very long way, but there were ten more levels containing living areas, workshops, hydroponics, schools, weapon storage, life support, kitchens... everything needed for the Shan to live separated from the surface for years.

"Each level is hardened against penetration by the Murderers and can survive independently of the others for as many as four cycles."

"Only four days?" Sheryl said in disapproval.

Kerttu's ears flattened to her skull at Sheryl's tone. "That is the maximum time we estimate it would take the Murderers to find and kill everyone on a single level. If we cannot retake the infested level in four days, my people would be dead and more life support capacity would be pointless."

Brenda moved to the safety railing that edged the walkway and looked over into the abyss. The floor was so far down it was almost out of sight. She thought she could see water shimmering down there, but could not be sure. She counted the levels down and came up with all ten, but the visible sections were as nothing compared with the areas hidden in the depths of the mountain.

In the roof of the cavern were huge lights, but most were unlit, the orange glow coming from those that were powered was just enough to see the details. In the centre was a huge round pillar gleaming metallically; it reached from the roof all the way down into the depths.

"What is that?" Brenda said pointing.

Kerttu joined her at the rail. "The core; power generation, water recycling, and primary life support. My control room is there and of course the security centre including barracks and weapons storage."

James moved to the railing beside her and leaned over the edge. "I assume you have enough weapons for all your people Tei."

"There are weapons caches on each level, but all my people carry their own. Everyone knows they are to bring their beamers with them when the time comes."

"So it is true," Bernard said. "You do train all your people to fight."

"It's true. Only cubs below the age of five orbits and those too old do not fight."

"The central area is too open," Sheryl said. "A bad weakness in the Keep's design. It provides a possible access for Merki wishing to move from one level to another."

Kerttu dropped her jaw in a grin. "Any Merki showing itself would die instantly. The core is the most heavily guarded section. Do not be fooled by what you see here. The Keep is on power down. When fully activated these walkways can be sealed off—see the shutters?"

Brenda looked up at the overhead. Along the edge of the walkways were heavy looking blast shields that could drop down just beyond the railing she was leaning against. The effect would be like adding a steel wall along the walkway to create a corridor with no other exit from the level but the elevator.

"If the shutters are breached the Merki will find themselves under fire from every quarter by automatic weaponry controlled by security."

Brenda squinted at the walls trying to make out details. They were too far away to be sure, but she could see dozens of hatches that she assumed housed beamers and other weapons designed to protect the Shan. Brenda nudged James when she noticed the others drifting away to follow Kerttu, and he left the rail to join them.

Brenda took one last look at the cavern before trotting to catch up.

# 18 ~ Doomsday

**Fortress Command, Kachina Twelve, Child of Harmony**

It was a small thing at first; a barely detectable blip on a display in the heart of a heavy fang that had alarms wailing. Moments later, the alarm was silenced when the ship was blown to pieces by capital ship missiles.

The destruction of Vasuk was noticed, and the Shan fleet turned to investigate. It took the destruction of another heavy fang for the horrible truth to dawn.

The Murderers had returned.

Tei'Kerttu hurried into command central, and stopped to stare up at the huge screen displaying a system wide scan. Glaring red icons winked at her as they advanced in system, while a pitifully small number of cool blue ones, heavy fangs of the Fleet, moved to intercept them. She shivered in dread. There were so few. Even counting the light fangs and the Human ship, the Murderers outnumbered them.

The elders had yet to contact her, but already it was obvious what must be done. The Murderer's ships outnumbered the Fleet. She must proceed with the assumption that landings would take place. Her hackles rose and her tail lashed in agitation. She hoped to be proven wrong, but it was safer to err on the side of caution. She dragged her eyes away from the screen, and looked over the railing at the floor below the command platform she stood upon. There was no overt panic among her staff, but she could feel it all the same. Everyone was tense. She heard it in their whispered announcements and reports, saw it in the cant of their ears, and scented it upon the air.

"Bring us to alert status one," she announced.

For just a moment, all eyes were focused upon her, and silence greeted the announcement. The order was hardly unexpected under the circumstances, but to actually hear those words was something everyone had hoped never to hear. An almost audible sigh swept command central, punctuated by her staff turning back to their consols.

"I hear," Kon'Tirun said from behind her, and keyed a security sequence into a terminal. Tei'Kerttu moved to join her.

Throughout the keep, alarms sounded and personnel ran through corridors to arm themselves. Thousands of warriors threw on their harnesses and checked their beamers, while technicians closed circuits long dormant. Lights throughout the facility came up full, punctuated by the still strobing emergency beacons that had been designed to lead people deeper into the keep's protected environment.

Pumps began pumping, air filters long unused within the deepest levels of the keep, began filtering out non-existent radiation and poisons. Non-existent, but perhaps not for long—the Murderers of Harmony were coming. Blast doors rumbled open throughout the keep ready to accept the millions of frightened people destined for Kachina Twelve, while above ground, hidden within the surrounding forests and hills, missile silos powered up awaiting the launch command.

Tei'Kerttu watched in silence as her command centre came to life around her. Lighting remained subdued, but the view-screens provided more than ample with which to see. One section remained dark—fortress control. Its operators watched their comrades working from a sea of darkened screens. Their section was by far the largest. It commanded awesome firepower, yet they remained inert.

She flexed her claws and made a decision. "Power up orbital defence net."

"I hear," came the quiet response from Kon'Danu at fortress control, and the lonely island of darkness was gone, replaced with busy paws and flashing symbols upon computer screens.

Another huge view-screen burst into light overhead. This one was a diagrammatic representation of Child of Harmony. In orbit of the planet, huge fortresses were even now powering up—their computers and weapons running complex self-tests. Fire control computers reached out to their brothers in the neighbouring fortresses until, with their defences now linked, Child of Harmony was ringed with targeting sensors reaching into the depths of space looking for something to kill.

Tei'Kerttu watched as one after another, the fortresses populated the view-screen, but suddenly her attention was taken by another screen showing a situation map of the Kachina Mountain range and its hidden keeps. Kachina Eight was fully online according to the information displayed. One through six were at alert status two, well on their way to full activation that was alert status one. Blinking icons, representing still more keeps, informed her of facilities still at power down.

"This is not happening fast enough," she growled. "Any word from the elders?"

"No, Tei," Kon'Tirun said. "Should I try to contact them again?"

Tei'Kerttu tapped a claw in irritation upon her panel. "Why are so many keeps still at alert three?"

"It takes time, Tei. We were already at alert two because of the Humans."

"Too long... it's taking too long! Contact Kajetan. Insist that I speak with her if you must, but hurry."

"Yes Tei," Kon'Tirun said and her paws flashed over her panel.

**Aboard Naktlon in orbit of Harmony**

Tei'Varyk crawled through the opening followed by Tei'Colgan. "...and from here back to ammunition storage bays. Should it happen that this area is breached, the transfer system is fully automated."

"Very impressive, Tei. I'm thinking our R&D people could learn a few things here."

That pleased him greatly. Tei'Varyk was proud of his new ship and was glad to hear others found merit in _Naktlon_ 's innovations. _Naktlon_ was the newest and most powerful heavy fang ever to leave the shipyards. He was just about ready for testing.

Kajika had howled in pleasure when he saw the size of his ammunition storage. He had three times _Chakra's_ torpedo capacity, and twice his energy range. _Naktlon_ was the most combat capable heavy fang yet built. Even so, Tei'Varyk secretly missed _Chakra_. Many of the crew had stayed with Tei'Unwin, and he missed them. He was thankful the command crew had come with him in its entirety.

"When do you plan on taking her out?" Colgan said.

"He is ready now," Tei'Varyk corrected. "Kajetan has ordered a patrol of the outer asteroids."

"Good choice. You can test his guns out there."

He flicked his ears in agreement. That was the main reason for choosing the asteroids. They were a perfect testing ground for this kind of thing.

Tei'Varyk led the way through the ship towards the command deck. "Let us see what James is doing."

"You know, when my people arrive to talk with the elders, I'll most likely be ordered outsystem."

"Where will you go next?"

Colgan shrugged. "We had just jumped into an unexplored system when we received your transmissions. We'll go back to finish our survey. It's roughly thirty light years from here. _Canada's_ mission is exploring new systems, cataloguing what we find and sending the data back to the Alliance."

"It must be an amazing experience. I would give anything to be there with you."

"Perhaps one day you will be."

Tei'Varyk grinned. "I look forward to that day. What is the name of the system?"

"The one I was exploring?" Colgan said and Tei'Varyk flicked his ears in agreement. "It doesn't have a name. We use catalogue numbers. There are billions of suns, and perhaps seventy percent have planets; too many to name my friend. Even our capital system has a number, though it has a name as well of course."

"Ah?"

"Earth is the capital world of the Alliance as well as homeworld to the Human race."

"And the system?"

"We call it Sol, named for its sun."

"Sol?" Tei'Varyk sounded the name experimentally. "A good name."

Colgan smiled. "We like it. I've not heard the name of your sun."

"It is simply The Sun. What need for another name when it's the only one?"

"When your fleet journeys beyond Shan space, your people will find new homes and will name them as we have done."

"And the Great Harmony will be reborn," Tei'Varyk said almost seeing that day. "Not in my lifetime, Tei'Colgan, but perhaps my cubs will see it."

"Perhaps it will be sooner."

"Let us hope." They entered the command deck. Jozka was at his station talking quietly with the maintenance crews. "Jozka?"

"Tei?"

"Where is James and his people?"

"They have just landed, Tei."

"Landed? Landed where?" Tei'Varyk said looking back at Colgan who shook his head. "Why was I not informed?"

"I did not know you wished to be," Jozka said. "Have I failed you?"

"No. I should have asked you to inform me. Where have they gone?"

"Zuleika... should I contact them?"

Zuleika was a city on Child of Harmony. The main port was located nearby on the coast. The city was a very fine place to visit and he was glad James would see it.

"No. Continue your duties."

"I hear," Jozka said and turned back to what he had been doing.

"It seems we have missed them."

Colgan shrugged, and then grinned. "Not to worry. Ships are my passion, not cities."

"I hear," Tei'Varyk said with a jaw-dropping grin of his own. "Perhaps you would like to go outside?"

"Love to. It just so happens that I have my helmet with me."

Tei'Varyk twitched his ears in amusement. He liked these Humans, more and more. "Let us go now..."

Jozka yelped in surprise. "Tei!"

Tei'Varyk spun away from the hatch, and was back at Jozka's side in three strides. His heart sped when he saw the shock on Jozka's face. "What is it?"

"The Fleet just went to alert one," Jozka gasped quivering in shock at the news.

"What does that mean?" Colgan said to Tei'Varyk's back as he hurried toward his station.

"Sound alert," Tei'Varyk snapped as he sat in his chair and brought his station's screens to life. "Alert one is war, Tei'Colgan."

A siren growled throughout the ship making hackles rise. The crew stared at each other in disbelief. The ship was at power down and still docked. Moments later their training took over, and they scrambled to get to their stations.

"But who are you fighting? Not... not my people," Colgan said in a shaken voice.

"I don't know yet."

"Tei'Colgan?" Jozka said sounding more composed now. "A message from your ship: We are coming."

Colgan blinked. "Is that all?"

Jozka flicked his ears. "That was all."

"Contact them and ask for clarification, please."

"Tei?"

"Do it," Tei'Varyk said and turned to Tarjei. "Give me a full power scan. Jakinda, go to internal power and disconnect all umbilicals."

"I hear," Tarjei said and quickly bent to the task. "Scanning at full power and resolution."

"I hear, Tei," Jakinda said. "Umbilical disconnect in progress. Main power online. The station grapples are not under my control, Tei."

Tei'Varyk chewed his whiskers in agitation. He pointed a claw at Jozka. "Fix that."

"I hear," Jozka said and tried to contact the stationmaster just as Kajika ran onto the command deck and took his place.

"Bring all weapons online."

"I hear, Tei," Kajika said panting from his run. "Primary and secondary weapons at standby," he said and then snarled a curse under his breath. "Feed jam on magazine two!"

"Unjam it," Tei'Varyk hissed. "Tei'Colgan?"

"What the hell is happening?" Colgan said. "Where's my ship?"

Tei'Varyk pointed a claw at one of his screens. "There is _Canada_ , but look here."

Colgan bent to look. _Canada_ was manoeuvring, obviously intent on making rendezvous with _Naktlon_ to pick him up, but it was the host of glaring red icons on the edge of the system that claimed his attention.

"Jesus..." Colgan hissed. "We're outnumbered."

Tei'Varyk agreed. "Could they be your people?"

"Have they tried to establish contact?"

Tei'Varyk looked the question at Jozka.

"Nothing yet, Tei, but I have more bad news. Two heavy fangs are reported missing. Atarah and Vasuk."

"Not my people's doing, Tei. Absolutely not my people," Colgan said anxiously.

"Jakinda, status?"

"Thrusters at station keeping, Tei. Ramp and grapples retracted."

"Break dock!"

"I hear. Manoeuvring thrusters engaged. Port ten..." Jakinda said as his claws danced over his controls, and _Naktlon_ smoothly eased away from the station. "Thrusters ahead one third... we have cleared the station."

Colgan leaned down again. "I need to be on my ship, Tei."

Tei'Varyk knew how Colgan felt, but he had other priorities right now. "Set a course to join the Fleet. Jozka, any word from the Human ship?"

"They say they will match our course and speed. They ask permission to send a cub lander for Tei'Colgan."

A Human lander would not be able to dock with _Naktlon_ , but it could come alongside and pick Colgan up if he was willing to chance a spacewalk. Knowing Colgan, Tei'Varyk was sure he would be.

"Tell them to hurry."

"I hear."

**Zuleika, Child of Harmony**

For Shima, that orbit had already been the most memorable of her short life. She had moved her entire world to Child of Harmony—her research, her home, Chailen. Everything was here.

Her father was the only thing missing, but even he was just a short flight away. He had taken up his duties on Hool Station now. It was ironic really. Tahar had told everyone that he worked aboard Hool Station, and for orbits he had lived the lie. In reality, he had been working on an ultra-secret project. The FTL project was no longer a secret. It had failed, and the research teams were disbanded. Now he really did work on Hool.

Her move to Child of Harmony was important enough, but it was nothing compared to the momentous news of first contact with another alien race. She had watched the broadcast announcing contact with the Humans. Everyone had of course. Every Shan in the Twin Worlds had watched spellbound as Kajetan explained in detail just who these strange creatures were, and why they had come. Her calm tones were at odds with the historic news.

Shima had been fascinated by it all, but others were afraid. There had been disturbances. Frightened people had run in every direction expecting alien landings at any moment. Thousands had fled into the mountains. Every keep was inundated by frightened people seeking sanctuary. It had taken a string of broadcasts by the Council of Elders to calm the situation. Every warrior and every ship was on alert, they said. Be not afraid, they said. Humans are our friends, and they will speak to you soon.

And they had spoken.

Shima had lived through those days hardly able to work for fear she might miss the next broadcast. Kajetan said the Humans had been studying them so that they might speak well enough to make themselves understood, but for now they must use devices they had brought with them. The translators were not perfect, she warned, but with time and patience on both sides, understanding could be achieved.

A Human male with two names had spoken first—two names! Jeff Colgan was his name he said, and he was Tei for his ship. _Canada_ was his ship's name, and it was built for exploration among the stars. He went on to introduce some of his crew, and it was a female named Janice Bristow (two names again!) who had explained about the Alliance.

Broadcast followed broadcast, as each day led to greater understanding between Shan and Human. Alien names and faces were memorised by cubs, just in case the chance to meet one occurred. Everyone knew at least one Human name, and many knew them all. Some even had their favourite Human. Shima liked James Wilder for the way his name sounded, and for his deep voice—so alien it was. Then came the day that everyone had waited for. A message was sent to the Alliance inviting another ship to come.

No doubt it was important, but by that time she had been hearing the call of her work again. She could not stay away any longer. Her life, and the lives of her co-workers settled back into normality and harmony. The Humans were relegated to an interesting topic to discuss in their spare time.

Shima was hard at work writing her report on variant three-one-five on that fateful day. It had proven itself the most promising variant of grain she had yet worked with. Genetics was still in its infancy, but already the benefits of hardier grain with higher yields was eagerly anticipated. Weather patterns differed greatly, and mean temperatures were higher on Child of Harmony. Food crops from Harmony did not prosper so well here, but if variant three-one-five was any indication, that would not always be so.

* * *

_—successful. I therefore recommend assigning Area Six to variant three-one-five. If, as seems likely from available data, variant three-one-five prospers in the unprotected environment of Area Six, I can foresee farm trials beginning with next orbit's growing season—_

* * *

"We must get to the keep!" a voice screamed followed by crashes as something smashed. "Quickly, take this and this. Where's Shima? Has anyone seen Shima?"

Shima looked up in irritation at the noise. She rose to see what had caused it, but just then her terminal chimed announcing an incoming call. She hesitated a moment, but decided to take the call first. She would see what the fuss was about later.

She pressed the 'accept call' button on her computer. Her work was automatically saved, and then replaced by the image of her father. His ears were flat and his eyes were... she had never seen fear on her father's face, but she knew it all the same. When she heard the booming voice in the background of the transmission, her heart sped as her own fear leapt to match his.

"... _levels Six through Eight. Levels Nine through Twelve will evacuate via Red Sector..."_

"Thank the Harmonies!" Tahar yelled over the frantic announcement. "You have to get out of Zuleika!"

"What? I don't understand," Shima cried. Behind her father, she saw people running by. "Are you all right? Is the station in danger?"

"Listen to me," Tahar said in a hard voice. "Forget about me. This place is finished. All that matters is you and Chailen. She is with you, yes?"

"No. She's visiting friends. What do you mean forget about you? What has happened—" the door behind her slid aside. She spun in a defensive crouch with her lips rippling back in a warning snarl.

"Shima," Adonia gasped from the open door. "For Harmony's sake what are you doing? We have to get to a keep!"

Shima's ears were plastered tight against her head, making her almost deaf, and her vision was tunnelling. She desperately fought the hunt/kill reflex of her people, and tried to stop the rumbling growl that was forcing its way up from her chest.

"Shima!" Tahar cried as he was buffeted by running people. "The cities near the ports will be hit first. You have to get as far away from Zuleika as you can. The Fleet is fighting to give us time to evacuate the—"

The screen cleared and the calm face of Kajetan appeared.

"My people," she said solemnly. "I have just been informed that the Fleet is under attack, and that our brave warriors are fighting for their lives.

"From the descriptions received, we believe the Murderers have returned. Our allies, the Humans, have vowed to stand with us and fight. Tei'Colgan informs me that a drone to the Alliance will be dispatched at once, but the Human fleet will take time to reach us. I am therefore ordering a system wide evacuation.

"Please assemble at your evacuation zones for immediate transport to your assigned keep. I say this to the warriors among you: Protect our young ones, and may the Harmonies be with you all."

The screen cleared, but Tahar did not reappear. The report Shima had been working on suddenly blinked back to life on the screen awaiting her input. She turned away, and forced herself to walk calmly out of the room, when all she wanted to do was run.

"Wait, Shima. Where are you going?"

"Zuleika," she said dully.

The Murderers were coming, and her father was dead. He had no chance aboard an unarmed station and he knew it. That was why he had called her instead of trying to escape with all those running people. Those poor people. Forget about me, he said, but she vowed she would not—not for as long as she lived.

"...heard what she said. The cities are not safe."

"I don't care. Chailen is there. My only sib is there!" she said angrily. She should have demanded that Chailen accompany her to work that morning, but she hadn't. "I'm taking number three," she said jumping into the car.

"You can't do that!" Adonia snapped. "What about the rest of us? We have to evacuate."

"You have the other three. Take the loaders too. You might as well save the grain while you're at it. If any of us survive, we will need it. Three-one-five is stable."

Adonia gaped. "Good idea." She ran off shouting about saving variant three-one-five on the loaders.

Shima lifted off and accelerated hard to gain altitude. She ignored the local traffic pattern to cut straight toward Zuleika. An alarm sounded when her course and speed were noticed, but she didn't care about fines. She shut down the guidance computer and its alarm. She knew the way, and flew the car as if guiding a missile.

She had to find Chailen. Nothing else mattered.

Zuleika was surprisingly orderly. There were heavily armed warriors at every intersection directing people to their evacuation zones. It would take longer than they had to evacuate the city completely, but there was enough time to get the young ones and their mothers out. Shima hoped so anyway.

She had no way of knowing what was happening elsewhere in the world. Had the Murderers already landed? She glanced around through the domed glass of the car. Somewhere up there her father was waiting to die along with thousands of others. The Fleet was fighting and dying to give her time to find Chailen, and she would do that. She would not fail her father or those who were even now dying to protect her.

Shima landed outside her home, and entered to find it empty. It was exactly as she had left it when she awoke this morning, but it felt different—abandoned already. No one had been here. She was certain. Wherever Chailen was now, she had not had time to collect her beamer.

Shima stripped off her harness. Digging tools and seed would not be needed for a long time, if ever. She dropped it on the floor unheeding, and put on her hunting harness. The knife and other things might be useful. Her beamer lay beside Chailen's weapon in the drawer. The box held spare energy cells and a cleaning kit. The charger was too bulky to carry, but she secreted the spare cells into every available space on her harness, and quickly attached both holsters.

She felt uncomfortably weighed down. The harness was not heavy even yet, but it felt cumbersome. It had never felt so before, it had always fit her like a second pelt, but the addition of the holsters made it look like a warrior's harness. She wasn't a warrior.

She felt... wrong. Just wrong.

Wrong or not, she wouldn't give them up. If she was to find and protect Chailen, she would need the beamers to fight the Murderers. She took off her vision enhancer and looked blearily around her home. She never wore it on a hunt, but this was different. Shima wished again that she did not need it, but wishing did no good. She put it back on and left her home for the final time. She doubted that she would be back.

The street was empty when she reached it. Shima couldn't believe that someone had taken her car without asking permission. That just wasn't done. She stared at where she had parked it as if expecting it to reappear, but of course it did no such thing.

She studied the street both ways, and then set off for Sharn's house. Sharn was Chailen's closest friend. They did everything together. Tahar had suggested that Chailen and Sharn might mate next orbit. Shima secretly thought so too. They were a good match and she was jealous. Shima hoped that was also a secret. She thought it was, but Chailen had a way of surprising—

_CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK!_

Shima ducked instinctively. She had never heard a noise like it. She looked around, but saw nothing that could be responsible for it. Then she looked up and trembled. There were dozens and dozens of Shan flyers chasing a huge ship.

_CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK!_

The noise came again, and this time Shima knew what it was. It was the sound of a flyer's lightning weapon. Those huge beamers could smash buildings into molten rock, but the massive alien ship continued on its way unaffected. The Murderers were making their landing right in the city... no, they were going for the port, just as Tahar had predicted.

Shima was relieved and felt guilty for it. There must be people at the port. They would die. Yes, but she wouldn't and that meant Chailen would not. Whatever happened, Chailen must not die.

She was all that mattered now.

Shima ran on.

**Hool Station, in orbit, Child of Harmony**

Tahar ambled along the echoing corridor alone with his thoughts. He didn't want to watch all the screaming and crying people trapped on the docks. There had been easily three times more people on the station than they had ships for.

He wished he could have just a little longer with Shima. She lacked confidence in herself and still needed him. Chailen was more resilient for all she was the younger. Ordinarily he would have no concerns for her. She would have comforted Shima at his death, but the situation was not ordinary. With the Murderers in system, he could only hope that his children would find some way to survive.

Tahar turned down another corridor toward a place he remembered, they served the best meals on the station, when he heard it—the sound of a cub whimpering in fear. He stopped and listened for the sound again. His ears swivelled and pricked up. The sound was coming from his left. He opened the hatch and a pair of frightened eyes looked up at him.

"Hello," he said trying not to frighten her. "Are you all alone?"

Her tiny ears flicked and quivered only half erect. "I came back for my present. It's my name day, but now I can't find my sibs."

Tahar swallowed the howl of despair he wanted to voice. All the cubs had left first. Their parents had followed packed to the bulkheads in an old ore transport. It was hoped some would survive that way. Staying behind was certain death.

"Not to worry," he said with false cheer. He bent to pick her up. "You can stay with me until your mother comes." He hugged her tight where she clung around his neck. "Are you hungry?"

"Can I have anything I want?"

"Anything at all little one," he said continuing on his way.

"Even Shkai'ra?"

His ears twitched. "You like that do you?"

"Yes."

"We can have that then," Tahar said cheerfully. "I have cubs you know. They like Shkai'ra too. I used to take them hunting when they were your age."

Tahar and his new friend died holding each other. They did not eat Shkai'ra. The Merkiaari guard ship smashed the station before they reached the dining area.

**Zuleika, Child of Harmony**

Shima streaked along the road on all fours. She had never run so fast in her life. She had never needed to. Her people were fast, just how fast she was only now coming to realise. Her ancestors had known of course. An empty belly had often goaded them into such bursts of speed as they attempted to take down Shkai'lon on the run—a particularly foolish thing to try under other circumstances. Shima had motivation for her speed, but it wasn't an empty belly. She had Merki warriors on her tail—not literally thank the Harmonies, but they were close enough to make speed essential.

Sharn's home was already abandoned when Shima had arrived, but at least she knew where to look for her sib. When she had searched the house, she found the computer blinking a message.

* * *

_Kachina Twelve... Kachina Twelve... Kachina Twelve..._

* * *

The blinking message could only be for her. At least, Shima wanted to believe that Chailen had gone with Sharn's family to the keep. She had to believe it. If Chailen was in the city alone, Shima would need exceptional good luck to find her. No. Chailen was sensible, more sensible than her older sib. She would have seen the need to evacuate with the others.

With a scrabble of claws, Shima made the turn into another street without tumbling into a sprawling heap. She had lost some speed there, but she soon made it up. Thank the Harmonies she had not lost her vision enhancer. Without it, she would not be able to run like this for fear of getting lost.

And she did need to run.

Merkiaari warriors had landed at the spaceport despite all the warriors could do to stop them. A single huge landing ship had settled there, ignoring the Shan flyers pecking at its shielded hull. The underground missile silos had been another matter entirely. It had not ignored those. As soon as the enemy ship was in range, a row of switches had been flipped deep within the mountain's bones at Kachina Twelve. The switches closed, and missile after missile was launched from dozens of underground silos. The parks and open fields suddenly erupted with fire as the Merki computers tracked the missiles and found the launch sites. Barely half the missiles launched in time, and none struck their intended target. Every one of them died uselessly against Merki point defence laser clusters.

Shima had witnessed the launches and the results. Later, she saw the Murderers in the flesh, and that was the real reason for her speed. She still didn't know why she had done it. She wasn't a warrior. She was a scientist—a gardener for Harmony's sake.

Why had she felt the need to kill that particular Merki? Was there a reason to choose that one over another? She decided there wasn't. The thought of her father trapped on the station had enraged her. Tahar was stuck up there waiting to die, while his Murderers were down here looking to kill everyone and everything he loved.

She had been so angry. She had watched the Murderers from hiding, and her vision tunnelled with her rage. She had spat trying to get the taste of Merki out of her mouth. Their reek was everywhere.

She'd gone deaf—her ears were flattened hard against her head. It was a holdover from the primitive past. A Shan's ears would flatten as a way to protect them from an enemy's shredding claws. She saw nothing but the Merki warrior standing in front of the others. The next moment, she was firing both beamers into his back. She didn't remember drawing them or even aiming. One moment was tunnelled vision with her prey centred, the next he was falling, and she was running with a beamer in each paw. Merki warriors gave chase of course.

Now she was racing through the burning city on all fours trying to lose them, but they had some kind of device that could follow her at a distance. She would have to hide. Running, though absolutely correct according to instinct, was no good in this situation. She needed a place to lay low and attack from concealment. When night came, she would find a way out of the city.

# 19 ~ Desperate Measures

**Aboard ASN Canada**

"Fire as your guns bear!" Colgan shouted over the noise of damage alarms.

"Multiple contacts," Commander Groves sang out. "Contacts closing fast. Tentative assessment: Merki cap ship missiles."

Colgan froze for an instant. "For God's sake bring us around, helm!"

"I'm trying, sir. She's sluggish as hell."

"Drones have entered fold space," Lieutenant Ricks reported. Out of ten launched, only two had survived long enough to make the jump to fold space.

Point defence missiles sleeted out in their hundreds to meet the incoming missiles. Proximity fuses closed, and detonations pocked the tactical display. Dozens detonated to kill a single missile, wasteful as hell, but cap ship missiles were beyond dangerous.

Some of _Canada's_ counter missiles killed each other as the force they unleashed washed over nearby missiles on their way to kill their targets. Some lost lock or failed to detonate for one reason or another, but most did their jobs as designed. Most wasn't good enough.

_Canada's_ laser cannons left off their programmed fire mission, and swivelled under computer control to pick off targets that evaded her point defence missiles. It was an awesome sight, and a frightening one. When a ship's computer aborted offensive fire in favour of defensive, that ship was in over its head. Lasers designed to penetrate the armoured hide of a Merki destroyer, flicked out and wiped away one missile after another. The energy in those beams was so huge, that the missiles were vaporised instantly, leaving the beams to stream onward into space for the milliseconds it took the computer to take note of the kill.

Priorities changed, and the mounts swivelled their cannon onto new targets.

"Where's _Chakra_?" Colgan said as _Canada_ finally responded to the helm and heeled over. She took the single hit on her undamaged starboard shields and rolled drunkenly out of the nuclear fire boiling around her.

"Shields holding," Ivanova cried. "Merkiaari cruiser bearing zero-two-seven by two-seven-five degrees. Target locked. Firing!"

_Canada_ spat her own missiles, and changed course heading away from the threat of return fire. Colgan studied his displays looking for something he could kill. He found one.

"Helm, new heading: one-two-eight by zero-one-five."

"Aye, sir. Coming to new heading, one-two-eight by zero one-five."

" _Chakra's_ burning, Skip," Groves said from her place across the bridge at scan. "I can see escape pods jettisoning."

"Christ," Colgan hissed under his breath. "Where's _Naktlon_?"

"She's still on our tail, Skipper."

Colgan nodded, thankful for small mercies. Tei'Varyk was covering _Canada's_ damaged rear while his people struggled to repair the shield generator for that quadrant.

"Concentrate all fire on the heavy cruiser," he snapped and saw _Naktlon_ was already doing that. Tei'Varyk and he thought alike.

_Canada_ went to maximum rate of fire on all energy batteries as she ran by the crippled cruiser. Ivanova used raking fire from her forward mounts, opening the Merki ship like a tin opener opens a can of soybeans, but she kept her starboard batteries concentrated on the ship's drive section.

The eruption when it happened was catastrophic.

"Evasive," Colgan snapped as the Merki ship disintegrated, and chunks of its hull flew outward.

A section of drive shielding slammed into _Canada_ , but her shields held and she continued her turn. _Naktlon_ miraculously escaped damage as he swept through the wave front of shrapnel. _Canada's_ scan fuzzed and the display flickered, as her computer fought to penetrate clouds of metal and ice particles. Data denoting headings and vectors of enemy ships, constantly changed colour, flickering indecisively between the red of certainty and the amber of estimated values.

"What's left?"

Commander Groves studied the battlespace her station was displaying, and then looked up from the plot grimly. " _Naktlon_ , bearing one-eight-zero. _Hoth_ , bearing two-zero-five. _Hekja_ , bearing two-zero-five."

The bridge crew fell silent.

"Three ships?" Colgan said in shock. "Three heavies... what about light units?"

" _Chakra_ was the last one, Skipper."

"Word just reached us from the elders, sir," Ricks said. "They've ordered evacuation of the towns and cities."

Colgan paled. "My God. We can't stop them."

Silence greeted his shock statement. Colgan studied his displays and saw three Shan heavy cruisers and _Canada_. They were all that stood in the way of the remnants of a Merkiaari squadron.

That the Merki hadn't sent a fleet made no real difference, or that the Shan had destroyed most of their heavy stuff. There was still more than enough firepower to take out the entire system. Four heavy cruisers, or what would be a heavy cruiser in the Alliance—who knew or cared what the Merki called them? All four had battle damage, but nothing severe. Screening them were the light units—three fast attack frigates, and two badly damaged destroyers.

"Send to all remaining Shan ships," Colgan said.

"Ready, sir," Ricks said switching his position to use the Shan equipment installed next to his station.

"The elders have ordered evacuation of the population to more secure areas. I suggest we concentrate our ships, and attempt to break for the inner belt. If successful, we can strike as opportunity permits."

Ricks listened intently for a reply. " _Naktlon_ on screen."

"Tei'Colgan," Tei'Varyk said wearily. "I have spoken with the others. We will join forces and attack as soon as the Murderers are in range. I advise you to return to pick up James and the others. If you're quick, you might escape."

"Don't do this, Tei," Colgan pleaded. "Don't throw your life away. My people will come!"

Tei'Varyk's ears struggled erect, but then flattened again in distress. "Not soon enough to save us. Leave us to our fate, Tei'Colgan. Warn your people that the Murderers will come for them next. Good bye my friend. May you live in harmony."

The screen cleared to show a tactical schematic of the system. Merki ships burned red as they advanced cautiously toward the Shan homeworld, and three blue blips manoeuvred to engage. _Naktlon_ moved away from where he had been covering _Canada_ , and left her to voyage on alone.

Colgan glanced unhappily at Commander Groves. She nodded her agreement with Tei'Varyk. "Charge the jump drive," he ordered and winced at the looks of shock he received.

"We can't leave them," Lieutenant Ricks blurted. "For God's sake, you know what they'll do to these people. We can't let it happen!"

"As you were, Lieutenant," Groves snapped.

Ricks surged to his feet, and slammed a fist down on his consol. "No! I say we stay and fight. We're Fleet. Fleet fights Merki!" He stared at the others, demanding they agree, but no one did. They looked guiltily down or away, not willing to meet his accusing eyes.

"Helm," Colgan said reluctantly. "Set course for the third planet. We have the contact team to retrieve."

"Aye, sir. ETA, two-niner minutes at max speed."

"Very good." Colgan turned to Ricks. "Contact Professor Wilder, and tell him to come back up as soon as we're in range. He can dock on the fly."

Ricks sat slumped at his station in dejected silence, and stared at Colgan with accusing eyes.

"You heard me, Lieutenant," he said angrily.

"Aye, sir," Ricks said, sitting straighter and turning back to his controls.

Colgan looked around at his crew, but none would look him in the eye. Didn't they realise he had to leave, even though he might want to stay? He did want to, but _Canada_ would be destroyed to no purpose. If he could be certain that his ship's sacrifice would save the Shan, he wouldn't hesitate, but he knew it wouldn't.

"Continue on course," Colgan said and stared bitterly at nothing.

**Aboard Naktlon, Shan system**

Tei'Varyk glared at the tactical situation on the main viewer as the Murderers advanced. His people were silent, having made peace with the fact they were about to die. The fleet was gone, all except _Hekja_ , _Hoth_ , and his own _Naktlon_. Fifty orbits of work gone in a single cycle, and only three ships remained to save the Shan.

They had been so close to gaining the stars, but the Humans had come too late. One orbit earlier, just one orbit might have made the difference. He sighed into the silence, and watched _Hekja_ and _Hoth_ attempt the impossible. They had all agreed it was the only chance that two damaged heavy fangs had to disable the murderer's ships, but it was a slim chance only. If it worked, _Naktlon_ would move in with every weapon firing at maximum. If it did not, _Naktlon_ would move in with every weapon firing at maximum.

There were no choices left.

" _Hoth_ and _Hekja_ engage," Tarjei said into the silence.

"I hear," Tei'Varyk said. "We will go in with all weapons firing at maximum. Torpedoes, missiles, particle cannon, beamers—everything."

"I hear," Kajika whispered.

"Are you sorry you chose to follow me?"

Kajika's ears flattened. "Never. You are my Tei."

Tei'Varyk inclined his head, and Kajika bowed in return. He turned back to the screen in time to see _Hoth_ and _Hekja_ accomplish their part of the plan.

Two heavily damaged heavy fangs entered the Merki formation at preselected points knowing they would not emerge from the other side. They went in with every weapon reaching out to rend the Murderers of their people. Heavy fangs were awesome weapons. Torpedoes spat from every surviving tube as the ships absorbed hit after hit from the Merki ships.

The torpedoes were set to lock onto any Merki target, and hundreds did that. Two Merkiaari battleships blew apart as two hundred torpedoes, each having a two megatonne nominal yield, detonated as one. Space went mad as ship after ship was rent and spat out of the nuclear fire smashed beyond recognition. _Hoth_ blew apart from the results of her own fire.

_Hekja_ reeled, bent and broken but still under control. He trimmed course and rammed a Merkiaari heavy fang. Both ships disappeared in the flash of ruptured fusion cores. With them went a light fang.

They had failed.

"Three heavy fangs and two lighter units remain," Tarjei reported.

"Which are the most severely damaged?"

"Both light fangs appear unable to keep pace with the heavies, but all are still combat capable."

"It doesn't matter then. We kill the ships with the most Murderers aboard."

"I hear, Tei," Kajika said. "Targeting heavy fang... target locked."

"I hear," Tei'Varyk said and waited in silence. "Open fire!"

_Naktlon_ erupted in fury. His torpedo launchers went to rapid continuous fire attempting to saturate the defences of his chosen target.

As the range closed, his beamers and particle cannons spoke. The Merki heavy cruiser blew apart, but even as she did, missiles infinitely more powerful than any Shan torpedo hammered _Naktlon_ closer to destruction. Closer and closer, but finally the fire ended and he was still there. Though battered and bleeding atmosphere, he continued to pour fire into the remaining Merki ships.

"Magazines destroyed or depleted," Kajika reported.

"I hear. Continue with all remaining weapons. Kill them all," Tei'Varyk ordered, as his ship slowly died around him.

_Naktlon_ bucked and reared at the centre of nuclear fury sent by the Merki. He was blinded to starboard, and nearly so on his portside. His great engines propelled him into the heart of the storm to kill his enemies even as he was hammered into uselessness.

"Take out those honourless light fangs," Tei'Varyk said, as they pecked away at _Naktlon_ 's armoured hide.

Kajika did not respond, but _Naktlon_ 's particle cannons swivelled and targeted first one, and then a second light unit. Both blew apart as energy beams designed to strip the hide from a Merkiaari dreadnought ripped through them.

"Target the next—" Tei'Varyk began.

_Naktlon_ , broken and barely making way with a single drive, was hit amidships. The beam sliced through deck after deck, killing his crew and severing control runs. His particle cannons locked and fell silent, as power cables were turned to slag. His remaining torpedo launchers, had they ammunition, would have been useless as power runs to the launch rails were cut, but by far the worst damage was to his fusion room. The beam reached the core of his reactor, and _Naktlon_ erupted with super-hot plasma eating everything in sight. Blast doors slammed and alarms screamed, but it was all for nothing.

_Naktlon_ broke in two.

**Aboard ASN Canada, Shan System**

"He did it," Colgan whispered as _Naktlon_ broke apart. His aft section blew up in a flare of plasma, and his forward section tumbled wildly away.

"Not quite. Two heavies remain operational, Skipper," Groves said. "One is critically damaged. The second has moderate damage."

_What do I do?_

Colgan stared at tactical trying to make a decision. "Time to pickup?"

"ETA is one-three minutes, sir."

Colgan clenched a fist and pounded his thigh in frustration. Thirteen minutes. If he picked up Wilder, the enemy would be thirteen minutes closer to the Shan homeworld, leaving him even less room to manoeuvre.

"Set an intercept course," Colgan said finally, and a sigh swept the bridge. "Weps, I want that piece of scrap out of my sky." He highlighted the critically damaged Merki ship with his wand. "Do that first. Then pump everything we have into the other one."

"Aye, sir," Ivanova said eagerly. "Targeting solution locked in. Time to target... two-niner minutes... mark."

"Run a plot on _Naktlon_. There may be survivors."

"I didn't see any pods jettison, Skipper," Groves warned.

"Just do it."

"Aye, sir. I have him."

"As soon as we hit the range, I want maximum rate of fire. Don't stop until they're dead or we are."

"Aye, aye, Skipper," Ivanova said.

_Canada_ raced into battle, and the moment arrived. Missiles flew from her, adding more acceleration to that imparted by her launch system. Merki point defence missiles and laser clusters attempted to intercept them, and _Canada's_ tactical display was suddenly populated with detonations.

Only a third of Ivanova's missiles made it through. Merki decoys deployed attempting to suck the missiles off target, but they could not save the first cruiser, which blew apart after only two hits by the megatonne range missiles. The second Merkiaari ship however, was almost untouched.

_Canada_ deployed her own decoys, and ECM hashed targeting sensors trying to blind the Merki sensors, but for all of that she wasn't a true warship. Her counter measures and weapons were designed to hold off an attack for the minutes she needed to jump, not defeat a heavy cruiser with more than three times her firepower.

_Canada_ bucked as lasers and grazers slashed at her. Her shields held, but still she was shaken and slammed by incoming missiles. Point defence frantically beat them back, killing dozens and then hundreds, but then the inevitable happened.

A missile got through and detonated.

_Canada_ lurched and damage alarms screamed; yet her section seals held and she continued to fight. Crewman fought to save friends trapped in the debris, but all too many died from the sudden decompression when razor sharp shrapnel careened through compartments breaching their uniform's integrity. On the bridge, Colgan was white faced at the catalogue of damage being reported. His ship was being destroyed before his eyes, and it was his fault. He could have jumped outsystem, he still could if his displays were correct, but no, he had to be a hero and his people were paying for it with their lives.

The lights dimmed, and flickered back to half intensity as something failed. He looked up wondering if this was the end, but as the lights failed completely, emergency lighting took over.

"Report," Colgan barked.

"Merki cruiser badly damaged, but still combat capable," Ivanova said. "We're down to one more salvo of missiles and our lasers."

The lights suddenly flared bright again as damage control repaired the power feeds to the bridge, but Colgan hardly noticed.

"Save the missiles until I give the word. Continue action with energy mounts."

"Aye, sir."

"Helm, take us in to point blank range at max. I want you to scrape the fucking paint off her!" he snarled.

"Aye, sir," Wesley said and rolled ship.

"Weps, give them every missile we have at point blank."

"Aye, Skipper."

"Are you sure, Captain? We'll not escape the blast wave," Commander Groves said.

"We will." Colgan prayed he wasn't lying. "We're going in at max. With luck we should be clear."

_Canada_ bore in taking hit after hit. Her shields began to fail even as she reached the cruiser. Ivanova smashed a button flat, and _Canada's_ missile tubes spoke. The Merki ship shuddered and spewed atmosphere, as the missiles slammed home before any defence knew they were there. Hit after hit went home as the ship tried futilely to track _Canada_ as she raced on by.

One of _Canada's_ missiles did not launch; the power runs to the accelerator rings in the tube were down. Chief Williams, trying vainly to resurrect the shield generator for the aft quarter, was up to his elbows in circuitry when he knocked a severed cable.

He jerked and bit his tongue with a yelp as the current arced through him. He survived with his hair smoking and standing straight up, his team barely survived his cursing, but the Merki cruiser had no chance. The missile spat forth and slammed into the enemy ship. So close was _Canada_ , that the missile actually penetrated the Merki's hull before it detonated within the ship.

The enemy ship erupted in nuclear fire.

_Canada_ was racing away, but pieces of wreckage impacted her unprotected aft quarter. _Canada_ rolled presenting her port shields to the wave front, and that saved her. The fury of exploding magazines and fusion reactors washed over her, but as it receded, she limped onward with two drives down, and one fluctuating so badly that it was cut from the circuit a moment later.

"Target destroyed," Ivanova reported, her voice heavy with satisfaction.

"Very well done, Weps," Colgan said. "Francis, pass the coordinates of _Naktlon_ to the helm."

"Aye, sir."

"Course laid in, sir," Janice Wesley said a moment or two later.

"Execute at best speed." Colgan turned to Lieutenant Ricks. "Get me damage control."

"Aye, aye. On screen, sir."

Chief Williams appeared on the main viewer. Behind him, he could see space suited figures hurry by.

"Chief, I know we have damage all over the place, but I want you to concentrate on the jump drive. We seem to have won the war here, but I don't trust that. I want to be able to jump if I have to."

Chief Williams frowned in puzzlement and looked aside at his boards. "But there's nothing wrong with the bloody..." his face flamed. "There's nothing wrong with it, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. My boards show it as operational and charged. Have you tried it, sir?"

"No of course not," Colgan said, his face heating in embarrassment. He had assumed that after the pounding they had taken, it must be offline. "Carry on, Chief."

"Aye, sir," Williams said in a puzzled voice. He was replaced on the view-screen by a tactical overlay of the system.

"What happened to his hair?" Groves said with a grin. "It looked like someone tugged him through a mouse hole backwards."

Colgan chuckled.

" _Naktlon_ dead ahead... what's left of him," Janice announced.

"On screen."

Everyone groaned when they saw what was left of _Naktlon_. The forward half of the cruiser was tumbling away on a course that would see him exit the system eventually. It was so badly battered that Colgan doubted there could be survivors.

"Try to contact him."

"Aye, sir," Ricks said doubtfully, but a moment later, a fuzzy picture appeared.

"Tei," Colgan gasped in relief when his friend appeared. "Hold on, I'm coming to get you out."

"Tei'Colgan. You should have left when you had the chance," Tei'Varyk said in a dead voice.

"We destroyed the last one for you."

"And what of the ships landing troops on Harmony?"

Colgan turned to Commander Groves at scan. She was punching in commands at her station like a demon.

"Do not _Canada's_ sensors reach so far? _Naktlon_ 's are destroyed, but we're still receiving intermittent transmissions of the landings."

"Oh my God," Commander Groves said looking up from her position at scan in horror. "We have Merkiaari in the inner system, Skipper. They must have slipped through when we went after those two cruisers."

"Class?"

"Troop transports with escort, but they're too much for us. A kid with a slingshot is too much for us now," she said bitterly.

# 20 ~ Hope

**Child of Harmony, Shan system**

"He left us," Brenda said with tears of rage in her eyes. "After all we did for him, the bastard left us."

"He had no choice," Janice said sadly. "None at all."

James nodded. He glanced through the open hatch at his friends sitting in the cabin and then back to Janice. "What do we do?"

"What can we do?" Brenda spat. "He abandoned us."

"We hide as the Shan are doing. I want a gun," Janice said staring at the images coming in on the monitors. "A very big gun."

James turned back to watch the Merki landings on one of the lander's monitors. The cities were a chaos of running and fighting people. The Shan military had deployed to slow the Merki troopers down while the cities were evacuated, but the Merki had the advantage of being able to pick and choose their landing sites. The Shan had to remain mobile and not dig in, or else risk annihilation from above.

Shan civilians had banded together to fight, and were dying in their millions as untold numbers of Merki gravsleds poured out of the grounded landers. The gravsleds spread out and flew slowly down the streets firing at anything that moved.

James was sure they had their reasons for hitting certain buildings while leaving others untouched, but for the life of him he couldn't understand their tactics. The buildings seemed chosen at random. Some collapsed immediately burying those hiding within, while others burned. Clouds of smoke and ash billowed up and filled the sky.

James felt his emotions welling up when the monitor showed him heaps of dead Shan. They lay where they had fallen still clutching their mates and cubs. The picture suddenly whirled crazily and then stabilised. Whoever was manning the camera was taking a hell of a risk. The picture blurred and zoomed in upon a gravsled just turning into the street. On the ground in front of it, a large formation of Merkiaari troopers led the way. Suddenly they came under fire and scattered into cover.

Explosions dotted the street zeroing in upon the gravsled. It was hit multiple times and lost power. It slammed into the street carving a trench in the road before rolling and bursting into flames. A Merkiaari trooper jumped out of the shattered wreckage waving his arms and roaring in agony. His armour had not protected him from the flames, his entire body was alight. His fur fed the flames until another trooper shot him in the head.

James changed to another channel, and flinched at what was being shown. Someone was hiding in a building and filming the street outside. The scene could have been culled from any one of a thousand newsreels shown during the Merki War in the Alliance, except this one starred Shan not Humans.

He had no idea which city was being shown, or on which planet. It didn't matter. Similar scenes were being played out everywhere the Merkiaari had landed. He reached out to select another channel, but Brenda stayed his hand.

"I need to see it."

Hiding from the truth wouldn't help matters. He nodded and watched trying not to let Brenda see what he was feeling.

Merki troopers were firing into the packed street cutting Shan down by the hundreds. They fired their plasma rifles and gauss cannons non-stop. Blood coated every surface until it looked as if some mad artist had painted the street red.

James covered his mouth with a hand and swallowed sickly, trying not to vomit. He glanced at Brenda only to find her crying silently. The camera shifted. It focused on the other end of the street, where Shan bit and clawed at Merki troopers in a desperate attempt to escape slaughter. He watched a huge Merkiaari female grab a Shan cub and tear it in half above her head. She did the same thing to an adult a moment later when he attacked her. He might have been the cub's father. There was no way to know.

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God..." Brenda chanted. "Please make them stop..."

James shook his head. Nothing would stop them. They would come here next... if they hadn't already. He craned his neck to look at the sky through the cockpit windows. It was just blind luck he'd chosen to visit here, and not Harmony while the Merki chose the opposite—maybe.

"What are we going to do?" Brenda whispered unable to look away from the horror.

"Hide, that's all we can do. Hide and fight when the time comes." James flicked switches bringing the navigational computer and sensor arrays online, and then started the engines.

"Where are we going?"

The lander lifted and hovered over the landing pad.

"The mountain keeps. It's the only place."

"Will they let us in?"

"I hope so," he said and concentrated on flying low. He had no real idea if the Merki had sent ships to Child of Harmony, but if they had, he wanted to stay low and unobtrusive. "Better go back and tell the others what's happening."

"I'll go."

"Thanks, Jan." James glanced at Brenda's tear streaked face. "It will be all right."

"No it won't," she whispered. "They'll kill everyone on Harmony and then they'll come here and kill us."

There wasn't anything he could say to that. She was right.

Flight time to the keep was less than an hour. He could have reduced the time to almost nothing if he had dared boosting for orbit, but that would have been suicide. He flew fast and low, with the shuttle's sensors on passive. The Merki troop ships were huge things, and they showed up clearly whenever he got within range of one. The gravsleds were insects in comparison, but their drive systems used a lot of power. As long as he concentrated hard on their output, the sensors gave him just enough time to divert wide around them.

To James, the hour seemed to crawl by, but eventually his destination loomed ahead of him.

The mountain range would have been impressive if he hadn't been looking for a landing place without being shot down. On his final approach, he had to bank sharply when targeting sensors locked him up, and sirens wailed throughout the cockpit. With his heart pounding fit to give him a heart attack, James checked his monitors and reluctantly turned back. He never wanted to go through that again.

"I'll have to land in the foothills."

Brenda grunted unhappily, but she didn't object as he set down not far from the tree line. "I'll collect some supplies."

"Tell the others to grab the Box. We're going to need it."

"Yeah," she said in a subdued voice.

James waited for everyone to climb out before he eased the lander off the ground, and slowly worked his way under the trees. It was a tight squeeze, but he managed to get under cover before he ran out of places to go. He landed and quickly shut down the engines. He powered down everything he had access to. He had no idea how stealthy the lander was, or how easily the Merki might find it, so he did his best to make it invisible. The only thing left was the maintenance system, but he couldn't shut that down without risking being unable to restart it. Besides, he didn't know how.

He jumped to the ground and keyed the hatch closed before resolutely turning away, and leading the others toward the mountains. At first he set a fast pace, but he soon realised the others were out of condition. Their progress slowed to a crawl. He said nothing, but Brenda could see his concern.

"They can't help it."

"I know," James said. "I didn't say anything."

"No, but I could feel you thinking it."

He laughed and hugged her to him as they ambled through the woods. "How did it happen?"

"What?"

"How did we happen so fast? We've known each other for years, but we've only really known each other for a few months."

"I guess it must be love," Brenda said.

"Must be," James said and kissed her.

"Really," Bernard said, with an exasperated sigh. "Must you two do that at a time like this?"

"What better time?" Janice said eyeing Bernard with speculation that made him flush. "There might not be much left."

Bernard nodded sombrely. "Did you know that I'm unmarried, dear lady?" he said with a grin, and took Janice's hand for a kiss.

"Why, sir. You do take liberties. Do it again."

"Delighted," he said and obeyed.

They made their slow way through the forest. James walked with an arm around Brenda's shoulders. Janice and Bernard held hands chatting and laughing quietly. Bindar walked alone carrying the Box, closely followed by Sheryl and David. They were not a couple, but they walked arm in arm seeking mutual comfort in unknown surroundings.

The other members of the team walked in a nervous knot through the shadows of the forest. All had packs on their backs containing a few meagre supplies, but none had anything close to a weapon.

The forest was densely populated with trees and heavy undergrowth. More than once they stopped in fearful silence listening to something rustling in the brush. On closer inspection, they found traces of some kind of animal, and from then on they were more watchful. As the sun lowered in the sky, James called a halt and they made a cold camp. He explained that having no idea whether the Merki were near, he didn't want fires lit and perhaps attracting them.

"What about the animal tracks we found?" David said peering nervously into the trees.

James peered into the darkness uneasily, but then he shrugged. "There's nothing to be done, David. I think we'll be safe enough. The tracks were shallow. Probably made my something small."

"You hope."

"Yes, I hope."

After eating a meagre meal from the emergency rations they had brought from the shuttle, James lay down with Brenda snuggled up close to him. It was a pleasant night, thankfully not cold, but he found himself unable to sleep. What had happened to _Canada_? Had she been destroyed, or had she jumped outsystem as Brenda believed? He hoped it was the latter, but he doubted Colgan would do that without a very good reason. Maybe he went for help. If he did, they wouldn't see any for a couple of months, plus however long it took to assemble sufficient forces to contest the system's ownership. He had no doubt Admiral Rawlins would want to fight, but would the Council let him?

He hoped so.

The next morning, they set out again. As before, James led the way and they were soon out of the forest and into the foothills. This was the most dangerous part. There was no cover here, and if anyone looked down at the right time they would be spotted. Their pace fell to a crawl as they struggled into higher elevations and gasped for air. He relieved Bindar of the Box, and continued his stumbling way ever upward. Brenda took a turn for an hour, but although the Box wasn't heavy, it was an awkward size, and struggling up a steep trail with it took its toll.

Around midday, James began actively looking for one of the entrances to the keep. Sheer rock walls and rubble strewn goat paths were all he found. Did this planet have a goat analogue?

"I know it's here," James said worriedly. "She showed me right to it, but it looks different."

"Are we lost?" Brenda whispered as the others sat down to rest.

"No-no," James said quickly.

"We are, aren't we? If we are, you would tell me right?"

"We're not lost. I think they might have sealed the keep already."

"Oh."

After a short rest they moved on until they entered a canyon that looked very familiar. The sheer cliff-like walls towered high into the air making James feel very small. He found a distinctive outcropping of rock below which the entrance to the keep should have been, but when he reached the rock face, there was no evidence that it wasn't a natural rock formation. He ran his hands over it, trying to feel any difference in texture or temperature... anything that might reveal the entrance, but there was nothing.

Bernard waved him over, and pointed out a peculiar pattern in the rock. James nodded. It was the right place, he remembered the pattern. He pressed an ear to the rock trying to listen, but he couldn't hear a damn thing. The Shan had designed it that way, and they did fine work.

"Anything?" Bernard said. "This looks right to me."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure they've sealed up the place."

"Well then," Bernard said cheerfully. "All we have to do is sit tight and wait. I'm sure they must be monitoring the area."

James nodded. It made sense. "What if they don't open up?"

"They will," Bernard said, his smile slipping. "They won't leave us for the Merki."

"I hope you're right."

As it happened, Bernard was right but for the wrong reasons. The night came, and a grumbling earth shaking noise split the silence. A dozen Shan warriors slipped out of their mountain fastness levelling beamers at them. James stood, and they nearly shot him when a rock shifted under his foot causing him to lurch toward them.

"Don't shoot," he cried in badly accented Shan. "We need sanctuary from the Murderers. Please, for harmony's sake take us in."

One of the warriors edged forward. "I am Tei'Nelrik. You are the beings called Humanssss?"

"That's right."

"Your ship, he fought well for us. You may enter."

James sighed in relief, and gestured everyone into the keep. Brenda stayed by his side. "Brenda, this is Tei'Nelrik. Tei, I'm called James."

Tei'Nelrik bowed. "Honoured. Quickly, we must seal the mountain lest we be sniffed out."

"Yes, you're right." James ducked into the opening.

It was pitch dark inside. The blast door rumbled into place and the lights came slowly up. Hundreds of beamers were levelled at James and his friends. They stood absolutely still while Tei'Nelrik explained the situation. Ears twitched in recognition, and slowly the weapons were put up.

"I thank you for opening the door for us," Brenda said carefully. None of the Shan they had yet seen were equipped with the new translators.

Tei'Nelrik's ears went back then struggled erect. His tail lashed from side to side betraying his agitation. "We did not open for you, but for us. If the Murderers had seen you, they might have found the keep."

"I see," Brenda said sounding a little put out by that.

"We understand, Tei," James said. "Can you tell me more of our ship?"

"The Murderers have the only ships in system."

"The Fleet?"

"Gone, and so is your ship. He fought well."

Tei'Nelrik led the way into the mountain. The others moved to follow leaving James staring at Brenda in stricken silence. They were here to stay.

# 21 ~ Extermination

**Zuleika and Environs, Child of Harmony**

Shima lost her pursuers after a long chase. In the end it was through no action of hers that the Merkiaari lost interest in a single reckless vermin. No, they had something more interesting to do apparently.

Shima kept running, but she no longer felt panic forcing her on. She had the wit to think and plan again, and perhaps the time to do it as well. She slowed her mad dash and focused her thoughts upon the Harmonies, sensing the insanely dark minds of the Murderers behind her, knowing they were tracking something more to their liking now. Probably more of her people, Shima realised, and felt guilty for her part in bringing the Murderers here.

The hateful alien mind glows felt like poison, it hurt deep in her head to watch them this way. Any member of the healer caste would recognise the jagged edges and dark colours as something requiring the attention of mind healers... if the afflicted had been Shan, but the Murderers were alien and insanity was their natural state. The horror of such a thing was so vast, Shima could hardly conceive of it. Youngling lessons did not do the reality of the Merkiaari justice.

Shima snarled and her jaws snapped, biting the air in mindless fury when her inattention dropped her into a fight for her life. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Her father would be ashamed of her for letting what was behind her distract from what lay ahead. And what lay ahead was bad, very very bad indeed.

Shima tried something she would never normally do, but her situation was dire. She had been running on all fours, not at her best speed but close; now she needed her hands. Badly. She forced herself up onto her hind legs without slowing, snatching desperately for the beamers holstered securely on her harness, and staggered forward trying not to sprawl tail over nose into the chaos.

Snarling and screaming people fought for their lives against Merkiaari warriors in the street while Shan warriors sniped at the grav sleds from the buildings. Merkiaari gunners in the sleds returned fire and buildings burned. Beamers flashed back and forth, people died hideously burned or missing limbs, their blood painting the ground red. Others fought with tooth and claw carrying the Murderers of their cubs and people down into death with them. There must have been hundreds of people already dead and more were piling up as the Merkiaari's superior weapons raved, sweeping the crowd with unstoppable destruction.

Trying to slow down, change her stride from a four legged run into a two legged one while arming herself proved too much for Shima. Her right hand grasped a beamer but to her dismay it squirted from her grasp. She had never dropped a weapon. Never! But it had happened now and at the worst possible time.

She staggered forward trying to regain balance, but she was unable to keep her feet under her. Already falling, she did manage to turn onto her right side so that her left hand could finish reaching for her other beamer. The impact jarred her to the bone, her speed was such that she slid along the road losing fur and skin, but the burning pain of abrasion was nothing to the disaster that befell her next.

Her vision enhancer flew from her face and skittered away.

Tahar had made it for her with love in his heart, but how she hated that thing. The visor-like device marked her as defective, a cripple among her people, and she loathed it, but now was not the time to be rid of it. Without it, she was as near blind as it was possible to be. Instead of buildings and people, she saw dim shadowy shapes where they should be.

She kept low and scrambled along the ground in the direction she thought the visor lay. Lucky she did, because the Merkiaari turned their weapons in her direction. She hissed as a hot wind blasted by to hit a target behind her. Any closer and the beam would have crisped her ears or taken her head off outright. She couldn't see a Harmonies cursed thing now, the smoke from burning buildings choked her and dimmed the street so badly that everything blurred into a single hazy shadow.

Patting the ground and sweeping the road with her spare hand, she vowed that if she survived the cycle, she would nail the cursed visor to her head to prevent a situation like this ever happening again. She loved her father and would love him for as long as she drew breath, but she would never reconcile her need for his creation. Her current distress was a mere taste of what the future had in store for her, and she had always known and dreaded it. She would have given anything for a healthy pair of eyes right now.

Someone grabbed her and jerked her roughly back just as a building exploded in front of her. Shima gasped as the pressure wave sucked at the air and flinched as the heat of the sudden blaze slapped her face. She closed her useless eyes and turned away from the blaze. Even to her eyes, it was bright.

"Th... th... thank you," Shima gasped.

"Welcome," Shima's helper said. He sounded calm, but Shima could scent his fear. He took her free hand and wrapped her fingers around her visor. "This thing yours? What does it do?"

Shima's relief made her muscles go weak. She gripped the hated thing hard and tears of relief burst from her suddenly hot eyes. Her hand shook violently, but she managed to put the visor on. It was still working. Thank the Harmonies it wasn't damaged.

She looked around and found a pale furred male watching her quizzically. He had pulled her into cover behind a smashed ground car and was about her own age she judged, but unlike her, his pelt was a startling light tan colour without any other markings. He would be very visible in the forest wilderness where Shima hunted, but almost invisible in the desert where she was sure his ancestors had roamed free. He was pureblood and very beautiful.

"It lets me see. My eyes are bad without it," Shima said, trying not to see the pity she was sure she would find upon his face. "My name is Shima. Thank you for helping me."

"Honoured to be of service, Shima. I am—" a huge explosion drowned out his words and they both cowered as debris rained down upon them, pattering upon the ground like hail. "I am Kazim, this is my ground car, but I fear I cannot offer you a ride in it."

Shima blinked at the amusement she heard. "Perhaps some other time," she said. "You were driving when this happened?" The car was on its side and obviously damaged by weapons fire. It would never work again. "The Harmonies must watch over you if you were."

"Happily I was not inside when this happened. I caught the entire thing on camera. My supervisor was very impressed. She said it went out live."

That was when Shima's addled brain realised Kazim was not holding a weapon. It was a camera he was pointing at the fighting not a beamer. He was braver than her to calmly film the massacre of their people and not have a weapon out.

Thoughts of weapons reminded her of the lost beamer.

Shima scanned the ground and found her missing weapon in the middle of the street. She glanced around, tensed her muscles, and sprang out into the open at full stretch. Kazim cursed in surprise at her move, but before he could do more, she had snatched up her beamer and had leapt back to join him.

"Next time warn me, I missed the shot," Kazim said doing something to his camera before panning it around at the burning buildings and fighting people. "That would have made for a very dramatic sequence."

"Do all journalists talk out of their tails the way you do?" Shima grumbled as she checked her weapons.

Kazim flicked his ears in agreement. "Most I would say. It's a very competitive environment."

Shima snorted. She wondered what Kazim's parents and sibs thought of him choosing the arts for his caste. She would wager a handsome sum that his clan did not have many people like Kazim within its ranks.

Shima's clan had always specialised in science and engineering, and had done very well by that. She couldn't imagine what an itinerant life like Kazim's would feel like. Waking each cycle not knowing where he would go or what he would see, or even where he would sleep the next night. It was hard to imagine.

Her life was orderly, and she liked it that way. Her research had logical steps and goals. She liked goals, and she liked knowing what to do to reach them. Her only goal right now was finding and protecting Chailen. Her sib was all that mattered now her father was gone.

"We should get out of here," Shima said aiming at a particularly large Merki. Nice big target like that. It would be a shame not to take advantage. She fired both beamers into the alien, but felt only mild satisfaction as it died. She had Chailen to find. Killing Merkiaari didn't bring her sib closer. "This won't end well."

Kazim flicked his ears in agreement. "You go. I'll stay and film for a while longer."

"You want to die?" Shima killed another alien, this one a smaller example. A male she guessed if her lessons were right about females being bigger. "Haven't you seen enough here, don't you want to see what happens tomorrow?"

Kazim's jaw dropped in a laugh, and he abandoned his filming. He slid down behind the car and into cover. "You think there will be a tomorrow? Don't you know the Murderers landed warriors on Harmony too? These are the end times, Shima."

Shima's whiskers drew down as if scenting something foul. "You can't believe in that drivel. Prophecies are a product of delusional minds, Kazim."

"Look at them!" Kazim said gesturing toward the fighting. "How can you doubt this is the end?"

"Easily. My father taught me common sense! Our people survived this once, we will again. The Murderers won't take our worlds easily, certainly not today. Don't you want to be there?" Shima took aim and fired both beamers, and added slyly. "Don't you want to film it all as it happens?"

Kazim waved his ears jauntily. "I should probably consider it my duty to record the end times, no?"

"Certainly! It would be a crime not to. Future generations of younglings are relying upon you, Kazim."

Kazim smirked, but his tail lifted to shoulder height and gestured acceptance. "No need to lay it on any thicker. I will come with you... where might that be and how do we get there?"

"Kachina Twelve... and ummm," Shima faltered and looked around for inspiration. "Through there," she gestured at the collapsed building closest to them."

"You're joking," Kazim said. "You _do_ see the flames?"

"We can make it into the next district and find somewhere to hide until night. We can't stay here, Kazim. These people are brave, but they're not thinking."

"They have lost home and clan—"

"I know, I do not lay blame, but we must think long term not short. This is the first cycle of a new war. We will not win it in this street."

Kazim agreed reluctantly. "It feels wrong to leave them to die."

Shima silently agreed but kept her thoughts to herself. They had made their decision to fight and die here. She had Chailen to protect, and did not have that luxury. There would be other times and other fights, she vowed, after she made Chailen safe.

"Follow," Shima said and ran in a crouch toward the burning building.

Behind her she heard Kazim scramble to follow.

The rubble was easy enough to climb; it was the fire that made things interesting. She avoided the obvious dangers, leading Kazim wide around them, but she couldn't escape them all. Rubble shifted beneath her weight opening voids beneath that seethed with flame. The fresh air caused the fires to flare anew and Shima cowered away from them. The piles of masonry were hot beneath her paws and she flinched, her hands burned when she pulled herself up and then over the last barrier. Kazim hissed as he burned himself similarly, but said nothing as he rolled over the top and part way down the far side.

Shima scrambled after him. "You alright?" Shima asked him, his pelt was blackened and filthy now. As was hers. "We can't stop here."

"Fine... I'm fine. Just a little scorched," Kazim said raising his blistered paw. "You?"

Shima winced, that must hurt. Her burns certainly did. She ignored his question. "Come, we need to find somewhere quiet to hide until dark."

Shima led the way down and into the street. The sound of the fighting was muted here, and the district seemed all quiet. They stayed on two legs and ran directly away from the fighting, their ears flattening when larger explosions elsewhere in the city sounded. Shima used the Harmonies to steer them both from danger. Although they saw no one, they were aware the Murderers could appear overhead in their grav sleds, or march around any corner at any time.

Shima kept them moving, staying close to buildings and using them for cover as much as possible.

"You have a plan?"

Shima didn't, but no need to say that. "Of course. As I said, we will hide and travel at night. My sib is waiting for me at Kachina Twelve."

"Kachina Twelve," Kazim mused. "I was allocated Kachina Eight, but twelve is better. It's sector command for the entire continent; I should be able to get better access to information there."

"How do you know that?" Shima asked in surprise. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but that sort of thing is supposed to be secret in case the Murderers catch us."

"My mother's third cousin's best friend mated outside the clan. Big scandal at the time. He was always a little too adventurous. Anyway, he mated a warrior caste female. Fierce little thing, you would like her... if you didn't kill each other first. You remind me of her."

"You calling me fierce?"

"Brave," Kazim corrected. "And you fight well. You killed those two Merkiaari as if you do it every day, but you're not warrior caste are you?"

"Are you interviewing me, recording are you?"

"Always," Kazim said without any sign of embarrassment. "You never know what will be important later. Not warrior caste, but something related I bet. Are you Fleet?"

Shima made a rude noise. "Hardly. I'm scientist caste. Agricultural geneticist."

"Ah..." Kazim sounded gratified. "I knew you were out of the ordinary. Such a new field, comparatively speaking of course."

Shima kept them moving at a good pace and pointed toward the outskirts of the city and the mountains that lay at least five cycles beyond it. The Harmonies let her know that others like her had the same idea of heading for the mountains. The district seemed deserted, it wasn't, but by the evidence of her eyes and ears it was. Many people were hiding in the buildings, lots of them underground where she would like to be.

"This one will do," Shima said and trotted through a nice relaxation grove to the door of a dwelling. "No one else is near."

"And that is important why?" Kazim said following her inside and panning his camera around.

"It's important because the Murderers have devices that can track us better than our best hunters could do. We need to stay away from large groups of people. No sense making it easier for them to kill us."

Kazim aimed his camera at Shima. "You did well in the fight earlier; can you explain how you came to be there?"

Shima's ears went back and her muzzle rumpled showing him her killing teeth. It was not a friendly gesture. "You think because we are no longer running for our lives that we are safe here? I don't have time to play to your audience."

Shima turned away, not caring that Kazim followed her still filming. At least he was quiet about it. She went through every room checking doors and windows, familiarising herself with the layout and every conceivable exit. She took her time and was methodical about it, as if this was one of her projects and would need to pass oversight inspections.

The front windows overlooked the grove that she liked. In the growing season, it would be very pleasant to meditate upon the Harmonies out there. The rear windows looked upon a park, and she was very pleased. It was no wilderness, but there was still plenty of cover if she needed to flee, and more to the point it was in the right direction. She was too far from the fighting to sense the Merkiaari now, but they were out there.

She had always been very strong in the harmony given talents of her people, and that had given her an advantage today. Her father had taught her how to track and hunt; how to live and even prosper in the wilderness with nothing but a knife and piece of spark rock. Escaping pursuit even here in a city should have been easy, but it hadn't been. The alien's devices turned them into superlative trackers without needing the true skill of a hunter.

Shima stared into those trees and wondered who was hiding in there, perhaps staring back at this very window. From the evidence of her eyes, Shima and Kazim were the only two people left alive in the district, but using the Harmonies she was able to find many others hiding nearby. The gentle pastel coloured mind glows of other Shan were soothing to her frazzled thoughts after watching the dark insane-seeming alien mind glows of the Merkiaari for so long. She could tell some of them were sleeping, probably because they planned to travel all night. Others were alert, perhaps guarding the sleepers. She would have planned similarly in their place.

"Get some rest, Kazim. I will watch."

"I'm not tired," Kazim protested.

"We'll be travelling all night. If you don't sleep now, you won't get another opportunity for a few cycles. A seg or two now will help. You'll be surprised by how much."

Kazim hesitated, but he switched off his camera and flicked his ears in agreement. "Wake me if something interesting happens, Shima. I don't want to miss anything."

"I will," Shima lied smoothly. If she woke him, it would be because she was ready to leave or they were about to be discovered.

Kazim fell asleep quickly after making a nest in the corner of the room with pillows and blankets. Shima watched over him allowing her thoughts to slow and be soothed by his sleeping mind glow.

_Tahar... oh Harmonies Tahar!_

Shima clenched her jaws shut preventing the wail of grief escaping. He must be dead by now. Her father dead, it didn't seem real. He had always been there. He was timeless and unending... a foolish youngling's fancy.

Shima snarled, disgusted with her self-pity.

He would tell her to focus on her own survival. He would expect her to be strong for Chailen. Yes, Chailen was what mattered. Shima had to survive to find and protect her sib.

She should search for things that might aid her she decided. Shima realised she should have done that first thing. Her failure to do that earlier when she looked around was testament to how rattled she really was. Her extended run and inability to lose the Murderers had scared her more than she had thought. Such a simple thing as searching for supplies should have been one of the first things she thought of.

She made up for her lack quickly and efficiently. Weapons, water, food in that order followed by luxuries. She had no plans to carry any luxuries, but perhaps medical supplies could be justified if small enough to fit on her or Kazim's harness. She dared not encumber herself too much; her speed had been the only thing to save her earlier, but Kazim needed at least a knife and preferably a beamer or two as well.

Shima did not find any weapons worthy of the name. Knives for cooking and other utensils could be used at a push, but she had two proper hunting knives on her harness along with her beamers already. She would give one of her knives to Kazim when he woke.

She left everything as she found it and explored the other rooms. In one of the sleeping rooms, she discovered something useful in a cupboard. No weapons, the owners had obviously taken their beamers with them as they should, but like her, they had left the charger behind. She quickly swapped the energy cells in her beamers for new ones off her harness and inserted the old ones into the charger. She watched the indicators and nodded. It wouldn't take too long to top up the cells to full charge.

Turning slowly on the spot, Shima wondered if there might be more cells here, but decided after a moment they would have been kept either with the beamers or the charger as Tahar had taught her to do. No doubt the owners had taken them and were safe now in their assigned keep watching the news and waiting to learn what the elders planned to do.

Shima's whiskers drew down as if tasting something noxious.

What could the elders realistically do? The Merkiaari were here on the surface in force, which meant the Fleet had been defeated already. That left only those in the warrior caste chosen to protect their people on the ground, or the permanent forces assigned to each of the keeps, to fight on. She had no doubt that everyone, adult or child, would fight when the time came, but that didn't make them warrior caste. They had their beamers and the training to use them, but no experience.

Real warriors trained constantly and fought each other in huge complex mock battles. Warrior caste lived for the time they would be called upon to fight for real.

"Well, this cycle might seem like a dream come true for them, but I doubt they will think so tomorrow," Shima said to herself. She took a last look at the charger's progress, and left the room.

Shima found little that she wanted to take with her. She could hunt for food once out of the city, so she made no effort to gather some to take with her. Instead she gorged herself upon the bounty of Shkai'ra she found in the cold room, putting some aside for Kazim to eat later. The tender meat was one of her favourites, and together with fresh fruits and vegetables made a feast. She forced herself to eat more than she normally would, gorging until uncomfortably overfull. She had burned a lot of her reserve fat since coming back to the city and needed to replenish it. If she didn't eat more than her usual amount over the next few cycles, she would lose muscle mass.

It was inconvenient but part of what it was to be Shan.

Her people had evolved to survive lean times in a number of ways. One was by consuming vast amounts of food in good times and building a reserve in the form of fat, the other way was a type of hibernation. Shan did not sleep like Shkai'lon did in winter, but they could slow their metabolism so much that the difference was hard to determine.

But there was a difference and an important one.

Shkai'lon were completely vulnerable while they slept the winter away, Shan were not. With their bodily functions slowed, it left their minds free to ponder the Harmonies and allowed their senses to wander far afeild. Hence they were forewarned of approaching danger. The ability was how so many Shan had survived the last Merkiaari invasion.

Shima spent the remainder of the cycle resting, readying herself for night and her escape from Zuleika. She forced herself to drink a lot of water and even managed a few more morsels of food when Kazim awoke to join her. She made him stuff himself and drink lots of water, and would not hear his complaints that he would not be able to run with such a full stomach. He would learn as she had just what a terrified Shan could accomplish when necessary.

In the end the only things Shima decided to take were her weapons, her harness, and a small water bottle she had found in one of the rooms. She didn't need anything else to survive the journey to the mountains, and if Kazim stayed with her, he wouldn't need anything either. She could hunt for two as easily as for one.

Shima was sitting quietly in the main living space in the trance-like state her father had taught her to use before a long hunt, when darkness fell. It was the best way to attune oneself with the Harmonies, and made her gifts easier to use. Stronger too. Her senses were always at their strongest when used this way. She noted the sleepers in the park and other nearby buildings were stirring, readying themselves to leave. Kazim had some ability with the Harmonies, enough to notice the exodus, but Shima said no when he suggested they go.

"Not yet, they are too many and might attract attention. We will give them a seg to clear our path."

"We don't know where they are going."

"True, but they will head for a keep and the nearest is in the Kachina chain. It's safer for them and us if we spread out. The gunners on just one of those grav sleds could kill us all in two bursts if we don't."

"Are you sure you're not warrior caste, Shima? You sound just like those I have met."

Shima noted Kazim's camera was active again, though he had tried to be discreet by holding it low in his lap. She said nothing. If his work comforted him, who was she to say no? She could wish for some comfort herself, but a gardener like her wouldn't be needed for a long time to come... or ever? Shima shook off the sudden chill that came over her. She was a scientist not a superstitious fool who feared gloomy thoughts would encourage them to come true.

"Not a warrior, sorry to disappoint. I'm a gardener."

"That's not all you are. There's more."

Shima's tail gestured a shrug and her ears flicked agreement. "There's always more. Scientist, agricultural geneticist, hunter, daughter of Tahar, sib to Chailen... the list is extensive for any of us."

"Interesting that you list hunter before daughter," Kazim said. "Why is that?"

"Tahar, my father works—worked on Hool Station. We spoke just before..." she waved a hand around. "All this. He was trapped up there with the others."

Kazim's ears struggled half erect. "I am sorry."

"So am I, he was a wonderful person and father. Many fathers died when the Murderers came. I'm not the only one to lose family."

"No, but sadness is not lessened by having company."

Shima agreed.

Kazim shifted and raised the camera. "Do you mind so very much?"

Shima felt like asking what he would do if she said that she did mind, but perhaps he was in the right with this. If her people survived the Murderers a second time, wouldn't it be a good thing to have a record of events? She couldn't see how her actions could contribute to Kazim's historical record of the second alien war, but who was she to say? Her youngling lessons had included trips to places like the Markan'deya where she was shown lowlier things than Kazim's recordings. Perhaps in the future his films would be played in the Markan'deya dedicated to this new war, and younglings would watch and learn about the true horror of war.

"I do not mind," Shima said, "But we must find you a beamer. I would give you one of mine, but I suspect you would be too busy recording the aliens killing you to use it."

Kazim laughed. "You are right. When I heard what was happening I fetched my camera first thing. I did not even remember my beamer until after my car blew up."

Shima was secretly appalled by Kazim's admission. How any Shan could be so lax when the Merkiaari breathed the same air with him was frankly incomprehensible to her. Everyone was taught Shan history. No one could be unaware of what a fresh incursion would mean to them, their families, and their clans.

"I see I have shocked you." Kazim said ruefully and Shima agreed with a flick of the ears. "Tell me the story of our meeting, Shima. Tell me of your father and how you heard about the murderer's return, and I promise to kill the next alien I see before trying to film it."

Shima did.

# 22 ~ The Wilderness

**Zuleika and environs, Child of Harmony**

"... and we stopped here to await the night," Shima finished her recitation of events noting how dark the room was. "And now we go, Kazim. It's full dark, time to leave the city."

Kazim did something to his camera and rose to his feet. "Do you think the others are far enough away?"

"I hope so. I will look ahead when the time comes and steer us away from anyone I find."

"You are strong in the Harmonies, Shima. I noticed before but didn't want to ask."

Shima knew what he wanted. "No, they did not invite me. My uncle is Tei, but my eyes..." Shima gestured 'what can you do' with her tail. "The clan-that-is-not has certain expectations and standards I do not meet."

"I'm sorry."

"It's an old hurt, but seriously, I'm not sure what I would say now if they did invite me." Kazim regarded her sceptically. "I mean it. I love my work; I would not want to give it up."

"You wouldn't have to. As Tei your choice of profession is yours to make and no other can gainsay you, not even the elders have that right."

"Oh I don't mean that, of course I would follow my heart and stay in my caste. No, it's the expectation that as Tei I must lead the others. I would have no time for my own research projects."

"Hmmm," Kazim said sounding unconvinced.

Shima wasn't surprised. Tei were honoured and held up before all as the epitome of ambition. But she had secretly held the view for quite some time now that it must be a very tiring way to live. People's expectations could be draining. It would take a very strong person to live that way, which was yet another reason to admire them and venerate them.

The word Tei meant _'one who leads'_ but the true meaning was farther reaching than that. Being Tei meant leading others by example, motivating others by one's own actions to strive, to be better than they think they can be. The clan-that-is-not held a special place in Shan society, one that even the council of elders did not equal.

"It's time we were gone," Shima said leading the way out the back and into the night.

Shima didn't hurry into the park. Stealth was preferable to speed now. She used all her skill to move silently amongst the trees, and tried not to sigh audibly when Kazim made a noise. He wasn't loud but compared to her silence he seemed it. Her skill was her father's, taught to her from almost the moment she could balance on two legs. Kazim could not be blamed for being lesser in this. He was competent, no worse than average, and all Shan were hunters by instinct. It was just that her instincts and skills had been honed to a fine edge.

She said nothing.

"Sorry," Kazim hissed under his breath, sensing her tension. "It's been a while for me."

"Nothing to be sorry over," Shima whispered back. "I hunted often with my father."

"You are very good at this, all of it I mean, not just the silent stalk."

Shima did not answer. She supposed she was good at it in a way. She did not doubt her ability as a hunter, for her father would be remembered by his clan as one of their greats despite his demurrals, and she took for granted her harmony given gifts would not let her down. They never had before so why would they now? No, Kazim was right, but being good at it did not mean she liked the necessity right now.

They travelled through the park and beyond into the last district of the city. Fires illuminated the streets, and revealed only the dead. The Merkiaari warriors had swept into the city via this district using the road from the port to speed their way. They had destroyed many of the buildings, though not all, and their targeting puzzled Shima. The buildings had no strategic value that she could see, they were just simple homes.

Kazim was grim as he used his camera to record everything they saw. He almost seemed to will Shima to comment on the massacre of their people. She walked amongst their dead and said nothing. What was there to say? Should she say it was horrible? It was, but saying it did not change anything. Should she point to this or that person, this or that dead youngling... and say what? Vow vengeance maybe. Perhaps Kazim was silently vowing it now, calling upon his ancestors to witness the oath. Swearing by his clan name even. Shima said nothing and vowed nothing, but she knew deep in her heart there would come a reckoning. Once Chailen was safe, surely it would not offend her father's kah to come back and claim a little justice for his death. He would not approve of anything that put her in danger of course, but surely he would understand her need to fight. Any Shan would.

"We need to move, Kazim."

Kazim nodded. "There is nothing we can do for them and there are too many to send to their ancestors properly."

"They will find their way to them, the Harmonies know their own."

Kazim followed as Shima chose a path. "You truly believe that?"

"Yes. The ceremony is for those left behind, not the one journeying on. My father is with my mother and our ancestors now. I know it."

And she believed it to the core of her being.

Tahar's body would never be ritually cleansed or placed in the clan's grove for three cycles to free his kah. He would not receive the honours due him, nor would his ashes be mixed with the ashes of their ancestors. None of that mattered. Shima had seen death; she knew Tahar's kah would not really have been released by the rituals. Her gift had shown her they moved on very quickly after the mind glow dimmed, not lingering for even a single cycle let alone the three cycles bodies were customarily laid in the grove. Tahar was with her ancestors now, watching over Chailen and her. She knew it beyond question.

Shima and Kazim studied the empty road from concealment of the trees, but there really was no option but to venture out and cross over into the country on the far side. It was a bit of a stretch to call the land wilderness—the word seemed to conjure an image of a barren land, which this was not, but it was wild in the sense it had never been settled or cultivated. There were no cities or even large towns between Zuleika and the mountains, so it was in its natural native state; heavily forested with open plains far to the south. A good thing, because the native wildlife was extremely tasty to hungry Shan, and there should be plenty on the hoof for a hunter to track.

The road led to the spaceport where she was sure the Murderers would be doing alien things that made sense to them, but no sense to anyone sane. She wanted nothing more than to be far from there and under a trillion cubic tonnes of rock in Kachina Twelve, but that would take a few cycles more and some careful work on her part. Kazim was a good sort, but obviously needed care. Shima would provide, who else was there?

The Harmonies revealed Kazim's anxiety. He had been like that since discovering the massacred people. She thought until then Kazim had been treating the new war as some kind of adventure, exciting and possibly a way to advance in his clan, but now the reality had him by the tail. He had realised that labelling events as the end times didn't make them a neat and tidy thing. There was blood, and there was pain, and there was death. A great deal of death.

There was no choice, Shima decided. The Harmonies assured her no one was close, but that didn't mean they were safe. Her gift could reveal living things, but it could not show her devices or tell her if the area was being observed from a distance. With the Merkiaari in control of the orbitals, if any of them had been spared, they could have surveillance of anywhere on the surface they wished. Even if they had destroyed everything in orbit, a situation Shima deemed likely, the Murderers still had their ships watching. Still, how likely was it for two people to be detected from orbit way out here?

Shima would have been very surprised to learn it was in fact highly likely, because the Merkiaari were already tracking various groups leaving the cities and had set a continuous over watch of both inhabited planets. It was standard doctrine to track vermin migrations to aid in extermination missions.

Shima did not know anything about Merkiaari standard doctrine or procedures. She simply had the Harmonies and her instincts. She felt uneasy, but had felt that for most of the cycle and so dismissed the unsettling feeling as her imagination. Besides, even if the Murderers appeared before her on the road in plain sight, it didn't change her need to head toward the mountains. She was sure to feel better once deep into the trees and hidden under their concealing canopy.

"I'll go first," Shima said. "Don't follow me right away. Wait and watch half a seg before leaving cover. I will wait for you."

"Half a seg! Really? Don't you think that's over the top?"

Shima hesitated and then reluctantly agreed. Her paranoia was getting the better of her. They really did need to vacate the area. "Let's say... a tenth seg then?"

"A tenth it is," Kazim said.

"If something happens, run Kazim. I will find you."

Kazim's ears went back briefly at the thought of running away, but then he agreed with the necessity. He was armed with a knife and nothing he could do would help Shima if she was seen.

Shima crept into the open on four feet, keeping her tail tucked and her belly low to the ground. It reminded her of hunting with her father, and she could almost see him in her mind's eye, his translucent kah just ahead leading the way.

Right fore-foot left hind-foot and pause. Left fore-foot right hind-foot, and pause to listen. She kept her head held low between shoulders, ears swivelling listening for any sound, muscles taught with tension ready to launch her into a sprint in any direction.

She lowered her face to the road and breathed in, rolling scent markers over her tongue and the glands at the back of her throat. A growl rumbled deep in her chest, but the stink of Merkiaari was old. She raised her head as tension eased a little, and with more confidence, she trotted across the road and into the trees. She allowed herself a sigh of relief, and lowered herself to the ground in some brush to watch Kazim's crossing.

As planned, he waited a tenth and then crept out into the open. She watched with her eyes and the Harmonies, but as far as she could tell, Kazim was safe. He did all the right things, and it wasn't long before they were moving together under the safety of the trees.

Shima only looked back once to see the red glow in the sky as Zuleika burned.

They stayed on four feet that night, ready to flee at top speed on the instant; besides that, it was easier to negotiate the wilds that way. Shan had evolved to walk upright yes, but they were still at their physical best on all fours. It allowed them faster responses, allowed them to use sensitive noses and glands in the throat to snuff the ground seeking scent trails. Even their tails became what they were meant to be rather than just another appendage for gesturing. A Shan's tail was quite muscular, but it hadn't evolved to hold things, though it could do that in a clumsy way. It was for balance. When a Shan ran at high speed and needed to change course abruptly, something hungry Shan in the past often needed to do while chasing canny prey, the tail became a way to help balance and steer.

They didn't stop that night; neither did they hunt. They had both eaten heartily back in the city and could go without food for cycles at a push. Shima would prefer not to fast for that long, she had used her reserve escaping the Merkiaari, but she could if she needed to.

Without discussion, they kept moving until dawn approached. When Shima sensed it was nearly sun up, she began actively seeking water and a place to stop. It took no effort to find a stream, barely a trickle of water above the surface but good enough for their needs and after drinking their fill they burrowed into dense underbrush to rest.

Kazim took first watch, and Shima gratefully allowed her thoughts to slow enough that she could attempt sleep.

"Shima?" Kazim whispered. "Please Shima, wake up. Something is coming."

Shima didn't groan, though she wanted badly to do just that. The way she felt—weary to the bone and aching in muscle groups she had over used—she couldn't have slept for very long. When she opened her eyes though, she could tell by the level of light and shadow that it was mid-afternoon. Kazim was supposed to have woken her to trade watches much sooner than this. She felt anger stir but then fade, defeated by tiredness. What was the point in anger now the damage was done? No point at all, and besides, Kazim probably thought turnabout was fair considering she had let him sleep in Zuleika yesterday

Stifling her groans, she stretched each leg and opened her eyes. "Mmmmmffffph, whatsit?" she mumbled around a tongue that felt thick in her mouth. By the Harmonies she wanted a drink.

"Hush!" Kazim hissed under his breath. "Something's out there... I feel it."

Shima stiffened and her eyes opened wide in alarm as she remembered the situation. Tahar, Merkiaari, Chailen...

She rolled over to find what had Kazim so worried. He wasn't strong in the Harmonies; if he had been he would have noticed the newcomer long before this. Shima sampled the mind glow and relaxed a little. It wasn't good, but it wasn't a danger to them.

"It's one of us, not Merkiaari," Shima said. The mind glow felt light as a breath of wind and the colours pure pastels of orange and yellows, unsullied with the jewel colours of adult experiences. "Young I think... male? Yes, male and barely old enough to be out alone."

Kazim nodded, taking her word as absolute fact. He was recording with his thrice cursed camera again, Shima noted and sighed. He was useless. The beamer she gave him to use while on watch lay beside him on the damp ground absorbing moisture.

She retrieved and holstered the weapon sparing a brief glare for Kazim as she did so. She might as well not have bothered. Her disdain just bounced off. He would never understand why seeing the weapon not in his hand and aimed made her angry. He had no fear, none, but it was the bravery of absolute faith in another's abilities, not in the belief of actual safety. He was too trusting, and that endangered her as much as him. It was patently obvious she could not trust him on watch alone from now on.

She held back a sigh. Why was she even bothering to think about it? She had known from the moment she met Kazim that he needed someone to lead him to safety. He was not wilderness wise or trained in the ancient skills as she was. It was her failure letting him stand watch at all, not his; she could have meditated instead of sleeping and kept a better watch than he could wide awake. Not boasting or false pride. Simple fact.

Why did she always find herself in the position of den mother like this? She wasn't a clan matriarch—mother to generations—and never would be, so why did she feel the responsibility she imagined they must feel toward others? Why did she want to reach out and make it better when she saw someone in need? She wasn't a healer with their compulsion to take away pain and coddle everyone. Frankly, she found that trait in healers annoying if anything. She certainly didn't feel that way did she?

She was scientist caste as were many in her family. She fit the life perfectly. Surely she had chosen the right path. She loved her work. Research was her life, genetics her chosen field. Besides, she had never shown any talent the healers would own. Perhaps it was losing her mother at such an early age that awoke this in her. Perhaps looking after Tahar and Chailen did it, but whatever caused it had made her want to save Kazim despite himself. She couldn't save everyone, and had lost Tahar already, but she wouldn't let Kazim sleep walk into death. He was hers as much as Chailen was... for now anyway.

"Don't move from this spot, Kazim. I will fetch him. And when I give you a weapon, if I ever do again, you by the Harmonies will at least pretend to know what to do with it!"

Kazim's nostrils flared wide and his ears went back as if facing into a stiff wind. "What did I do?"

Shima growled low. What was the point? He was clueless. Kazim was looking around in bewilderment trying to discern what was amiss. He hadn't even noticed her taking and holstering the beamer right in front of him! Utterly clueless, it was simply staggering how any Shan could be this oblivious to danger.

"Just..." words failed her. "Just... don't move. Don't do anything, nothing at all. Don't help me... by the Harmonies please don't try to help me!"

Kazim blinked, seemingly at a loss to explain her sudden change of mood. "I'll stay here if you want me to, but whoever he is will find us on his own. That's why I woke you. He is coming this way."

"I know he is, but is he leaving a trail a wild Skaggikt could follow?"

"Skaggikt are not indigenous to this—"

"It's an expression, Kazim!" Shima hissed. "There are others we don't want following him to us."

Realisation dawned and his eyes widened, "You mean Merkiaari."

"Yes. Aliens here would be bad... besides, Skaggikt aren't the only creatures I don't want on my tail and some are native to this region."

"Really? What—"

"Later." Shima said cutting him off. Really, his curiosity would be the death of him, of both of them. "I'll fetch him."

Shima left her beamers holstered, and on four feet trotted away to fetch their visitor. Kazim was right, the newcomer would have stumbled upon them anyway, but she wanted to be sure his back trail was clear. If she had to take in another stray, she wanted to be sure his baggage was all in order so to speak. She didn't much like surprises anymore. They could kill you.

She circled wide around him, keeping his mind glow centred within her search perimeter. No one was on his trail, which was good, but said trail was glaringly obvious, which was bad. Shima didn't sigh. Another city bred mouth to feed. Seriously? Why wasn't she surprised? The trail he was leaving meant he was like Kazim, not wilderness trained. Maybe Tahar was right when he said hunting was the past, but surely moving stealthily was Shan nature?

There was no time to debate nurture over nature right now, but if there ever came a time for such things, she would tell the elders what was what. Training in the ancient arts needed to be put into the youngling's curriculum if parents couldn't be trusted to teach their cubs properly. She was being unfair, Shima knew. All Shan were instinctive hunters, but that meant there was no formal schooling for it, which in turn meant a huge variation in competence. Survival could depend on such things now.

Shima took a little time to blur the youngling's trail. Easily done, it took no time at all before she was ready to approach him. That she did, from behind and to his left. Never surprise a Shan from the front if you don't want your ears shredded. Tahar taught her that when she had tried to use a tree and long leap to surprise him. He had known she was there of course—he really had been one of their clan's greats—but he had acted as if surprised only pulling his blow at the last instant. With claws in, it had only made her eyes cross not drawn blood or shredded her ears.

"I am Shima. You need help?" Shima said standing in deep shadow, using her colouring to blend.

The youngling spun about and rose up onto two legs in one motion, the claws of his hands ripping the air looking for his enemy's eyes. Shima approved of his technique. He was quick and agile. He had instinctively gone for a crippling strike rather than risk a disembowelling move that could so easily have gone wrong and left him open to a counter.

"Where... who?" he stammered searching the shadows.

First lesson then, Shima decided. "Take a deep breath; roll the air over your tongue and you should scent me."

He peered into the shadows, not quite directly at Shima, ears swivelling constantly. Shima held her breath to make the lesson stick. He was forced to try for her scent, which he finally did. Shima knew the instant he had it. His mind glow would have told her, but it wasn't that. He simply lowered himself to all fours again and looked into her eyes... or rather where her eyes should be if the shadows had revealed them. Shima decided he'd had enough for now and stepped forward.

"I am Shima. You need help?"

He obviously did. His harness had nothing useful on it. The holster she expected to see was there, but it did not contain a beamer. It was empty.

"I... Merrick, my name is Merrick. I am," he swallowed thickly. "I was going to be warrior caste next nameday, but Fleet is gone now. It must be don't you think?"

He had asked the question hoping she would refute him, but Fleet was obviously destroyed before the landings. Shima couldn't imagine the Merkiaari trying to land their warriors before that was done. She knew he knew that as well as she did, but there was no need to destroy what little hope he had left.

"We will rebuild Fleet bigger than ever after we win this new war. We did it before, we will again."

Merrick's ears flicked agreement, but his face was grim. "The Murderers are hard to kill. I tried but... they captured us." He looked down as if ashamed. "My parents and sibs. The aliens took our weapons."

Shima's ears went back at that. Captured? Since when did Merki do anything but kill Shan? Why take prisoners, and do what with them once taken?

"Are they dead?"

"No!" Merrick snarled, his muzzle rumpling to reveal killing teeth. "Captured like I said. I snuck away... like a coward."

This was not her concern, Shima hurried to tell herself. This youngling could join Kazim under her protection, that would be no hardship really, but... she sighed. No, no, no she had to think of Chailen. She couldn't get involved! She mustn't only...

"How long ago were they taken? How many Murderers? Which direction were they heading? How armed? Did they have a grav sled?" She heard herself saying, and railed at her foolishness.

Shima prayed to the Harmonies that Merrick's answers would make it easy to walk away, but it was cowardice to think like that. But Chailen... she had to get to the keep for Chailen and—but Chailen would be ashamed of her sib if she heard her thoughts. Shima couldn't bear that. Her sib was all she had now. She mustn't make Chailen ashamed of her, and so she had to help this youngling, right? Not for her own honour's sake but for her sib? She told herself that Tahar would have understood that logic.

"No sled and there were ten, all males carrying those mass drivers they use. It happened about a seg ago, and they made us walk back toward Zuleika."

"Just the mass drivers, no flamers or beamers?"

"No, just the mass drivers but they were more than enough. Including mine we had six beamers. They took us by surprise while we slept. Father was on watch. They... hit him, hurt him badly but he wasn't dead!" Merrick hastened to add. "They carried him, so he must be alive. They wouldn't carry him if he was dead would they?"

Shima didn't know but it seemed unlikely. Then again, taking prisoners seemed an unlikely thing for them to do as well. "They wouldn't bother," Shima assured him. "Come with me. I have a friend waiting not far from here."

Shima led the way back to Kazim and introduced Merrick. Kazim was pleased to have another person to film and question. Shima listened only absently to Merrick's story a second time, but she noticed Kazim's eyes gleaming as they watched her not Merrick.

"What?" Shima said.

"You have a plan to deal with this, I can tell."

She didn't have a damn thing, but saying that wouldn't help matters. "Don't know what you mean."

"You plan to get Merrick's family," Kazim said and swung the camera back to Merrick in time to catch the youngling's excited face. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"If you had bothered to bring a weapon, and if Merrick still had his, I might have risked it. With only me armed? It would be foolish."

"Yes," Kazim agreed. "Foolish, but you are still going to do it. I can tell."

How? How did he read her stupidity so easily? Was it written upon her face that she was suicidal enough to try this? She scowled.

"If I were to give my beamers to you, one each, can I count on your accuracy? How good a shot are you, Kazim?"

"I scored in the nineties once," Kazim said proudly. "Merkiaari are big targets. I won't miss, I promise you."

Shima sighed. "I don't want your best score. I want your average, as in what can you do consistently?"

Kazim shifted restlessly. "Low eighties, but Shima, those targets are harder to hit than the aliens are. They are much smaller."

"Yes smaller, but they don't move or fire back at you." Shima looked at Merrick. "And you?"

"High nineties most of the time," Merrick said without pride. "I really was going to be warrior caste, Shima. I'm better than all my sibs."

Shima flicked her ears in assent. She believed him, but again it wasn't target shooting they were speaking of. "If I do this, I'll need you both to do exactly what I tell you. No wild heroic charges. We are not trying to kill Merkiaari, we are rescuing our people. If we can do that quietly without blood, we do it and thank the Harmonies for it."

"But you don't think that will happen," Kazim said, his camera zeroed into Shima's face in a tight close up.

"No I don't, but the principal stands. I need your word you will do as I say and nothing more. If we find the situation different to what we expect, or we can't rescue the prisoners, I need to know you will accept it and escape to the keep. We can fight and avenge them another time. Do I have your word?"

Kazim was quick to agree, but Merick was slower.

"Merrick, your word?"

"My family..."

She felt bad for him, but she could not budge on this. "I know, and we will do our best but dying ourselves against impossible odds won't help them. Now, your word or we part company and Kazim and I head for the keep."

"You have my word that I will follow you and do as you command, Tei."

"Don't call me that!" Shima snapped, and Kazim laid a hand on Merrick's shoulder as he jumped in surprise.

"I'll tell you later," Kazim murmured to Merrick.

Shima stroked a hand over her harness and counted the loops holding her only chance at success. She ignored the significant glances the two males were passing back and forth.

"Fine. We try," Shima said, and prayed her father and her ancestors weren't scolding her for acting foolishly. "We need to move fast. I will lead you closer. I will tell you what to do when we get there."

Shima raced into the trees back the way she had come with Merrick, using her own scent to find where they had first met. When she reached the spot, she switched to Merrik's scent and followed that to the place he had been captured. The stink of Merkiaari saturated the place along with Shan pheromones of fear and desperation. Shima's vision threatened to tunnel, but she forced away the fight/kill reflex and found a trail to follow.

Shima pushed the pace beyond safe limits. She knew she did and tried to compensate using the Harmonies. It was harder to do than she thought it should be. It was the combination of distractions she decided. Trying to sense danger with the Harmonies, trying to use scent and her tracking skills to follow the trail left by the Merkiaari, while at the same time running through wilderness with not one but two untrained males... well, it was a wonder she could do it at all.

Finally, she found them.

"Stop here," Shima panted. "They are not far ahead now. Take these." She gave each of them a beamer. "Have you ever seen what happens when a beamer cell is overcharged, or burned?"

Merrick gulped and Kazim's jaw dropped. Shima started plucking free all the spare cells she had loaded her harness down with. She kept only two back for later, if there was a later. She gave each of the males half of the cells.

"This is what you will do..."

The fauna and flora of Child of Harmony was different to the homeworld, and well did Shima know that. Those differences played a large part in her research. Modifying food crops to thrive here in this environment was the goal of her research. But a tree was still a tree, no matter how different its form and those oddities played no part in the current use Shima had for them.

Shima followed the Merkiaari patrol high in the trees, using the canopy to hide her movements and the thick chunky branches as her highway. Shan as a rule were more comfortable on the ground, but hunting and pouncing on prey from above was a valid skill. Her ancestors certainly thought so. She doubted Kazim's would, but then the deserts of Harmony had no trees, just scrub and brush, and lots of sand. Hunting there was more about finding prey to kill than combat. Desert clans hunted fire lizards and the like. Hard to find in the first place, but not hard to kill once found. Fire lizards were fast like most species back home, but they had few defences once cornered.

Shima paused, gauged the distance to the next tree, and leapt, landing with claws out to gouge into bark and secure her grip. She was above the prisoners now, and Merrick was exactly right in his description of what to expect. Five Shan, four females and one male. The male was awake but not well. The Harmonies told Shima he was in pain, and her nose told her he was bleeding though not how badly. The Merkiaari warrior closest to him was no longer carrying Merrick's father. He simply prodded the injured and stumbling male forward, snarling words that only another Merkiaari would understand. The intent though was obvious. Move faster or die, seemed the likely translation.

Shima could have killed this warrior easily from where she was, but that wasn't the plan. She had to save them all, not just one injured male, and to do that she needed Kazim and Merrick to do as she had bid them. It shouldn't be long now.

Shima used the trees to move ahead of the column and circle around, scouting the problem from all sides. This wouldn't end bloodlessly she decided, not entirely unhappy with the decision. If she could see a way to save the prisoners without fighting, she would use it. She meant what she said to Merrick. Anything could happen in a fight. The only way to ensure everyone's safety was not to fight, but that wasn't an option now. With two warriors so close together and near Merrick's father, she couldn't possibly spirit him away without being seen.

It was nearly time. She readied herself by removing her visor and securing it on her harness. She hadn't forgotten the desperation she had felt when she thought she had lost it, and hadn't yet found a solution to let her wear it in the kind of fight she was anticipating here. She had never used it while hunting with Tahar, and although this was a different kind of hunt, she wouldn't need her eyes to find the aliens. If all went well she would have the advantage regardless. She had planned for it at least.

The first explosion took even her by surprise, but she was falling upon her prey just moments later. The flash as the energy cell exploded blinded all within sight of it, but not Shima. Her eyes were so bad in the dark without her visor that she could have stared right into the explosion without discomfort. Not that she was going to do that. She was busy killing her prey.

The Merkiaari she landed upon had no time to scream. Shima landed on his back already reaching around his neck and ripped his throat out with the claws of both hands. He was already choking on blood and dying as she sprang away directly at another alien shaped blur.

More flashes lit the trees and plunged them back into deep shadow as Kazim and Merrick threw beamer cells and shot them, causing them to explode. Beamer cells contained enough energy for hundreds of shots. Liberating all that at once made for an energetic display. Flashes of light lit the night, making shadows leap up and cavort amongst the trees. Mere moments later, the trees were plunged back into darkness all the deeper for the brief display.

Merkiaari roared in anger and surprise, firing indiscriminately into the trees at targets they couldn't see. Trees soaked up the damage, some cut in half beginning a majestic fall, but the forest was dense and they couldn't complete their descent, branches tangling with their brothers.

Shima disembowelled her second alien, not slowing to watch him die. The scent of Merkiaari and blood made her rage, and she let it take her. It was a liberating and fearsome thing, allowing her primal self to come to the fore. This must be what her earliest ancestors felt when the clans fought each other before the Great Harmony.

The fight/kill reflex of her people tunnelled her vision and clamped her ears tight to her head. Her muzzle gaped wide, her lips rippling back exposing killing teeth. She screamed her rage into the night sky. It was her battle cry, her first ever, and was the scream of a hunting Shan giving challenge to all enemies within hearing.

Shima was essentially blind now, but as her father had maintained, she didn't need eyes to hunt her prey. She had the Harmonies. She sought out the insane mind glows using her gifts, and raced madly into the trees aiming for the knot of alien mind glows. Behind her, she left two dying aliens and a bewildered Shan male in her wake.

Shima slashed into the aliens, darting between them and splashing blood in all directions. Not stopping, she raced into the trees and circled back to attack from another direction over and over, whittling the enemy down with quick hit and run strikes; none of them instantly fatal, but all debilitating and confusing.

Merkiaari weapons raved chaotically, blasting the trees to kindling as they sought targets that were simply not there. They did not know a lone Shan female was responsible for the carnage.

More explosions and flashes of light courtesy of Kazim and Merrick lit the dark, and suddenly Merkiaari were falling to beamer fire as well as claws.

Shima was lost to the madness. She danced in the dark amongst the trees. Strike, strike, jump, spin and slash. Alien blood sprayed, she spit it from her mouth and screamed her challenge again, but this time it was not answered by weapons fire.

Silence.

Spinning on the spot, claws still extended, Shima barely had time to close her fists. Her attack thudded home into Kazim's belly and he folded with a grunt of air expelled. He fell to his knees groaning. Shima stood tall above him and screamed one last time, arms held wide with claws extended. It was not a challenge, but a cry of victory.

"Shima, it's done. You killed them all," Kazim said gently. He didn't try to stand, perhaps realising that in her maddened state she might take it as a challenge. "It's over."

Shima glared down at him, panting hard and still raging in her thoughts, but his words almost inaudible with her ears still tight to her head began to make sense. Over? It was over already? She blinked trying to see into the trees, but it was so dark. Dark? Her visor!

She reached for the visor still secure on her harness, but paused staring myopically at her hands. Her claws were thick with blood and bits of meat and alien fur. Her hands were dripping red onto the ground. She peered down at herself, forcing a semblance of calm into her thoughts and her tunnel vision began to recede. Her pelt was matted with blood, and she swallowed remembering the fight at last.

Shima's ears struggled up, and swivelled at a sound behind her. She spun falling automatically into a defensive crouch, but this time she found more of her people staring at her. Merrick's mother looked upon Shima with a kind of fascinated horror, but her cubs were frightened. It made Shima want to hide her bloody face. Merrick's father bowed to her when she met his eyes, and Shima bobbed one back quickly in reply. He shouldn't bow to her that way. He was older than she and surely wiser. He was due her respect, but he didn't seem to see it that way.

Shima looked beyond her audience and into the trees, not finding whom she sought. "Merrick? Where's Merrick?"

"I don't—" Kazim began to say.

In a sudden panic, Shima reached out with the Harmonies and found a lone Shan mind glow. It was dim and fading.

"He's hurt!" Shima shouted and dashed into the trees.

Shima found Merrick amid broken trees on his back blinking into the night sky. He still had his beamer, and he made her proud by aiming it steadily in her direction as she rushed toward him. He lowered the weapon when he saw who she was.

Shima crouched over the youngling, looking for wounds and found one. A huge splinter of wood had speared him clean through close to the hip joint. Shima chewed her whiskers. She dare not remove it for fear of blood loss, yet he was literally nailed to the ground by it. She was no healer, but the Harmonies had already prepared her.

He was dying.

_No! There must be something I can do, some trick Tahar taught me, or something Sharn said about blood loss. Please... Ancestors help me!_

"My father?" Merrick whispered.

"Lives," Shima assured him. "All of them. You saved them, Merrick. You did. You will make a great warrior one day."

"No," Merrick said, his voice already fading as his heart pumped what little blood he had left onto the thirsty ground. "I was a coward. I ran away."

Shima's eyes burned and she clutched his hand in hers. "No young warrior, no. Your ancestors sent you for help... you came to get me, you see?"

"You think so, Tei? I don't want to die... a... coward..." Merrick's hand released Shima's and his eyes stared at the sky unseeing. His mind glow faded to nothing.

Shima stared into his face, burning the image of the youngling she had failed to save into her memory. He was dead. It was her fault. She had taken him under her protection as she had Kazim, and failed him. What had she been thinking, bringing two untrained males into this? Worse, what had possessed her to bring a youngling? Kazim at least was adult, able to make his own decisions, but Merrick...

"Merick, please forgive me..."

"There's nothing to forgive, Shima." Kazim said. He was half carrying Merrick's father and that slowed his approach. "He was a warrior, and you were his Tei."

"Don't..." _call me that._ Shima didn't say it. Merrick had been young, too young, but he had chosen her to follow. The knowledge cut her all the deeper for she had proven unworthy of him. "Just don't."

Shima took the beamer from Merrick's other hand and holstered it upon her harness, before rising to her feet. She braced herself to meet Merrick's father's eyes, and the accusations she was sure would be there. She put her visor on to see them all the better, but the truth was she wanted to hide her own eyes for shame.

"I... Harmonies forgive me," tears began to fall and she let them. "I killed your cub. I have no words to express how sorry I am. I owe you a life and submit myself to your justice. I swear by my clan, my life is yours."

Kazim gasped as Shima spoke the old formula, but Merrick's father had attention only for his dead cub. Behind him, his mate and other cubs arrived and the night was filled with wails of grief.

Shima let the sound wash over her, and cried silently for Merrick, for Tahar, for her people.

# 23 ~ Going Underground

**The Wilderness, Northern Continent, Child of Harmony**

They couldn't take Merrick with them, there was just no way it would have been safe carrying him for cycles to the keep. Shima had hated the thought of leaving him for scavengers, of which there were many on Child of Harmony, but he would have understood the need. Thankfully, his father, Nevin, and his mother, Marsali, took charge of Merrick and they were the practical sort. They knew what had to be done.

Shima was silent, her ears constantly swivelling listening for approaching danger while Merrick's parents dug a pit using their claws. They would leave a marker of some kind so they could come back and take Merrick home when it was safe.

Shima kept her head turning, watching for movement. She had both beamers in her possession again, in hand and ready to fire. She was wired, very tense, and feeling jittery. The Harmonies were screaming at her to move. Leave this place. Go. Go now was the message she was getting.

There was no sign of more Merkiaari in the area, and she was watching with every sense she had. She knew they were safe for now, and yet the Harmonies were screaming of imminent danger. She wanted to run far and fast just as the Harmonies urged her to do, but they had to do right by Merrick first.

Kazim was on the far side of the pit talking quietly to Merrick's sibs. Kazim had asked Nevin if it was all right to record, and he said it was. It surprised Shima that he had agreed so easily, until she realised he wanted his cub to be remembered.

Shima thought Merrick's sibs looked a lot like their mother, but then so had Merrick. Inaki had her mother's patterning on her flanks, and so did Rahuri. Merrick had that distinctive pattern too. Miamovi lacked the pattern entirely, but she had her mother's ears. In fact, her head matched her mother's in shape and feature, not just colouring. The younglings had their mother's looks, no question, but their manner was all their father. They walked softly like him, spoke with gravity as he did, and Shima felt certain they would take after him in their opinions. At any other time, they would seem reserved, Shima felt sure, but with Merrick's death, emotions ran high and close to the surface.

Shima froze for a moment when she saw it, but then continued her watch without a word to the others. It wouldn't help anything to tell them that Merrick's kah was standing there watching them. This wasn't the first time she had seen one, and with the new war just starting, she doubted it would be her last. It would go to the Harmonies soon.

Shima had seen kah before, but she had never seen one do what this one did next. One moment it was standing near Kazim, the next it was a pace away and in Shima's face trying to talk. It gestured urgently and tried to say... something. There was no sound of course, and the kah seemed frustrated by that. It walked by Shima looking back at her with a pleading look when she stared. It held out a paw to her, still with that pleading expression upon its immaterial face.

Shima was shocked motionless, her thoughts in chaos. Kah didn't do this! They just didn't! They weren't people. This kah wasn't the youngling she had met so briefly and failed to protect. It was... it was a memory of him, like one of Kazim's films. That's what she'd been taught when her father realised she was strong enough in the Harmonies to see them, and had invited his mate's favourite sib to visit their home to teach her.

Only Tei were ever taught about kah because only Tei were strong enough in the Harmonies to see them, but she was a special case. Strong enough to be Tei, but flawed in herself and unwanted by the clan-that-is-not. Tei'Thrand had been kind to teach the scared youngling she had been, and had broken many an unwritten rule to do it. Such deep knowledge of kah and their link to the Harmonies was held exclusively by the clan-that-is-not.

This kah was all wrong. It was not playing by the rules, she thought plaintively. That thought was so absurd that at any other time she would have laughed, but not now. There was nothing funny about burying Merrick, or running for their lives from the Murderers, and there was nothing funny about this kah. It... she couldn't think of it as a he. It wasn't Merrick, it wasn't! Despite its strange ways and looking like the youngling, she had to cling to her lessons. It wasn't him, but it seemed not to know that or care. It acted like Merrick, wanted her attention like he had, and Harmonies help her she felt herself wanting it to be really him. That was so wrong.

She couldn't talk to him... _it!_ It was an it, wasn't it? She couldn't talk to him with the others nearby, but when she checked they were busy lowering Merrick's body into the pit. Shima holstered one beamer and gestured surreptitiously behind her back, wanting the kah to move behind a tree. Shima almost gasped when it did what she wanted. They don't do that, she wailed silently in her head.

Shima followed it behind the tree and stopped to watch its antics. "I don't understand."

The kah... oh Harmonies, call it Merrick. She was already losing her mind; what difference did it make? Merrick raised his hands and let them fall in defeat. He looked very upset.

"You can't tell me, can you show me?"

Merrick's face glowed brighter as if suddenly excited. Shima swallowed. He moved away and looked back. His expression asked if she was coming. Shima used her gift to look for danger, and gave herself over to the madness.

She followed him through the trees, already guessing where he planned to lead her. Maybe she was asleep and dreaming? She stumbled over a hidden root barking a shin painfully.

"Not dreaming," she muttered and rubbed the pain away. "I couldn't be that lucky."

Merrick stopped by the dead aliens and looked at her.

Shima and Kazim had dragged all the bodies together before deciding to just leave them for the scavengers. They'd had some vague notion of hiding them, but it would have taken too long. Better to bury Merrick and vacate the area quickly than spend time hiding dead aliens she had decided.

"What?"

Merrick pointed urgently to one of the aliens.

Shima raised her beamer, suddenly wary. Had it somehow survived? No, not possible. The Harmonies showed Merrick glowing very brightly and nothing else. They were definitely dead.

"They're dead."

Merick raised his fists at the sky and shook them. Then he pointed at the alien again.

"All right, all right... no need to get testy about it. I'll look at your stinky alien if you will leave me alone and join your ancestors like you're supposed to."

Merrick grinned at her. Grinned!

Grumbling about getting even more blood on herself, she holstered her beamer and rolled the stinky and definitely dead alien onto its back. Kazim had stripped its weapons and shared them out, just as she had done with the other aliens, so she didn't expect to find anything.

"Now what? There's nothing here."

Merrick crouched near her and mimed undoing its clothes.

"I am not stripping this foul thing naked!"

Merrick's ears went back at that, and he looked disgusted. He gestured slowly and Shima finally understood.

"Oh, sorry," Shima said and reached for the flap of material attached to the Merkiaari covering.

Merkiaari didn't wear anything like a Shan harness with its loops and pouches, but they still needed to carry things. Like the new aliens, the Humans, they wore coverings they called clothes and those had built in pouches. She undid the flap securing the pocket and reached inside. Her hand felt something and she stilled. Had they missed a weapon?

"What is it?"

She looked for Merrick but he was gone. Had he gone back to the others? Somehow she knew he hadn't. He was truly gone to his ancestors now. Shima looked back at the alien and withdrew the item. It wasn't a weapon; she was sure of that. She suspected it was some kind of minicomputer. She turned it this way and that, wondering why this thing was important enough for Merrick's kah to break all the rules to get it into her hands.

She turned it over and stared at her face reflected in the shiny surface. There were no controls, but if this really was a computer... she touched the shiny part and things started happening. She watched coloured icons and blinking graphics move over the screen.

She cocked her head trying to understand the display, and her ears flicked at the nasty alien speech sounds coming from the device. Suddenly things rearranged themselves in her mind. She turned the device ninety degrees and her breath rushed out as the electronic map made sense and she associated the graphics with the real world.

"No..." she said in horror.

She dashed into the trees carrying her booty.

Shima threw herself onto her knees at the edge of the pit and unceremoniously began pushing the mound of earth into it with her hands.

"Shima!" Kazim said.

"Help me!" Shima snarled at Kazim. "Merkiaari heading this way. She handed the device to Nevin. "We can't let them find Merrick or us. They will chase us forever using one of these things. It happened to me before in Zuleika."

Nevin stuffed the device into a pouch and started shoving at the loose dirt. His family followed his lead and the pit was soon full. Shima kicked away the excess dirt, spreading it out to hide it.

"Kazim, lead them away from here. The stream. Take them to where we stopped yesterday. I'll catch up."

"But—"

"Go!" Shima screamed.

Kazim stumbled back in surprise. "This way." He ran and everyone rushed to catch up.

Nevin stopped to look back. "Don't do anything foolish. You owe me a life, remember?"

"I remember," Shima said grimly. "I remember everything. I must hide our presence here, and blur your trail. Now go."

Nevin dropped to all fours and raced after his family.

Shima used deadwood and underbrush to cover Merrick's pit. That was the easy part. The ground all around the area was scuffed and trampled. She didn't know how good at tracking the Merkiaari were. She hoped they relied upon technology and not natural instinct. Using primitive methods might fool technology, probably would, but she had to do the best job she could in case the aliens did know how to track prey without their devices.

She drew her knife and leapt into the air, aiming and swinging the knife at a low branch of the nearest tree. The blade was very keen, made of the best steel. It was one of a matching pair Tahar had bought her one nameday. She landed neatly and caught the severed branch in her free hand. Using it like a broom, she swept the entire area so that fallen leaves and other forest detritus spread evenly over everything. To the casual eye, no one had been here. To Shima, it was still obvious that people had been here but that was training and the scent left behind by the others. She could only hope the aliens weren't her equal.

Shima backed away, still brushing furiously, following Nevin's scent. She did that for a long time. Probably too long, but she was determined that any curious Merkiaari would not get any help from her inaction to find Merrick's family. Finally she climbed into the trees, taking along her branch with its tell-tale freshly severed end. She wedged it in the crook of more branches to hide it, and then sprang into another tree heading toward the stream and the others waiting for her.

It didn't take long to find them. Shima dropped out of the last tree to land lightly a few hundred paces from Kazim and the others. Wonder of wonders he had the Merkiaari mass driver aimed rather than his camera. The others were inexpertly holding the Merkiaari weapons they had liberated from their captors; the aliens had broken the beamers they had brought with them from the city. None of them knew how to use the huge weapons; they were used to hand beamers, which had no recoil at all. But mass drivers very much did, especially Merkiaari mass drivers. Merkiaari were big creatures and their weapons matched them in size and power. They couldn't be held and fired like a Shan beamer, but Shima could tell no one had thought about that yet.

Shima didn't have time to tell them now.

"May I see the alien computer?" Shima asked Nevin. He removed it from his pouch and handed it to her. "We might need to put greater distance between us. Let us see."

Nevin watched as Shima touched the shiny surface and the display brightened. She pointed to the icons and looked the question at Nevin. He flicked his ears and his tail rose. Its dark tip curled and made a short slashing motion. He was right, the aliens were about to discover their dead. She flicked her own ears and her tail mimicked his. They turned back to the display and watched the alien lights stop at the place where the fight occurred.

"Watch, they will spread out and search the area. Probably in twos."

Nevin flicked his ears in agreement. "Will they find Merrick?"

"I'm hoping not. If they do, it tells me something. A lot actually."

Kazim joined their huddle around the computer. "How so?"

"If they find Merrick after all I did to prevent them, then it means they are skilled trackers. We already know from history they are hunters... mindless predators, but can they track us without one of these?" Shima said raising the alien device slightly. "If they can't, we will lose them in the forest. If they can, we will still lose them I promise you, but it will be harder and I will have to be very careful."

"And if they keep following?"

Shima wished Nevin had not said that. It was one of her greatest fears about this. She dare not lead the aliens to any keep. She remained silent and looked hard at Nevin. His ears went back just a little as he realised what he'd said, but they came up quickly. His tail gestured understanding but worry too; for his mate and cubs no doubt.

"Let us worry about that if it happens."

Kazim finally realised the problem. His nostrils flared and his eyes flicked from Nevin to Shima and back. "We..." he swallowed hard. "Shima and I could lead them away if it comes to that. Nevin can take the younglings to the keep while we distract the Murderers."

Shima felt a sudden burst of affection for Kazim. He could be clueless at times, but none could say he wasn't brave.

"Yes," Shima said. "That's the plan."

The aliens split into search parties; they searched in pairs as Shima guessed they would, and were methodical about it. They were using a grid pattern, logical enough, but Shima was very interested to note how exacting their spacing was. That kind of accuracy was machine-like and it made her grin. She looked at Nevin, but he hadn't caught the clue. He noticed her expression and cocked his head in query.

"They're using their machines to search. I'm certain now."

"How can you be sure?" Kazim asked.

"The spacing. It's too regular. I think they're using a computer like this, rather than their eyes or noses. They won't find us that way."

Kazim looked unsure. "I don't know, Shima. Maybe I'm missing something, but if we can see them with this thing, can't they see us?"

Shima began to say of course they couldn't, but why couldn't they? She had assumed the Merkiaari could not because they had stopped to search instead of chasing them. Was that good enough? She looked at Nevin. He was watching the Merkiaari icons thoughtfully.

"I assumed they stopped to search because they couldn't see us, but..." Shima gestured frustration with her tail. "Everything is a guess where aliens are concerned! I don't like not knowing."

"Scientist," Kazim said and laughed. "Don't scowl at me. You know that's part of it."

It was, Shima admitted privately. It was the curse all scientist caste suffered from—ever questioning, wanting to know the answers and reasons behind everything. It was often said that a cub's caste could be predicted by the first word out of her mouth. Future scientists were born with the word 'why' on their tongues.

"The Murderers know their devices better than we," Nevin said thoughtfully, slowly feeling his way to a conclusion. "Could it be as simple as that? Could they be using it differently?"

"Yes!" Shima said excitedly. She scrutinised the computer. "This one could indicate a wide area scan," Shima pointed a claw at one of the icons running down the short side of the map. There were two circles one inside the other. The outer ring was filled with colour, the inner empty. "Perhaps the Murderers are watching for danger close by."

Kazim flicked his ears in agreement. "That makes a lot of sense. They're looking for what or who killed their friends."

"Yes," Nevin mused, "but that means they only have to touch this icon on their computer to see us."

"Right," Shima said. "We must run until we can't see them on ours anymore, then we rest and wait for night again. "One of us remains awake to watch the computer."

"Agreed," Nevin said.

Shima studied the display a moment longer and chose her direction; away from the mountains and the safety of the keep. They dare not be seen heading to a keep. Even if the Murderers did not guess they were looking for safety of some kind, it wouldn't take much for them to project forward and notice the mountains. Shima decided right then to turn toward the mountains only if the map remained clear for a cycle.

"This way," Shima said, putting the computer in her pouch and dropping to all fours. "We move fast and hard, and then review our direction. Let's say two segs before our first stop, which gives us roughly two more before dawn to find somewhere to rest."

"Good," Kazim said. "I play rear guard this stretch."

Shima flicked her ears and tail. She was pleased he was taking some responsibility for the group. She left Nevin to organise his family how he would, and set off into the trees. A moment later, she heard the others move to follow. She set a rapid pace, but not so fast that she risked exhausting everyone. The wilds could be dangerous. They might need to fight or run from predators, or Merkiaari, or both.

Dawn found Shima safely hunkered down with the others. Rahuri and her sibs were tangled together in a pile, sleeping the sleep of the exhausted. The sight made her smile, but it faltered as she remembered Merrick. He should be with his sibs, no doubt in the centre with the others on top and spilling around him. Female sibs tended to be that way, very protective of a brother especially if he was their only brother. They would have doted on him, looked out for him, boasted of and about him. It made Shima want to weep.

Chailen was wonderful; a beauty in her personality to match her sleek form, but a brother would have been very special to both of them. They would have raised him together, though of course Tahar would have final say... well mostly. Sibs were always close, their bond as strong if not the same as parent to child. Yes, a brother would have been good.

Tahar had told her of her dead sibs only recently. She didn't know any details except they died as a result of the failed FTL project, the same that crippled her. She didn't know if one or more of those dead sibs had been male. She didn't have names for her dead. Suddenly that lack mattered. It hadn't before, but with Tahar gone and now Merrick, it mattered a lot. She should at least have names to think about, to imagine what might have been, but she didn't. She wished she had asked Tahar. It was possible her parents had not named them. She didn't know, but they had surely chosen names in anticipation of the birth. If Shima knew the names, she could pretend she had a brother once.

Shima sighed quietly, trying not to disturb the others, and studied the alien map. All clear, as it should be. She wondered what the other control icons did, but she dared not change any settings. For one thing, she might not get the ever so useful map back. For another, she had heard alien speech come from it so she knew it was a communicator as well as a map. What if she accidentally transmitted her location? No, the two icons they had decided were long and short range scan would have to do. She would give it to someone at the keep. Let an engineer figure it out. Tahar would have loved investigating its guts, like that time with the droid.

Shima smiled remembering his delight in the strange device. They didn't know then of course, but they had played a tiny part in the arrival of the Humans. Her smile faded. Where were the Humans now? Had they escaped the Murderers? Kajetan said in her broadcast the Humans would fight, but had they? Surely their ship could not do so well as the Fleet. Everyone said the Human ship was designed for surveying new worlds not fighting. Shima gazed upon the fading stars as the sun came up and wished the Humans well.

At least she was clean now. They had a good source of water and cover. The spring was icy cold; supplied no doubt by snow melt from the mountains, but all she had cared about was getting the stinky alien blood out of her pelt. She loved that spring for being here. The cave was a boon too of course. Shima had stationed herself just inside the entrance to watch the game trail she had used to find it. It was perfect. They couldn't be observed from above, they had water, and the cave was close to game trails fresh from regular use. Native animals must use the spring, and that meant she would have an easy time feeding everyone.

She checked the map again. All clear.

She closed her eyes and settled into her meditation sleep. Not truly sleep, her lessons were clear on that, but it was restful for the body if not the mind. She was determined not to make any more mistakes as she had with Merrick. She would let the others help, but she would not relax her guard until they were safely in a keep. Her muscles relaxed, the map device settled a little in her hands and lap. Her breathing deepened and slowed as her mind wandered.

Images of Tahar, of Merrick, of Chailen flowed through her thoughts, but none lingered. The fight with the Merkiaari briefly flashed by, broken static images shocking. Her claws buried in the eyes of an alien, another of her claws already running red ripping open a throat. Another, another, another... her hand in the guts of a Merkiaari. That one almost made her lose her trance. She hadn't noticed at the time, but she must have been aware enough to strike beneath the alien's breastplate to disembowel him.

Gradually the violent images gave way, and the Harmonies showed her the world around the cave.

She was right, Shima sluggishly mused, her thoughts slowed to match her breathing. The local wildlife was abundant. The animals would not come near the cave now it was occupied, but they still needed water. She watched as they followed their usual trails, and noted the point at which they scented the Shan hiding in the cave. Shima wondered what the little mind glows were thinking. Probably they were scared or annoyed about the interlopers sleeping here.

The creatures waited a short time before turning aside. Shima followed and watched as they found a second source of water. It was a shallow pond, just a low place in the forest that ground water had filled.

Shima opened her eyes, not losing her calm and slowly looked down. Yes, the little creatures were clear on the map. The icons were a different colour, and the alien text attached to them was different than she saw previously attached to the Merkiaari icons. She couldn't read the text, but she would bet it said the animals were not Shan or something of the kind. Non sentient maybe, though Merkiaari didn't seem to care they were killing sentient beings. Or perhaps they did, and preferred to kill them. Who knew?

Shima studied the map, took note of the pond's location by the simple expedient of comparing where she knew the animals were and where they appeared on the map, and then closed her eyes to continue her watch.

In this way, alternating eyes open observation of the map and cave entrance, with eyes closed observation using the Harmonies, Shima kept the group safe through that morning. Kazim came and took over charge of the map. Shima didn't move or bother to say anything when he quietly took it out of her lap. He knew she was aware of him, but didn't speak. He sat inside the cave entrance on the opposite side to her, probably using her position as guide. They sat like two statues, guardians of the clan, though their small group was no such thing and the real clan guardians were wooden, cut from trees in the various clan groves.

The day progressed slowly for Shima. She did not allow herself sleep. She kept her vigil, noting Kazim handing off his responsibility of watching the map to Nevin. She ignored their whispered converse. They were simply speculating about what was happening elsewhere. To Shima that was a little pointless when all that mattered for now was surviving to reach the keep. Besides, homeworld was far away. It was likely the Merkiaari were doing the same there as here. Considering what happened when the Merkiaari last made war on them, Shima didn't doubt her people were fighting for their lives everywhere.

Kazim left to get more sleep. Nevin watched for a couple of segs in silence, and then gave his place to his mate. They had decided not to include the younglings in the watch, though next nameday they would be seven cycles old and adult. They were not adult quite yet, though probably more than capable. It was their parent's decision in any case, and they had decided to prolong their cub's innocence for as long as they could. Shima sympathised. If this war progressed as she thought it might, Merrick's sibs would be fighting very soon.

Let them remain innocent for as long as they could.

"You killed my cub," Marsali said.

Shima said nothing.

"Making him fight was wrong. He was too young. I hate you for that."

"I know," Shima said, her eyes still closed keeping her watch. There was no sign of Merkiaari, but some of the larger predators were starting to concern her. "I know."

"You saved us."

Shima did not reply, but wondered where this was going.

"My mate, my cubs... we would all be dead if not for you and Kazim."

"Don't credit me with saving you. It was Merrick; he died for his family. He loved you all very much. If not for him, you would be dead. If not for him, I would not have turned back to find you." Shima opened her eyes and turned to Marsali. "I killed Merrick and will never forgive myself for that. Nothing you say can make me feel worse than I already do."

Tears welled from Marsali's eyes and fell. Shima watched her weep silently, but then stood. She moved to take the alien map away, but Marsali held it tight.

"I need to do something," Marsali said clearing her throat and scrubbing away tears. "I need to be useful, to help save my cubs. To be worthy of Merrick."

Shima blinked feeling flustered. "You have nothing to prove to any of us."

"To myself," Marsali insisted. "I need to not be a burden. I need to help save them."

Shima released the computer into Marsali's care, but she did take a very quick look at the display; as before it showed no sign of Merkiaari. It did show something was out there. The predators she had found using the Harmonies.

"Keep it and watch then. I am going hunting. We need to eat before we leave."

Marsali clutched the computer and indicated agreement, her ears flicking in the common gesture, but her tail also curled around one leg. She was nervous indeed; it was a youngling thing to do. Shima wanted to find Nevin and ask him to watch with his mate. Marsali didn't seem completely confident of what she wanted, but Shima decided to see how she performed. No point in undermining her before she even tried.

Shima slinked silently through the trees, keeping low and moving slow as she stalked her prey. It was a decent sized male Shkai'lon, and could be dangerous. They were fast too. She was downwind of him and determined to hamstring him on her first pass. Shkai'lon weren't indigenous to Child of Harmony, but they had thrived here. The first colony ships had brought all manner of animals from Harmony for the colonists to eat. Back then no one knew if they could even eat the native plants and animals. As it turned out, certain species were poisonous, but in the main they could.

When the Merkiaari came, everything was shattered. Farms and towns were abandoned. Animals such as this one's ancestors had escaped the pens and bred in the wild. No doubt some of the native life had lost their place in the ecosystem, some even becoming extinct as Shan nearly did, but a surprising number did not, and fought back until the current balance was reached. All of which was good news from Shima's point of view. She was hungry and Shkai'lon were tasty.

Shima stopped, buried in shadow and underbrush, only her gleaming unblinking eyes visible in the gloom. She had taken off her visor as she always did on the hunt, but this time it was for a different reason. Since her accident in Zuleika she had entered a whole new realm of paranoia where her sight was concerned. She had always feared blindness ever since she learned the long term prognosis of her condition, but now she'd had a small taste of it. She never wanted to be so helpless again. The hated visor was now a lifeline she dare not let out of her possession, but at the same time she feared damaging it. Tahar would not rescue her with another visor or repair it if broken.

So once again it was safe on her harness.

Like Shkai'ra, Shkai'lon were herbivores, but unlike their smaller cousins Shkai'lon had formidable weapons and bad dispositions to match. They were dangerous as all get out, and would fight even when the odds were bad. A bit like her people in that way, Shima mused watching the delicious creature use his spurs to grub in the dirt for roots. Those spurs were deadly in a close in fight, the only kind to be had between Shan and Shkai'lon. The rack upon his head and the sharp hooves were also something to be wary of. If a Shkai'lon was cornered or chased toward exhaustion, they would turn at bay and put up a murderous blur of flashing hooves and swinging antlers. Many a hunter had died to pull such a beast down.

The great head dipped to eat the now exposed roots. Shima gathered herself and sprang with fore-claws out already slicing toward the back of one hind leg, but the creature had the luck of the Harmonies on his side. At the very last moment he must have picked up her scent. He shied sideways, his rear legs kicking out. Shima tucked her head taking a glancing but painful blow to one shoulder. She tumbled, rolled on her back then to all fours. Her rumbling growl climbed into a scream of pain, as feeling slowly returned to her arm. Her own coppery blood perfumed the air.

Shima dodged left, right, left. The Shkai'lon backed away swinging his head to keep her covered. Canny beast. She pivoted aside and ran straight up a tree. Just as gravity decided that no, she could not run up a vertical surface for so long, she pushed off turning in the air with all four legs spread wide and claws out. The marvellous beast ran, but too late. Shima landed just behind him, catching his haunches with the claws of her hands and digging in.

The Shkai'lon bounded through the trees, crying its distress call, alerting any of his herd to scatter. Shima didn't care about that. It was all she could do to hang on. Even dragging her he was fast! She knew that Kazim would not have been able to keep up. Kazim was not here, only she was and dinner was bleeding under her claws. It was up to her.

Her back legs scrabbled trying to run, but there was just no way. They were moving too fast. She was barely hanging on. Her weight, borne by the claws embedded in the Shkai'lon's tough hide threatened to tear loose as she was dragged through the forest. She winced as her legs hit all manner of roots and brush, but even as she considered letting go, she managed to pull herself up higher onto the beast's back. She bit down, trying for a better hold with fangs so that she might at least reset her claws, but the tough muscle around the animal's spine resisted her. She couldn't get a decent mouthful. She spat blood and bit harder.

Blood slicked its hide, and Shima knew if she could hang on long enough it would weaken, but she didn't have that luxury. Knowing her luck, the beast would run right through a Merkiaari patrol.

Finally, she managed a decent hold with her teeth and withdrew the claws of one hand. She reached higher on the beast and clawed his back, ripping his hide and making him cry out in terror. She was about to pull herself fully onto his back when he slammed into a tree.

Shima flew over his shoulder and hit the ground rolling. The impact winded her, but she had enough awareness to move behind the tree before the Shkai'lon stomped her. Its hooves barely missed her, but they did miss, and Shima was able to get to safety. The Shkai'lon was enraged now. Its panic had turned to fury, and Shima's heart sank. This was why her ancestors hunted in packs and not alone. It would kill her now if it could.

It slammed its antlers into the tree, tearing bark free, and then reared onto its hind legs to rake its spurs at Shima. She dodged, and circled the tree keeping its bulk between them. The Shkai'lon rammed the tree again, this time with a shoulder, and Shima swung around the tree to land a blow. This time she didn't miss. The hamstring let go and the leg collapsed under the furious beast. It squealed and snapped at Shima as it fell. She jumped clear and stopped to consider her next move.

Shima rubbed her shoulder and warily stepped away as the crippled beast tried to reach her. He was one very angry dinner, Shima thought ruefully. She inspected her injury and decided that, although bloody, it wasn't serious.

The Shkai'lon bellowed at her, then hissed and snapped his teeth at her. Shima growled, the noise might attract unwanted attention. She darted forward and back, her claws dripping scarlet, and the beast quieted. A spray of blood pulsed from the artery in its neck. It moaned plaintively and slumped.

Shima edged forward to provide the killing blow, and howled as the beast had his revenge. The spur caught her in the thigh, and ripped a ragged line through her hide. Shima yelled and leapt clear, ready to fight anew, but it was all over. The Shkai'lon was done. He fell on his side panting and pumping the last of his spite and blood onto the ground.

Moments later his fierce mind glow dimmed and was extinguished.

"Harmonies be praised," Shima said wincing as she put weight on her leg.

It would be her back leg, she thought unhappily. She needed to walk upright if she was going to carry meat back to the others. She looked thoughtfully at dinner. Or did she? She had her knives. She could clean her kill here, butcher it, and take the best cuts. Why not make an old fashioned drag sled? Tahar had shown her how, though it was really for dragging someone who was injured to safety. It was one of many things she had learned as part of her hunting and survival lessons.

She quickly set about her task.

Shima dragged dinner back to the cave and found Kazim waiting for her. He had his thrice cursed camera out and filming her. What was it with that male? He seemed unable to lay it down for longer than a seg or two.

"You're hurt!" Kazim said, still recording.

Shima sighed. "That's all right, I can drag this myself. No no! You don't need to help, thanks for the offer."

She glared at him as she struggled toward him. The sled with its burden was cursed heavy. Her fault for loading too much of her kill aboard it, she admitted privately. She had wanted to impress Kazim, she realised now. He didn't seem impressed however.

"How bad is it?"

Shima sighed again, and stopped struggling with the sled. It was just inside the cave. Good enough, she decided.

"I'm not hurt," she said and stood up, letting go of her burden. Pulling the sled on four feet had definitely been the right way to do it, but now she winced as the ragged tear in her leg made itself felt. "Much," she added at Kazim's sharp look.

Kazim examined her kill and his jaw dropped into a laugh. "Oh this is good. You forgot, didn't you?"

"What?" Shima said looking at her kill. "There's enough here for all of us. Plenty to reach the keep."

"No, you forgot we're in the wilds not a sanctuary."

Shima rolled her eyes, as if she didn't know they were in the wilds. They were hiding from Merkiaari in a cave for harmony's sake. She let Kazim see her derision and he laughed again.

"If you knew, oh wondrous hunter of fine meat, why didn't you just shoot it?"

Shoot it? Shima suddenly realised what he meant and her ears sagged in embarrassment. She could have used her beamer to kill it the first moment she saw it. They were in the wilds and hunting laws didn't apply. Besides, even if they had been in a sanctuary, no one would have expected her to follow the law under these circumstances. Her spirits sank as she realised what a fool she had been.

"Don't feel bad," Kazim said kindly. "I'm sure it was an epic fight."

That made her feel worse.

The Shkai'lon could easily have killed her during his run, and later she had stepped into his range to deliver the killing blow, when a single blaster shot would have done just as well. She hadn't even thought of the beamers holstered on her harness. She had hunted without her visor on as if it had been just another hunt like those she had been on with Tahar. If she had kept her visor on maybe she would not so easily have fallen into old patterns, but maybe not too.

She sighed morosely. "It nearly killed me more than once, Kazim. I was stupid. You are right."

"I didn't say that!" Kazim protested.

"No, but you should have. I hunted the way I was taught. I should be thinking clearer than that. It won't happen again." If she'd died, who would look after Chailen? Sharn would, she supposed. "Help me take this to the others?"

Kazim picked up the two largest and heaviest portions, the back legs, and took them deeper into the cave. Shima followed with other portions, leaving the rest for later.

Marsali was watching the map intently as Shima and Kazim came in view. She didn't look up, but her shoulders relaxed a little. She had obviously seen Shima approaching on the screen, but hadn't been sure it was her. Probably that was why Kazim had come out to greet her. Nevin came to investigate the meat.

"There's more back there," Shima said indicating the entrance with her tail. "If we need it."

"I'll get it," Rahuri volunteered and headed that way.

"Don't go outside!" Nevin called after her.

"I won't! Don't worry, father."

Shima watched the youngling go then handed her burdens to the others. "I should go back to my watch."

"But you're injured," Nevin said.

"It's nothing," Shima said.

"At least bathe them. They might get infected."

Shima hesitated, but it was time she started thinking and acting smart. Nevin had a valid point, so she would take his advice and do the smart thing for once. She flicked her ears in agreement, and headed toward the spring.

"Are we to eat this raw, father?" Miamovi said doubtfully.

"Yes, 'movi. It won't hurt you to eat as our ancestors did. Try a little, you'll like it."

Shima paused to watch, smiling inwardly. The youngling was in for a treat. Fresh meat seasoned only by still warm blood was delicious. The youngling tentatively bit into the dripping haunch of meat, her ears halfway back, but as soon as she had the taste, she ripped a chunk free and chewed with eyes narrowed in pleasure.

"It's wonderful!" Miamovi enthused. "We should eat this way all the time!"

"No," Shima said. "It's only this good when the kill is fresh. You should try meat that you bought in the market and see."

"Bad?" the youngling said taking another bite.

"Let's just say it loses a lot in processing."

Nevin growled and laughed at the understatement.

Shima shared the joke. Processed meat never tasted good unless cooked well and was heavily seasoned, but that was the price of civilisation and animal husbandry.

"Actually, we could cook some of this," Shima said thoughtfully. It would help preserve the meat. "This fresh it will taste great either way."

"But setting a fire now, what about the smoke?" Kazim said.

"No fire!" Shima said in alarm. "Absolutely no fires until we are safe. Gather a bed of rocks and heat them with this," she said and gave a beamer to Kazim. "Cut the meat about a finger width thick, and cook it on the rocks. The juices will sizzle a bit, but there won't be much smoke."

"If you're sure?"

"Positive. I saw Tahar do it once."

"I wish I could have met your father," Kazim said softly.

"So do I, Kazim. You two would have become fast friends." Shima looked back as Rahuri reappeared with more of the meat. "I'm going to wash."

# 24 ~ The Keep

**Kachina Twelve, Child of Harmony**

Shima stood guard at one of the many tunnel entrances to the keep, not caring about, and not really understanding, the strange looks she was getting from the warriors sent to greet her.

She had vowed not to relax until Kazim and the others were safe. The warriors would just have to understand. Besides, Nevin would be joining his family inside in a moment, and Shima was sure Kazim would get tired of fiddling with his camera shortly. He would want to contact his own family to tell them he was safe, and after that, he would be busy talking to anyone who would answer his questions. They would probably never meet again. Keeps were big places after all. Shima told herself she would welcome the peace his departure would lend her.

"You have harboured and protected my mate and cubs, risked your own life to bring us to safety," Nevin was saying. "I call you friend, Shima, and would be honoured if you will consider me yours also. There is no debt between us."

"But Merrick—" Shima began.

"Died a hero's death to free his sibs," Nevin said firmly.

Shima did agree with him about Merrick, but... "If you are sure you want it that way."

"I'm sure."

"Then I agree there is no debt, but call on me at need. Friends help one another, and you are one of mine."

Nevin bowed and took his leave of her.

Shima watched him go thoughtfully. He was a very proud person, yet had bowed to her as if she were the superior. It made her vaguely uncomfortable, as if she were pretending to be other than she was.

"Well," Kazim said. "You did it."

Shima looked at him sideways. Wonder of wonders, no camera. "It?"

"Dragged me to safety."

Shima rolled her eyes. Kazim couldn't see that of course, her visor hid her eyes. "Truly, it was a feat worthy of the sagas. You were determined to kill us so often."

"Sarcasm is for the weak minded," Kazim said loftily. "I wasn't that bad." The watchers all laughed and laughed harder at Kazim's outrage at their mockery. "Well I wasn't!"

Shima wondered exactly why they laughed. It wasn't as if they knew what she had to do to drag Kazim to Kachina Twelve. Well, one of its many access points actually. The mountains and surrounding area was riddled with tunnels. Not all led into the keeps of the Kachina chain. A lot did of course, but many were traps for the Merkiaari; others led to supply bases and defensive installations. Access to those was restricted to warrior caste exclusively. No others had the codes necessary to enter them.

Shima and the others had been led to this entrance by a patrol whose mission it was to gather strays like Shima's group. In the chaos, many people had been caught out of position and unable to reach their assigned keep, but the likelihood of such a thing had been planned for. Shima had meant to search for a patrol just like this one when she was close enough, and for once everything had gone to plan.

As they followed the warriors along the tunnel and deeper into the ground, she felt tension ease and her step become lighter. The Harmonies were telling her all was well now, even thoughts of Chailen failed to make her anxious. The Harmonies were with her sib, not the other way around. She was certain now. She hoped for Chailen's sake that Sharn was well, and that his family were also. Chailen was sure to have heard about the destruction of Hool Station and Tahar's death by now, but at least Sharn was there to comfort her.

"Why are they looking at me like that?" Shima said feeling faintly annoyed as they navigated another security checkpoint with its massive door and heavy beamers tracking them all. The warriors stationed here were whispering and pointing at her. "What's their problem; is my face dirty or something?"

Kazim's tail lifted and signed over his shoulder in the universal gesture that meant, "don't bother me, I haven't got a clue."

"Yeah well, I don't like it," Shima said, quietly. At least she thought so, but evidently not quietly enough because Patrol Leader Kotanic dropped back beside her.

"It's the broadcasts," Kotanic said.

"Huh?" Shima said confused. "What is?"

"The reason for their interest in you. It's the broadcasts."

Kazim's ears gave him away. Shima stopped and grabbed his arm. "What did you do?"

Kazim brushed off her grip in evident annoyance. "You knew I was recording, Shima. I interviewed you more than once and how many times did you tell me to turn it off? You knew."

"Recording yes, not broadcasting!" Shima said angrily. "Don't you know how dangerous that was? The Merkiaari might have tracked your signals!"

Kazim sighed. "Give me some credit, Shima. I did realise what could happen. I transmitted every morning just before we broke camp. And before you ask, yes I did scramble the signal and send it by burst transmission!"

Shima snapped her mouth closed. Well, Harmonies smile on him. He was starting to anticipate her objections. "All right then, but why are your recordings the cause of all this?" Shima pointed to the staring and whispering warriors. "Tell me that."

Kazim flicked his ears. "No idea," he laughed at her outraged expression. "Come on Shima. I was with you the entire time. What, you think I had the time to edit everything ready to broadcast? No chance! You hardly let me stop running long enough to sleep."

Shima didn't dispute him, though he was exaggerating outrageously. She turned to Kotanic for her explanation. He obliged after a moment for consideration.

"You have to understand how it was that first day," Kotanic began. "Chaos doesn't begin to describe what happened when the first landings occurred."

"I know, I lived it," Shima said impatiently.

"Maybe so, but you were reacting to things you could see and affect, all we could do was watch. If not for the reports and broadcasts being sent to us, we would have gone mad. They flooded in from all over the planet. The fighting was fierce almost everywhere, and our people died everywhere they met Merkiaari. Fighting or running, even hiding, made no difference. But then something happened, we received Kazim's first report.

"At first it was like the others. Full of horror and destruction, but a little further on it changed in tone. It showed you, Shima—that first meeting with Kazim in Zuleika when you convinced him to follow you. We cheered when you killed those aliens. Reports of other small victories like yours came in later, some not so little, but yours was the first we saw and from then on we wanted to know what you and Kazim were doing." Kotanic turned and inclined his head to Kazim. "You are famous, Kazim. You and Shima both."

Shima's ears went hard back and her whiskers drew down as she imagined what she would like to do with Kazim's camera.

"Don't be angry with him, Shima. He was doing what he knew to do in a bad situation. He did what most of us did when the world we knew ended—his job. We need people to go on doing that. If they need heroes to make them feel that their lives are still worth living, that there is still hope, who are we to say no?"

"That's easy for you to say, you're not the one being made a spectacle. I'm no Jasha at the gate, Kotanic! I'm just me, Shima the gardener. By the Harmonies, I won't let you make a fool of me."

"By what I have seen of you, you are far from a fool, but you do have something other than your clan in common with the great Jasha, Shima. He was a hero none can deny and a great hunter, as you are. He denied it often, as I suspect will you."

Shima growled deep in her chest and spat dryly to one side. "That for your stupidity!" She glared at the amusement she saw on the faces of the other warriors. "Harmonies take it, I'm not a hero!"

"Yes you are," Kazim said firmly, and the warriors mumbled agreement. "Do you know what they call you?" he asked flicking a look toward the warriors.

Shima just stared mutely at him. Appalled at the turn things were taking. She wanted not to hear this. She wanted to find Chailen and hug the breath out of her, and then watch as her sib laughed and Sharn told her all the news of their friends that she had missed. She wanted to disappear into anonymity, and just be Shima.

"They call you The Blind Hunter, just as Jasha was The Great Leveller."

"I'm not blind yet," Shima said feeling a pout coming on. Couldn't they have at least thought of a name that didn't label her with her disability? Would she never out run her shame? Kazim just looked at her knowingly. He knew she was as good as blind already without her visor. "Well I'm not!" she added, this time hearing the defensiveness in her voice. "You did this to me. You... you... don't talk to me!" Shima stormed by Kotanic and left them all standing there.

"She'll come around," Kazim said confidently, and projecting his voice so that Shima heard even as she stalked away. "She will."

Kotanic started them following her. "If you say so, but heroes are notoriously hard headed I've heard. Jasha could hold a grudge like you wouldn't believe, or so they say now."

Shima growled a curse under her breath, but her ears swivelled to catch Kazim's reply.

"She likes me. I'll be forgiven by morning, you'll see."

"Huh, fat chance," Shima snarled under her breath. She glared at a warrior who stared at her too long as she approached him. "What you looking at?" she snapped.

"Identity," he said faintly, obviously recognising her.

Shima waved a hand at her escort arriving at her back. "Ask them," she snarled. "Apparently the name my father gave me isn't enough anymore."

"Don't be like that, Shima," Kazim said. "It's not his fault."

Shima rounded on him, her muzzle rumpling, and her ears flat to her skull. "No, it's yours!" She spun away, glared at the warrior daring him to intervene, and stormed by.

"Stand easy, she's with us," Kotanic said to the guard. "Just found out about the broadcasts. She's a little... upset."

"Upset?" the guard said faintly. "I thought she was going to rip my heart out."

Shima spat dryly at the amused chuckles. It wasn't funny curse them all. As she made her way through the tunnel not letting the others join her, she had time to reflect on everything that had happened and a new concern raised its ugly head. Chailen must have seen Kazim's recordings. What must she think? Would it seem to her sib that Shima had abandoned her to care for strangers? Would Chailen understand that all Shima had been trying to do was reach her, and all the other stuff had just happened? Blind Hunter indeed, Shima snorted. Blind Fool more like it.

**Kachina Twelve, Child of Harmony**

James craned his neck to see what had caused the agitation, but saw nothing unusual. He snorted in amusement. Nothing unusual? He was deep inside a secret alien facility surrounded literally by aliens wanting to chat, while millions more went about their lives above, below, and all around him for kilometres in every direction. Unusual didn't begin to cover it.

James turned back to Zylaric. "Forgive my rudeness."

Zylaric shrugged in the Shan manner, ears and tail gesturing.

James was beginning to learn what all the twitches and gestures meant, and briefly wondered if Humans seemed unemotional to the Shan. Having no tail to express themselves, Humans must seem bizarre indeed to them. If not that, then... stoic? Yes, stoic, and perhaps guarded. James was sure the Shan would learn Human body language, but until they did, Humans would be very frustrating to them, lacking as they did the important appendages that Shan used so much to express themselves.

"Curiosity is no bad thing," Zylaric opined. "Questions lead to greater understanding. What was your interest?"

"People seem excited. Is there going to be another broadcast?" James said, his translator faithfully converting his English into passable Shan. They were a godsend, and James once again prayed that Chief Williams, the engineer most responsible for the translator's creation, had survived. "I don't remember seeing anything scheduled."

"Ah no, not a broadcast but something better in my opinion."

The Shan standing nearby agreed with varying amounts of enthusiasm. James smiled at all the differing expressions, barely remembering in time to keep his teeth hidden. Baring teeth to a Shan was not an indication you were amused.

"What do you mean?"

Zylaric gestured at the excited people. "The Blind Hunter has arrived in the flesh. We are lucky that one of our patrols ran across her trail and not one from Kachina Eight. Our patrol radius intersects with theirs you know."

James nodded though he in fact had not known that. Humans were considered honoured guests within the keep, but there were limits to hospitality he'd found. Anything related to keep security was off limits to any but warrior caste. Patrol schedules and routes were classified even within the caste, and restricted to the Tei directly responsible for overseeing them. Shan were exceptionally paranoid regarding such data. They feared the Merkiaari would somehow gain access to it.

It was a genuine concern, James supposed, though Merkiaari rarely, if ever, questioned the vermin they hunted. They simply slaughtered them. Still, better safe than sorry.

"She's here now?" James said, his interest quickening. "Might I meet her?"

"I think that's an excellent idea," Zylaric said. "It will be interesting to see her reaction."

Everyone laughed, and James frowned. What didn't he understand here? The translator often missed nuances that could prove important. Still, it was laughter not concern on their faces. What could possibly go wrong?

"We can see her now then?" James asked hopefully.

"Yes, now would be good I think," Zylaric said leading the way. "She should be passing through here soon. No doubt she will be going to visit her family."

"I wouldn't want to get in the way of that," James said. "Perhaps we should wait and send a message?"

"Too late," Zylaric said and flourished his tail to point ahead.

James stopped when he saw Shima striding toward him followed by a crowd of other Shan all talking amongst themselves. Shima was easy to recognise. Her visor shone dull gold in the keep's lighting. James recognised Kazim not far behind her. Anyone who had seen the broadcasts would recognise him. His monotone pelt, so light in colour, was distinctive.

Shima seemed in a hurry, and James reconsidered the meeting. She had only just arrived. He could introduce himself later, but just as he made that decision, Shima froze. She was still at a far distance; too far to talk without shouting. Her companions fell silent and stopped behind her, all eyes on James.

_Oh well, time for my dog and pony show._

James moved forward, alone this time, but very aware of all the watching eyes. He almost laughed when he saw Kazim reaching for the famous camera that had been such a bone of contention between Shima and him, but the urge faded when he finally registered Shima's posture. She was statue still, her head cocked to one side. James assumed she was staring at him. Her covered eyes made it impossible to say for sure, but who else would she stare at when he was the only Human here and the first she had ever met.

"I greet you, Shima," he said to break the ice as he had done so many times before. "May you live in harmony."

Shima shivered, the individual hairs of her pelt rising in a wave from the top of her head down her body and finishing at her tail. James was fascinated. He had never seen that reaction before from any Shan. It made her seem suddenly larger. Was it a threat display, or something else? He didn't feel threatened. He knew what anger in Shan looked like, and this wasn't it.

"You burn," Shima whispered. "In my head, you burn..." her words trailed off, but then another shiver more like a full body shake and her pelt settled into a more normal dimension. "So bright, the colours... why did no one mention the colours?"

James blinked. He didn't think she was talking to him. "Are you alright?"

Shima straightened and seemed to come back to herself a little. She approached James and held out her paw. James touched her palm with his. "You are the Human called James," Shima said. "I recognise you from the news casts."

"That's right," James agreed. "And I also recognise you from the broadcasts. You are Shima, The Blind Hunter."

Shima growled deep in her chest and the hair on James' neck stood up. "Don't call me that!" She looked back and found Kazim with his camera. "No one call me that!" She faced James again. "I am Shima. Just Shima, that's all."

James laughed when every Shan but Shima disagreed either by voice or gesture. Shima snarled, and James took her hand for a companionable squeeze. "Ignore them, Shima. I have found it's the best way to deal with this sort of thing."

Shima squeezed back, and then took James' hand in both of hers. She pulled it closer for inspection. James had had similar experiences before, and didn't react when she raised his hand close to her mouth. The first time had been startling, but now as she drew air into her mouth so that she could taste his scent with the glands at the back of her throat he just waited.

"Huh," Shima chuffed, lowering his hand but not letting go. She manipulated his fingers noting, he was sure, the range of motion. "No claws," she said looking at his blunt fingernails.

She sounded disapproving and James smiled. "No tail either I'm afraid," he said apologetically as he had done so many times before.

"Yes, I knew that. I have tried to keep up with things. Are there more of you here? Can I meet Bren-daaaar and Jah-neeeece?"

"Brenda and Janice," he corrected and she flicked her ears in acknowledgement. "I'm certain you can. They're both here at Kachina Twelve. My entire team is here. We were left behind when _Canada_ jumped outsystem."

"Your ship, he survived?" Shima said sharply. "He has gone for help?"

"We lost contact, but believe _she_ has, yes."

"Huh, she is it?"

James nodded.

"Very sensible," Shima opined and everyone laughed. She ignored them. "You were waiting for me?"

James shrugged. "I was walking. I do that a lot to meet people and find out things. I heard you had arrived and wanted to see you, but I don't want to delay your meeting with Chailen. We can talk later."

Shima released his hand. "You know my sib?"

"Know _of_ her, yes. She's well known here because of you."

Shima groaned and turned toward Kazim who raised a hand in apology. He still held his camera as it recorded her first meeting with a Human.

She turned back to James after a moment. "Would you have time to meet Chailen?" James nodded but then wondered if Shima knew what his gesture meant, but then she said, "Good. She would enjoy meeting you."

"And she won't chastise you for your tardiness," Kazim interjected, still filming. "Good plan."

Shima pointed one finger at Kazim, right between his eyes. She held the gesture in silence with her teeth bared. Kazim laughed, but didn't say anything more. James grinned at the familiar by-play. The broadcasts had prepared him, but in person, Shima and Kazim were even funnier.

# 25 ~ Rescue

**Aboard ASN Canada, Shan System**

"Is this everyone? You're sure?" Colgan said. Forty-three weary looking Shan stood before him. Forty-three from a crew of hundreds.

"This is everyone," Tei'Varyk said with slumped shoulders.

Colgan waved his people forward to see to the wounded. He took his friend's arm to ease him out of the way. He watched Tarjei being rushed to surgery. Others were given similar treatment leaving the walking wounded standing silently slumped and dejected in their defeat. Tei'Varyk watched his people leave until he was left with fifteen uninjured including himself.

"Your people will be shown to a place to rest," Colgan said.

Tei'Varyk gestured to his people. "Go with the Humans. You will be cared for."

The Shan bowed once and followed Baz Riley to quarters, but it was obvious they were far from happy about it.

"Come to my quarters, Tei. We need to decide what to do." Colgan set off with his friend by his side. "You know _Canada_ is the only ship left?"

"Yes."

"You know that I can't stop the Merkiaari?"

"Yes."

They entered his quarters. "Take a seat. Or on the floor if you prefer."

Tei'Varyk threw a cushion from the chair onto the deck, and sat staring at nothing. Or perhaps he was seeing again the last transmission from his homeworld, as the Merkiaari landed looking to kill his people.

Harmony's orbital defence net had lasted no longer than the time it took to target the fortresses. The fighting at the landing zones had been ferocious, and was still being waged. The Shan had been unable to predict where they would land, so any kind of defence had to be mobile. Entrenching Shan warriors had simply been impossible. They had met the Merki without the benefit of fixed defences, and their losses had been simply staggering. Hundreds of thousands of Shan warriors and civilians had died within minutes, and the war had only just begun. Neither side would stop until one or the other was utterly destroyed. Missile installations had targeted the landers and knocked down some of them, but such victories were few.

Far too few.

Colgan sat cross-legged in front of his friend, and saw the despair there. The flattened ears, the claws working in and out of their sheaths, the restless tail tip. It was the posture of a defeated man—Shan.

"I can't take you home, Tei," he said quietly.

"Tarjei is dying."

Colgan drew a sharp breath. "Perhaps not my friend. Our medics have been studying with your healers. Doctor Ambrai is very good."

"No. I know when one of my people will die. Send me home to die with them, with her."

"I can't, I won't! You and your crew might be all that's left of the Harmony of Shan soon. Think about that."

"I am thinking of it," Tei'Varyk said with his eyes blazing. "Don't you think I know the Murderers will do their evil work right this time? _I do know it._ "

"Well then. It's your duty to save what you can. This ship is a wreck, but it's still jump capable. I can't take you home Tei, the Merki would destroy me before I came close, but I can take you to my home."

Tei'Varyk's ears were quivering, and almost flat to his skull. His eyes were white-rimmed. His fur was standing up making him seem larger. He was on the killing edge.

Colgan went still, trying to appear harmless. After a few seconds, that to Colgan felt like hours, Tei'Varyk spat dryly and his ears struggled erect. Slowly his eyes returned to normal.

"Take the others, but give me a lander. I'll get there."

"I haven't got one, Tei. James and the others are marooned on Child of Harmony with the only one not destroyed. Even if I did have one, I wouldn't give it to you. I don't hold with suicide."

"No? Then what was that attack if not suicide?"

Colgan shifted uncomfortably. "I calculated the risks and they were favourable. Putting you in a lander is not. You have no choice. This ship is jumping outsystem as soon as I give the word, but I wanted you to agree."

"Then, as I have no real choice, you have my agreement for what it's worth."

"It's worth something to me, Tei." Colgan rose to his feet. "Come to the bridge with me."

Colgan led the way to the bridge, and asked Tei'Varyk to sit in the observer seat. He racked his helmet beside his command station and slumped into it. He was tired, but he couldn't rest yet.

"Prepare for jump."

"Jump drive hot, Skipper, all jump stations report manned and ready," Lieutenant Wesley reported.

"Referent?"

"Referent locked in, destination Sol."

Colgan glanced at Tei'Varyk where he sat staring at his homeworld on the view-screen. "Execute!"

_ASN_ _Canada_ twisted and was gone. Where she had been, empty space remained.

# 26 ~ Blown

**Deep Jungle, Planet Thurston, 01:00**

Eric crossed the open compound appearing casual and uninterested in anything going on. It was the middle of the night, but you wouldn't know it by the activity under the harsh white floodlights on the towers. Night was when the work was done; daytime was for sleep and relaxation.

The buildings, shacks at best, were constructed of materials scavenged from the jungle locally. A matter of both convenience and security. There was always the chance that supplies could be traced to the base, though Eric found it unlikely. It was impressive foresight regardless.

All the important equipment was kept underground in the old mine itself. The command centre, barracks, motor pool, commissary... all were in the various tunnels and caverns protected from dinos and discovery both. Above ground, the shacks contained various stores mostly awaiting use in raids or shipment elsewhere. The only way in or out of the compound was by road, the only one was little more than a single lane dirt track. From the air it was invisible until it joined a properly paved road leading from active mining facilities to the east. From there it led to a small airfield able to handle transports and shuttles. He had travelled that route to reach the base.

Eric kept his steps casual. He was a well-known face and people nodded or raised a hand in greeting as he walked by. He smiled and nodded in return, or gave a brief wink and grin if it was a pretty girl. He was liked, and he made sure never to destroy that image. He blended. He was one of them. They trusted him, and were even a little in awe of his skills because when they went on raids he planned, no one got dead. He was indispensable now. As planned.

Eric paused as his sensors detected a weapon system coming online. He turned slowly, making it seem he was looking for someone. In reality, he was turning to watch as the sentry guns powered up. There wasn't a test scheduled as far as he knew, and he made it his business to know such things.

He squinted in the bright light of the floods, and watched.

The guns were tracking something, but the jerking hesitating way they moved told Eric this was a malfunction not a test. He readied himself to run for cover, but then he realised the guns really were tracking, but not firing. Not a malfunction then. He ordered his processor to run a sensor sweep. Multiple unknowns dotted his display and they were close! His right hand twitched, but he managed not to pull his gun. The unknowns had to be native wildlife, some kind of nocturnal flying dinosaur or bat. Did Thurston even have bats? He had no idea.

He watched the sentry guns tracking the sources of his unease and knew what the problem was. The gun's sensitivity had been dialled way down because they had kept fragging the wildlife and getting on everyone's nerves. Sentry guns were noisy and burned through ammo at a horrendous rate. Now though, an unknown threat had been detected within a hundred meters and the gun's programming said threats must be eliminated, but the sources were smaller than the new limits that had been imposed to prevent false alarms. The guns were stuck in a logic loop. They tracked, tried to fire, were prevented from firing, tried to power down, and looped back to detecting a threat and tracking again. That was why they were moving spasmodically when normally they would be smooth.

"God damned junk!" someone cried heading toward one of the sentry gun towers.

Eric nodded as if he agreed, but in fact he didn't agree. Those guns were good tech and dangerous in professional hands. It wasn't their fault they had been deployed in the wrong environment. Even here in the jungle they would do the job, they just needed a little care and tinkering. He could have had them running as smooth as can be in a few hours, or he could tell the techs here how to do it. He wouldn't though. He wasn't here to help them; he was here to bring them crashing down. He was here to end them, and had spent months here putting a plan together to do just that.

Killing everyone here would be a short term solution. He had considered it a few times, but he wanted long term. He was tired of people making the same mistakes over and over, undoing his work and making him come back for a do over. He needed to change the political system, or aid President Thurston in his efforts to do so. A simple massacre here wouldn't do it, wouldn't even make the evening news. He needed a big splash, something big enough to tip the government over the edge and force them to take the leap into full Alliance membership instead of just talking the matter to death in Parliament.

Eric turned back to his walk, letting his sensors map the minefield as he walked the perimeter. It was stifling hot under the camo netting and the nano net beneath it. Simple is efficient, Eric mused, taking a moment to look up. Funny how such a low tech solution as netting strung overhead could fool high tech observation from satellites or navy air patrols. The camo netting fooled the eye, and the nano nets fooled any sensors that relied upon heat, magnetic, or electrical emissions.

When he had climbed aboard that transport at Zhang's factory months ago and headed for the port, he had wondered then how the Freedom Movement had managed to hide a base on a planet with modern satellite communications and its attendant surveillance capabilities.

What impressed him about the Freedom Movement's solution was that the old mining facility had been hidden years ago, long before the Freedom Movement even existed. King had been planning and scheming for decades. He must have hidden the place in case he ever needed it, and somehow destroyed any record it had ever existed. To do all that just in case? Amazing.

Had King always intended to overthrow the government, even as a young man? Why? Back then, democracy on Thurston had been a distant dream; not even that. President Thurston's father had been a dictator, one of a handful of men who owned the company which in turn owned most of the below ground resources of the planet. He'd had no intention of ever joining the Alliance and must be spinning in his grave at his son's antics. Writing a constitution based upon the Alliance constitution and then upholding it! Ye gods. He'd even given away his own lifetime Presidency in favour of a five year term and proper elections!

So King didn't want Thurston to join the Alliance; what did he want?

Eric had no idea, but he had used his time trying to find out, and had learned a great many things. He now knew names in the government secretly dealing with King and helping the Freedom Movement, he knew everything there was to know about the base here and its resources. He knew where all the terrorist cells were located and what their missions were, but he still had not fathomed King's motivation. It didn't matter. All that did was Stein's Marines taking King and the other government conspirators out. And they would. As soon as he reported in, Stein would move. Just a matter of time now.

Timing was the thing.

He hadn't reported in yet, because he didn't have a long term solution to the government's dithering. If Stein moved now and decapitated the Movement, the underlings would fade away only to re-emerge years later, probably stronger, certainly wiser from experience, but worse than that would be the government's reaction.

He could see it clearly.

They would relax; believing the emergency over, they would go back to business as usual. Might even withdraw their application to join the Alliance, probably would because what need now eh? Now the emergency was over and the terrorists taken care of? Foolish to think that way, but Eric had seen it many times. Easy to forget when immediate danger passes.

So he held back his data, stalled the Marines leaving them in a guard position and reacting to events instead of pre-empting them. Not something they liked, to be sure. Marines preferred well defined goals... go here, destroy that. Take that hill. They were damned good at it.

"Hey Eric, give a hand here could you?" Reiner said from across the compound.

Eric lifted a hand and went to join him. "What's up?"

"Got to get this stuff squared away," Reiner said struggling to drag a crate off the battered loader's forks. "God-damned pile of junk ran dry before I finished."

"Power cell dead again? Should have charged the mother before you started, my man. You know what this heat does to a cell's efficiency," Eric said getting a grip on the other side of the wooden crate and lifting. He groaned and cursed for effect, when in reality he could have carried it alone with ease. "Damn me, what's in it?"

"Ammo," Reiner grunted, his voice strained. "Over there with the others."

Eric shuffled in time with the man. Ammo stores was a simple shack with canvas roof, and was stacked high with all kinds of crates; some wooden like this one, others metal, but most were the olive green fireproof plastic cases that told an experienced eye they were out of an off-world Alliance weapon's factory. The codes were in Eric's database. The sight of so many RPGs and SAMs stockpiled had angered him when he first realised how well supplied the Movement was. They were for killing Marines and navy pilots, especially the SAMs.

Off world backing again. He saw the like more and more

They manoeuvred down a lane left open between stacks for the purpose of moving stuff around, and had just navigated the corner safely when Reiner tripped. Staggering backwards he let go of the crate, trying to keep his feet out from under it.

Eric should have held the weight easily, but the suddenly unbalanced load bit into his hands and tipped. Before he knew it, the crate had smashed upon the ground spilling cases of loose rounds onto the dirt floor. Hot blood scolded his palms and he scowled at his hands.

_Bloody wooden crates in this day and age. Bloody Border Worlds in the bloody Border Zone, bloody primitives..._

He muttered curses as he pulled out the long slivers of wood. He didn't notice Reiner staring at him, at first. He looked up from his ripped flesh and saw Reiner staring at his hands. Eric looked down again and... oh shit. The synthskin glove on his right hand was ripped and the gold contacts of his weapon's bus were clearly visible.

Dammit, not now! He wasn't ready. Ready or not, his cover just went bye bye.

"You're a—" Reiner began, shocked and horrified. Eric leapt forward and broke his neck.

Eric held the body sagging in his arms; maybe he could salvage this. He could hide the body; dump it in the jungle as a free meal for passing dinosaurs. The others would miss Reiner eventually, but maybe they would think the wildlife got him. It would be the truth...

A shout, and the sound of running feet had Eric spinning in place, but it was too late. Another man was running for his life and screaming the alarm. Eric cursed, dropped Reiner, and hurried deeper into the ammo store heading for the far wall.

He kicked his way through the wall and ran for the wire fence. It was a simple chain link affair, not meant to keep men in or out, just the smaller jungle creatures attracted by the chance of easy food. He chose a blind spot in the fence, a section the sentry guns didn't cover very well, and ripped it down with his bare hands. He called up his map of the minefield, and started picking his meandering way through.

In a matter of moments, he was into the minefield following his safe route. Safe was a relative term, but his sensor sweeps had been thorough. He had everything well mapped and knew his own abilities. He could pass through, but his pursuers would need to turn the field off before they could follow. They must have realised, because they stopped at the boundary and ordered him to stop. He didn't of course and they fired a warning shot. He kept going.

Eric leapt over the last mines and ducked into the trees just as the enemy finally organised itself and opened up on him. He put the trees at his back and ran. Hard. No one could catch a viper in flight, but they didn't know what he was and would try. He watched them on his sensors as they entered the minefield. They didn't know what he was or why he had killed Reiner, but they didn't need to. All they needed to know was that he was running away with knowledge they couldn't let him spread.

Shots rang out unaimed. Surely they must be unaimed with the trees between him and them. They couldn't see him, but they might get lucky. He couldn't run full speed. The jungle was too dense.

He changed course, heading away at a tangent hoping they would keep going straight. His sensors updated and Eric cursed. Someone was thinking back there. They were following using motion detectors or other sensors. Nothing for it, he needed extraction and fast. He made the call to Stein using internal comms linked via satellite.

"I'm blown," Eric panted. "Need extraction fast."

Stein snarled a curse. "Do you have what we need?"

Eric wondered if Stein would leave him hanging if he said no. He grinned. Good thing he had the data then wasn't it? "I have it. I have it all."

"Understood. I'll have a team cover your withdrawal. Coordinates follow..."

Eric adjusted his route and added the rendezvous to his map. It would take him less than an hour to reach, but the Marines would take longer to get there even if Stein had a team on standby. He needed to delay his pursuers.

"I'll be there."

"Stein out."

Eric increased his lead and started to think seriously about using the road. He could really pile on the pace if he did, but the road went the wrong way. He could still use it to lose pursuit, and then double back. No, he didn't need to give them even more opportunities to find him. According to sensors, they were already breaking up into teams and spreading out.

Damn them, now wasn't the time for them to show some competency.

Eric was so busy watching what was behind and trying to plan an escape, he failed to note what was waiting for him up ahead until it was too late. He skidded to a halt and looked up and up...

"Fuck me," he whispered, his face draining of colour. " _Desmond!_ " His hand was a blur reaching for his gun, but it was too little too late. The huge dinosaur's jaws snapped forward. The crocodile like teeth ripping and tearing.

The screaming began.

# 27 ~ A Cry for Help

**ASN Invincible, Northcliff System**

_Falling..._

_...Twisting, and falling..._

_...Down, and round..._

_Twisting, and here!_

_ASN_ _Invincible_ staggered and bled away the awesome speed a ship could attain in fold space with a blaze of light, her impossibly fast motion—impossible now she had re-entered n-space—was instantly converted to raw energy and blasted away from her into the void. She seemed to twist along her centreline one last time as if shaking off the last traces of foldspace from non-existent coattails.

The blue energy discharge that always accompanied translation gradually dispersed. That discharge would be alerting beacons and system defence nets of an intruder throughout the system, but not quite yet. The light-speed wavefront, though fast, would still take a minute or three to hit the nearest beacon.

Captain Monroe retched into her helmet and groaned at the smell and burning in her throat. With shaking hands on seemingly boneless arms, she threw the disgusting helmet away and coughed racking her chest with every breath. The steady beeping from the comm shack told her of a beacon query, but no one silenced it. Martin was out of it, and so was the rest of the bridge crew. Groans and coughing came from her left front, as Keith Hadden tried to wake from the stupor that fold space had put him in.

Monroe had never, _never,_ experienced a worse translation. The speed she'd forced out of _Invincible_ was the cause, but the emergency crash translation back to normal space was necessary to save time, and time was in short supply.

The beacon... she thought mushily as her people groaned and began to rouse. She stood on legs gone wobbly and tottered to the communications panel. Keying in _Invincible's_ security sequence, she dumped the prepared message into the queue and transmitted it to the beacon—fleet priority one.

That done she staggered to her seat and collapsed into it. She had done what needed to be done. It was up to the authorities at Northcliff now.

**Aboard ASN Sutherland, Northcliff System**

Northcliff was a beautiful planet, Lieutenant Commander Oakley thought, and he was stuck up here in this tin can! He sighed. His work was important, it was necessary and most times very interesting and rewarding, but at zero-three-hundred on the bridge of an Alliance carrier, the only thing rewarding enough would be a long sleep in his rack.

"Sir?" Communications specialist Guauri Kistna said, frowning at her panel.

"What is it Guauri?" he said turning toward her station.

"I have an emergence at the edge of the zone, sir, but no response to the beacon hail. Northcliff Port Control has requested I.D but received no response."

That's odd.

"Hmmm, put it up on the threat board and give me what you have on my number two monitor."

"Yes sir," Guauri said and did that.

Lieutenant Commander Oakley, third officer of the battle group carrier _ASN_ Sutherland turned to the information plotted on his monitor and studied what it showed him. He stiffened when he noted the ship was wandering from the lane. It didn't appear in control, and Sutherland's sensors reported battle damage.

"Wake the Captain!" He snapped and slammed his fist down on a red button.

The battle stations alarm began wailing throughout the ship.

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# Ambassador 1

### Seeing Red

By

Patty Jansen

**Would you betray Earth to save it?**

24 October 2114: the day that shocked the world.

Young diplomat Cory Wilson narrowly escapes death in the assassination of President Sirkonen. No one claims responsibility but there is no doubt that the attack is extraterrestrial.

Cory was meant to start work as a representative to _gamra_ , the alien organization that governs the FTL transport network, but now his new job may well be scrapped in anger.

Worse, as Earth uses military force to stop any extraterrestrials coming or leaving, as 200,000 extraterrestrial humans are trapped on Earth, as the largest army in the galaxy prepares to free them by force, only Cory has the experience, language skills and contacts to solve the crime.

But he's broke, out of a job and a long way from Earth.

> One reader said: "I have been reading SCIFI for about 35 years. Your ambassador series is my latest new addiction. I have read the 1st 7 books pretty much non stop." This reader is not the only one who says this. The series is addictive.

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# 1

**D** IPLOMATS AT Nations of Earth often joked that when politics sank into a lull, something was about to explode. The greater the sense of we've-got-it-all-sorted-out smugness, the bigger the bang.

I was certainly far too comfortable, if jet-lagged and keen to get to my hotel, when I met President Sirkonen in his office in Rotterdam that afternoon. Nice and easy. I had received my commission from _gamra_ with all the final details such as what time I needed to be at the Exchange. And tickets, by themselves worth more than my annual Earthly salary. Now I only needed the president's signature, and I would be off to my new job. Definitely too comfortable.

I had never been on first-name terms with the president, but while I sat there trying hard not to succumb to jet-lag, he chatted about my father, whom I had just visited, and who had finally retired from Lunar Base to his native New Zealand. Sirkonen opened the drawer of his desk and took something out, which he flipped across the gleaming wooden surface. I could do nothing but catch it. A datastick. I turned it over. The black plastic cover reflected the sunlight.

"What's on it?"

"You might find it useful. Think of it as some . . . personal advice, from me to you. We'll talk about it later, when you return for your first briefing." He shut the drawer with a thud as if closing the subject.

This was _highly_ irregular. "Mr President, can I ask—"

He shook his head, and offered me a drink—Finnish vodka, best in the world, he said. While he poured, his hands trembled.

I should have insisted that he tell me what was wrong, but who was I? An unimportant, sending-out-our-feelers type of diplomat, expendable and twenty years his junior. Not the type of person to draw attention to his problems—with alcohol or otherwise.

We made a toast. The heavy scent of the vodka did nothing to improve my alertness.

"Mr Wilson, when you come back in six month's time, you must present your report to the general assembly. We need to know in detail what sort of regimes we're dealing with."

I didn't understand why he spoke in such empty generalities; I wondered when he was going to open that folder on his desk and sign the contract. Nicha, my Coldi assistant, was waiting in the foyer. We had a whole heap of work to catch up on. I was annoyed that Sirkonen had changed our meeting time at the last minute—the original meeting had been scheduled for tomorrow morning.

Sirkonen stopped speaking.

I stared at him, realising with embarrassment that I'd been off with the fairies. Was I meant to have said something? Was I breaking rule number one of the diplomatic circle: never show any sign of sleep deprivation?

An attack of dizziness overtook me. My vision wavered, as if the world were painted on a silk flag that flapped in the wind, and all the furniture was rimmed in a red aura. "Mr President, I'm—"

I just managed to put my vodka down. The glass hit the wood with a soft clunk, the only sound in the frozen silence.

There was a small sound from outside, a click.

As if stung, Sirkonen turned to the window; his eyes widened.

"Sir?"

The president opened his mouth, but a sharp crack interrupted his words.

I didn't think. I dived off the chair into the hollow of safety under the desk. The room exploded. Glass shattered, wood splintered. Something crashed on top of me.

The world went black.

Purple spots danced before my eyes. An alarm blared, sounding woolly through the ringing in my ears.

_What the fuck. . . ?_

Footsteps thudded in the foyer. The door burst open, crashed into the wall. People ran in. Many of them. Boots crunched over debris. The air exploded with voices.

"Mr President. Mr President?"

I squinted through half-closed eyes. I lay in a cocoon of semi-darkness, pinned down by something jagged that hurt my back, too heavy to push off. My head echoed with unfamiliar silence.

_Nicha?_

Somewhere in the room, someone groaned, a voice that wasn't Nicha's.

A man called out, "He's over here. Get a doctor! Now!"

Replies blared through comm units.

I tried again, picturing the thought sensor patches in my brain. _Nicha?_

There was no reply, not even when I commanded the link to open completely. Yet Nicha had been waiting in the foyer. Well within the feeder's range.

I lifted a hand to the back of my head. My fingertips met my scalp, spreading slick wetness in my hair. Blood—I could smell it.

Of course, I'd handed my feeder in before I came into the President's office.

_The president's office . . . an explosion._ Bloody hell.

"Sir?" A male voice, much closer.

The pressure on my back eased.

And then, "Help me get this off."

The pressure lifted. I rolled onto my side, blinking against light that angled into the room from an unusual source. A large hole gaped in the wall where the window had been, the edges like jagged teeth of bricks and mortar. Through it, dusk-tinged clouds looked obscenely peaceful.

The room itself was a mess of glass, plaster and splintered wood.

A woman knelt by my side, in the uniform of the Nations of Earth forces, but with a red collar that said _Special Operations_. "Are you all right, sir?"

I sat up, rolling my tongue in my mouth. Dust crunched between my teeth.

"I . . . I think so."

My head pounded. Blood dripped from a cutting board of slashes across my palms.

Shards of thick glass littered the carpet, the same shatterproof security glass which was used in spacefaring vessels. Supposedly unbreakable.

There were also fragments of the vodka glass, wet stains of the vodka itself, mixed with plaster from the ceiling, paper, and books—those priceless four-hundred-year-old volumes that had filled the shelves in the president's office. And amongst all that mess copper-dark smears of blood—mine, I presumed.

The voice that drifted from the other side of the wrecked desk was weak, but unmistakably Sirkonen's. "No, no, you don't have to . . . I can . . ."

"I don't think so, Mr President. You're injured."

The President was alive. I was alive. No idea what the hell had just happened, other than that I was simply alive, and glad of it.

The guard helped me to my feet and sat me down on the president's sofa, my palms dripping blood on four-hundred-year-old furniture.

I managed a weak, "My hands." Looking at them made me feel sick; everything made me feel sick.

"We'll get another ambulance out in a minute."

"But . . ." I didn't want an ambulance. I—

Panicked voices. "He's losing consciousness!"

People ran across the room. Two paramedics in orange overalls wheeled in a stretcher.

Someone flung a towel in my lap, which I wound around my bleeding hands as best as I could. The embroidered Nations of Earth symbol ended up on the outside.

Emergency crew lifted President Sirkonen onto the stretcher, his shirt ripped and wet with blood. They covered him with a silver blanket and put a mask over his face. The president tried to wave it away, his movement feeble. His Scandinavian tanned skin had gone very pale.

"Keep still, Mr President. We'll have you in the hospital very soon."

Then they were out the door.

A different guard, male, sat down next to me. "You're Mr Cory Wilson, Union delegate?"

I nodded. Normally I would have corrected him— _gamra, not Union—_ but that seemed a trivial, pedantic issue right now. I might work for _gamra_ , the organisation that governed the Exchange, the means of interstellar travel, but right now, I faced him as a fellow human, and without the input from my feeder I felt this even more keenly. _Our_ president had been attacked, and my job . . . was another world, literally.

"I'm sorry, sir. I need to ask some questions. Did you see anything?"

"No, just the window exploded." A feeling niggled in the back of my head. "I couldn't see outside. There was a curtain." It now lay mangled on the floor. Then I remembered. "Sirkonen saw something. Just before it hit."

Was it even an explosion? There'd been no fire. Just wavering air, and a red aura surrounding everything. No, that was probably because I was exhausted, my brain still operating on New Zealand time.

I rubbed my face with the top of my wrist. "Where is Nicha?"

A puzzled look crossed the man's face.

"My _zhayma_. He was waiting in the foyer."

The frown deepened. "Um, sir, are you speaking Isla?"

I was, wasn't I? Eight years of full-time training in Coldi, and I was no longer sure. The wrong language had the habit of slipping out when I was off-guard and tired.

Someone else behind my back said, "There was a person in the foyer, sir. I couldn't be sure about the gender."

"Union?" the other guard asked. I had the feeling he would have liked to have used the derogatory word _ethie_ , from Extraterrestrial Humanoid.

"Yes."

I said, "He's my assistant. I need him here."

A small silence, and then, "I'll go and see, sir."

"Thank you." I leaned back on the couch.

I hadn't liked that silence, not at all. Nicha _was_ all right, wasn't he? If not, I needed to get him to the Exchange immediately. Coldi bodies differed from ours in much more than their hair with iridescent highlights, purple, blue and green like a peacock, or their muscular build. While they could vary their body temperature, they reacted badly to hypothermia, meaning anything below forty Celsius. I imagined an emergency crew working on Nicha, giving him the wrong blood, not keeping him warm enough. The thought made me shiver. I had lived with Nicha for four years, spent most of my waking and sleeping hours with him as part of the _zhayma_ concept. In the rigid hierarchical Coldi society, he was my equal, my companion, the other half of my job, my pillar, my hand that reached out to the many peoples of _gamra_. He was the reason they would talk to me openly; he was my translator for those languages and customs I'd had no opportunity to learn. An interviewing journalist had asked me what a _zhayma_ was, and I'd explained it was like being married, but without the sex; but it was more. For Coldi people, it was pathological; they did everything in pairs of two.

Why had I been so stupid as to leave Nicha in the foyer or hand in my feeder?

_President's orders._ Simple as that.

Uniformed personnel with guns crouched over the debris near the window. Red collars on their shirts betrayed that they all worked for Special Services and they, I remembered, were the spying division of the armed forces. Two of them sat on their knees, waving scanning chips over the debris. Damn expensive equipment that was, nanotechnology from the glory time before the wars. Way too expensive to produce these days.

Snatches of conversation drifted across the room.

". . . like a bomb being thrown into the window."

". . . sure? He says Sirkonen saw something."

". . . have to get that on record . . ."

Where _was_ Nicha?

I struggled to the edge of the couch. Tested my legs, and then rose carefully to tap one of the uniformed men on the back. The man turned. "Sit down please, sir." He, too, wore the emblem of the Special Services Branch.

Another said, "Ambulance is on its way."

"I'm sorry, I . . . I need to speak to my . . . assistant." I was more careful with language this time. Coldi words upset too many people. "He's in the foyer."

"I know. He's being interrogated."

_Interrogated?_ "I need to speak to him."

"Not yet, sir."

"You shouldn't interrogate him until I speak to him."

There was a flicker of hesitation on his face. Maybe he heard the anger I tried to keep from my voice.

"Sir, there has just been an attack on the President. We need to—"

"I understand, but Nicha Palayi falls exclusively under _gamra_ law. If you wish to interrogate him, you can apply to your local _gamra_ delegate, which happens to be me. Now I _will_ grant that permission, because I understand that you need to speak to all possible witnesses, and I have no desire to withhold information. However, I want to see him first. I would also appreciate it if my feeder could be returned and my security staff were brought up here. They are at the security post downstairs."

Goodness knew what those two young men had been subjected to, how bewildered and lost they must feel. They spoke some Isla, but with poor fluency.

The man snapped into a military salute. "Sir." He turned on his heel and marched out of the room, no doubt to get a higher-ranked officer.

He didn't return.

Two guards asked to search me. In my pocket, they found the datastick the president had given me. One guard turned it over; the black plastic surface reflected the light. "What's on it?"

"I don't know." I wished to hell I knew.

"I'll need to make a copy."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"The investigating team will need to study every object present in this room."

"It's most likely information pertaining to my job. I've had no opportunity to look at it. It might contain material sensitive to _gamra_ interests."

He raised his eyebrows, like he wanted to say _The president has been attacked, isn't that more important than extraterrestrials?_

"I assure you, sir, all material we collect is confidential."

I nodded, by no means assured, but what could I do? Refuse and be treated as suspicious?

He took the datastick to a colleague at the door. Shit. Sirkonen had given this thing to _me._ Not to be pried at by Special Services.

He had been talking about Seymour Kershaw, my predecessor of sorts, who had disappeared at _gamra_ headquarters in Barresh ten years ago. Now some idiot had made the story into a movie which accused the Coldi, the dominant ethnicity within those sections of the galaxy serviced by _gamra_ , of killing him. I hoped the information wasn't about Kershaw. The connection between it and the fictional allegations in the movie would be all too easy to make.

I could hear the questions from the press. Why didn't these aliens allow Earth investigators to see for themselves what had happened to their ambassador? Why did they keep such tight control on their precious Exchange—so that smart humans couldn't travel to other worlds and infect them with undesirable ideas, like democracy and religion?

And I could explain as much as I wanted: because _gamra_ is familiar with the consequences of allowing different species to pursue their jurisdiction across interstellar space. It rarely ends well. Because you cannot translate law from one species to the other. And no one on Earth would listen to me.

Eight years of working with _gamra_ , and I thought I was beginning to understand. Yet the main thing I understood was that these people might be our biological cousins on the human family tree, separated by fifty thousand years, or more, of isolation, but their physiology and mental hardwiring differed so much from ours that Earth hadn't even begun to understand.

I believed we desperately needed to set the incident aside and move on, because that's what _gamra_ did, drowning conflicts in bureaucracy, because it was the only way to _keep_ the Exchange network functioning in peace.

I got the datastick back, and managed to work it into my pocket with the bloodied towel. Shit.

Sirens wailed outside, but the promised ambulance didn't come, or if it did, was diverted elsewhere. Military hovercraft zoomed backwards and forwards across the part of the sky visible through the hole in the wall.

I was sore.

I was tired, barely having slept since my father had driven me to the airport in Auckland thirty-six hours ago.

I was hungry.

I still clutched the filthy towel around my hands.

I caught the attention of a young Special Services officer. I thought it was the one I had asked about Nicha before, but all faces blurred in my mind.

"Look, I've been sitting here long enough. I asked to see my assistant. Where is he?"

"Sorry, sir. I asked the boss, but he must have been held up."

_And fuck you, too._ "Ask him again, I . . ." I swallowed the words. No. Complaining wasn't going to gain me any points. "I need medical care."

His cheeks went red. "Sorry, sir." He went out.

What the hell was going on here? I expected this kind of obtuse pass-the-buck-ery at _gamra._ They were good at that. I had not expected this kind of treatment here, in Rotterdam, at Nations of Earth.

Oh, blow their restrictions.

I wriggled one hand out of the towel. Pieces of glass glistened in deep cuts, which still oozed blood.

I smeared it on my jacket as I fished in the pocket for my comm unit. Ouch, ouch and ouch. Contrary to security regulations inside the President's office, I turned the unit on.

It beeped.

Not Nicha. The ID told me that much.

"Eva?"

"Cory, there's been an attack on the President." The female voice with the Polish accent brought a wave of longing, of safety, of roast dinners with glasses of wine, and the distinctive smell of nicotine-free tobacco from her father's pipe.

"I know, I'm in his office."

"His—But you weren't meant to see him until tomorrow!"

"There was a change of plan."

"Oh Cory!" She burst into tears.

"Eva, please." I forced my voice into the calmest tone I could muster. "I'm fine, tell your parents, but right now, I need to call—"

The connection went dead.

A uniformed figure stood before me, flipping shut an electronic device. "Sorry sir, no communication from this office." He, too, belonged to Special Services.

"I want to talk to my assistant. Can you return my feeder? It's in a basket on the secretary's desk. I've been sitting here for a long time. _Gamra_ will be asking questions about me." _And if you don't let me go now, I'll give you more shit than you've ever seen in your life._

"I'll go and see, sir."

He also vanished out the door that yawned like a portal to freedom.

Then a different man in uniform came in. "Mr Wilson, come with me please."

"Are you taking me to my assistant?"

"Follow me, please."

"Where are we going?"

"Out."

Stupid question, Mr Wilson. _Out_ was a definite improvement on _wait here,_ so I stumbled to my feet, intending to give him an earful as soon as I faced a part of him that wasn't his uniformed back. Waiting in the foyer was a female ambulance officer with a first aid kit. Hers was the first smile that greeted me for hours. The anger seeped away.

"Are you in much pain, sir?"

"Not too bad." The pain had subsided into a dull throbbing, but the muscles in my hands were getting stiff. I was shivering, in need of infusion to counter the effects of my adaptation treatment. That medication and equipment was in my hotel room.

I glanced into the hall through the open doors, but saw no sign of Nicha, my guards or my feeder.

She made me sit in the secretary's chair and took the towel off my hands.

One look. A grimace of her lips. "This will have to be treated, I'm afraid."

"I need to find my assistant." Nicha had to be going crazy without me.

Her face turned serious. "You need surgery to remove all the glass from your hands, sir."

"But my assistant . . ." And my feeder, and my guards . . . I glanced at my bloodied palms, repressing a shivering surge of nausea. She was right.

I think she saw that realisation in my face. Her tone softened. "Come, sir. I'm sure your assistant is in safe hands. You should worry about yourself now. You're injured and in shock."

She clipped her case shut and helped me up.

The hall and the stairways crawled with servicemen, Nations of Earth, Special Services, National Guard and ordinary police, all of them bristling with guns. The two-storey-high space hummed with voices in Isla, as well as Gaelic, Friesian and Neo-germanic, an unintelligible mush of languages new and old.

My guardian angel shouted, "Out of the way, out of the way. Ambulance personnel coming through."

Men in uniforms shuffled aside leaving some semblance of a path to the door, where an ambulance with flashing lights waited.

Neither Nicha nor my security guards were within sight.

# 2

**T** HE HOSPITAL. Harsh lights and clanging of metal and doors. The smell of antiseptic on the air. I sat shivering, my head reeling, bathed in the smell of my own sweat. It wafted from under my jacket every time I moved. I hated it, felt embarrassed about it. At _gamra,_ being clean, well-dressed and presentable was important. Coldi had an acute sense of smell.

The doctor didn't seem to mind. He poked about in my palms for buried pieces of glass with a frightfully long pair of tweezers. Even though they had given me an anaesthetic, I could feel some weird sensation of movement bordering on pain. With my adaptation treatment, my body reacted differently to medicines and anaesthetic seemed to be one of those things. Increased metabolism, I guessed, since I was on an acclimatisation course for living in a hot climate.

I told the doctor, but within a few lines of gruffly exchanged conversation, it became clear to me that he knew nothing about adaptation, and was convinced I ran a high fever. To top it off, his first language was Gaelic, and my New Colonist's version of Isla confused him. In fact, I spoke a dialect referred to by linguists as Cosla, and though the two had started out as the same language, they were now drifting further and further apart. My command of Gaelic didn't reach beyond asking directions in the street and half-understanding the answer. Worse, even—climatic adaptation was Coldi technology, and I doubted a lot of the terms had Isla translations.

During the long periods of waiting between treatments, I fumbled with my comm unit to get Nicha, or help from a _gamra_ doctor at the Exchange who could explain in medical terms that increased body temperature was the whole point of adaptation, and that a yellowish skin taint came with my skin's increased resistance to ultra-violet light.

My comm unit wouldn't work. There was no reception in the emergency room. Then the charge ran out.

I was totally buggered, at the mercy of the system. _No, sir, you can't go. The doctor needs to see you again._ For fuck's sake! If only I had my feeder. What was happening to Nicha?

After the last doctor had looked at my hands, the last nurse had fiddled with my bandage and had given the last bit of advice and told me when to come back for a check-up, an appointment which I told them I couldn't keep, I was finally allowed to leave. My left hand resembled a mitten and they'd taped together the three middle fingers on my right hand, leaving me two thumbs and a pinky to deal with life. Wonderful.

By now, I was swaying on my feet and as I stood alone in the lift while it rumbled its way to the ground floor, I thought I was going to be sick. I leaned my forehead against the cool metal, swallowing bile. If I spewed here, they'd take me back up and the circus would start again.

The lift stopped and the doors opened. Yelling, shouting. Flashing cameras.

I stared at the seething mass of people, the last shred of energy draining from me. _Through there?_ They had to be fucking kidding.

Two red-cheeked nurses and a lone security guard were pushing people back to the door.

The poor man shouted, "Outside please, people, this is a hospital. Please go outside!"

A woman behind the reception counter yelled into her headphones. "No, now! There's about a hundred in here. Yes, they're fucking journalists. Just send someone!"

Then someone discovered me in the lift."Mr Wilson!"

Hundreds of lenses pointed my way.

"Mr Wilson!"

I jabbed at a random button with my left thumb, but the first of the news hawks were already at the lift, a man shoving his foot in front of the sensor light that stopped the doors shutting.

The questions flew like rotten eggs.

"Mr Wilson, can you tell us what happened?"

"How is President Sirkonen?"

"Mr Wilson, can you give us the Union's position on this attack?"

"Mr Wilson, are you still going to the Union?"

I stopped, blinking at the sea of live cameras.

"Why on Earth would I _not_ be going?"

The crowd hushed. All those reporters sank into an expectant, tense silence, broken only by the sounds of anxious breathing, and occasional beeping equipment.

A woman said, "I presume you have heard it's a Union attack?"

"Is it . . ." My heart did a violent jump.

Shit.

The wavering image, the red aura.

Could it be. . . ? I didn't know any technology that had those effects, but did that mean it didn't exist? Shit, shit, double shit. Some of the non-cooperative actions by Nations of Earth guards started to make sense. I was a _gamra_ employee; they didn't know where my loyalties lay.

I tried to find the asker of the question in the mass. "Um—Madam?"

A woman wriggled forward, meeting my eyes.

"Melissa Hayworth, Flash Newspoint."

About my age, short brown hair and a sharp nose. Fierce brown eyes. Just as fierce as her gutter-press employer.

She asked again, "Does this mean you're withdrawing from your position?"

A moment silence. What to say? My stomach was playing up again.

"Ms Hayworth, for all I know, having sat in the president's office and watched the investigators turn over every piece of debris, no one has drawn a conclusion about the perpetrators. I am sure we will hear about this from the police in due course, and before that time, I will refrain from speculating."

I looked straight into the camera attachment on her shoulder. Sophisticated equipment, that. Had I been much younger and not feeling like shit, I might have waved to my father in New Zealand. This was beamed live all over the world.

"I'm asking you the question: are you still going?"

"Of course. For one, I'd be upset at having studied for nothing for eight years."

It was a lame attempt at lightheartedness, but a few people laughed.

"Mr Wilson, what do you think will be the outcome of your tenure?" asked a different journalist at the front of the crowd. She carried two digi-cameras and an electronic notebook with the stylus dangling on a string. A conservative news service, that one.

"I believe that my candidature is vitally important, especially in times when many factors challenge the relationship between Nations of Earth and the entities of _gamra_. It is my task to keep this relationship alive and to facilitate dialogue."

"The relationship has just been damaged," Melissa Hayworth broke in again. "Or should I say: has been damaged further? For all we know, no satisfactory answer has been provided by the Union as to what happened to your predecessor. Someone makes a hypothesis—"

I opened my mouth—

"Yes, I know it's only fictional, a harmless movie, but that is not how the Union will be viewing it, is it? They'll be saying that we accuse them of killing Kershaw. You know they have funny ideas about fiction, and about justice."

She was right of sorts, on both counts. The only _gamra_ species present in any kind of numbers on Earth were the Coldi, and they didn't "get" fiction and their justice involved power plays and calculated murder.

"That's why they tried to kill the president!" someone yelled at the back of the crowd. A few others supported him.

My heart thudded. Oh damn, oh damn, this wasn't going to end well.

"That is wild speculation." My voice barely rose over the shouts. Instead, I faced the camera attachment on Melissa Hayworth's shoulder. "And may I add, too, that speculation ahead of the facts will only add fuel to the potential disagreement. I strongly advise calm on this subject until a police report becomes available."

I held some hope that the microphone would sift my voice from the racket. At the same time, I knew that denying an outrageous allegation was a lot less sensational than raising it, and that no matter who denied a _gamra_ attack, some rumour would survive until the perpetrator was found, and perhaps even after that time.

And if I knew what was good for me, I would shut up until I had some official information.

"If you would please excuse me. I want to go to bed." I stepped out of the lift, looking over the sea of heads and waiting for it to part. But my name clearly wasn't Moses, and miracles were not going to happen for me.

A male journalist asked, "Mr Wilson, just where do you stand?"

And another, "Yes, you're defending the Union. For what reason? Is there anything you know that we don't?"

"Mr Wilson, is it true that you're a Union citizen?"

Damn. That was one subject I definitely _wasn't_ going to touch. Not here, not now.

At that moment, thank the heavens, a group of security guards came down the stairs, and a man shouted, "Everyone—show us your media passes. Only official Nations of Earth media allowed. Anyone else will be taken to the police."

Some journalists started pushing for the door.

In the mayhem, I slipped behind the reception counter where the receptionist told me Nations of Earth had sent transport.

I sneaked out the hospital's staff entrance where a white car with a Nations of Earth emblem on the door waited. Gusts of wind whipped my hair into my face, reflecting the anger that simmered inside me.

_Is it true you're a Union citizen?_

Who fucking cared? My job was about working the current situation, patching up relationships that had gone from bad to worse in the past twenty years. No us or them.

I opened the car door and climbed in, dumping my reader on the seat next to me.

"Mr Wilson, sir, where to?"

I gasped.

A car with a driver. Regular vehicles had computers that asked your destination in a really annoying voice, and—in my case—usually asked again, because the voice recognition modules could never make much sense of my dialect.

I gave the man the address of the hotel, wondering where I had gotten the privilege for this personal service, and wondering if it was a good or bad thing.

Large weeping willows lined the road, ghostlike, pretty, and in late October wreathed in yellowing leaves. They were a remnant of the massive tree-planting operations from before the oil wars, a quaint memento of a time I had never known. Oil had become too expensive long before my birth. Even in the very first stories I read in primary school, vehicles ran on electric power and people used public transport.

A news bulletin blared on the radio, but the news was that there was no news, not about Sirkonen, and damn it, not about the perpetrators.

Not much later, I staggered into the hotel's foyer. The reception counter wavered before my eyes and the young man behind it looked far too awake. I stumbled through the conversation. Yes, my luggage had been brought up. The man gave me some weird looks.

Did I need to order breakfast for tomorrow? For how many people? More weird looks.

Could he scan two of my fingers for doorknob recognition? I held up my bandaged hands.

Oh.

Then he needed to find the manager to open the cupboard that held the old-fashioned access cards.

Finally, I was allowed to go. Looking back through the glass front door, I glimpsed the white car still outside, the driver a dark shadow within. Of course I knew the signs: I was under surveillance. _Great._

Up in the carpeted corridor of the tenth floor, I found the reason for the receptionist's weird looks: my two guards stood in the corridor, one each on either side of the door to my room, like absurd wax statues. Both Indrahui, they were taller than me, broad-shouldered, had skin dark as obsidian with closely-set eyes and tightly curled hair, naturally bronze-coloured, in a bun; but one of the guards had dyed his hair black. The other wore sunglasses.

Both men bowed.

" _Mashara_." The term to address one's security.

Moss green eyes met mine, oh so briefly. Where Coldi were brazen and confrontational, Indrahui were painfully retiring.

" _Mashara_ apologises profoundly, Delegate," said the one with the dyed hair.

_Apologises?_ "The events were not your fault." Security forces had forced them to wait downstairs when I went to visit Sirkonen.

The man fidgeted. Clearly, they thought the situation _was_ their fault.

"In all honesty, _mashara_. You did your job as well as you could." I used the forceful-you pronouns. The men were young, simple bodyguards; they were outclassed and outnumbered, never prepared for the turn of events. I hadn't asked for them, but this morning at some ungodly hour in Athens, less than half an hour after I'd arrived from New Zealand, Amarru had insisted I take them. On the way back, when Sirkonen had signed my handover, I would be an official _gamra_ delegate, and _gamra_ delegates travelled with security, end of story.

"Delegate, _mashara_ apologises." More forcefully.

Embarrassed. Severely so. And I'd do well not to push them. "Then I shall accept the apology."

After an awkward silence, the other guard, the one with the sunglasses said, "The Delegate became injured?"

"It's nothing serious, thank you." I felt bad for these two young men, was itching to ask them how they had made their way here, but one just didn't, _did not_ , ask one's security those sorts of questions. One also didn't ask their names. I was already causing raised eyebrows with my borderline informality. Pronouns, Delegate, pronouns. Hundreds of ways to say "you", and only the most formal would be appropriate.

"Have _mashara_ heard anything regarding my _zhayma_?"

The man with the dyed black hair inclined his head, still not meeting my eyes. " _Mashara_ regrets not." More embarrassment.

"The Delegate would appreciate if _mashara_ would keep trying."

He bowed. "Certainly, Delegate."

I slid the access key through the slot next to the door and let myself into the room. Lights flickered on.

I let out a tension-filled breath. This half-baked delegate had certainly not handled his bodyguards too well.

The room's control panel, triggered by my body heat, asked me, in a disembodied male voice, if I wanted to watch a show or a movie. I told it I wanted the power connected to the recharge sockets, and had to repeat that three times before the infernal piece of technology understood me.

Cosla, the New Colonist's dialect fast on its way to becoming a language in its own right. Where Isla, International Standard Language, was an amalgamate of what used to be English, Chinese, Spanish and new words related to technology, Cosla had adopted a good number of Coldi words and the Damarcian tendency to speak of oneself in third person in formal conversation. I had spoken it since I was ten and went with my father and Damarcian stepmother to Midway Space Station. I had perfected it as a teenager at Taurus Grammar, and tried to escape it, in vain, during my years as a student at Pavola, on Mars. I wasn't a child of this Earth, had never been. That's why I was suited to this position, and I was determined that people would come to appreciate it.

I plugged in my comm unit and rang the security post at the Nations of Earth complex. It was busy, not once, but all five times I tried. While I redialled and listened to the _busy_ recording, _please log your message at the following ID_ , I wriggled my bag open and extracted the infusor band, managed to loop it around my arm, tighten the strap with my teeth, and find the box of canisters.

I tipped them on the bed and slotted one into the receptacle. Click. A faint hissing sound. White powder whirled behind the glass as the infusor shot nanoscale dust into my arm. It tickled and a patch of cold spread out over my skin. I knew the treatment didn't work that fast, but I already felt a lot better.

Then I rang the hotel's reception. Could I please have something to eat; I didn't care what.

They could order a take-away, they said, and I told them yes, please. Then I tried to connect to security again while I waited for the food to turn up. My stomach rumbled.

This time, the call was answered by a man whose gravelly voice sounded like he had one hell of a hangover.

I cringed, but pushed ahead with my question. "I believe you took a man in custody at the president's office tonight."

"Sorry, Mister, I can't comment about that."

"But I've been—"

"Look, I've had about a hundred calls from the press—"

"I'm not from the press—"

"That's what they all say."

"But I'm Cory Wilson, his employer!" I almost screamed. I was losing it. Definitely not coping very well. Tired, sore. Out of patience. Out of ideas.

"Mr Wilson? Cory Wilson who was in the office with the president?"

"Yes."

"Can I have your ID please?"

Pain spiking through my bandaged palms, I dug out my Nations of Earth identity chip, and patched him the number, flooding with relief, until he said, "He's at the police station."

So I called the police station. Same story. We don't talk to the press. Hundreds of people have already called today. Please get off the line in case of a real emergency.

Fortunately, I didn't have to scream this time to get myself believed. I didn't think I could have. All I could see was Nicha pacing around a concrete cell. Coldi _hated_ being alone; their need to be with their associates was pathological. If he could only hear my voice . . .

But the senior officer who came on the line said, "No, you can't talk to anyone who's in custody."

"Nicha Palayi is a _gamra_ citizen. He has the right to speak to the nearest _gamra_ representative, which is me. And I don't even know why he's in custody." And damn it, my voice wasn't holding up.

"A reason which shall be heard in court."

"Court? On what basis? What proof?" My heart was thudding. _Was_ there proof?

"I'm not authorised to discuss that, sir."

"He has the right to one call." Clutching at straws now.

"He's already used it."

That hurt. Nicha hadn't called me. It also made sense. He would have called the Exchange. Maybe Nicha had tried to call me first when I was still at the hospital, where there was no reception. Shit. Besides, the Exchange would have been a better choice; that's what I would have done. At the Exchange, in Athens, they had staff to help _gamra_ citizens out of legal trouble.

It still hurt. "I'd like to give him a message. Can you pass it on for me?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"Look, he's Coldi. He _needs_ to hear a familiar voice or he'll start attacking the walls, or your personnel. I _have_ to talk to him."

"You can't, I'm sorry."

"But we're leaving the day after tomorrow!" Frustration spiked.

That was no excuse and predictably got me nowhere. For as long as the police needed him, Nicha wouldn't be going anywhere, least of all out of the country, never mind off-Earth. After a minute or so more arguing, I gave up. I would have to contact someone higher in the department tomorrow.

Oh, if only I hadn't handed in my feeder.

While I had been talking, a black Indrahui shadow had snuck into my room to put a box on the table, where it sat exuding tantalising smells.

My stomach grumbling, I ripped the cardboard lid, but the contents didn't look half as nice as they smelled. The chickpea pita had gone soft with tomato sauce and fell apart when I poked it with the fork. Bloody hell. I'd paid—how much—for this? I swore that every time I left the Exchange life outside became more expensive.

Still, I was hungry and I ate it, half-cold. Couldn't stop thinking of how Nicha loved chickpea pita—not this bland stuff: he made his own in the unit we shared at the Exchange complex in Athens, which was like a _gamra_ enclave on Earth. We would eat it on the balcony, looking at the city stretch out towards the hazy horizon, discussing some theoretical issue. Dip-length of Exchange anpar threads as a relationship to the distance from the galactic centre, things like that.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my bandaged hands. Damn Nicha.

I picked up my unit again and pressed the one-button shortkey for my office at the Exchange. The beeper rang, and rang, and changed tone several times before the call was answered by a young man at general reception who sounded like he hadn't even heard the news about Sirkonen. Some of the people over there got so damned insular, like they were an island of civilisation on a barbarian world, populated with Neanderthals unable to hold a conversation—the Neanderthals being us.

_Deep breath, Mr Wilson._

Anyway, the young man knew nothing. Leave a message and call back tomorrow.

I leaned my head in my hands, remembered too late that they hurt.

What was I going to do? Was there anyone else I could try?

_Gamra_ people on Earth had a database: an extensive directory of local extraterrestrial contacts, people who would always help you if you were a _gamra_ citizen, which I was, yes nosy journalists, having passed the exam three years ago.

I froze, staring at the opposite wall, horrified that the option had crossed my mind.

That _gamra_ help me—against my own people, whom I was to represent?

_Gamra_ loyalties, and Coldi ones, too, spread out like an interconnected web. There was no either/or. A person was the sum of his or her ties, often to wildly different and sometimes opposing camps. Always in pairs, always spreading outwards, reaching like little spider veins without regards for societal boundaries. Once there was a boundary, a break in the network, society fractured. Nations of Earth would never understand. Once I used _gamra_ intelligence against them, I might as well resign.

One last option: the unofficial mantra amongst the bureaucrats of Nations of Earth was: if in trouble, send it to your boss. I didn't like the attitude, but I was running out of ideas.

I selected another ID, which rang four times before it was answered with a muffled, "Hmph . . . whozzat?" A female voice.

"Delia, it's Cory here."

"Cory . . ." The sound of rustling. "What the fuck is the time?"

I glanced at the clock. It was 1:35 am. "Oh—I'm sorry, I was at the hospital . . ."

"Fuck, Cory." More rustling. Of sheets, I was sure by now. "How is Sirkonen?"

"I don't know. No one's saying." How could she sleep while all this was going on?

A sigh. "Fuck, Cory. Where are you?"

"I'm at the hotel now, but I have a problem. Nicha hasn't come back here. The police say he's been held overnight and they won't give me any information on why. I need to talk to him and I was wondering if you—"

"I? Cory, I'm a Nations of Earth employee. He's Union. How am _I_ supposed to do anything?"

"Because within Nations of Earth, you have far more authority than I."

" _Not_ to inquire about a Union citizen. I have no authority to do that. Cory, if the police say they have a reason to hold him overnight, then that's what they will do. There is nothing, _nothing_ , I can do about that."

"But you know about the Coldi need to be with someone. He'll go crazy alone."

"Let his Union look after that."

"I'm trying, but I'm not getting through!"

A small, awful silence. "At this time of the day? No, of course not. Go to bed."

Thousands of swear words whirled through my mind, not all of them in Isla. But there was _mahzu_ —a Coldi word meaning calm or pride. A person must maintain it, because to do otherwise would be embarrassing as well as counterproductive. So as calmly as I could, I said, "Good night."

"Good night, Cory." Oh, did the ice in her voice chill me.

I dropped my comm unit on the table and sat there, panting, hearing my own voice, _I'm trying, but I'm not getting through_. And then the little silence as Delia processed that sentence, and found it meaning, _I'm in discussion with gamra. I am gamra before I'm Nations of Earth._ And that was exactly the accusation oft levelled at me.

Oh damn, that was not smart.

Delia was right; there _was_ nothing I could do, not to get to Nicha, nor to undo that horrible slip of the tongue.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I went into the bathroom and turned on the tap in the bath. I sat under the gurgling stream, taking care not to wet my bandaged hands, until I'd used up the room's daily hot water allowance. Steam rose from the surface of the water, warm and comfortable, but if I had hoped it would make me sleepy, I had been mistaken.

Thoughts whirled in my head. Nicha's face as I went into the president's office, his gold-flecked dark eyes, almost without whites, his hair tied traditionally in a ponytail. Sirkonen's nervous talk, his sudden turn to the window and then—bang. Space-proof glass. That must have taken some explosion.

I knew there _were_ hand-held, Coldi-produced weapons which could shatter walls, so I didn't think they'd have trouble with glass, no matter how space-proof.

But why suspect Nicha? Just because he happened to be the only _gamra_ person close to the president's office? Nicha could never have _done_ anything. He'd been waiting in the foyer. Even Sirkonen could confirm that. The secretary had been there. He could confirm it, too. They had to be fucking kidding. Thoughts chased each other through my mind.

I heaved myself out of the bath, found something vile and strong in the minibar and downed it in a couple of gulps.

Talk about Sirkonen . . . I made a grab for my jacket, dug the datastick from the pocket—ouch—and slid it into the reader.

The first page was empty, as if title and author had been removed. I scrolled down. Text and diagrams flashed over the screen. There were maps, many of them, with coloured areas, and large blocks of text with longs words like "subequatorial jet stream", "closed cell systems". Pretty dry scientific stuff. This might be something of interest, but to me, it hardly looked dramatic.

I took the datastick out and slid it back in my pocket. I'd made the right decision not to make a fuss over it.

Then I settled in bed with my reader, flicking aimlessly through the world's news services. No news about Sirkonen other than what I already knew. A terse statement prepared by Sirkonen's chief of staff, peppered with words like "grave concern for his health."

The weather. A low-pressure area moving over western Europe. Wind and rain expected. Nothing new there, either.

South Africa had cemented its unbeaten position in cricket.

Something about a scientist who had disappeared. I had no doubt the story would have made the headlines had it not been for the attack on Sirkonen.

I fiddled a bit with the puzzles, trying to solve the crossword; but by that time the effect of the drink kicked in, and I started to feel sleepy.

It took three attempts to get the room control to turn off the light, but finally I crawled into bed.

My head spun.

My palms throbbed.

It was too hot in the room.

Acid burned in my stomach.

I was _not_ tired.

All the while I lay on the bed staring at strips of light moving over the ceiling as trams passed on the road outside, instead seeing the sails track lazily across the Bay of Islands, visible from my father's spare bedroom window. Midday sun, wind in my hair. Nicha's laughter.

Damn jet lag.

Oh, damn. I had completely forgotten to ring Eva. What sort of fiancé was I?

# 3

**S** OMEONE BANGED on the door, hard.

I raised myself on my elbows, the sound still reverberating in the woolly space between my ears and my brain. Darkness.

Green letters on the bedside clock glared 6:59. Last time I had seen those numbers they said 5:31.

Bloody hell. _Nich'?_

The eerie silence echoed inside me. No chatter, no garbled curses from Nicha's thoughts. The room control must have noticed me move, because the annoying male voice asked me if I wanted lights on. I swore at the man-in-the-box, and to my great surprise he turned on the bedside light.

The banging had moved further down the hall, a muffled sound, accompanied by a male voice.

I scrambled out of bed, and as I told the room control to open the door, I realised what the man had shouted: _breakfast_. Two lots of breakfast in fact, on a tray on the floor. One for me, one for Nicha. That really brought it home to me. Nicha, alone in a police cell, pacing around, clawing at the walls.

"Good morning, Delegate."

The two guards stood on either side of the door.

I swallowed emotion, blinked. The tray blurred before my eyes. Blinked again. Bent down to pick it up. Pain spiked through my palms. Oh shit, my hands.

One of the men jumped into action and picked up the tray, handing it to me with an intense look of those closely-set moss-green eyes. Did he see how much I was falling apart?

"Any news, _mashara_?"

"No news, Delegate." Was that a cringe?

I balanced the tray on my arm, carried it inside and manoeuvred it onto the table, awkward as hell. When I flicked the lid off one of the plates, the smell of fried eggs billowed from underneath. No bacon. The hotel didn't offer oysters for breakfast and I hadn't wanted to bother Nicha with the smell of the meat of a vertebrate animal, which Coldi people didn't eat. Nicha's presence was everywhere.

I glanced at the clock. It was too early to start ringing.

I pushed a chair back with my foot, sat down and dragged my reader by the charging cord, finding the site of the World Newspoint service with only the touch of one thumb. A single headline across the top of the page screamed _Attack_ in huge letters. There was a live shot of the ruined window of Sirkonen's office and another of an ambulance driving off said to have contained the president. Nothing on how Sirkonen was. At least that meant he was still alive. Let's stay positive; although I felt that if there were any positive news, they would have published it, too.

My comm unit beeped.

I jumped up and retrieved it from the table next to the door, where it had been recharging. I pressed "answer" while fumbling with the earpiece and was blasted by a high-pitched squeak.

Ouch. A relay.

I ran across the room again, flung the unit next to my reader and, with my unbandaged left thumb, activated the wireless communication interface.

Someone from outside, off-planet—relayed through the Exchange.

The screen went white and at the top appeared the Coldi text, _Sender 876735475-02 1.24 Beratha._

By then, I knew. Beratha was the second-largest city of Asto, the Coldi homeworld. It hosted a massive armed forces base. I knew only one person in Beratha: Nicha's father.

While the bacteria in the crystalline screen worked to display the next lines of text, I scrambled under my discarded and bloodied shirt for the Coldi keyboard module, since I needed my feeder to get the thought sensor working in Coldi, and since I didn't have my damn feeder . . . I found the keyboard projector and plugged it in while unfolding the stand from the bottom of the pen-sized device so it stood straight up, it's "eye" pointing at the table. A small light on the cylinder activated and the one hundred and twelve characters of the common Coldi alphabet appeared projected onto the table, just as the message on the screen completed.

_I hear my son is in trouble._ Like a typical Coldi, Nicha's father never wasted much time in greetings.

I replied using a fork, because my bandaged and taped-together fingers didn't allow the level of control I needed to touch the keys projected onto the table.

_Trouble would be an overstatement._

I winced and cursed with every character. Was I ever glad Coldi had one character per syllable.

Send. Wait until the dot had stopped blinking.

I should have brought my tea. A person grew impatient waiting for communication to go through, even if that communication was beamed across the continent, up into space, through the Exchange network of anpar lines and halfway across the surface of another planet. Tea would be a great thing to have. I eyed the cup on the table, steaming in the glow from the bedside light. My eggs were getting cold, too.

But the reply came back quickly. _There is talk that blames Asto for this attack._

I typed, _Allegations only,_ but knew the damage had been done. Damn that movie.

_It is because of these allegations that my son has been taken into custody?_

I typed, _He is innocent and according to local law should be released soon._

Keeping all fingers and toes crossed of course, never mind that I couldn't manage that at the moment—whose stupid idea had it been to tape my fingers together?

The reply shot back, _How soon?_

Even though Nicha was _gamra_ employed, I knew in one way or another he still worked for Asto. There was a word, _imayu_ , that described the interpersonal networks. Within Asto society, the ties a person acquired during life were never severed, and their influence reached far. You and a partner, which could be a sibling, a friend or a business contact, reported to a superior, who was then paired with another who reported to their superior, and so on and so forth, all the way up. Nicha's father ranked frightfully high in Asto's air force. Through his father, Nicha's loyalty would be tied up to Ezhya Palayi himself. That was someone you definitely did _not_ want to cross.

I typed, _I am investigating his release._

Not mentioning that by Asto standards, I was relatively powerless to do so, but I did _not_ want Asto involved in this. To them, democracy was an undesirable brand of activism. They had curious methods of justice. Writs served to perpetrators, who then had to respond within certain time or risk a retribution squad, often leading to assassination. Order and honouring _imayu_ was more important than the life of an individual. They had plenty of individuals on Asto.

The answer blinked back, _When will he be released?_

Not, as I noted, outrage over the fact _that_ Nicha had been detained. Guess it was part of what a military officer would call _hazards of the job_ , but I didn't like it.

I typed, _Soon, I hope._

Not wanting to say "this afternoon". Legally, the police couldn't hold Nicha for more than twenty-four hours in absence of a formal charge. Then again, who knew if that would apply to stateless _gamra_ citizens. Nicha had lost his European passport in the extraterrestrial citizenship case; he had been too disgusted to reapply and sit for the test the government said he needed to pass to be accepted in the country where he spent most of his adult life. And paid his taxes.

The reply shot back again, _Do you require help?_

I replied, equally fast, _Not yet._

Indicating that help might well be called for in the future, the polite thing to do. But no, seeing "help" in Coldi terms would most likely involve soldiers with guns, I emphatically did _not_ want help.

I typed, _The Exchange is looking into it._

Or so I hoped.

_Tell them I'm not impressed they've allowed this to happen._

_I will convey that. I'm not impressed either._ There were no untruths in that.

_Thank you. I will leave it in your capable hands._

Like a true military person, he signed off without further comment. I hoped this meant disaster was temporarily averted. But, oh, someone needed to act quickly.

I dragged my comm unit over the table. The shortkey button connected to my office at the Exchange, but the junior administration assistant who answered said that the staff were in a meeting with Amarru. I could get her through the feeder network. I'm not repeating what I said then. If I caught the idiot who had made me hand in my feeder . . . The young man fell silent, possibly startled by my command of Coldi swear words—there were advantages to living with the son of a military officer. Then he said he'd leave messages.

I disconnected, stumbled to the other side of the table and started on my eggs. The toast had gone soggy. I shoved it aside and drank my tea, blowing steam off the surface.

In the street below, driverless buses splashed over their designated lanes in rain-slicked streets. A faint glow of light blue tinted the sky.

Two hours before start of business. I didn't know if I had that much patience.

Meanwhile, I'd better look at the news. I logged onto my mail program. There were over three thousand messages, which I sorted alphabetically and scanned for familiar senders. Delia Murchison—the report you asked for. Delia again—addendum.

The history of Coldi involvement on Earth since 1961, the oldest record of Coldi presence in Athens, all secret of course, since the Coldi had only officially acknowledged their presence in 2094. Some _gamra_ member entities had asked me to prepare this material, because they found it hard to accept that a world with such a large population had been isolated from _gamra_ for so long and wanted to know how this had come about. There was an undertone of accusing the Coldi for keeping _gamra_ away from Earth, but in light of what had happened, I wondered why I had ever thought this bickering within _gamra_ important.

I shifted those messages in my work area and wondered if this meant Delia was no longer angry with me. That midnight call had been none too bright. Desperate. I realised I didn't function well without my _zhayma_ either, at least not on an emotional level.

There were no official messages from Nations of Earth.

That was strange, because I would have expected some sort of statement from Vice President Sigobert Danziger.

So I created a message to Danziger instead.

I slipped the thought-sensor behind my ear and half-whispered, _Mr Vice President, I would appreciate if I could see you as soon as possible to clarify my position. I would also appreciate having my zhayma . . ._ No, correct that. The offending word vanished. . . . _my assistant released as soon as possible._

Send. Surely Danziger would already be at work in this crisis?

I stared at the screen and noticed a message from Eva. _Are you still coming today?_

Oh shit. I lunged across the table for my comm unit. Punched Eva's ID. It rang, and rang, and rang. I pictured her house, a large two-storey affair with a large hall and sweeping staircase. I could almost see the comm central screen on the wall in the living room. Flashing, beeping. No one answered.

I tried Eva's personal unit. It was off. Not good. That meant she was angry and meant to make me feel guilty about yesterday. About fobbing her off, about forgetting to call her back.

It wasn't the first time she'd been angry with me, either. At times, I hated myself for being so obsessed with my work, but mostly I was too busy to worry about what Eva thought. That wasn't good either, but I swore when I settled in my position things would be different.

Right now I could almost hear Eva's voice. _Work, work, work, all you think about is work._

Oh Eva. _Please Eva, don't make things any more difficult than they already are._

I disconnected the call, drawing a deep breath. _Mahzu_. Negotiate. Picture yourself in the other person's shoes.

Eva was in love with a man who was about to leave for a place where she couldn't meet him, and talk to him only over the Exchange network, which she hadn't used much and which wasn't exactly private. A place unspeakably far away, where the previous person in that job had gone crazy and vanished without a word.

She would think, what if something happened to me? And no one she knew or trusted could go and find me? Only strange people with strange names who spoke strange languages.

Coldi society made distinctions between those who travelled and those who didn't, like the dichotomy that marked their society, two sides evening each other out. I was _ichi,_ one who travelled, and she was _ata-ichi,_ one who didn't. Balancing me. I shouldn't hold that against her. After all, I hadn't encouraged her to come. It could be dangerous, and she would be lonely in Barresh. I said I'd review the matter in six months' time, when I returned for my first report to the Nations of Earth assembly.

The Nations of Earth half of my contract might be for two years, but _gamra_ appointed people for life, and I . . . let's just say I had no intention to return here for an office job.

It would be up to me to make life in Barresh pleasant for her.

Flowers and chocolates it was, then.

I scrolled over the message, and hit reply _Yes. I'll come as soon as I can get out of here._ Definitely no promises about the time. In a job like mine, something always came up at the last minute.

Danziger finally replied a bit after midday, in a curt message, _Please see me at the office immediately._

My mind flashed, _News about Sirkonen._

I replied, _On my way._

I grabbed my jacket and left the room, collecting my security in the corridor. They greeted me with serious faces. Very serious.

The two men must have slept in turns and bathed, because they looked fresh and smelled clean. They wore close-fitting trousers and jackets of a thick dark grey, not-quite-black material, not leather, not plastic but something smooth and soft. Open buttons at one of the men's chests revealed a glimpse of body armour. Both wore charge guns strapped in brackets at their upper arms. Two guns each, clearly visible. Great. Battle dress today.

A taxi already waited at the hotel entrance, a regular driverless vehicle.

One of the guards sat on the front bench, while I and the other guard took the back.

No one spoke as the car splashed through puddles, trundling in its predestined path painted in yellow on the road, following trams and buses. The guard next to me kept glancing over his shoulder. A tinny voice drifted from his earpiece. A red tram followed the taxi, but behind that was a white car.

I met the man's eyes. " _Mashara_? Are people following us?"

"Special Services," said the guard in the front seat with absolute certainty.

"Is _mashara_ aware that my status requires special consideration with Special Services?"

" _Mashara_ advises not. Special Services have received our request for information."

"Received but not replied?"

"Not replied," the man repeated, meeting my eyes, stiff faced, prim and proper.

The taxi stopped at a crossing. I looked again—the white car waited a little distance back. I told myself not to worry. I was a witness to a major crime. Sure, Special Services were here to protect me and had better things to do than reply to poorly-worded questions from my inexperienced companions. If they wanted to spy on me, they'd have less conspicuous ways than following me like this. I still didn't like it. No one had told me anything about protection.

The main gates to the Nations of Earth compound were closed. Police and Nations of Earth guards had set up shop at the entrance, where a crowd gathered under a sea of colourful umbrellas. As soon as the car stopped, the media sharks went into a feeding frenzy, flashing cameras, yelling questions.

I opened the window, showing the guards my Nations of Earth identity pass. I had to shout over the voices. "Cory Wilson to see Vice President Danziger."

The guard studied my card for a moment, then glanced inside the car. His gaze rested on the Indrahui guard in the front seat.

"Excuse me, Mr Wilson." He gestured for me to come out, and after I had done so, spoke in a low voice. "I don't think _they_ will be allowed inside."

I nodded, although I began to like this attitude less and less. I bet that if I had come here with a private, Earthly-looking guard, I would not have had the same trouble. "I think they would be happy to wait—"

The front door of the taxi swung open and the guard rose from his seat. He was almost a head taller than the police officer, and in his tight outfit, skin dark as obsidian, wiry bronze hair in a tight coil at the back of his head, he was truly imposing.

"We have orders. We protect the Delegate." He spoke with a heavy accent, and the simplicity of the words lent them added menace.

The officer took a big step back, and almost tripped.

I switched to Coldi. " _Mashara_ , please, there is no need—"

The guard turned to me, fixing me with moss-green eyes. Rain drizzled on both of us. He inclined his head, diamond-drops of water in his hair.

"With respect, Delegate, the events of yesterday have shown that there is a need."

"I'll be safe inside the gates. These men are police—"

"The Delegate must be protected at all times. Chief Delegate Akhtari's orders."

That was Chief Delegate Akhtari, leader of _gamra_. What did she have to do with this? Wait—was he suggesting that _gamra_ thought that the attack had been aimed at _me?_

That was ridiculous. There would have been much better opportunities to kill me. Besides, my presence in Sirkonen's office at the time of the explosion was coincidence and had been the result of a change in plans. On the other hand . . . there was no conspiracy regarding Kershaw's disappearance. There was no _gamra_ faction wanting to get rid of Sirkonen. To them, one president was the same as the next. If an Earth-based group had been responsible for this attack, they would have already grabbed the headlines; Flash Newspoint bought all stories, including those from criminals. Besides, if someone really, really wanted to derail the relationship between Earth and _gamra_ , Sirkonen was entirely the wrong person to shoot.

The right person would be Cory Wilson.

My heart thudded hard against my ribs. The taxi's horn was beeping—someone needed to feed it some credit. All around, cameras clicked and zoomed. Journalists jostled into position, yelling questions.

Why was I here?

Had I heard any news?

Why was I still going to Barresh?

Was it true that I was a Union citizen?

Why was I defending the Union's innocence?

The two Indrahui were watching me. Damn, the men might be young and have little experience, but they were right about coming inside. I _wanted_ them with me. Look what had happened to the last man I had left to wait while I went into a meeting.

I faced the officer. "If you let me in, you'll have to let them in, too. They're my staff."

Not a shred of emotion crossed the serviceman's face as he consulted someone over his comm unit, and after a few minutes standing in the rain, listening to the crackle of a voice through the unit, the three of us were allowed to walk through.

# 4

**A** SMALL PERSONNEL carrier waited on the other side of the fence. The Indrahui with the sunglasses waited for me; the other followed right behind me. The man had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.

I sat down on a rearward-facing bench, between the two obsidian figures, breathing the scent of raw onions that always hung around Indrahui people.

Nations of Earth guards faced us, their gazes anywhere but on me and my escort. One slid the door shut, enclosing us in a cocoon of uncomfortable silence. I and my very non-Earthly staff on one side, Nations of Earth military facing us, eyeing one another.

I shivered and wished I'd taken a second treatment capsule that morning. My body was being prepared for life in a hot place. My skin blocked all warmth from sunlight, while enlarged blood vessels in places like the underside of my arms and inside my nostrils lost more heat than normal. My core temperature had risen to 40.5 degrees; I'd measured it this morning. In a miserable place like this, I needed medication to keep my temperature down and stop myself shivering.

The van crawled along the leafy lane that was Central Avenue; the pavilions glided by. European, North American, South American, African: each building held the offices of countries that were members of Nations of Earth, who had representatives in the assembly over there in that nouveau-antique building on the left hand side of the road.

Once, what almost seemed a lifetime ago, I had been a little boy who had lived here in the Nations of Earth compound. I'd gone to school and played on those lawns as a kid, while my father was the diplomat. Somehow, life had seemed careless then, even though the world had just come out of a series of devastating wars, which had resulted in total anarchy, and Nations of Earth was only a few years old. Food, electricity and water vouchers had been just a fact of life; I didn't know better.

Those memories belonged to a different world. I had played with _gamra_ children; they occasionally came to our school. They had lots of weird gadgets, heaven to us kids who had only heard of the glorious time of the previous century. They spoke with strange accents and had funny ideas about sharing. But none of us eight-year-olds thought any less of them, even though many of our parents did. Not my father; he had met my stepmother here, a tall and striking Damarcian whose tiger-eyes and long spidery index and middle fingers freaked everyone out.

The van came to a halt in front of the president's office. The marble steps seemed grey today, and droplets sprouting from the memorial fountain formed a mist in the autumn air.

At least twenty servicemen stood outside the building.

The van doors slid open and one of my guards stepped out as per security protocol. Someone shouted and several Nations of Earth men sprang forward. Special Services Branch, all of them.

As one, the Indrahui guards jumped to shield me, reaching for the guns in their arm brackets with well-practiced speed.

I shouted, "Wait!"

A tense silence.

A circle of servicemen in Nations of Earth uniform surrounded us.

"With respect, _mashara_." I pushed myself between the two men, heart thudding. The odd scent of their skin wafted past. "There is no need for heightened attention here. These men protect the _president_."

Neither man shifted. " _Mashara_ protects the delegate." Solemn, absolutely, those young faces, one hundred percent serious.

How severely had Chief Delegate Akhtari admonished them for losing sight of me yesterday?

I switched to Isla. "These men are my personal security."

An officer with a few badges on his chest made a gesture. Uniformed men stepped back. Arms relaxed. Hands withdrew from belts.

"Sorry, sir. Follow me please, sir," one of the servicemen said

The other servicemen lined up on the stairs. No one made the slightest sound. Nervous as hell. The servicemen had probably received a severe talking-to as well. How could anyone have slipped past the ridiculous security and hit right at the heart of Nations of Earth?

I followed the senior officer into the building. Police and other investigators still hung around in the hall, behind spider webs of bright orange tape that blocked the stairs to Sirkonen's office.

We turned into the ground floor corridor instead, where the officer led us into what looked like the pressroom—rows of chairs faced a dais against the far wall.

A large 3D screen took up most of the wall behind the dais, and it projected a scene that startled me: a live screening from the hospital, an image so real the screen might have been a window.

Alone in a white room stood a bed, a number of chairs arranged around it, all of them occupied. There was a grey-haired woman dressed in wildly unseasonable furs. Sirkonen's sister, who I'd read lived in a remote Finnish village inside the Arctic Circle. Two younger blond-haired women also sat there, one feeding a baby. A lanky young man with shoulder-length blond hair had to be Sirkonen's son, Michael. He was an artist, I remembered. A bit of a black sheep in the family, but as far as I knew the only one of Sirkonen's family who lived locally. Sirkonen's wife, or his former wife rather, wasn't there.

As for the figure in the bed, unrecognisably bandaged and tied up to tubes and blinking machines, it might have been anyone. There was no movement, no indication even that this was indeed Sirkonen.

My knees grew weak with painful memories. The smell of disinfectant, the oppressive silence of the palliative care ward. Six beds in the room, three on each side. My mother in the bed over by the window. Five other beds with silent, hollow-eyed people hooked up to blinking equipment. There was the hissing of a burning match, and on a table behind me, a nurse was lighting candles. Seven. Then they were singing, but all I could see was the wrapped present on the bedspread, the present with the purple ribbon my mother's hands were too weak to hold. I touched those hands for the last time a few weeks later, when they were still and cold.

"This way Mr Wilson."

Deep breath, and another one. Ghosts of the past dissolved.

Two Nations of Earth security guards with their red-collared shirts stood at a door in the far corner of the room. The officer informed me that the Indrahui guards had to stay here.

I gave them a small nod. _It's fine._ They settled, uneasily, in the front row of seats.

I passed the guards into the next room, which, with the portraits on the walls of twenty-five years' worth of Nations of Earth dignitaries, looked like the official interview studio.

On an antique velvet-covered couch sat Sigobert Danziger, vice president of Nations of Earth. He had made this corner into an office, with his reader on a low table before him. He was talking on his comm unit with one hand while the other hung in a sling across his chest. One look at me, and he broke off his call.

Whoever Danziger had been talking to, I bet I had been the subject of the discussion.

I strolled to the corner, pretending innocence. "Sir, you were injured as well?"

I hadn't even known Danziger had been anywhere near President Sirkonen's office.

Danziger nodded briefly, thin lips pursed.

"My office is underneath the president's. Some ceiling material came down."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

I sat down on the armchair opposite him while silence lingered. As was normal for him, his shirt hung off his bony shoulders like a poorly erected tent and a belt held up trousers at least a hand's span too wide. Jokes went around the corridors of Nations of Earth that any staffer who made suggestions about the state of his attire found him or herself on the to-be-replaced list faster than one could say _tailor-made suits_.

The pale fluorescent light was most unkind to his face, showing bags under his eyes and a landscape of wrinkles and moles that would make a toad proud.

Danziger pushed his reader across the table with his unbandaged arm. "Read that, Mr Wilson." He exuded as much friendliness as a pickled herring.

The screen displayed a message from Sirkonen's head of security, emblazoned with a _top-secret_ watermark and the words _for the president only._

So far, preliminary investigations have failed to turn up evidence of explosives or projectiles in the president's office. We have examined a great number of glass fragments, some of them molten. This concurs with our suspicion that a massive burst of heat went through the window, causing it to shatter. A woman walking her dog outside the compound gates spoke of a red flash of light. An appeal for witnesses has brought up the same reports. A delivery driver says he was almost blinded by a similar flash when he was about to pull away from a parking spot. Other witnesses saw red flashes and speak specifically of seeing objects outlined in a red aura. We have mapped all the witness localities, and they form a circle, of which the President's office is the dead centre. . . .

I stared at the screen, heart thudding. I'd seen that red aura, too. And dismissed it as something brought on by extreme fatigue.

Danziger's face twitched. "Well, what do you think, Mr Wilson?"

It was not a question; it was a challenge, a _Denounce aliens or give me an explanation_ type of challenge.

"This is the outcome of the investigation?" Buying time, surely. What to say? This wasn't Earth technology, no way. Had the journalists known?

Danziger snorted. "Those results will be at least a week and this information won't be in it. This information is not to leave this room. Understand?"

I nodded.

"I want your opinion. _You_ are supposed to know about these weird things."

_These weird things_ meaning _gamra_ matters. Various factions within _gamra_ , which I knew about. Weapons, and where on Earth they could be, which I didn't. Asto-produced charge guns, like the guards carried, emitted a blue flash when triggered, not a red one, and none did so in wide circles surrounding their targets.

"I have no knowledge that anyone within _gamra_ has a problem with Sirkonen's tenure of office."

"Indeed." Spoken with great sarcasm.

A rush of blood went to my cheeks. Was I under suspicion now? Of not telling the truth? "Not with the information I have, sir. I know of no single faction likely to mount such an attack."

"Indeed," Danziger said again, and looked at the screen of his reader.

Frustration boiled. "Sir, if you have any information other than what I have, please share it. I can only comment on what I know."

Danziger said nothing. He reached for the reader with his free arm and shut down the message. So—it was all bluff.

"Sir, security detained my _zhayma_ without reason."

"The man you refer to was the only Union official within shooting distance of the president's office. The explosive was Union-based technology. Naturally, he is a suspect."

_Naturally?_ "He is my direct assistant. I've lived with him for four years. This man is vitally important to my success in Barresh. _Gamra_ will not stand for unwarranted arrests."

A sharp, grey-eyed look, a blink of almost hairless eyelids. He said again, "Indeed." And then, "You make it sound like a threat."

"I assure you, sir, I'm not making a threat, but there will be one unless _gamra_ gets an explanation." Nicha's father would make sure of that.

Danziger's eyebrows flicked up. "And they would interfere in _our_ system of justice?"

"No, but they'll want to have him freed." Or if he left it too long, come in with guns blazing.

"Freed? Mr Wilson, you don't seem to understand or for some reason it's not getting through to you: there were _Union_ weapons involved."

"Yes. And within _gamra_ there are hundreds, maybe thousands of factions, some very small. Isn't it an overreaction to blame the possible—and I mean _possible_ —actions of one person on the entire organisation? That is if those weapons haven't fallen into the hands of some very ordinary humans. May I remind you of the Kazakhstan case?"

"Union have not formally denied the attack."

"No, and they won't until you make a formal accusation. However, detaining Nicha Palayi without charges won't have put them in a good mood." If I sounded sarcastic, that was exactly what I intended. Nations of Earth had employed and sponsored me to vet their responses for anything that might cause unnecessary offense. So instead Danziger ignored my knowledge. That brought home how much they thought of me. A secretary with quaint habits and an unnatural desire for self-destruction, Eva's father called me. He was probably joking only half the time. I wasn't one of the old boys, diplomats who all went to school with each other; I never had been.

"I doubt if these people were ever in a good mood, Mr Wilson. They've come here to conquer, not to cooperate. Their rigid social structure brooks no argument. I'm sure you're aware of the saying _If it doesn't beat you, you can't defeat it, you can't fuck it, then you must kill it_."

I'd heard rumours that Danziger was anti- _gamra_. I suspected it simply because Eva's father adored the man, but this, the crudest of things said about the Coldi, was . . . worse than calling them ethies or chans, or aliens. It was . . . damn, I was speechless.

"You haven't heard that one?" He raised one eyebrow.

"I hardly think it's appropriate. It's a purely biological reaction for Coldi to establish dominance of one of the parties in a relationship—"

"Dominance—exactly, that's why we can't deal with them—"

"—a reaction that's rarely exhibited with people not their own species—" Although Nicha had reacted to me.

"—they fight for the top spot like rabid wolves, and then they tell us _religion_ is primitive?"

Right. I didn't, _didn't_ want to go there.

Danziger met my eyes for a few long seconds, then looked at the screen of the reader still on the table.

I breathed in and out to regain my calm, my _mahzu_. "Sir, we're talking about _gamra_ here, not about Coldi peculiarities. _Gamra_ is an over-arching organisation. It only deals with the Exchange. I'm not prepared to let a small group of extremists hijack our efforts towards cooperation. It makes little difference if these extremists are Earth-based or _gamra_ -based. If we withdraw from the process, these people will have just what they want."

Danziger nodded, as if to himself. "Well, then. You are lucky that the majority of Nations of Earth supports your candidature, including our incapacitated president. I also think you should know that I have the right to veto your departure."

"And I advise you against exercising it, sir. I think it would be very unwise to cut off dialogue with _gamra_ , _especially_ in a case like this." Just what the fuck was he getting at?

Danziger laughed. "I see. Then you might tell me your view on this, Mr Wilson: what advantage is there for us to associate ourselves with them? Why should we clamour to join them? So that we can travel freely? We can't anyway, with the prices their Exchange charges. An institution, I must add, that has a monopoly on interstellar travel. Why should we invest a lot of money on building interfacing equipment just so that the rich can zip from one corner of the galaxy to the other and bring back weird souvenirs, for which, I might add, too, we will need to put into place an entire quarantine operation so we don't import some sort of disease? What's the benefit in that for the countries of Nations of Earth? Why shouldn't we, and I quote something a tradesman said to me recently, 'Tell the lot of them to go to hell?' We have enough problems of our own making. We don't need theirs."

A thousand thoughts went through my mind. Arguments, most of them idealistic, such as _because it's the only way forward._ But such arguments held little water with a practical person like Danziger, and the trouble was I agreed with at least some of Danziger's points, especially with travel being restricted to the elite; it was extremely expensive. "Because, sir, whether we join or not, _gamra_ people will continue to come here; and without agreement with _gamra_ , we cannot stop them at the Exchange. We can only rely on the first line of defence around Athens, and the second at the Greek borders, both inadequate and incomplete as history has proven. What is more, without laws, we are powerless to stop their illegal trade—such as the trade of arms. If we do not fall under their laws, that gives these people license to conduct criminal activities."

"Such as attacking our office. We come full circle." Danziger chuckled. "Mr Wilson, I heard you won the Taurus debating competition in high school. I capitulate."

Danziger leaned back in his seat. He seemed to be enjoying himself. I, though, was beginning to feel more and more like a goldfish in a bowl. _Look, here is our young diplomat, let's throw him in a vat of boiling water and see how high he jumps._

Shit.

Why didn't Danziger come to the point? But the point was that he didn't seem to have a point, just a handful of half-threats he couldn't carry out without approval of the executive council, who were all appointed by Sirkonen. Yes, his point seemed to be _do as I say or you may well find yourself without a job._ A threat he couldn't make true while Sirkonen held the presidency.

Danziger nodded. "It's good that I have such excellent advisors, then. I wish you good luck, Mr Wilson, in your new job."

"Thank you." Stiff-faced as hell.

I rose, gave Danziger a polite nod. By the time I left the room, he had already gone back to his reader.

On the large 3D screen, Sirkonen's family sat around a projection of an X-ray while a doctor talked and pointed. Tears tracked down one of Sirkonen's daughters' cheeks.

In the room behind me, Danziger worked, possibly a few heartbeats away from the presidency.

What a mess.

# 5

**W** HEN I LEFT the building, flanked by the two guards, I was still dissecting all the posturing and contradictory statements Danziger had made, and deciding how seriously I needed to take them and what he had actually tried to tell me.

Danziger had come up through the ranks of humanitarian aid agencies that had grown into state-like power in the food and water wars of the Asian subcontinent and Africa. A true Earth politician. Part German, part Argentinean. Never had much to do with the off-Earth section of humanity, the New Colonists who lived on Moon and Mars bases, or on Taurus, let alone with the extraterrestrial humanoids of _gamra_. Did he have the knowledge and backing to deal with this, now that the presidency had been thrust upon him? In the current situation, with food rationing still a reality in many parts of the world, and pockets of violence lingering from the oil wars, the relationship with _gamra_ was not a priority and they wanted to be sure _gamra_ got that message. I understood that. It was probably why Sirkonen had given the job to me, rather than one of his cronies. The tiny New Colonist off-Earth human population, mostly intelligent and influential people, had long been unhappy about having no say in Earth politics. Sirkonen had appointed their golden boy—me, in possession of several nice decorative awards—to appease them. I had no illusions about that either.

But now Danziger was forced to deal with _gamra_ , and the relationship had suddenly become important. He knew little about it, and needed a good advisor. I didn't think I had ever impressed him. He might well want to replace me with one of his retired heavyweights. And damn it, I hadn't gone through all this study to be some politician's paperboy.

It was still raining when I braved the bear-pit of journalists outside the gates. Behind the multi-hued sea of umbrellas, the waiting taxi stood like a lighthouse.

I was alone, more alone than I'd been for the past four years. Normally, I would have conferred with Nicha through the feeder. _Keep smiling_ or _you first_ , that sort of thing. And he would have been there, a warm steadying presence next to me. _Rimoyu_ , balance, _imayu_ , the loyalty network; they weren't instincts for me, but I'd come to rely on the social structure they afforded.

But my head echoed with emptiness and the wind pelted freezing drizzle at exposed parts of my too-hot skin.

I pulled my jacket over my head to avoid the rain and questions, but both came anyway.

How was the president?

Any word from Barresh as to who claimed responsibility?

When was the press going to be informed?

I wished I could answer those questions, or at least answer them positively. Tell them that the president would make a speedy and full recovery and would be back at work in no time. Instead, my guards cleared a path through the crowd, gaining me more questions.

Why was I still considering leaving?

Did this mean the handover had been signed?

How could I even consider leaving seeing as the Union was clearly responsible?

Whose side was I on anyway?

One of the guards opened the door to the taxi, oh so inviting. But before I could get in, someone pushed a card under my nose. _Melissa Hayworth, Chief Reporter, Flash Newspoint._

I glared at her.

"You seem to be under a lot of pressure, Mr Wilson." Her hair, plastered against her forehead, dripped water into her face.

"No thanks to you."

"The people have a right to know what happened. We live in a free world, no matter how much Nations of Earth and _gamra_ would like us to forget that."

She said _gamra_ and not Union. "Look, Ms Hayworth, it's out of my hands. I told the police what I saw, and the matter is with them."

"So you're going?"

"Yes." Never mind what I would do if Nicha didn't come back before tomorrow morning; that was none of her business.

A brief silence. Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face. She looked at where I held the top of the taxi's door. "How are your hands?"

"Fine."

Her dark gaze slid to my jacket, and rested on the blood-stained pocket. "You don't look fine, Mr Wilson."

"I'm only tired." Bloody exhausted in fact.

She lowered her voice. "You can talk to me. I know what it's like."

"I'm fine, really. Thank you for your concern." What did she mean _I know what it's like?_ What was this woman trying to do, asking me about my health? "Ms Hayworth, please let me get into the taxi. I have an appointment."

I expected a snide remark or more questioning, but neither came.

"Very well." She stepped back and gestured at the card. "If ever you feel like telling the truth behind this, don't hesitate to contact me." She tapped her shoulder where a nifty plastic cap covered the microphone of the reader she carried on her belt.

"Miss Hayworth, I will certainly not forget that." I fumbled the card into my pocket, trying not to wince, and slipped into the back seat of the taxi, next to the guard with the sunglasses. He had pulled up his knees sideways so he fitted between the seats. The other guard shut the door behind me, and clambered in the front seat.

I gave the onboard computer Eva's address and told it to stop at a flower shop along the way, instructions I had to repeat, of course. The guard next to me raised his eyebrows. "Flowers, Delegate?"

"On this world, and this culture, when one visits a woman, it is the custom to bring flowers." And despite so much of their former country being under water, the Dutch still did flowers very well.

Goodness knew what Indrahui did with flowers—ate them, probably. Hunger was a constant companion of common people on Indrahui as their leaders fought over which piece of land belonged to which ethnic group.

I fished my comm unit from my pocket and pressed the one-button shortkey to my office in Athens, wincing as pain spiked through my palms. Ouch, ouch and ouch. The bandage itched, my fingers felt hot and the skin pulled when I moved.

The call was answered quickly by Sheyna, who I jokingly called mail boy and who looked after the correspondence.

I switched to Coldi. "Is Amarru there?"

"Sure." There were some clicks.

"Cory, how are you?" My mind flooded with relief at the familiar Coldi voice, too deep to be a woman's, too high to be a man's.

"I'm fine. I lost my feeder."

"I noticed that—"

"When is Nicha going to be freed? No one is talking to me here."

"Cory. I think we need to tread carefully."

"What do you mean? Has Nicha told you anything?"

"I haven't spoken to Nicha."

Shit. "You haven't spoken to him? At all? The police told me he was entitled to one call and that he had already made it. I thought . . ."

Who had he contacted? Nicha's mother no longer lived in London; Nicha didn't have a girlfriend . . . who was I missing?

"I don't believe he's been allowed to contact anyone. Only this morning I managed to speak to the _police_ officer in charge of prisons. Not a cooperative fellow. I'm waiting for him to contact me back. He says he can't do anything without Nations of Earth approval."

I glanced at the clock. At a quarter past four, there were three quarters of an hour left in the working day; nothing was going to happen today. Someone was stalling. And all the time I'd thought the Exchange was working on something—I'd even had the disgrace to feel miffed that Nicha hadn't called me. And all that time, Nicha had been alone, going crazy. . . .

"I _have_ to see him."

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Why not? Amarru, he's—"

"Can't talk about that right now."

What the fuck was going on? "Then can you at least get a lawyer onto this?"

"We already have. I've just been talking to Nixie Chan. She's outraged and is more than happy to help."

"Good." Although frankly I would have preferred someone less loud and flamboyant, someone less likely to stir already-frayed emotions.

Something beeped in the background of Amarru's office.

"Oh, that might be her. Cory, are you online the rest of the day?"

"Yes. I'll be visiting Eva, but . . ." Dratted dinner party. As usual, Eva came last. To my horror, we had already arrived in the suburb where she lived.

"All right, I'll ping you when we know more."

I closed the connection and scrambled for Danziger's ID on the reader. I might just have time to call him. Danziger's secretary answered, saying the vice president was in a meeting. I begged her to send her boss an urgent message. _Nixie Chan has just been assigned as Nicha Palayi's lawyer. Please contact me as soon as possible._

The guard next to me met my eyes. An earpiece with a tiny microphone dangled at his ear. He said, "The white car follows again."

I looked over my shoulder, but saw at least four white cars, two of them taxis trundling behind us, the other two minibuses.

The guard in the front seat muttered, in Indrahui, "I'll be glad when we're out of here."

I wasn't sure if he realised I understood.

Eva's house. A two-storey affair with a straw roof, bay windows, mock-historic woodwork and a white picket fence before a smattering of neatly-clipped but bedraggled roses. As it was October, the leaves were turning yellow, and red rosehips floated like little bits of colour, a pale memory of the splendour of the garden in summer. A few sad asters bloomed purple under the living room window, but the rest of the garden bathed in yellows and browns—preparing for winter. Next time I came here it would be summer.

The door to the house swung open and there stood Eva, in a shimmering green gown with bows and ruffles and collars edged in white lace. Her hair, a mass of dark curls, had been pinned on her head in mock-Victorian style.

She rushed out, her shoes clacking on the steps, meeting me halfway down the porch.

"Oh, Cory!"

I whisked the flowers out of the way of her whirlwind embrace.

She smelled of roses. Loose strands of curls tickled my face.

"Cory, oh Cory. I heard about it yesterday. I was so scared." She was crying.

At the sound of her familiar Polish accent, the heavy cloak of tension slipped from my shoulders. I buried my face in her curls, brushing my lips over the skin of her neck. I wanted to kiss her, and for once not care about the excessive prudishness that swept through the upper echelons of the diplomatic corps. _Everyone is always watching. Do nothing that could discredit you._ How I regretted that attitude. If only she would come to the hotel with me.

I handed her the flowers. "I'm sorry I couldn't come earlier."

Eva smiled through her tears, all glittering eyes and white teeth. "Oh Cory . . . they're beautiful." She gingerly touched the bandage on my right hand. "What happened to your hands?"

"I fell on glass."

"Does it hurt—" Her eyes widened. "Who are _they_?"

Both guards stood at the gate, studying the house as if deliberately avoiding looking at us. Indrahui did not show this type of affection in public. " _Gamra_ sent two bodyguards."

Eva's frown deepened. "For you?"

"Yes. I'm a _gamra_ delegate now, remember?" My attempt at an upbeat tone fell flat. I didn't even feel optimistic myself. I began to think that I, too, would be more at ease once I had left.

Eva's throat worked. "Is that because you. . . ? You know they say _gamra_ are responsible for the attack on the president?"

The gaping hole of insecurity inside me grew. "A lot is being said right now. Most of it is nonsense."

Eva nodded, said nothing about what she believed; and, somehow, I really wanted to know. Was she taken in by the media hype? Was she curious about what had really happened? She studied international politics. What did she think?

There was no time to discuss. The curtains at the bay window stirred. Hidden by folds of gauze, her parents would be watching.

"Do those men . . . come in?"

I could see her brain working. They hadn't catered for two extra mouths; she wasn't sure what they ate. _Gamra_ people was a sore subject with her father anyway—

"Eva, you don't need to feed them. They're professional bodyguards. They can look after themselves."

A tiny frown crossed her face. "In the rain?"

I flooded with warmth. Eva cared; yes, she would get used to living in Barresh. She might be scared and bewildered at first, but she would be fine.

"I'll let them come into the kitchen. At least it's dry and warm there."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate that. — _Mashara._ "

The men came up the path, meeting me like glistening obsidian statues come to life.

"This is a private gathering for me; there is no risk to my person here. I would appreciate—for the sake of my host—if _mashara_ would not come into the room with me. The lady says there is a place to wait, out of the rain." Never mind what the Polish cook would feel about this extraterrestrial invasion of his domain.

The guard with the sunglasses said, "This is the personal residence of Nations of Earth ambassador of Poland, Zbrowsky?"

I nodded. "I'm contracted to his daughter." Not the same as engaged, but close enough.

" _Mashara_ advises caution with the ambassador." So, they'd worked out that Eva's father was a supporter of Danziger's. Not bad at all.

"Don't worry. Really, _mashara_ , this place is my second home." Was that a slight flick of the eyebrows I saw? "The lady invites you in. I suspect you'd appreciate waiting some place dry."

Mind your pronouns, Delegate.

Faces impassive, the men bowed to Eva, and she blushed. "Oh, aren't they just gorgeous?"

I hissed a whisper, "Eva, they understand Isla."

"Oh." Her cheeks grew even redder.

I followed Eva into the house, the two men walking a step or two behind. I was cold. Nervous. Not in the mood for pomp and ceremony. Realised that what I wanted most right now was privacy. Just me and her in a nice little restaurant, talking about—well—us, without half the world listening in. But of course that was out of the question.

Into the hall. The floor, the walls, the curving staircase all glared white with artificial marble. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, some grotesque bird's nest of glitters and dangles. Palms grew in brass pots on either side of the living room door. Smells drifted from the kitchen, at the end of the corridor that led off the hall.

I glanced at the dark cavity at the top of the staircase. Eva's room was up there, although I had seen it only twice, and she had been too nervous to enjoy the kiss I had thought to steal in the privacy of lace curtains, down-filled bedcovers and ruffled pillows. A good Catholic girl did not take her boyfriend to her room. Anyone in a position of note, who possessed a contract for the intent of marriage, did not misbehave for fear it might be used against them—mainly by news services like Flash.

"Oh, poor Cory." Eva's mother had come to the door of the living room, dowager hips straining at her green velvet dress.

She enfolded me in a hug heavy with perfume. Her lips smacked the air, just missing my cheeks. "Come inside, you poor thing. We were waiting for you."

At that moment, my comm unit beeped. Wincing, I fished it out of my pocket and recognised the ID by the time I had managed to attach the earpiece to my ear. Ouch—damn those bandages. "Delia?"

It wasn't Delia, but her secretary: Delia wanted to see me tomorrow morning. I started to protest that I was leaving tomorrow morning, but caught Eva's dagger glance.

I ended the conversation quickly, but had barely taken two steps before the unit beeped again. Some unknown ID. Local. Nixie Chan, I guessed.

A dainty hand closed over the comm unit, and Eva's brown eyes met mine. "No. You're not bringing that thing inside. Turn it off."

"But this is important. Nicha . . ." I tried to free the unit without hurting my hands too much.

"You are about to leave for six months, and I don't want to share you with Nicha. Just for dinner, one evening. Nicha is not going to run away."

I met her eyes, wordless, while the unit still emitted muffled beeps. No, Nicha was definitely not going to run away since he was in jail, and in case she hadn't noticed, he was innocent. Nicha was my _zhayma_. Nicha was my work, and my work was my life. Nicha was more important than . . .

Than Eva?

I sighed, cut off the beeping and unclipped the earpiece. All right, I'd have dinner with the family without electronic interruption, but I was _not_ switching the unit off altogether. I called, " _Mashara_."

The closest guard took the unit from me.

I said, in Coldi, "Please answer any calls. Come and get me if it is vitally important."

The man nodded and retreated towards the hall.

It was warm in the living room, with a scent of cigar smoke as a blue mist in the air. A fire blazed in the hearth and the big dining table, with a pristine white tablecloth and delicate antique chairs, was set with gold-rimmed plates of two sizes, long-stemmed wine glasses, serviettes and finger bowls; the diplomats loved their mock-Victorian style and manners.

Eva's father stood staring out the window, hands clasped behind his back. When I came in, he held out his hand, but grinned sheepishly when his gaze fell on my bandaged palms. "I guess I shall not shake your hand today."

A thin man, from whom Eva had inherited her sharp nose, he wore his hair and beard cropped short, both now more grey than brown. His eyebrows, long and bushy, had been fashioned into two tufts that stood out from his forehead like a billygoat's horns. A smile wrinkled the skin around his eyes. "I heard you got caught up in a bit of trouble." His accent was not as heavy as Eva's mother's.

"Just a bit," I said and we laughed. As ambassador for Poland, Eva's father would know all there was to know. He had probably spent all day talking about it.

He asked, "Any news about the president?"

I shook my head. "Sadly, no."

He heaved a sigh and we let the worry hang unspoken between us. "Drink?"

"Sure." One did not refuse a Polish host's liquor. But oh, I had trouble keeping my eyes open in this stuffy room all of a sudden.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing at the velvet-covered couch.

"Thank you, but I think I'll stand for a bit, or I'll fall asleep." I went to the window and looked into the sad remains of the garden. An electric bus rumbled through the street. I wondered where that white car was. "Foul weather."

"Yes." Eva's father opened the door to the cabinet next to the hearth. "Will be a lot better where you're going, I bet."

"Don't know that I'd call it better." Barresh was hot and muggy, but I loved its violent monsoonal storms, with winds that ripped millions of petals off the trees that grew everywhere on the islands and whirled them about like pink clouds. I could almost smell the ever-present scent of hot springs—rotten eggs, some said, but for me, the smell signified relaxation in one of the many public baths. Me and Nicha, and some strange fruity drinks.

"Oh, Dad, don't talk like that." Eva had come up behind me, her warmth and perfume radiating from her. "I want tonight to be fun, so don't you talk about leaving all the time."

I stroked her cheek with my thumb, staring at her moist lips. "Don't worry. I'll talk about whatever you want." Oh, how I wanted to kiss her. Somehow, I would have to get a few private moments tonight.

Her father pulled a bottle out of the cupboard and put it on the table. Clear fluid sloshed behind a white and red label. I cringed. Not the Sliwowica—that stuff was seventy percent alcohol and I was one hundred percent jet-lagged and didn't think that would make a happy combination.

Eva's father again bent into the cupboard, then turned to Eva and said something in Polish about there not being enough glasses.

Eva started across the room, but her father called her back. He said something else in an even lower voice, also in Polish, but I picked up the word _chans_ , accompanied by a glance towards the hall.

Eva's eyes met mine before she opened the door, and I hated the apology that hovered in them. She didn't need to apologise for her father's opinions. Like so many of the older generation, he was so afraid of everything to do with _gamra_ , he didn't know how to use the word properly. The derogatory term "chans" had come about when Coldi on Earth disguised themselves as Chinese and had used the last name Chan so much that real Chinese people with that name had scrambled over themselves to change their name to Chen or Chang. My guards weren't chans.

The fire popped in the silence Eva left behind.

I decided to bury the issue by facing it. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you by bringing the two men here. They're my assigned bodyguard."

The horned eyebrows rose. "Nations of Earth security doesn't assign you a guard, after what you've witnessed?"

"They _are_ my guard. Half my contract is paid by _gamra_."

Eva's father snorted. "Lunacy. The entire world is turned upside down by this cowardly attack. You should stay here until the emergency council has come out of their meeting and has advised the general assembly tomorrow."

Oh. Fucking. Hell. The emergency council was sitting. That's why I couldn't get onto Danziger.

Fuck. Heat rose to my cheeks as I stared unseeingly out the window.

_I should have been invited._ Wasn't that why they were paying me—to act as mediator? Who else currently in Rotterdam could put forward the _gamra_ position, the position of the accused?

I brought my hand to my pocket, remembered I'd given my comm unit to the guards, and then just stared, speechless. Even my ears glowed with anger. Damn it—damn it!

Eva's father was still talking. ". . . The whole situation is not stable and I don't think Danziger should have acted without approval of the emergency council."

"I am a mediator. I do not thoughtlessly abide by what Nations of Earth says. It is my task to help solve difficult situations, not perpetuate them." My reply came out far too sharp, but oh damn it, I was angry. Was Danziger already shunting me aside?

"You would be advised to adhere to the emergency council resolutions."

"The emergency council does not dictate my actions." The president did, and Chief Delegate Akhtari—all the conditions were spelled out in a long document that had been picked apart and rewritten so many times that I might as well have stamped it on my forehead. And now they'd thrown out all those negotiations and done their own thing without my involvement.

"Then it should. After this . . . this talk of conspiracies in Barresh—"

"It's a movie!"

"There is plenty of truth in it. Danziger should ask for an explanation of what happened to Kershaw—"

"There was an explanation. Twenty pages of it, circulated to all Nations of Earth delegates." He would have seen it, too.

"Hmph. We are meant to believe what they said without being able to check for ourselves? No, it tells me that they aren't playing honest. Isn't it telling that someone from the Union has found the supposed fake allegations in the movie close enough to the truth to take revenge?"

"That's not true." My voice was much more heated than he deserved.

"Prove it, prove it!" Eva's father banged his hand on the table with each word. The plates rattled.

"I will, if I'm allowed to do my job."

Eva's mother interrupted. "Stop it, stop it, with the crazy politics."

Her husband glared at her in the tense silence.

I sank down on the springy cushions of the couch, wincing when my hands touched the armrests. Normally, I liked discussing politics with Eva's father, but today's issue had lost its appeal.

Eva came back with the glasses. Her father poured and handed out the drinks, still in relative silence.

Eva settled on the couch next to me. "Are you tired?"

Exhausted. I'd lie down and fall asleep immediately. "When I'm with you, I'm never tired." I kissed her forehead.

"I know. You just keep going and going."

Her father said, "That's the good thing about you. With a lot of hard work, maybe one day you'll come to your senses." _Your senses_ being his side of politics. And that, accompanied with a bittersweet smile, was as much of a compliment as I was ever going to get from him. Strangely, I liked the man; he was always true to his word and his principles.

I smiled at Eva. "I have to rest some time."

How much would I give to do it next to her, to watch the news together and talk about it without her father's opinions, to drink a glass of wine, to peel off that dress. . . . I kissed her again, softly, on her nose.

Eva's father cleared his throat and raised his glass. "Well, let's just say: to the start of your job."

Eva clinked her glass against mine. Her eyes glittered. Oft-spoken words of worry passed unspoken between us.

As the tiny sip I had taken burned its way down my throat, Eva's mother said, "We have news, too." Her tone was laden with meaning.

Eva straightened, her hands jammed between her knees.

Her mother breathed in self-importantly. "Eva will graduate when you come back."

"She will . . ." I met Eva's eyes, brimming with tears.

She nodded. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes, it is. I thought you wouldn't be finished until next year."

"So did I, but I've heard I can do both Global Economics and International Law in the next semester. It will be really busy, but you're not going to be here, so I thought . . . Isn't it great, Cory?" In her eyes lay the words she didn't say: _Now we can get married._

I stared at her. With the alcohol and the lack of sleep, my head felt even woollier than before. It wasn't that I didn't want to marry Eva—there was no question about that; I had signed the official intent. There was nothing barring us. We both had White permits, and Eva had passed her genetic test. I had stressed that my mother had died of a non-hereditary cancer, waving a declaration signed by my father four years ago. I remembered that visit to Lunar base, where he worked back then. His mouth had been twitching when he read through the document, and he'd mumbled things like, _We don't know that it was non-hereditary . . ._ and _What is Earth coming to? This is the biggest load of moondust I've ever seen . . ._ and, _Well, son, if you think it will get them off your back . . ._ Then he had scrawled his signature on the pad, and impressed his ID.

He'd returned the reader to me and said, _I guess you really love the girl._

And I did. It was just that, at the moment, with all this mess, with Nicha locked up and me unsure what was happening, a wedding was the last thing on my mind. So soon, so definite. I swallowed. "So . . . when is the graduation?"

"I can put it off until you come back. Then we can have a graduation party and . . ."

No excuse for delaying.

Stiff and sore, I slipped off the couch, taking Eva's hand in my bandaged ones. "Eva, when I come back, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Cory." She flung herself in my arms.

Ouch, that hurt. But I savoured her warmth. I knew I would be vulnerable alone in Barresh, and it would be better if Eva came. It was too late now, but when I returned to deliver my first report to Nations of Earth, Eva would come back with me. Eva would be my wife.

Her father went around with the bottle, topping up the glasses. "We drink to that."

# 6

**J** UST BEFORE DINNER, I escaped into the hall with the excuse of checking on the guards. Of course, I wanted to make a few calls, and felt a cheat for doing so, but I simply had to know if anything of note had happened. I didn't expect the emergency council to have concluded their meeting, but part of me was still seething about not being invited, even though I accepted that it was too late now to try to get in. I'd had my chance and, for whatever reason, when I faced him in his makeshift office, Danziger had chosen not to invite me.

I found the two guards in the furthest corner of the kitchen, the subject of shifty-eyed glances from the cook. Two empty soup bowls stood on a nearby table. The men sat on their knees, a veritable showcase of electronics spread out on the floor between them. Screens flickered, lights blinked.

With a sinking feeling, I recognised my comm unit in the middle of the electronic tangle. " _Mashara_ , anything wrong?"

Moss-green eyes met mine. "The unit, Delegate. It had a listening bug. _Mashara_ has disabled it."

"It had . . ."

I stared. A listening bug. Spyware. My first thought was that people were welcome to spy. I had nothing to hide. On the other hand, my midnight conversation with Delia hadn't been so glamorous, and . . . Nicha's father. _Shit_. I could already see the headlines: _Asto plans military action to free suspect_.

"Has _mashara_ confirmed where it came from and who has been listening?"

One of the guards held the unit out to me. I recognised the ID on the screen. Delia? It was suddenly too hot in the kitchen.

"Is it safe to use now?"

"It is, Delegate."

"Thank you."

I picked the unit up between my left wrist and the tips of my right hand taped-together fingers, put it on the table, looped the earpiece over my ear and punched the ID with my free thumb.

Delia answered within two rings.

"What the fuck is this, Delia?"

The cook gave me a wide-eyed look over his shoulder.

"Cory? What are you talking about?"

"Listening to me, spying on me. My staff have just identified a listening virus in my comm unit that came from you. I—"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't like being accused."

"Then get your surveillance off me. I'm being followed. My communications are being tapped. The police tell me that Nicha made a call to request assistance, but he hasn't been allowed to call anyone, has he? What the fuck is going on? Do you want to solve who shot the president, or do you want to blame the first person who comes along in absence of a real suspect? Do you—"

_Click._

She'd broken the connection.

I tried again, but the number was dead. No answer.

Eva and her parents would probably be waiting for me, but I quickly tried Amarru's number. She was busy.

Then, in a fit of despair, I entered the number of the person who had been trying to contact me when Eva told me to switch the unit off.

It rang a few times before someone answered, "Nixie Chan." The typical Coldi deep honeyed tones of her voice almost made me cry with relief. I switched to Coldi.

"Nixie, my name is Cory Wilson, and I—"

"Ah, I tried to contact you earlier."

"I know. I was busy. I'm sorry. I hear Amarru has asked you to look after Nicha's case."

"She has. It's beyond belief. No one has heard from him. I've been asking to see him all day."

"He can't possibly have been involved in the attack on the president. I left him in the foyer—"

"I know. You watch it. I'll get him out. If I'm not getting anywhere tonight, Danziger is not going to know what hit him tomorrow. I don't think anyone in this city knows how many businesses we Coldi own. If you have any warm clothing, keep it handy, because we're going to turn off the city heating."

Even while the heating was still working, a chill tracked down my spine; within _gamra_ , this would provide ammunition for those who said that Asto was taking over Earth by stealth. "Thank you for your support, but don't you think that—"

"We'll get him out. Don't worry. We have everything organised."

That was just what I feared. "Thank you."

"No, thanks to you. If this goes to court, we'll get the opportunity to prove the illegality of the citizenship case. We'll—"

I heard the distinctive clang of the living room door.

"Nixie, by the way, do you have any thoughts on the sort of weapon that may have been used?" I came very close to mentioning the red circle of light, but all sorts of shit would fly if Danziger found out I had breached my promise. Besides, like Nicha, she didn't see the colour red; few _gamra_ people did.

"No, I don't. It is rather strange, though. There is no vantage point to shoot from. I'm not convinced that something _was_ shot, in fact. There are no traces of explosives."

She'd been doing her research. More often than not, I wondered how the Coldi got all those data so easily.

"I still think it sounds like _gamra_ technology. It's definitely not local."

"Agreed, but—"

The door to the kitchen opened, letting in Eva. "Cory where are you—oh!" Her eyes widened. Concern. Annoyance. Anger. I wasn't sure what to make of her expression. Probably all three.

I said, in a low voice, "Sorry, Nixie, I have to go."

"Trouble?"

"Family dinner. Let me know if there are any important developments."

"I will."

"Thank you."

I disconnected and pulled the earpiece off. "I'm sorry, Eva, but things are happening that are too important."

She shrugged. "Dad always says that, too."

Anger, then. A seed of annoyance crept up in me. What did she expect? That I spliced myself in two pieces?

I handed the unit back to the guards, and followed Eva out of the kitchen.

In the hall, she turned so abruptly I almost crashed into her. Tears welled in her eyes. And then she was in my arms.

"Eva, I'm really sorry. I really am, but—"

"You're so distracted tonight."

"I'm sorry. I'm tired. One doesn't get shot at every day." It was a lame attempt at levity.

"Oh, you poor thing." She closed her arms around me, and I lost myself in the rush of a rose-scented kiss.

A maid cleared her throat as she walked past carrying a tray with dishes.

Eva broke the kiss and she straightened the collar of my shirt. "You should really have put on a clean jacket."

"I know, but all my spare clothes are in Athens." I'd taken a spare shirt, but hadn't seen the need to drag along a spare jacket for a two-day visit.

In the living room the maid was unloading her tray onto the table. Wine sparkled in glasses, and the smell of something Polish and hearty hung in the air.

We sat down. I forced myself to relax for Eva's sake. I ate and drank more than was good for me. I talked more than was good for me, too, Eva's hand on my knee under the table.

For once, talk was not about politics, but about churches, halls and dresses. I itched to go back to the hotel, but every time I thought to bring the subject up with Eva, she seemed to know what I was about to say and I relented. I was leaving after all, and in the last few months I had given Eva far too little of my time. If I wanted to be a good husband, I needed to put in a better effort, much better.

It got late, and then it got very late.

A maid came in with candles and Eva's father stoked the fire.

In the shelter of the bay window, I stole a few kisses, and could almost taste the day she would be mine. Then I wondered how Nixie was going, and how people would react to whatever she planned for tomorrow.

I was ready to leave some time after 2 am, shocked into silence by the harsh light in the hall, and the unflattering reflection of myself in the mirror—red-eyed, white faced, and not quite steady on my feet. Eva was right—the jacket was disgusting.

Eva's father wanted to call for a taxi, but one of the guards nudged my arm. "Delegate, _mashara_ prefers we arrange our own transport."

The feel-good cocoon of food and alcohol evaporated in about one-hundredth of a second. The guard showed no outward sign of emotion, but I knew the subtleties. Something had happened while I was at dinner and I was sure the guards wouldn't tell me until we were in that taxi that probably waited around the corner.

I turned to Eva's father who would not have understood the guard's Coldi. "They have already arranged a car."

Eva's father laughed, not entirely genuine. "Well, I suppose they could have done that."

Both guards made no reaction, although I had no doubt they would have understood the barb.

I faced Eva, still so pretty at that unholy hour.

Her mouth twitched. "So . . . what time does your train leave tomorrow?"

That brought me fully back to the harsh reality. I held two tickets for the train back to Athens for ten tomorrow morning, but would I go?

Eva's face creased. "Cory?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. At this stage, I'm not even sure I'm going."

I sighed at the hopeful spark in her eyes. Of course I knew she didn't want me to go, but it hurt to see it acknowledged. "I'll let you know."

The maid said, "There's a taxi outside."

See, I'd been right.

I kissed Eva, said goodbye to her parents and followed the two guards into the rain.

Except the car wasn't a regular driverless taxi; it was one of the very few privately-owned vehicles in the city. Nothing on the doors or windows alluded to its owner, except the driver, whose Coldi ponytail glittered in the streetlight. A _gamra_ contact then, someone out of the database.

Shit. If they didn't even trust taxis, something had happened indeed. The guard held open the door.

I settled in the back seat and forced a smile as I waved to Eva. Her face showed no concern, thankfully. No doubt everything _would_ be fine, but just now, it would be nice if someone told me what was going on.

Doors slammed. The electric motor whined and we were off.

" _Mashara_ , I'm sure it is time to tell me what this is about. You _are_ aware that I no longer have my feeder?"

The guard didn't answer immediately; he was fiddling with his comm unit. The holo-screen lit his face with a bluish glow.

"Delegate." He bent forward, peeling the earpiece off.

I attached the device to my ear.

Someone said, "Cory?" In that warm-hued tone between male and female. Coldi.

I recognised the voice. "Amarru."

"Where are you now?"

"I just got in the car."

"Tell the driver to avoid the city bypass."

"What?"

"Just tell him, right now."

"All right." I relayed the message. The driver grumbled that he was aware of trouble.

"Amarru, can you tell me what this is about?"

"First up, there is a car behind you."

I looked over my shoulder, but saw only an empty street. "I know that."

"There is also a group of _police_ at the hotel, and there is a trap on the bypass. Our bugs are better than theirs, Cory."

"Thank you." I made every attempt not to sound sarcastic, but I felt sick. The concepts "ours" and "theirs" were becoming horribly blurred. "Does this mean I am being targeted now?"

"Have you heard the press release from the emergency council?"

"No. I was at a family dinner." See? I shouldn't have given in to Eva; I should have kept my unit. I swear every time I had no communication I missed something important. Damn, damn it.

"The meeting only lasted about an hour and a half. Must be a record. Wait, I'll read this out." There was some rustling and clicking. "The Emergency council of Nations of Earth has declared that following the attack on President Sirkonen, member nations must ensure full cooperation to find and bring to trial the perpetrators, and has sanctioned the use of all available means in doing so. . . ."

"All available means? But . . ."

"That means using armed forces if necessary."

A chill went down my spine. "That could mean war."

"Danziger has just declared a state of emergency for Rotterdam. Already, there are riots in a number of places. People are looting shops owned by Coldi. And yes, the _police_ want to talk to you. We've picked up some communication to that extent."

"Shit. Are they going to give me the same treatment as Nicha?"

"I can't answer that, but I have an offer: we can guarantee _gamra_ protection on a flight that leaves for Athens in about an hour's time."

Leave Rotterdam. Now. That was as strong a suggestion as she had ever given me.

"I can't. Not without Nicha."

"I think Nixie is doing her best on that front. Nothing I can do; nothing you can do."

I swallowed hard. "My luggage is at the hotel." Buying time, surely.

"That's been taken care of."

I glanced over the seat. My suitcase lay in the back.

The car braked suddenly. The driver let out a fluent curse in Coldi and swerved into a side street. Between the two front seats, I glimpsed two police vans parked across the road.

Then we plunged into darkness. The driver hit the brakes as ahead of us, automatic gates swung open. We went down a hill, into a mass of buildings shrouded in darkness. I'd come this way to Eva's house often enough to know where we were heading: one of the city's Blue zones, where refugees, the poor and ill, lived in half-submerged high-rise buildings, and where gangs that prowled the waterways named themselves after the condition that stopped them getting jobs in the White zones: the Blind Bats, the Wheelies, that sort of thing.

Blocks of units lined the street, with only a few scattered lights. Most of the windows were dark, the glass broken. Discarded furniture and rubbish lined the street, leaving barely enough space for vehicles. A tram rumbled in front of us, honking its horn. It slowed, and slowed even more.

"What's all this about?" The driver threw the guard a glance and craned his head, but even in the back I could see that there was no room to overtake the tram.

From further down the street came shouts and the tinkling of breaking glass. People ran across the road. A couple of figures threw rocks at a building on the right. Their faces lit up with flashes of orange. Fire?

There was a "poof" of an explosion and a group of young men rushed past, some of them weaving their way between rubbish piles in homemade wheelchairs.

The guard next to me unclipped one of his guns from its bracket, his dark face all tension.

" _Mashara_?"

He shook his head, pressing his free hand to the earpiece; he glanced over his shoulder. A taxi and a bus waited behind us. No white cars.

The tram stopped in a small square. I realised this was a regular stop, because there was a platform with a sign on which I could just make out the letter L; the rest had broken off. Sure enough, this was the suburb of Lombardijen, hotbed of illegal and riotous activities.

Behind the tram stop were a couple of shops, and flames billowed from one of them. Silhouetted against the orange glow, figures ran towards the tram, carrying burning pieces of wood.

The tram's passengers rose from their seats and crammed towards the back. A woman screamed.

"Get ready to take us out of here," the guard next to the driver said.

I couldn't see how; we were stuck. My heart was thudding in my chest. As long as no one discovered who, and what, we were . . .

The guard next to me nudged the control button for the window so it opened a slit. He pushed his sunglasses onto his forehead and with the other hand raised the gun so the barrel stuck out between the glass and the window frame.

Two figures in black ran past the side of the tram, holding burning pieces of wood. Eyes glinted in our direction. One of the men shouted, "Chans!"

The guard tensed.

I yelled, "Don't shoot!"

The other guard bellowed, "Now!"

The guard next to me stiffened.

I ducked.

I felt, rather than saw, the weapon discharge. The air crackled and chilled my skin.

The engine roared like I didn't know electric engines could. Tyres screeched. The car shot forward, bumped one wheel onto the kerb. The wheels crunched through rubbish, slipped. The engine churned and screamed. Something hit the side door with a thunk.

Then the car shot away and the glow of fire and the screams faded. Sirens wailed somewhere close, came towards us, and passed.

Still the car gathered speed. I didn't know there were city cars that could go this fast; the Coldi owner had probably inserted some non-Earth technology.

Slowly I raised my head from my knees.

"Are you all right, Delegate?" the guard next to me asked. He still held the gun. The metallic smell of discharge filled the car. I felt sick.

"You didn't. . . ?"

" _Mashara_ aimed away from live targets."

Meaning what? That he hadn't deliberately shot at people but might have hit some by mistake?

Oh shit, oh holy shit.

"To clear the way for the vehicle, Delegate."

I blew out a breath.

I could still hear a tinny voice somewhere, but a glance over my shoulder only revealed an empty street. Dilapidated apartment blocks, crossings, trams whizzed by. The driver and the guard were talking about directions, arguing over the navigator screen about the best way to go.

Then I realised that the muffled voice I kept hearing was Amarru's. My earpiece had fallen onto the seat between my legs.

I fumbled to pick it up—damn, my hands hurt—and reattached it to my ear.

"Amarru?"

"Cory, are you still there?"

"I'm sorry. We just hit . . . one of the riots . . . I think."

"Are you all right? Did I hear a discharge?"

"Yes. I don't think any damage was done. I think we have gone off course a bit. Where are we?" It was dark on both sides of the car.

"Diversion," the driver replied, his attention firmly on the road. He was swerving around obstacles and, every now and then, there was the sound of the tyres hitting water. Definitely still outside the White zone. "Ask her where else there is trouble."

Amarru said, "Put me on to him."

She gave me the code to patch his feeder through the unit. A data-transfer icon blinked in the middle of the holo-screen; Amarru's voice fell quiet. The piece of Earth technology wasn't rigged up to deal with both types of communication at the same time. I cursed myself that I couldn't listen. This would have been so much easier if I still had my feeder.

For a few minutes, no one said anything. The driver sat silent, his eyes on the road, while trying to break the speed record for electric cars on badly-maintained roads that were half underwater.

Then the car charged up a dike. A gate materialised out of the dark and behind it, a well-lit road with blinding headlights of buses and taxis. The driver thumbed his comm unit, and the gate swung open. He steered the car through, looking in the rear-vision mirror.

I glanced over my shoulder; between the gates which were closing again, the road was empty.

The car swung onto the main road, following the fence line. On the other side moonlight glimmered on water.

The icon at the unit blinked off and sound returned to my earpiece.

"We're going to the airport, aren't we?" I asked Amarru.

"That's where I've directed him to go."

"Do I get a say in this?"

"I'm offering a way to safety, Cory. Take advantage of it. I can't guarantee no one will kill you if you stay here. We both know it's the right thing to do. _Gamra_ has no responsibility for the attack on the president. You haven't done anything. Nicha hasn't done anything. We are not letting Nations of Earth suggest we did, or letting them dictate the terms. We will talk, but on our terms, and not under threat. _Iyamichu ata_."

That was it then. She threw the gauntlet, asked me to repeat the pledge to follow her, as I'd heard Coldi soldiers did before going for a mission. She could demand that of me; she was my superior in the loyalty network. What else could I do? If what had happened to Nicha was a guide of what I could expect, my options were limited.

Still, I stalled. "Is there a point in trying to get through customs? If the police want to intercept me, I won't be allowed to leave the country."

"I said that our bugs are better than theirs. We guarantee this flight only. Get out, Cory, while you can."

No other option. " _Iyamichu ata_."

"Good. Have a nice trip. I'll see you when you get here."

# 7

**T** HE AIRPORT.

Glaring lights reflected in puddles outside the terminal. Taxis and buses waited for bleary-eyed passengers who streamed out of the building, suitcases in tow like little doggies.

I stumbled out of the car at the drop-off area, the meal and alcohol consumed at Eva's house heavy in my stomach and my decision heavy on my mind. Did pressure exerted by Amarru justify leaving Nicha? Would Nicha forgive me? Was I doing the right thing? I didn't know.

As diplomat, I was supposed to have carefully considered answers, but right now, I had none. I longed for a shower and a clean bed. I was a buggered-around runty pig that had missed the feed trough.

One of the guards took my luggage and led the way into the harsh light of the terminal. I fiddled with my comm unit. " _Mashara_ , can I at least let Eva know that I'm leaving?"

The guard shook his head ever so slightly. "With respect for you safety, Delegate, not now."

"I have to let someone know, or everyone will think that this is a kidnapping. _Gamra_ will be blamed even more. How about my father?" The guards would know my father wouldn't run to the press. He was retired, a New Colonist himself, and didn't hold much love for suspicious media.

" _Mashara_ regrets not. Chief Delegate Akhtari's orders. Until _gamra_ sources establish responsibility, it will be assumed that since the first attempt on the Delegate's life failed, the perpetrators will try a second time. Since we are now in hostile territory, let us move." He gestured at the flight counter, where a smiling, blue-eyed girl was staring at our extraterrestrial party.

_Hostile territory?_

All right—it _was_ a form of kidnapping then. _You'll take one of ours—we'll take one of yours_. While Nicha was held by the police, I was to face the wrath of _gamra_ 's Chief Delegate Akhtari, a dragon with a reputation of spitting fire. On the other hand, I'd get more information out of her than the police would get out of Nicha. Information that might be useful in getting him released.

I nodded to the guards. "Let's go then."

True to Amarru's word, my ID scanned without hitch. Right now, I didn't want to know how she achieved it, but I'd long suspected that all those computer chips, especially ones made in Japan and China early in the 21st century, had been seeded with little Coldi routines that no one noticed but could be called up with special commands. Those commands Amarru had activated on my behalf, and if this came out . . . I didn't want to know, I just didn't.

From the customs gate, the guards led me straight to the plane. My hasty entry, while the engines were already running, caused raised eyebrows. Some passengers elbowed each other. Others pointed. Cory Wilson had become a celebrity for all the wrong reasons.

The airhostesses shut the door after me and bustled us to an empty row of seats. One of the guards sat next to the window; I, in the middle; the second guard in the aisle seat.

During taxi and take-off, I stared out the window at the few pinpricks of light that pierced the rain. Down there, Eva was asleep and knew nothing. Tomorrow morning, a few hours away, Delia would call to bluster at me over the meeting I was late attending, and Vice President Danziger would find his representative gone.

And a whole lot would fly besides this plane, but in one way or another, I would find a way to deal with that. I had one chance to prove myself worthy of this job, and this was it.

Into the lion's den, the cliché said.

By now, clouds obscured the last few lights and I leaned back in my seat.

The guard next to the window pretended to be asleep, but I didn't mistake the sensor behind his ear for a music player.

The other guard had taken out a pocket reader. He scrolled through text, but his eyes didn't move behind his sunglasses. Listening to something, it seemed.

I tapped the man's arm. " _Mashara_ , can I have my reader, please?"

The guard passed me the padded bag.

I put the reader on the folded-out table. While I flicked through the menus a hostess came with coffee, which I accepted gratefully.

Ah—the news. I skipped sections about rioting, deliberately, because there was nothing I could do about it, and Eva was down there. . . . Deep breath, Mr Wilson.

. . . Meanwhile, sources close to the family have confirmed that the president has responded to the presence of people around his bed. . . .

Well, that was a bit of good news. Maybe Danziger would not captain the ship just yet.

I flicked through the other news items.

Another transport strike.

Housing problems on Taurus to be fixed. An article by freelance journalist Melissa Hayworth.

The housing shortage in Arcadia worsened as desert sands claimed another suburb. This came at the time that the Taurus governor-elect Marius Sena announced a project to protect the outer suburbs of the city. . . .

So . . . Melissa Hayworth specialised in non-Earth affairs. Interesting.

A link on her name brought up her personal information. Single, no children. She had grown up in Germany, where her mother, after divorcing her first husband, had married a businessman by the name of Ludo Chan. Ah—that explained a lot.

_I know what it is like,_ she had said.

She _did_ know what it was like, living in two worlds. She was not so very different from me, having acquired a Damarcian stepmother when I was ten.

Melissa had done well at school and later won prizes for journalism. Frankly, she deserved better than Flash Newspoint.

The biography listed recent articles she had contributed, not just to Flash, but other news services as well.

_Union toys with us._ That gave her opinion loud and clear.

_It's official: believers are out._ That was not true, and I would have to fight to counter this perception, that somehow _gamra_ thought that religion was primitive and needed to be renounced before Nations of Earth had any chance of full membership of _gamra_. It was the Coldi perception, emphatically not the _gamra_ stand on the matter, and the two were not the same.

This morning's article was: _Vanished scientist had many secret ties._

Did this have something to do with non-Earth affairs? I followed the link.

Most people in weather forecasting know British scientist Elsi Schumacher for her Earth-spanning climate models which won her the prestigious Selinger Prize for Scientific Excellence two years ago. People would not associate her with dealings with powerful extraterrestrial governments. Yet this is what seems to be the case, and these ties may yet prove the key to her disappearance.

After Dr Schumacher failed to turn up for work on Monday, investigators have delved into her life for possible clues to her disappearance. She is unmarried, and a possible unconfirmed love interest is a colleague of hers who has repeatedly denied any involvement. Dr Smith says that their relationship was platonic, as "Dr Schumacher seemed always far too busy to invest time in personal relationships." It seems likely that the clues to her disappearance lie in her professional life. Recently, another side to this life has been revealed. Dr Schumacher had been working on a project funded by sources within the Union of Planetary Entities. . . .

Now that was interesting. Never mind that I got increasingly irritated with the insistence of the press on using that outdated and incorrect translation. It gave the impression that _gamra_ was an equivalent of Nations of Earth. It wasn't. _Gamra eysh' zhamadata_ meant _network of settled worlds_ , literally. _Gamra_ maintained the network, the Exchange, the only possible means of interstellar travel between the members, and all member entities had a say in its running, or, more precisely, who could use it and who couldn't.

I clicked on a link which showed pictures of Elsi at a dinner function with Coldi delegation members—I recognised none of them. Another picture had her sitting at the table next to, of all people, Sirkonen. The pair were deeply engaged in conversation, Sirkonen holding a glass of wine. What was he doing there? The caption said the picture was taken at a prize-giving ceremony. Perhaps Sirkonen had been there to hand out the science prize Dr Schumacher had won. Maybe. It seemed to me that he was far too much of a heavyweight to be present at a smallish ceremony, let alone to chat so informally with someone not in a high political position. I let it slide.

Back to Melissa's article.

No one at the Dawkins Centre for Climatic Research could confirm the exact nature of the project, only that Dr Schumacher had recently come under funding stress, and that she had perhaps over-stretched herself and her project members in order to secure funding. A colleague, who did not wish to be named, mentioned several visits from extraterrestrials—confirmed to be Coldi—at the scientist's lab. After at least one of these visits, she appeared to be agitated. However, searches on the Centre's computer have found nothing out of the ordinary. . . .

I linked through to the Dawkins Centre, where I found the scientist's name listed on the staff. Her personal area listed her prize and a description of the research, but there was also another link: _whole-planet modelling._

That brought up a selection of maps with coloured areas. One was of Taurus, sections of the continent shown in red and orange hues. That summed up how I felt about the four years I had lived there. Hot, hot, and hotter.

There was a map of Mars, too. New Taurus even, although that one had large areas of white.

Descriptions of weather patterns, air streams and weather trends. All based on the models that described the process of global warming as it had happened on Earth. Oh, I could well see the value of the expertise. Apparently, if fifty-year trends were to be believed, Taurus was in the process of becoming hotter, if that was at all possible. Just the thought made me sweat. A small ice age was expected for Earth within the next thousand years.

Wow. Interesting stuff. Bring on the mammoths.

I went through a few more screens. Coloured blotches superimposed over maps. Oceans, continents, mountain ridges.

Hang on—hadn't I seen a map like this before—in the information Sirkonen had given me?

I dug the datastick from my pocket and inserted it in the reader. The first page still came up empty. My mind filled in the blanks—A report written by Elsi Schumacher of the Dawkins Centre?

Yesterday, I had been too tired to notice much. Now the lines underneath the coloured sections stood out clearly. I was looking at a map of Asto, the Coldi home world. Two continents curved towards each other in mirrored moon shapes, a mountain ridge along a land-locked ocean. The continent on the left was home to the mega-city of Athyl, the epicentre of Coldi society. Beratha, the other major settlement centre, was on the second continent.

What did all these colours mean? Purple, blue and green, a bit like the reflections in Coldi hair. I flicked to the legend _predicted rainfall changes._

It rained little on Asto; large areas of the planet were dead and uninhabitable even to heat-adapted Coldi, and no other people could visit the planet. Asto's people found water in deep fissures that ran through the desert like lashes of a whip. They irrigated the desert, and grew mushrooms on the fissure walls, but much of Asto's food was imported these days, mostly from Ceren, the second world in the system, green and lush, and the home of the city-state of Barresh, _gamra_ headquarters.

I tilted my head sideways to read the small print on the map . . . the models predicted an increase in rainfall, and not just a little bit, either. Nasty stuff. Rain on Asto was high in acids, in hydrofluoric acid to be precise, stuff that ate its way even through glass.

But what about all this was so important to Sirkonen?

The guard tapped me on the arm, gesturing at the reader. "Does the Delegate want me to take that? We're about to land."

I hated going through the security checks at the airport in Athens at the best of times. Black-clad Nations of Earth personnel scanned all our luggage while surly Greek border guards with guns formed a lethal line keeping queued-up and impatient passengers in check. There were still people who didn't understand why, when passports and visas had been scanned and approved and luggage collected, there was yet another, far more intrusive, border check by Greek and Nations of Earth military.

Yet, failing any form of agreement between Nations of Earth and _gamra_ , these guards were the only line of defence against criminal elements from other worlds; Athens was a tightly-guarded exclusion zone. Getting out was even harder than getting in.

Did I have any forbidden items, such as weapons, spyware, electronics that could be turned into spyware—there was a long list.

I showed my reader and infusor. More guards were called, while the items went from hand to hand. I was flagged as an interplanetary passenger and Person Of Interest. They searched my bag, every item laid out on the table. Eyebrows rose at the sight of my bloodied shirt.

"Had an accident," I explained, and showed them my bandaged hands. My heart thudded, because I was certainly the very type of person these guards were here to stop leaving, but Amarru's promise held, and I walked into the terminal hall onto the only piece of land on Earth where _gamra_ people could come without Earth-based ID or visa.

A car with driver waited outside the building, the small _gamra_ symbol inconspicuously on the front passenger window. I knew the young man behind the wheel; he was a local who earned a bit of money while he studied law at University. It was comforting to see a familiar face.

He took my luggage while I slipped into the back seat, the guards in their usual positions.

Then we were off and the car slotted into the steady stream of buses and taxis.

There was no denying that the presence of the Exchange was beneficial to Athens. Although the ridiculous border control had done a pretty good job at killing tourism to the area, _gamra_ brought much business to the city, with riches that more often than not didn't originate on Earth. The entire streetscape reflected it in subtle ways: in the mixture of building styles; in the neat Coldi text on the walls of apartments, advertising, Coldi-style, who lived within; in the thick growths of oleanders planted in strict symmetrical patterns; in the kids whizzing down the footpath on board-scooters; in the maroon curtains and sheets flapping on washing lines.

Even in the way people on the street moved in groups of two, or four, or eight.

"You're very quiet today, Mr Wilson," the driver said.

I jolted upright.

We had left the traffic behind and now followed an oleander-lined road between six-storey blocks of concrete flats. "I'm tired."

"Late night?"

"Yeah." He could certainly say that again, and I wondered if he hadn't heard what had happened, but had no desire or energy to inform him. I was looking forward to a room in the short-term accommodation at the Exchange: a bath, clean clothes, and a good nap. The Exchange wouldn't open until after dark, a rule lingering from the time of hiding and secrecy, and kept that way because it suited arrangements with local air traffic control.

Stately houses behind high walls replaced the apartment blocks. Spreading pine trees provided dappled shade. The road wound lazily up a hill.

Almost there.

A man walked a dog past the cream-coloured wall that surrounded the Exchange complex. He gave our car no more than a cursory glance when we turned into the driveway.

The gates were closed, a solid wall of metal. I did a mental double-take. I'd first come here twelve years ago, and this had been my home for eight years. I had never seen the gates closed.

"Has there been trouble here, too?" A chill crept over my back; my lazy feeling of safety vanished.

"Not yet, but things are tense in some parts of the city. Nations of Earth sent an aircraft carrier into Piraeus late last night. Some people didn't like this and have been keeping the police busy." _Coldi_ protesters, no doubt. And police would be aided by Nations of Earth servicemen; I had no doubt about that, either. Anything to keep the Coldi faction under control. No, Nations of Earth didn't _like_ this little enclave of alien-ness, at all.

The sticker on the windscreen let out a tiny flash of light. The gates clicked open and moved inward, revealing the driveway lined with majestic date palms leading up to the building. Ten storeys, white, and looking very much like the private hospital it had once been.

Home.

Without Nicha.

As the car crawled up the driveway I glanced at the furthest wing which disappeared into the hillside. That part of the building was a recent addition. It spilled over with equipment to run the generator which powered the peripheral equipment of the Exchange. In the old days—and the original Exchange node had been built in 1968—the power-hungry devices frequently blacked out the entire city. Another reason why running at night made sense.

On old photographs, the hill was covered with pine trees, hiding the opening to the docks, a concrete maw which used to be a lot smaller than the present one. Now it was free of surrounding vegetation and . . . its metal shutter open?

_What the . . ._

The car stopped under the shady awning. I let myself out, and while I walked around the car to get my luggage, became aware of the buzzing of many voices. A sea of people crammed in the foyer of the building, a huge hall, normally almost empty.

I stopped, turning to the guards, another chill creeping up my spine. " _Mashara_ , what is going on?"

"People are scared. They are trying to leave. _Gamra_ have authorised emergency daytime departures."

The chill increased. Riots against Coldi shops and houses, the emergency council sanctioning military intervention, warships in port . . .

"Don't worry, Delegate. We have authorisation for preference. Let's go."

They rushed to the building, leaving no time or breath for questions.

Once the automatic doors opened, noise and heat washed over me. The hum of voices like angry bees. The guards cleared a way into the crowd. Their tall forms towered over the sea of Coldi heads, glistening like the inside of an abalone shell. I also spotted the diminutive forms of two Kedrasi with their distinctive fox-red hair and mottled skin, but those, and myself, were the only non-Coldi people. Haggard-looking families, surrounded by bags and boxes and suitcases and crying children, formed huge snaking lines before the counter against the far wall.

"Wait here, Delegate."

The guard with the sunglasses wrestled his way to the counter while the other remained with me.

In the far corner of the hall, people crammed before a wallscreen.

On the screen, a man stood behind a dais bearing the Nations of Earth symbol. His skin looked sallow and lights made sweat on his forehead glisten.

". . . a projectile, which pierced part of his lung and intestine. He was rushed into the hospital immediately, suffering internal bleeding. Doctors have been working since then to repair the damage and save his life. . . ." The man wiped his face. Silence hung heavy in the non-Earthly audience. "Unfortunately, the fight was lost about half an hour ago."

My heart skipped a beat. And another one. Sirkonen had _died_?

People stirred. A young Coldi boy standing on tiptoes in front of me asked the adult with him, "What is he saying?" He used the accusatory-he pronoun form.

"He says that the _president_ has died."

Through the roaring of blood in my ears, the voice of the Nations of Earth spokesman went on, ". . . I now pass the microphone to Acting President Sigobert Danziger, who will make a statement on behalf of the Nations of Earth executive committee and the emergency council."

Danziger came up to the microphone, a stunned, emaciated toad. He'd probably had less sleep than me.

He opened his mouth, but an announcement in the hall blurred his first words.

". . . will be assuming the presidency as of now. I will work with the committee appointed by President Sirkonen to hold new elections. Meanwhile, let it be known that no expense will be spared to uncover those guilty of this attack and bring them to trial. . . ."

A man next to me mumbled, "They say _we_ are responsible for the president's death." Also using the accusatory pronoun.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

"Delegate?" The guard gestured towards the counter. "The Delegate mustn't linger."

"This news is important, _mashara_."

"It is more important that the Delegate move to the counter." He held out his hand, showing a dark-skinned palm. "Delegate, please? The Delegate's documents."

I rummaged in my pocket and found my citizenship pass, which he gave to the woman behind the counter. The people in the queue shot me strange looks.

I subtly shifted the sides of my jacket, showing my shirt in _gamra_ blue. That earned me some respectful nods. Lips murmured, _Delegate_. I hated myself, drawing on status to jump the queue when all these people had much more pressing reasons to get out.

The female receptionist had my information up on the screen, in curly Coldi script. She took the black citizenship pass out of the reader and handed it back to me. "If the Delegate is so kind to follow _mashara_ to the departure hall, but please do not linger." Her voice was barely audible over the noise.

I followed the guards through the crowd, out the hall. We ran through the corridors, one guard in front, one behind. The guards' legs were much longer than mine, and they only had to jog to keep up with me, while I was going flat out, sweltering in the increasing temperature.

Nor were we the only people in a hurry. Families lugged big bags, their faces grim. Children cried; their parents shouted. Others tried to push past them. People massed at the doors where everyone needed to scan their citizenship cards.

Small trolleys ran along rails on the walls, quietly going about their business of deliveries, oblivious to the crowd.

A sea of people waited at the lifts; the guards urged me into the staircase, which was also full of people. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Some people just _couldn't_. There was a woman carrying twin toddlers while struggling with luggage. An old man needed to take the steps one by one, holding up the flow. The lift zoomed past, faces pressed against the cubicle's glass walls.

About fifteen sweaty minutes later, I burst into the light, heat and noise of the departure hall. At this time of day, it should have been dark and empty of life, but all lights blazed overhead. Aircraft occupied every bit of space of the ten levels of balconies around the huge hall's perimeter. People crowded around ground-hugging shapes with spreading wings. Cargo doors gaped. Shuttles for passengers, heavier craft for freight, even the smaller Trader craft with powerful engines, every single craft had opened its doors to the tide of Coldi refugees.

Engines fired up, whined. Lights flicked on and off. Doors thudded shut. The air hummed with communication, so much that crackles of charge zapped blue in midair where too many signals collided. I'd heard this could happen, but I had never seen it.

The guards urged me along the gallery, where a crowd was cramming up the stairs into a public shuttle, the same craft on which I had travelled on my earlier visits to Barresh, a sleek form, about the size of a medium-sized airliner, which made it large for _gamra_ transport. Ceiling lights reflected in its gleaming purple-tinted metal. Flashing pinpricks of red light lined the wings.

A woman in a temperature-protection suit called out, "1876-336 for Barresh?"

I recognised the code that identified me with the Exchange.

"Positive," one of the guards called. He didn't even breathe heavily after the run. "Go in, Delegate."

A siren hooted. From a level somewhere below, an explosive roar made the air vibrate. A silver shape shot across the hall. It flew into the tunnel, while a warning siren honked and the lower gallery jolted into movement, rotating slowly to position the next craft opposite the tunnel exit.

"Come, Delegate."

One guard on each side, I climbed the steps, to be greeted by the two staff.

"Delegate, _mashara_."

The air inside the cabin prickled my nose with that familiar metallic scent that characterised _gamra_ technology.

A hush accompanied me down the aisle. Turning heads, raised eyebrows, curious glances.

By far the majority of passengers were Coldi. Some had dyed their peacock hair black, but most had not. About two hundred, I guessed, in neat rows of seats, four to each side.

There was a row of three empty seats about halfway down. I sank down between my guards, sweating and puffing. Various items of clothing spilled out the luggage compartment under the seat, so I stacked my bag and reader at my feet. Staff rushed to take the items and secure them in the nets above.

Someone thudded the door shut. Air cyclers hissed humidity out of vents in the walls and ceiling, making my ears pop.

Two flight personnel strode to the front of the passenger compartment and clipped retractable metal wires to each other's harnesses. Both wore dark Pilot's Guild suits.

The engines started up, making the floor hum.

A light flashed on the far side of the departure hall. I peered at the window, but the reflection of the inside of the cabin stopped me from seeing much.

The pitch of the floor hum increased.

The lights inside the cabin went off. A child wailed.

Now I could see a door open and a group of five or six figures burst out onto the gallery outside. One of them stopped to speak into an earpiece, while the others ran forward, shouting, at us, it seemed. I craned my neck, trying to see what went on. An attendant tried to wave them away; one of the men was pointing. Agitated talk, with lots of hand signals.

The other passengers had seen them, too, and were gaping out the window.

A warning siren trumpeted sharp blasts of sound.

Then, with a sudden jump, the shuttle jerked into action. The lights in the hall flashed by. Several passengers had undone their seat belts and fell on top of one another. Shouts, scrambling. A child crying for its mother.

I was pressed in my seat.

Darkness, then bright daylight. The backrest of the chair became the floor. Wall panels vibrated with power.

I concentrated only on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. With this pressure on my chest, it was easy to forget.

One of the crew abseiled down from the front of the aisle to help stranded people back into their seats. Admonishing words were spoken. Passengers were to keep their seatbelts on at all times.

"But those men . . ." a woman protested.

"Nothing to do with us," the crewmember said, his face impassive. He handed the child back to its mother, then let himself down further towards the back of the craft, checking seat belts and luggage. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

The departure had been sudden, even for them. Almost as if the pilot got an order to get out immediately.

Next to me, the guard fiddled with the receiver on his belt. I tried to catch his attention, but he seemed absorbed in whatever he was hearing.

Gradually, the craft levelled out, while remaining in a steady climb. I could lift my head now and risked a glance out the window. The tapestry of Mediterranean islands stretched out below in patterns of blue, ochre and green. The horizon didn't curve. Yet.

To the right and slightly above us, I spotted the slight wave of air that indicated that another craft flew there. Below us was yet another. But below that, a few dark spots moved over the tapestry of hills, bays and islands.

I squinted, and the more I looked, the more black spots I discovered. At least fifty of them, flying in neat formation. _"Mashara_ , am I mistaken or are those aircraft?"

"They are, Delegate." The guard lowered his earpiece, and met my eyes. "Nations of Earth. Military hoverjets."

# 8

**H** OVERJETS—FROM the aircraft carrier that had come into the harbour last night. I could hear Amarru's voice _by all available means . . ._

A military blockade. I breathed in and out deeply, trying not to think of Nicha and all those others, trapped down there.

And yet I didn't understand. Yesterday, Danziger had wished me luck, reluctantly, but he had done it. A few hours later, he had authorised nothing less than war. Based on what?

I took my reader on my lap, but besides what I already knew, none of the news services offered answers. All had large headlines on Sirkonen's death, with pictures and obituaries. Few elaborated on the police investigation.

Danziger couldn't gag the media unless Nations of Earth declared a true state of emergency. Had they done that? A cold feeling crept over my skin while below me the planet that was my home receded. A feeling that the gates had closed, with me on the wrong side of the fence.

A wave of panic. I wanted to scream, _wait_ , and _Eva_. I wanted to be down there, to at least bash some sense into Danziger's dim-witted brain. What in hell's name did the man think he was doing?

Breathe in, breathe out.

There was nothing I could do.

And meanwhile, around me, life went on incredibly _normal_. There were relieved voices, some laughter even. I imagined people clapping each other on the shoulder. _Hey Dad, good that we moved when you said we should. We got out. We're going home._

Not me, not me.

The crewmembers moved about on their normal leads: those attached to rails along the ceiling. They carried baskets with meal packs, colour-coded and sealed, as well as covered containers with hot drinks, each with a bright red satchel that contained the straw.

Serving refreshments was something the Pilot's Guild had learned from observing human flights. No doubt local merchants and Traders had a hand in it, as they were always active when there was something to be sold. No doubt, too, there was a Coldi-owned business somewhere in Athens that made these food packs.

Apparently, selling something in midair created a problem, seeing one was not within the territory of one of the entities, so where did Trading levies need to be paid?

I was glad to leave that nasty bureaucratic problem to the authorities and simply gave my _gamra_ account to pay for my bag of nuts and a container of a hot drink the Coldi persistently called coffee, but had nothing to do with it.

For starters, it was dark green. It was made from one of the thousands of species of mushrooms native to the aquifers of Asto. It came in powder form and went into a filter like coffee. The Coldi word for it was _manazhu_. It was also very, very bitter, but did not contain acid or excessive levels of fluorides, as much Coldi food did, so was classified as a green-code. Strangely, and much to Eva's disgust, I had taken a liking to it. She said it made my breath stink. It tasted even better with a good dollop of rum, which probably made my breath stink even more.

I sipped, letting the liquid glide down my throat in small hot gulps that brought a sense of comfort back to my rattled mind.

_You have one shot at proving your worth, Mr Wilson._

One opportunity to come up with the goods, whatever form it would take. A truce, a solution, or merely a tempering of anger. If I could stop _gamra_ turning the clock back to the Kershaw days, if I could keep Nicha's father and his massive air fleet and their weapons firmly in Asto's air space, if I could shed some light on who could have attacked Sirkonen's office, how and why.

The sky was already quite dark. White clouds swirled in a pattern no one but an off-world traveller would ever see.

We must be almost at prescribed height.

I turned off and packed away my reader. The transfer would soon be upon us.

As if in answer, a voice came over the intercom. "The pilot has just requested transfer. Please make sure that any loose items are safely stowed."

In that moment of total nothingness, when the shuttle jumped through the network, when the Exchange cores down in Athens and the one in Barresh connected with each other and we were flung about like a pebble in a bucket, not once, but four times, the smallest piece of paper became a projectile.

I leaned back in my seat, feeling sick, wishing I hadn't eaten those nuts. This was the part I really, really hated. And I tried to reason away that irrational fear.

The light started flashing over the passengers' heads.

Eleven . . . ten . . . nine . . .

I grabbed the armrests, wishing I were somewhere else.

Eight . . . seven . . . six . . .

Passengers went oddly quiet, as if most were equally ill-impressed with the process.

Five . . . four . . . three . . .

Then to think that the Traders did this for a living, sometimes a few times a day. Jumping through the network like jellybeans, following daylight wherever people were awake enough to talk business.

Two . . . one . . .

Everything went white.

I floated in thin air; didn't feel the seat at my back or the seatbelt biting in my shoulders. I was flying in space without anything to support me. There was no noise, no movement, just utter stillness.

I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't see. I was _aware_ but wasn't, as such, alive. I had just ceased to be.

A flash of light. A rush of air.

Sensation returned. My heart went _thud_ , and _thud_ and _thud_. Life sped up. Everything around me—the backs of chairs, walls, the ceiling—took shape in rainbow-coloured hues which bled into each other until all colours overlapped. My ears echoed with a boom I had never heard.

And we still flew. I checked the clock on my comm unit. An hour and sixteen minutes had just disappeared.

Outside the window was nothing but darkness.

That was one transfer. Three more to go, with periods of waiting in between.

All of a sudden, a blanket of exhaustion fell over me. My destiny was no longer in my hands. I was beyond worry.

I leaned back in my seat, and did something I would not have thought possible: I fell asleep.

"Delegate." Someone shook my arm.

I jerked upright, squinting against a glare of sunlight which illuminated the face of one of the flight crew. "Please tighten your harness, Delegate. We're about to land."

I groaned, fishing on the seat for the straps which had loosened with my weight.

_Sunlight._

Did that mean I'd slept through the three other transfers? I checked my watch. It was about ten minutes behind the time we'd left Athens. Yup. That always happened. People argued over whether time had actually gone backwards or whether an entire day had gone, but when you jumped through the anpar lines, time was irrelevant, except that when you went back to your place of origin, time had progressed by roughly as much as you had travelled, never mind that time-keeping devices you took with you refused to measure travelling time.

The guard to my left leaned back in his seat, his open mouth emitting small sighs with every breath. I felt guilty—they would have been just as exhausted as I was. The other guard was digging under the seat for something that must have fallen. I was still shivery from being so rudely woken up. The uncomfortable position in which I had slept—my head bent back against the headrest—hurt my neck, but at least I felt a bit more refreshed. A tiny bit. Ready to handle whatever was thrown at me next.

The craft banked. The window to my left showed an expanse of water interspersed with reeds. The double shadow of the craft glided over the glittery surface, one side with a bluish rim and one with a yellow one, from the system's twin suns, the larger white F class Beniz and the smaller and yellow G class Yaza, two dots smaller than our sun close together, because we were further from them than the sun was from Mars. Not much of a chance to let me forget where I was.

Barresh. A powerful city-state on the world of Ceren.

Barresh, City of Islands.

Some of those islands were sliding into view. Each scrap of land overflowed with houses, little cubes of ochre stone. No two houses were the same, no street was straight, no market place rectangular. As much as the Coldi hated asymmetry, the Barresh locals felt uneasy about uniformity and sameness, or straight lines. Silver tracks of the railway linked the larger islands like threads in a spider web.

Lower, the craft went, and lower. Passengers in front of me were getting restless, collecting items from the nets, admonishing children.

We passed over water, interspersed with fields of green, boats and harvesters with agricultural produce, jetties and storage sheds, then ochre-tiled roofs, some with coiling patterns in grey.

The craft turned sharply and braked in midair. Hover engines came on and with its nose pointed slightly up, the shuttle floated down. The floor vibrated, until the landing gear hit the ground with a faint bump.

The engine hissed and whined in an ever-lower pitch.

As the crew unclipped their safety lines, passengers rose. I pushed myself out of my seat, still feeling dizzy. My reader almost fell from the ceiling net when I undid the fastening. A door was opened at the front of the craft. I joined the line of people shuffling forward.

When I stepped onto the covered ramp, tropical heat fell over me like a suffocating blanket. Sweat trickled down my stomach before I even reached the building, not that reaching shelter brought much relief.

The building had no glass and no walls, just wide eaves to stop seasonal rain. In the wide-open terminal hall, a crowd waited, mostly Coldi, held back by black-clad Barresh city guards. There were cries and shouts, both amongst the passengers and in the hall. People surged against a barrier. A woman crawled underneath. A guard tried to hold her back, but, being Coldi, she shoved him back so hard he fell against his colleagues.

The woman ran down the ramp, shoved past me and all the other passengers, ignoring indignant shouts, to throw her arms around a girl of about six. "You came. I was so worried about you."

She was crying; the mother was crying. She lifted the girl into her arms, still looking around. "Azisha, where is Azisha?" The girl shrugged and the mother addressed passengers walking past. "Excuse me, have you seen a young boy on the flight?"

People looked away, and continued walking. I was pushed along by the flood of people, into the building.

I swallowed hard, staring at the guard's armour-clad back.

The mother's voice still rose over the murmur, a desperate shriek. "Where is Azisha?"

Damn. I saw Nicha as I'd left him in the president's office. Alone. No chance of joining me.

"Where is Azisha?"

An event where I had been present had changed the lives of these ordinary people.

Damn. I wiped my face.

Then we were in the terminal building. Local news reporters with their head-mounted recording gear rushed forward. Not to me, but to one of the few other non-Coldi who had been on the flight.

The entire hall beyond was full of people. All Coldi, most with haggard, emotionless faces lining up for counters. They might need to get another flight to Asto, or, if they had no permit to live there, as I knew many didn't, they were truly lost. As far as I knew, the Exchange node at Athens had been spewing forth a tide of refugees for at least ten hours. A few thousand of them were in this hall.

"Delegate, this way."

The two guards made a path for me through the crowd. I caught some stares, furtive glances from gold-flecked Coldi eyes.

"Where are all these people going, _mashara_?" No way would there be enough room in the city's guesthouses.

The man shrugged, averted his eyes. His mouth twitched in an unusual way. I looked at him more intensely, and pieces of the puzzle fell together.

Refugees.

His native Indrahui, a world torn apart with internal conflict. _Gamra_ had let the situation blow up; isolationist politics did that. Everyone to themselves, sort out your own problems; we won't interfere for the sake of keeping the interstellar peace, never mind what happened on the planet. Seriously, Danziger could teach _gamra_ a thing or two about refugee crises if he cared to try and they cared to listen.

And my guard, maybe both of them, had once been refugees themselves.

They'd dressed in combat gear, they'd cautioned me about going to Eva's house, they'd stopped me making calls to Eva, they'd dragged me through the Exchange building in Athens . . . while desperate to get out themselves.

They would have been through hell the past few hours. My face glowed with embarrassment. I should have realised this much sooner.

" _Mashara_ , let us go to the island. We will be safe there." Inclusive-we, the word the meant specifically _all of us present here_. It was a rare enough form that I hoped they didn't think I was making a mess of my pronouns.

Out of the terminal, to the station.

People queued at the ticket reader to get onto the train platform. The train waited, a sleek shape like a bullet, doors yawning open.

The first guard slipped into a window seat, I sat next to him, and the second guard remained standing in the aisle, handing me a cloth. The air felt sticky on my tongue and smelled like tea-tree oil.

I wiped my face. "Thanks, _mashara_." I had an audience: everyone in the carriage stared at me, a thin, pale-skinned, profusely sweating excuse for a human. My stink probably offended their sensitive noses.

At meeting my eyes, most nodded a polite greeting. Items of blue clothing identified other _gamra_ delegates amongst them; none had security guards. Most were non-Coldi. We were all lucky and extremely privileged.

With a hiss of closing doors, the train jumped into motion. It whizzed over the rails, almost noiselessly, as if it flew over the water. Clumps of reeds and small islands whipped by. The two suns hung low over the horizon, casting their glow through a blue haze.

I turned my face into a cool stream of air that flowed from a ceiling vent. Breathing deep hyperventilating breaths. My heart was racing. Ceren's air had a higher percentage of oxygen than Earth's. It took a day and a few strong capsules of medication to become used to it. Medication that was somewhere in my luggage, which was goodness-knew-where, but hopefully on its way to my accommodation or I'd be in serious trouble.

The train shot into the shadow of the island that housed the _gamra_ buildings, and then shortly after into the tunnel that sliced into the artificial structure. Whining of metal on metal reflected off stone walls. A few moments of darkness followed.

Then artificial light, greenish and bright. The train slowed. The station. Blue flashed into the windows. Security, checking the passengers' badges. We squeezed into the aisle, one guard on either side of me. I was glad to have them close, because I was suffering dizziness.

Out of the train, onto a well-lit underground platform, where passengers' footsteps scuffled on ice-smooth paving. People spoke in soft voices. All so civilised, compared to scenes at the Exchange.

The guards led me up a flight of stairs.

We emerged into the middle of the courtyard at the centre of the complex. Apart from the entrance to the train station, it housed numerous terraces, drinking stations and other socialising nooks towards its narrower end. Giant trees spread dappled shadows over people clad in dazzling arrays of blue sitting at tables, while waist-high serving robots whirred between them.

The buildings of the _gamra_ complex rose around the perimeter of the courtyard. Ochre stone turned golden in the late afternoon light. Carved columns supported wide awnings; carved doors hid deep in shadows. Creepers and climbing plants trailed up trellises nailed to walls. Arched doorways, leaning pillars, mosaic paving, glassless windows, all according to the local style.

I was swaying on my feet, not in the mood to admire the architecture, or to study the faces of those on the terraces in the hope of finding someone familiar, and a chat, normality. The guards strode across the courtyard into an arched entranceway which led into a kind of Roman plaza where the air was cool and humid. I breathed relief.

The guards led me up a wide staircase, and another one, where we emerged at the top gallery level. A thick carpet muffled our footsteps. Couches stood against walls between apartment doors, and vases and flowering plants hung from the balcony railings. Across the cavity of the plaza, the far wall rippled with trickling water. Cool air, heavy with humidity, circulated under the domed ceiling. A central coloured glass window let through spots of sparkling colours, which twinkled and glittered in the pond at the bottom of the waterfall. The floor of the hall, two storeys down, bore an exquisite mosaic of a five-pointed star in blood-red and white stone.

The guards stopped at a plain door, made of metal, without a handle. One of the men slid the key card through the access slot. The lock clicked and the door rumbled open.

I stepped into the semidarkness of some sort of foyer, where my footsteps echoed.

There was a sharp metallic sound and lights flicked on.

The foyer was huge, for a private apartment at least, with a floor smooth as ice. Mosaic in yellows and browns formed curvy patterns near the walls, with, in the centre of the hall another five-pointed star, the symbol of Barresh.

Carved columns ran along the walls to meet high in the vaulted ceiling.

A cushioned couch stood against the left-hand wall with a low table before it. If this was a doctor's waiting room, it would have had magazines. This table was empty, its polished surface reflecting light pearls set in brackets along the walls.

Opposite the entrance, a corridor stretched into darkness; the slight angles of the walls gave it a zigzagging appearance. In true local fashion, there were no right angles in this apartment.

Apart from the corridor, at least four doors opened into the hall. Unlike the front door, which was of the sliding type, these were the local design that rolled up sideways, like a beach mat. Space-efficient, but not good for privacy. The doors consisted of slats bound together with wire and held closed by metal blade springs. Two of these doors were closed, showing massive gaps between the slats. An open door led to an airy sunroom, giving a glimpse of a couch and a chair, a balcony full of plants.

Inside the last door, a red light blinked in total darkness. Communications, I guessed. A really fancy apartment, with its own communications hub.

I'd seen plenty of pictures to know that I was now in the main residential building. The other residential wings housed small apartments, one to each delegate, each of which had a bedroom, a sitting room and an office. Most of these were on the lower floors of the buildings.

But now we'd come up two floors in the main building, where important _gamra_ officials had their residences. Two-storey affairs with large balconies, separate offices and kitchens and accommodation for staff. Garden apartments. Of which this had to be one.

In other words: what was I doing here?

The two guards had remained by the door, one of them talking into his receiver. They looked not in the least interested in what I did, nor did they seem inclined to come in and introduce me to whoever I was to meet here. Calling them would be undignified.

I dropped my bag and reader on the couch and sat down, hoping this wasn't going to take too long. My shirt clung to me with sweat.

There were footsteps in the sitting room and a tall figure glided to the door, clad in an elegant gown of solid cobalt blue with gold edging. Gossamer strands of silver hair hung over knobbly shoulders.

One look into the paper-skinned face and I jumped up and bowed, arms by my sides. "Delegate Akhtari."

Whose idea was it to make me face her now, in this state?

"Well-met, Delegate." Her voice carried a hint of hardness that belied her stately, elfin appearance. "Let us go inside."

She gestured me into the sitting room, which was even bigger than the foyer, if possible. The two couches I had seen from the hall stood in one corner of the carpet in a v-formation. In the far corner of the tapering room stood a large and heavy wooden table with eleven high-backed chairs. In the middle of the room water steamed in a circular pool, surrounded by cushioned benches.

Floor-to-ceiling windows ran all along the far side, including some that slid open to give access to a balcony that might have been a garden for all the greenery.

Delegate Akhtari made a gesture with her hand to indicate that I should sit.

I sank down on one of the couches. She settled opposite me, clasping her hands and looping them around her knees. Her back remained ramrod-straight.

"The establishment regrets the haste with which the Delegate had to come here. The Delegate's trip was pleasant enough?" Oh so formal, she used only the most distant of pronouns.

"Concern appreciated, Delegate. It was."

Never mind what happened before my travel started. Never mind the chaos in Athens and at the refugees at the Barresh Exchange. But then I decided to mention it anyway. The swifter the issue was dealt with, the better. "The Delegate was caught in an unfortunate situation." How about: the Delegate _caused_ an unfortunate situation?

"Unfortunate indeed." She fixed me with her azure blue eyes. "What is your new _president's_ business, accusing _gamra_ of these crimes?"

She used the Isla word for president, as if it were a title, as if presidents were disposable; Danziger wasn't even officially sworn in.

"I apologise profoundly for his actions, Delegate. The man is . . . not familiar with _gamra_ protocol."

"Was it not the Delegate's task to inform the _president_ of these issues?" Those piercing eyes met mine again.

"It was, and I did inform him, but the _president_ chose to ignore my words."

A small, cold silence. "So it seems."

What else should I have done? Why had Danziger cut me out of all decision-making?

"Again, I apologise, Delegate, but protocol aside, I believe that Nations of Earth had some of the facts on their side—"

"Facts? Like the allegations that some _gamra_ entity was involved in the disappearance of the previous envoy?"

Shit. Next time I was on Earth, I was going to kick that movie producer's arse all the way to the Moon. "Please, Delegate, this is a misunderstanding. These are not true allegations. It is a _movie._ " That didn't translate into Coldi of course, and she raised her eyebrows at the Isla word. "A form of entertainment. I will explain this in the assembly, but the most important fact about a _movie_ is that it is a story, not real." And even the word _story_ didn't translate well. "Recount" was obviously out, because it wasn't a recount or history. The closest other word was _semayi_ which meant _fabrication_ , and that was too close to _lie_.

"Entertainment? Provocation of _gamra_ entities? Is that entertainment? Hurling abuse at this establishment and see who gets angry?"

That just about showed how much of an uphill battle I faced. "As I said, I will explain."

Damn, I really needed Nicha.

Another cold glance. "The establishment shall await the explanation, then. The assembly sits in five days. That will be the time to explain. Important primary delegates will be in attendance."

_Primary delegates_ were heads of state of entities normally represented by their envoys, who were secondary delegates. I was a probationary tertiary delegate, someone representing an organisation which represented the heads of state. Not high in the importance stakes at all.

I wondered who was coming to listen to my speech.

She strained her legs to get up, but I wasn't finished. "Delegate, is it known to _gamra_ who was responsible and what they wanted?"

Much too direct for _gamra_ protocol of course, even though I used the right pronouns.

A small silence. Was she shocked at my lack of manners? Never mind; I refused to be intimidated.

"Regretfully, the establishment has no indication who was responsible."

"Delegate, in that case, it would be wise to send Nations of Earth a formal statement that no known entity of _gamra_ had a hand in this attack. I believe Nations of Earth is justified in at least some of their opinions—even though I don't agree with their actions. There is considerable proof that non-local weaponry was used. A statement would definitely help; at least some of the tension would be allayed."

She nodded. "That, it would."

But she mentioned no more. Not that she would send a statement, nor that she would formally deny Danziger's accusation.

That didn't sit well with me at all. Was she aware of some plot? "Please, Delegate, that is my strong belief. The Coldi population on Earth numbers about two hundred thousand. They have become hostages, with my _zhayma_ Nicha Palayi as example. Their houses are under attack, their shops are being looted, their families are threatened. They will . . ." I thought of Nixie Chan and her plans for strikes and shutdowns, and of Nicha's father, who must right now be thinking about taking action to free his son. ". . . They are already taking hostile action. Lives are at risk."

"The Delegate can discuss this in the assembly."

"With respect, Delegate, I think action is needed sooner than that. The Barresh Exchange is full of refugees."

Five days? By that time war might well have broken out.

"The establishment is aware of the situation." She made to get up, but sat down again. "Oh—it's necessary to mention—the establishment has appointed a new _zhayma_ to the Delegate." She snapped her fingers.

Someone came to the doorway. Stocky, broad-shouldered, glistening hair with peacock-colours tied back tightly. A face that would have looked carved out of marble if the skin had not been yellow-tinged.

A formal nod of the head acknowledged Delegate Akhtari. I received the same attention, plus a glance of eyes so perfectly almond-shaped I found it hard to look away. "Delegates."

Coldi. Impossible to tell gender even by voice. A feeling of constriction lodged in my chest. I could only see Nicha's smile. Nicha, who had grown up on Earth and knew me so well. My _zhayma_ , a person close to me no one could replace. It wasn't _marriage without the sex_. It was more, much more.

Delegate Akhtari acknowledged the Coldi person with a wave of her hand. "This is Thayu Domiri, who has kindly agreed to take the position at very short notice."

Domiri. There were only thirty-two Coldi clans, and each had a different specialty. On Asto, Domiri spelled security, paid fighters, officers and generals in the army. Nicha's father was a Domiri.

Thayu was a female name. I met the eyes again; so perfect, they spoke of exotic holiday destinations, of black-lined eyes drawn in perfection on ancient Egyptian papyrus.

She bowed. "Delegate."

She sized me up, briefly. Her hand twitched. Oh shit.

My legs tensed, ready to spring. This was the moment when dominance would be established, if her instincts triggered.

I saw Nicha when we first met. He'd done the same: looked at me, and twitched. Then he'd walked up to me, grabbed me by the shoulders, while staring into my eyes with unbelievable intensity. He lifted me clear off the ground, and could easily have thrown me through the fifth-floor window . . . and then set me down, still meeting my eyes. It had been a dangerous moment, but I only understood that later.

_Rimoyu_ , balance. Not, as some people thought, a balance of equals. It called to mind Danziger's crude joke: _If it doesn't eat you, you can't defeat it, can't fuck it, you must kill it_. Only a _zhayma_ could be equal in rank. All other relationships had to be unequal, and it had to be established who was superior. Amarru was my superior; my office staff, inferior. I had to constantly remind myself of this fact, and act the part; for a Coldi person, this was a matter of instinct that triggered upon the first meeting between two people. If the two people were completely unconnected through their respective loyalty networks, there could be fights. Nicha said that he had felt something stir when he first met me, even though the instinct didn't usually trigger when facing people from other species.

She didn't move. My heart was still going like crazy, and I was sure _something_ had just happened in that look.

Delegate Akhtari continued, "The establishment has acted quickly and placed you under guard. I have consigned the two agents specifically for your security." Right. I had thought as much. "Until we find out who is guilty of this cowardly attack, they will accompany you everywhere outside this apartment."

"This apartment, Delegate?" Nations of Earth and _gamra_ had agreed to each contribute a set amount to cover my costs. While the allowance was generous, I didn't think it would cover a third of the cost of this accommodation.

"Yes. Is it not to the Delegate's standard?"

"It is. To the contrary, Delegate. I'm alone. This is much too big for me." I imagined myself sitting at that enormous table at dinner, by myself, facing a dozen-odd empty chairs.

_They toy with us._ Melissa Hayworth's words.

Oh hell someone was definitely having fun with me.

But there was _mahzu_ , calm, control. This was not the time or place to raise objections. I'd have to do that officially. Tomorrow, after I had slept, when my adaptation had balanced and when my hands didn't throb so much and I didn't feel quite so likely to say things I would regret.

"The Delegate won't be alone. The staff quarters are downstairs, as well as the office."

"Staff?" That wasn't part of my agreement either. What did she think I was? A member of the aristocracy, who had buckets of money?

"Six domestic. Six professional. That includes the security, as well as two administrative, a translator and a communications officer. Domestic staff include a cook, two general servants, a gardener and a laundry assistant."

Were they trying to send me broke?

She rose from her seat. "I will now leave the Delegate to rest. May I suggest a medico should attend the Delegate's hands."

She glided to the door in regal strides, bobbing a greeting to the Coldi woman in passing.

I stared after her back, noticing that the apartment door was open and that some people were shifting crates inside. My luggage. So the carriers had been told I'd be staying here before _I_ had.

What the hell?

# 9

**A** PERSON COULD, of course, get angry, but claiming unfair treatment was an _Earth_ response, and not a very mature one at that. It was something _gamra_ delegates did not do. Life was not fair—get over it.

But that didn't mean I wasn't angry.

Amarru had said that my coming would be a low-key event. Of course I knew that a number of _gamra_ entities watched my actions like birds of prey, knowing that if Nations of Earth decided to become a full member, if _gamra_ accepted the candidature, I would carry a large vote based on population numbers. That I would be someone whose vote might sway matters. But that eventuality needed to hurdle so many ifs that it hadn't happened in the past twenty years, and I didn't see it happening within my lifetime. So why guards? Why twelve staff? Why this apartment? Who was paying for all this?

Something stirred by the door. A mellow voice said, "Delegate?"

Thayu, my new _zhayma_. I was rude to let her stand.

I waved at the seat vacated by Delegate Akhtari. "Sit down. You'll have to excuse me. I'm tired."

She crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the seat. With the stealth of an assassin.

Our eyes met. Hers were so perfect, almond-shaped, the large irises black with a smattering of gold spots. Long eyelashes glittered in their characteristic Coldi green, blue and purple. Her skin was soft yellow and unblemished, devoid of even the slightest fuzz of hair. Under that tunic, her arms, too, would be completely hairless; I knew that from being with Nicha.

Those beautiful eyes focused on my hands in a way that made me think the dominance issue still hadn't been settled, from her point of view. "Is the Delegate in pain or discomfort?"

"It itches," I said and rubbed my left palm over my knee as if to illustrate the point.

She strained her legs as if to get up. "The staff will arrange a medico."

"Wait."

She froze.

"I would prefer to walk to the treatment bay."

"Delegate Akhtari says—"

"I can walk." The latter a bit too abrupt, perhaps.

She looked down, submissive.

Please, no; she'd decided that she was the inferior party. That wasn't right. That couldn't happen in a _zhayma_ arrangement.

Damn, I wanted Nicha back.

And I was fighting myself, and utter, complete fatigue.

"Are you . . ." I made sure I used the polite-you form. ". . . are you fine for accommodation?"

Another flick of those perfect eyebrows. "I have a room off the hall, if that's what the Delegate is asking."

"That is what I am asking. I wouldn't want any assistant of mine in inconvenient situations." Meaning _sexual_ situations, Delegate. That simple word, convenience, _imashu_ , had a nasty double meaning.

The flick of an eye, a sharp look. Not subservient? "My situation is not inconvenient."

"Good."

Damn. Trust me to slip up in situations like this. I could debate Danziger into the back of the cupboard, Delegate Akhtari, too, if she chose to chuck the formality and faced me head-on, but as soon as there was a pair of pretty eyes involved, I stammered like an idiot.

_I love it when you blush,_ Eva would say.

Well, I didn't.

My mind worked to dispel lingering discomfort. "It's nice here."

"It is."

"This apartment seems very big. Whose is it?"

"Yours, Delegate. Shall I leave?"

Total misunderstanding. "No, what I mean is: who did I displace before . . . all this happened?"

I didn't even know if she was up-to-date with what had happened to me, if she knew where I came from.

"What does the Delegate mean?"

"Please. If we're to work together, call me Cory."

She blinked at me. Said nothing. Showed no emotion.

I breathed in deeply. "What I mean is that I am a minor player in _gamra_. I presumed I'd get an apartment on the ground floor."

"Is this not good enough. . . ?" I could see she almost said _Delegate_ again.

"To the contrary: it's too good. I am not important enough to warrant this treatment."

"Oh." Comprehension dawned on her face. "I don't know. It seems to me that no one has lived here for quite some time."

"How so?"

"The bedding smells stale; the cupboards are too empty."

"Who owns this apartment?"

"I'm not sure."

I had a feeling she lied, but I let the subject rest. If that knowledge was important, I had no doubt I would find out soon enough.

"Forgive me for asking, but I'd like to know how much you know of my homeworld, its customs and its groups."

"Delegate Akhtari has informed me."

What? About all of Earth? "Do you have a background in _gamra_ law?"

She gave me a look that said _what do you take me for?_

"As I said, excuse my questions, but I like to know if we are to work together." I kept my pronouns strictly professional.

She raised her head, chin up. "I studied law and inter-entity relations. I speak Damarcian, Mirani and Kedrasi. I have completed two years at the Trader Academy."

Nothing wrong with that. She probably had a solid grasp of the variety of laws and customs within _gamra_ entities, something on which Nicha was a bit weak. But she didn't speak Isla and had probably never been to Earth, and would have no knowledge of the inner workings of Nations of Earth.

"Shall I show you around?"

I started to refuse, but my brain needed space to think. "All right."

She led me back into the hall, where the mound of crates containing my luggage had grown. I restrained to urge to look for my bag with the infusor. The door was still open, and the two Indrahui guards stood there, unmoving except for their eyes.

"These are Evi and Telaris, and part of Delegate Akhtari's staff on indefinite loan to you." Formal-you again.

Both men glanced briefly at me, meeting my eyes with their moss green ones, before returning to watching what went on outside.

I retreated. A person did not keep security from doing their job. Yet I had appreciated their presence, and it irked me that Thayu knew their names and I didn't. I hadn't asked; that was not appropriate, but now I knew and I ached to know which one was Evi and which Telaris. I wanted to apologise to them for the past two days. They were the only people in Barresh who spoke some Isla, and their continued presence started to gnaw at me. Somehow, I wondered if they were really as young and inexperienced as I had assumed, and somehow I had a suspicion they weren't, all of which didn't make me feel any better. In fact, in my exhausted and filthy state, it made me feel like a profound idiot.

Thayu went back into the hall and past the luggage crates. I glanced into the darkness of the communication room as we passed. Before I went to bed, I had to ask her to show me how the equipment in there worked. I had to check on what was happening in Rotterdam, in Athens and the rest of the world.

But I desperately needed my medicine first.

Thayu kept going, into the corridor. The shimmering ponytail flicked over the back of her tunic with every step she took. Even her walk had this silent, cat-like quality that I would have expected in an athlete, not in a diplomatic worker.

She gestured to the left. "The bathing room." It had, I noted with a sinking feeling, a decidedly un-private rolling door.

I could almost hear Eva's voice, _You undress in front of a woman?_ The journalist who had bought my explanation of the _zhayma_ concept _like marriage but without the sex_ needed to be given a PhD in gullibility, but I didn't think Eva fell for it. She didn't like Nicha because she was unsure of my relationship with him, and she didn't ask because she was afraid to hear my answer. Did I love him in the same way I loved her? No. Did that mean nothing had ever happened between us? Well—no. When you were connected to someone in thought, and spent all your waking and sleeping hours with this person, what did you expect? Poor excuse, of course, but this was the culture. Coldi didn't marry for love, and as a result, they found satisfaction elsewhere. To them love, affection, friendship and physical attraction were all pretty much the same thing, _imayu_. They bonded with friends through physical intimacy. They sealed business relationships with physical intimacy. That was all very well with Nicha, because touching a man meant little to me, in that way humans reserved for a special person in their lives. Eva knew that—I had told her many times, but . . .

Whose fucking idea had it been to appoint a woman as Nicha's replacement?

At the far end of the corridor, a broad staircase spiralled down at least thirty steps. Downstairs, we entered another corridor of another apartment, almost a copy of the apartment upstairs, with equally extravagant mosaic floors, and an equally high ceiling.

A number of people lined up along both sides of the walls, wearing uniforms of khaki fabric with blue belts. I was distinctly aware of my bloodstained jacket and my scruffy hair in sandy curls that had a mind of their own, especially after the dry air of space travel. Half of my former fringe had escaped the clips I used to keep it out of my eyes. Nicha had told me that people whose hair was too short for a ponytail were assumed to have spent time in prison, so I could only imagine what they thought of me.

A woman at the front bowed. Olive-skinned, with curly black hair and dark, lively eyes. Whatever beauty she would have possessed was negated by a bulbous blob of a nose, with a vertical groove down the tip. I had seen this type of people before: they were native to the city of Barresh, the keihu race.

"We welcome the Delegate." Spoken in Coldi, but heavily accented.

Thayu said in a stiff voice, "This is Eirani, head of domestic staff. She runs the household. Eirani, Delegate Cory Wilson."

Neither woman met the other's eyes.

I bowed my head, as appropriate for an employer towards an employee, acutely aware of her gaze on the stain on the pocket of my jacket. "The Delegate is loath to impose." Using the most formal, most distant of pronouns.

"It is of no matter," she said, but her tone and stiffness made it clear that it was.

"Please accept the Delegate's apologies."

She nodded stiffly—apology accepted.

Not a good start.

After the introductions, Thayu led me to the office, an airy room where two women and two men sat working at desks. Within seconds of the door opening, they had scrambled to their feet and stood beside their desks, arms by their sides, heads bowed in that submissive Coldi greeting.

In the uncomfortable silence, I walked around the desks, asking about each person's skills. None of them met my eyes. According to _gamra_ custom, they weren't allowed to do this of course, but they seemed to like this just as little as I did. They all belonged to the same race as Eirani, the local keihu, and had different local customs, which they probably observed with their regular employer, the owner of this apartment. Customs that no doubt didn't involve bowing and formal greetings.

I didn't like it either.

Next Thayu took me to the kitchen with heavy stone benches and two basins from where steam, and the sulphuric smell of thermal spring water added to the breathless air. In the hall, she pointed me to the lower floor entry, for business to the office, she said, but please notify security if it needed to be opened.

The thought did not improve my mood. I had imagined myself and Nicha wandering through the sprawling complex, strolling through the many courtyards, sampling the eating houses, the public baths and visiting the shops. I had definitely not imagined I'd be stuck in some kind of gilded cage, requiring an escort every time I left.

While we climbed the stairs, I said in a low voice, to Thayu's broad back, "The staff seems little impressed with the situation. I'd be quite happy to—"

She turned, and fixed me with her dark eyes. "The staff are being paid for being the staff, not to have opinions. They would do well to remember that." She charged up the spiral staircase leaving me to stare at her disappearing back.

Bloody hell.

I looked over my shoulder at a soft noise from behind—Eirani.

She bowed. "The kitchen likes to know: would the Delegate require a meal?"

"At the normal time." All my senses were out of kilter, and I didn't even know if the house operated on local twenty-eight hour days or _gamra_ day of twenty-three-and-a-bit hours, but the thought of food made my stomach grumble.

"I will bathe first, if that is possible." Possible, not _convenient_ ; I was more careful this time.

"As you wish, Delegate."

The formal tone just grated. "Please, if I'm to live here with you, at least use professional forms. My name is Cory."

Last names were optional. In only a few _gamra_ societies did they have the same meaning as on Earth. Mostly, they were clan names or regional names.

Eirani only nodded. "I will bring towels soon."

Thayu waited at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. I stopped, stared at her, seeing something I hadn't seen before. The fabric of her tunic was drawn tight over small but distinctive breasts. This meant she was a mother, since Coldi women didn't grow breasts until their first pregnancy.

Her face remained without emotion as I walked past. I ached to ask her what the problem was, but didn't think she'd tell me in the presence of Eirani, who had followed me. For her part, Eirani ignored Thayu and charged into the corridor, voluminous hips wobbling, where she pushed open the door to what Thayu had indicated as the bathroom.

As it turned out, bathroom was far too mundane a term. After passing through a short corridor that led past a dark cubicle that looked suspiciously like a sauna, but was probably a broom cupboard, I came out into a huge hall. Steam rose languidly off a pool at least ten paces long, surrounded by pavement smooth as ice, and elegant benches, made of carved wood panels and soft cushions.

Eirani followed me into the room, footsteps echoing loudly against the ceiling. She had collected some towels which she placed on a table against the closest wall.

"Thank you, Eirani. I can manage by myself now."

"The Delegate will wash himself?" Her eyes widened.

"Yes, I am quite capa—"

"We can't have that in this household. If the word goes that the Delegate bathes by himself, we'll never hear the end of it. Put those clothes in the basket here, so they can be washed."

It seemed there was no escape from these women and I was too tired to argue.

I turned my back to her, slipped out of my jacket and fumbled for the buttons on my shirt, but couldn't even undo them. Rather than letting Eirani help me, I pulled the shirt over my head, releasing a waft of sweaty air. Then I stepped out of my trousers, and as quickly as I could, slipped into the streaming water. Damn, that woman was gawking at me. Next she was going to say something about my relative abundance of body hair. Hairy ape. Yes, I knew I had more hair than most _gamra_ men, but that was a subject I'd keep to myself thank you very much.

She didn't say anything; she only watched.

Soon I sat on the ledge of the pool, while Eirani's firm hands massaged soap into my hair. Every now and then, she scooped up water and poured it over my head. The waft of mint soap mingled with a faint scent of sulphur.

While she washed my hair, I peeled the filthy bandage off my hands. The skin underneath was red and strained at the strips of tape, affixed almost a lifetime ago by a doctor in Rotterdam. Had he said anything about not removing the tape? I didn't remember, but I left it on, because it seemed to be holding the sides of the wounds together. I let the water soothe the hot skin and didn't dare touch my palms—they hurt too much. When I got out of the bath, I was happy to let Eirani pat me dry.

Then I asked her for my bag with—thank heavens—the infusor band. While the dust whirled in the glass capsule, Eirani fussed with my hair. It wouldn't all go in a ponytail so she used liberal amounts of a gel-like substance to flatten my curls against my head. She fingered the golden loops I wore in my ears. "Does the Delegate have a family colour?" Nothing escaped this woman.

"Such things are not custom where I come from. Men don't wear earrings."

She snorted; she probably thought as little of men who didn't wear earrings as Eva thought of men who did.

"But the Delegate must have a colour. Everyone has a colour."

"I'll think about that." I rubbed my fingers over my chin, far-too-long stubble making a scratching noise, but I wasn't about to let anyone else shave me. "Do you have a bowl? Could you bring me the small bag I brought when I came here?"

She vanished, carrying my dirty clothes under her arm.

I looked at my reflection in the black stone walls, the reflection of a stranger. My hair, normally soft and curly, slicked-down and pulled into a ponytail which barely tickled the collar of my shirt. It made me look older and more serious and maybe that was not such a bad thing. I was young for my position, and it really didn't help that I looked younger than my thirty-two years. When I attended my first assembly meeting, I would ask Eirani to put my hair up like this again.

Clean and feeling much better, with my hands wrapped in a clean bandage, I came back into the living room. The air still tingled on my cheeks. For some reason, my skin hadn't liked the soap I'd used for shaving.

Tomorrow, I had to go dive into that pile of luggage and find my electric shaver.

The sky outside had gone deep orange and the light from the setting suns silhouetted the plants covering the balcony railing like cardboard cutouts.

Thayu sat on the couch and glanced up when I padded onto the carpet. "You look different."

"You look different, too."

She had changed into a calf-length garment that was a cross between a tunic and a dress, and maybe bathed, but it was impossible to tell if Coldi hair was wet or dry, it was that coarse.

"Not as much as you."

I shrugged, glancing at the khaki clothing Eirani had insisted I wear. "Eirani says I'll need to go to the shop to fit my uniform."

"She _is_ a fusspot, isn't she?" Thayu had used the Coldi word _yanu_ which meant something in between a schoolteacher and a nanny.

"Yeah." I grinned.

A few moments of silence hung between us.

I thought to ask her what her problem was with Eirani, but decided not to spoil the mood, hers or mine. I had quite enough problems for today. In Rotterdam, Nixie Chan was working on Nicha's release. Delegate Akhtari was aware of the refugee situation, so hopefully arrangements were being made for those people in the terminal hall. And that poor woman who had been screaming for her son.

It seemed various authorities were looking after these people, and I could take some time to recover my own sanity.

"Dinner's ready."

Thayu pushed herself off the couch, and while she did so, the split in the bottom of her tunic parted, giving me a glance at her legs. Muscular, the skin soft yellow . . . and much-repressed memories flooded me of a crazy time four years ago, a time when I had drunk in _gamra_ cultures and languages like honey-flavoured liquor, a time of exhilarating discussion and laughter until I thought I would die, a time I would spend all night making love to this crazy, wonderful, intelligent Coldi woman.

Inaru.

How had I wanted her to share my life, but she had honoured the contract her parents had brokered for her instead. A man twenty years her senior, who was paying her to give him two children. I couldn't live with that. She said of course she would honour a lucrative contract, that didn't mean I couldn't see her anymore. We could never have children anyway, so why did it matter?

It mattered to me. I couldn't stand the thought of another man putting his hands on her, sleeping next to her at night. It mattered because at that time, I didn't really understand how the network, _imayu,_ tied Coldi to one another. I thought I did, but I didn't. So I had given her a choice she couldn't understand: me or him.

For the next six months I'd struggled to keep myself away from the edge of that cliff, from the abyss of work-until-you-drop, of far too much alcohol at night, of sleep medication, yes, even dark contemplations that my life was worthless without her and that I might as well end it. I had sworn never in my life to become ensnared by a Coldi woman again. Coldi didn't marry; I should have known better; I should not have let my heart rule.

Thayu's voice scattered my thoughts. "Hungry?"

A couple of dishes stood on the table. One of the young boys from the kitchen waited to serve.

Thayu walked to the far side and I settled opposite her. My stomach grumbled. "Is this going to be safe for me to eat?"

Thayu pointed at the dishes. "You can eat that, and that, but I would stay clear of the mushrooms."

Yes. Mushrooms were always a bad idea, especially those Nicha favoured. Some of them would kill me three times over.

I let the boy scoop some food out of the bowls onto a plate. Silence lingered as we ate. My memories were harder to dispel. The food was interesting—crisp and colourful. The idea was to pick up the salad with the bread and dip the lot in sauce. Strong and unfamiliar tastes made my ears glow.

Thayu finished quickly and used a bland-looking fruit to mop the remains of the sauce from a bowl. Like Nicha, she ate much more than I did.

She turned her perfect eyes on me. "I believe you don't have a feeder?"

"It was taken from me and not returned." I cringed at the subject.

"We should look into getting you a new one." That was a polite-we, the form that meant _I'm really doing this by myself, but I'm pretending it's a group effort_.

"We should." And that was the we-form that could mean almost anything, most often used by bureaucracy.

This was an argument fought in pronouns.

I didn't _want_ to think of sharing a feeder.

Yet my job required one, otherwise how could I confer with her in meetings, and—let her in on my memories of Inaru?

I stared at my plate, my appetite gone.

"You want a drink?" Before I could answer, Thayu rose and turned to the back wall, where she yanked at a handle to a cupboard door. "Oops—wrong one."

Inside the cupboard's darkness blinked lights in rows. Just a second she held the door open before slamming it shut.

The next cupboard she opened contained a variety of jars and bottles. She took out one, unstoppered it and poured a yellowish liquid in the cups.

Without a word, she sat down, giving me an intense look. I needed no explanation for what I had seen: everything said in this room, or maybe even in the entire apartment, was recorded.

# 10

**F** IRE.

Everything was on fire. The stone walls, the marble floor.

A woman sat in the middle of the room, hands tied to the back of her chair.

Her voice rasped in an eerie whisper, the pained words just outside my hearing. An orange glow bathed her face, which glistened with sweat.

I stood at the door, stroked by a breeze of cool air. I could run to safety, but I couldn't leave her behind. I wanted to scream, _Inaru!_ but my voice wouldn't work. The flames licked the legs of the chair, crawling up her feet. _Inaru!_

I reached out for her . . . and hit my hand on something.

Ouch . . . What the fuck?

A sweaty sheet wrapped around my shoulders.

A crumpled pillow.

I blinked against the glare of light to my left. A triangular window. Thin curtains. Benches along whitewashed walls. There was a wooden cupboard, a table, a chair and opposite the window, an arched door.

I pushed myself up, the nightmare slowly subsiding. My arm was wet and so was my cheek, from my own drool. I sat on a hard mattress in an oval bed made from woven reeds—like a giant dog basket. I remembered how I had stumbled into the dark room last night, after almost falling off my chair at the table, how I had intended to sleep only for a bit.

I needed to check my mail, find out what had been happening at Nations of Earth and send a message to Eva, and now it was . . . I scanned a bedside shelf for my reader, only to realise I'd left it on the table in the other room. I groaned. My first day, and I started it by doing downright stupid things. My entire life was on that reader. The staff would be operating all that listening equipment; the staff couldn't be trusted.

I jumped out of bed and stumbled a few dizzy steps over the tiles, almost tripping over a longhaired rug, looking as if someone had flattened a shaggy possum on the floor.

A pile of clothes lay neatly folded on a bench against the wall. Not mine—but the clothes I had been wearing last night. Someone had been in here; I definitely hadn't left them like that. When I tried to pick up the shirt, pain seared through my palms. Oh shit, my hands. Yellowish ooze had seeped through the tape.

I stood there, feeling sick and dizzy, dazed and helpless, with no idea how I was going to do up the fiddly fastening hooks of my shirt without bending my fingers.

At that moment, the door rolled open, the slats clattering against each other, and Eirani burst in.

"Ah, the Delegate is awake."

Far too cheerful. She put down the basket she carried and eased the shirt from my hands. "Let me put that on."

Grateful, I spread out my arms and let her slip the shirt over my shoulders. Her experienced hands dealt with the fastenings. Broad hands, with thick fingers and unusually long thumbs. Her hair, coarse and parted in the middle, smelled of spicy soap.

She bustled to my back, flicked my hair from under the collar. Then she put a chair in the middle of the flattened-possum rug. "Sit down, Delegate."

I sat, my bare feet in the hair. "Eirani, is there any news, from anyone?"

Like Danziger, like Delia, Nicha or Eva.

"The staff doesn't know. The staff looks after the house. The Delegate will have to ask the young lady."

With a wide-tooth comb, more gel and liberal amounts of tut-tutting she forced my hair back into the sleek ponytail. A dash of perfume on the back of my neck and she declared me ready to go . . .

Into an empty hall.

I stared. Eirani came up from behind, carrying more washing. "Delegate?"

"What has happened to my luggage?"

"The staff has unpacked it and put everything away."

While I was asleep? _The staff take liberties._ A brief moment of panic rose in me. "Where is my reader?"

"On the table in the sitting room, Delegate."

Where I had left it. Phew. I took a moment to compose myself. Surely, I was expecting treason where there wasn't any. Apartments of high-profile delegates would be routinely bugged, both to listen in and to protect the inhabitant. Little was ever a secret at _gamra_ headquarters. Loyalty went both ways. Spying did, too. Nothing unusual.

"Where is Thayu?"

Eirani gestured to the sitting room.

I entered. The two couches that yesterday had stood in a v-formation now faced each other neatly, positioned exactly the same distance from the edge of the carpet, a typically Coldi arrangement.

Thayu sat at the table, in the same spot she had taken yesterday, her back to the cabinet with the spying equipment. A half-smile crossed her face. "Good morning."

I almost groaned—she looked so incredibly awake. "Any news from anyone? I meant to . . . I'm sorry about falling asleep last night."

"You were dead on your feet."

"Where's my reader?" But I had already noticed it on the cabinet against the wall.

"Sit down."

"But I need to know what's been going on."

"After breakfast."

An extensive choice of food waited on the table. Slices of bread of some kind lay on a tray, arranged in an intricate pattern whereby every slice overlapped the one to its right. Orange tea steamed in cups. There were salads, and fruit, and a jar of juice.

I pulled a chair back, noting that none of the food had been touched. "You waited for me?"

"It seemed only polite."

A fleeting memory crossed my mind. Summer breakfasts. Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year. The summer holidays from school. Lazy times, my mother in the kitchen. _Cory, don't bring half the beach into the kitchen. Have you washed your hands? Wait until Daddy sits down._

No one had waited for me for years. I don't know why it suddenly choked me up.

"Thank you."

She inclined her head.

Wincing, I picked up my cup and sipped the hot tea, which tasted heavy and sweet.

Eirani bustled in with another tray, stopped a few paces inside the door, staring at the new arrangement of the couches on the carpet. Glared at Thayu, redness rising in her cheeks.

To her credit, she said nothing, but came to the table and bowed.

"Everything is to the Delegate's taste?"

"It is. Thank you, Eirani."

She pointedly positioned herself so that Thayu was forced to look at her large behind. "The staff will be going to markets this morning. Is there anything the Delegate desires?"

I hesitated, knowing that what I was going to say would make matters worse. "Would the markets have _manazhu_ , or is there any in the house?"

The you-drink-that-revolting-stuff look she gave me in response was answer enough.

"You can make it here, can't you?"

"If the Delegate wants."

"Yes, I think I would want it." I used the intimate-I, to indicate it was my private wish, and that she was entitled to think of it what she wanted without feeling embarrassed.

"The staff will have to buy powder and filters."

"You can buy those in town, can't you?"

"If the Delegate wants."

"Yes, I do."

She nodded, her face stiff, and left the room.

Thayu took a slice of bread from the tray, upsetting the roof-tile arrangement.

"You like _manazhu_?" An amused look danced in her eyes.

She used the friendly-you pronoun, not quite the one I used to speak to Nicha, but the one for speaking to someone who is more friend than colleague.

"It awakens the mind."

"Not many non-Coldi people like it."

With morning light glittering in her eyelashes, she resembled Nicha, in the way she ripped the bread, in the way she looked at what she ate before putting it in her mouth. I wondered if it was a Coldi thing.

"I know," I said, and forced myself to speak in a more professional tone; she _wasn't_ Nicha and I _couldn't_ have a similar relationship with her. "I have a pressing need to use the communication hub after breakfast."

"I will show you how it works."

"Thank you. I also need to speak to the office staff."

"They are already waiting downstairs."

There was a clock on the wall with a triple face. The _gamra_ clock on the left showed late afternoon, and I guessed that was not the time the staff adhered to. The clock on the right probably ran at Trader time, which I could safely ignore. But the middle one had the local five-point notation, according to which we were in the second fifth of the day. Midmorning.

Silly Delegate, staying in bed for so long. "Anything else on the agenda?"

"The uniform fitter is expecting you today. _Zhamata_ meets in five days."

Five days to prepare my speech. Five days to prevent disaster, unless I could convince Delegate Akhtari to write that statement earlier.

"We also need to arrange to replace your feeder."

I nodded absently, sipping my tea, avoiding her eyes. Did I hope that if I showed no interest, she would forget about the feeder? It was a childish response, and not one that would work in the long run, but I really didn't know what else to do.

Could I refuse a feeder? I didn't think so. I would need to figure out how to limit access to certain subjects, if that was possible—and damn it—Nicha normally did that sort of thing.

In silence, I demolished the bread and gulped tea.

After breakfast, I followed Thayu across the hall to the dark maw of communication room. A few lights blinked in the dark; the glow gilded the edge of the control panel and a cushioned bench.

I stopped at the door.

What was I doing? I might be tired and sore, but that was no reason to be an idiot.

"Wait."

Thayu frowned. "You wanted to know how to operate this?"

"I do, but let's set this up properly. If someone is listening to us, I can listen to them." I could still hear Amarru tell me, in perhaps the third week of my training, _if you're doing something important, there should always be witnesses._

I strode through the hall, into the corridor, past the bathroom and the bedrooms. Down the stairs and into the office. Employees straightened at their desks; wide-eyed glances met me.

"Work to do. Anyone here knows how to use the hub?"

One man, in the far corner near the window, raised his hand.

"Good. You can come with us."

While the man rose from his chair, I strode into the room and stopped at the first desk to my left, occupied by another young man. "You will look after the accounts. There is to be a payment for me from Nations of Earth. Find out where it is. Look in my directive area. You will find a number of documents there. Put them through the translator. I want a summary within two days. Next . . ." I strode to the desk of a young woman who stared up at me as if I were a divine apparition. "My agenda and programs for the next few days."

She nodded.

"You." I turned around and stopped at the next desk. "You might want to help him." I pointed at the man I had told to work on Delia's files. "I think there is quite a lot of work. Let me know if it doesn't look like you'll get it done. Also, the _gamra_ news bulletins. Find out what they're saying and what the mood is about the attack on Perto Sirkonen and whatever has happened since. . . ." I hesitated. "Especially find out what's happening with the refugee situation." I still heard that woman's voice, _Azisha!_ If her son hadn't been on our flight, he would have been left behind in Athens.

Wide-eyed, the staff packed away their other work—whatever they had been doing, whoever for.

I was probably totally out of order, and much too informal, but they would have to get used to that.

_The staff take liberties._

Not anymore. As long as it lasted, before someone presented me with a bill, I'd make as much use of these people as I could.

"You two, come with us." I gestured at the remaining men, both young and lean.

I turned and strode out again. Thayu stood at the door; I swore her face carried an amused expression.

In the hall, I opened the door and told the Indrahui guards to come inside. They protested, but I explained that I had brought two locals to take their places at the door. The young men perked up to be given that task. The guards didn't like it, but I insisted. No one else understood Isla.

Then, finally, with the black forms of the guards, and the assistant from downstairs, I went into communication room.

Thayu slid behind the control panel, and the staff lined up, looking awkward, in a showcase of different _gamra_ races.

I pointed the young man from the office to a control panel on a desk just inside the door. "What is your name again?"

"Devin, Delegate." The light from the projection showed up the groove in the tip of his nose. A local, like Eirani.

"All right, Devin, I am going to contact some people. I want you to make sure everything, every word, every picture, every attempt to connect, even if all lines are busy, is logged into my work directive area. Do you know how to do that?"

"I do, Delegate."

"When you've set that up, I want you to be an independent witness. Use the translator, and log it as well."

Without a word, Devin tapped a command on one of the screens and then found a little box somewhere under the desk. He seemed to know what he was doing.

I turned to the two Indrahui. " _Mashara_ , come over here and sit on this bench." I gestured to the right of Thayu. "I want you to witness and use your experience with my world to interpret what's going on. Make plenty of notes." I hesitated. "The other thing is . . . your names, _mashara_. I know it's not appropriate to ask, but this is my office, and it is not in my custom to speak to nameless people."

The men glanced at each other.

"Anyone who doesn't like it will be invited to share a cup of _manazhu_ with the Delegate," Thayu said.

Eyes widened.

I had to make an effort not to snort. "I believe my _zhayma_ is joking."

The corners of her eyes crinkled with laughter.

Oh, that dratted Coldi sense of humour. "Forget about the _manazhu_. If the staff is so good as to get it, I know it will be precious enough not to waste it on those who do not appreciate it. But, _mashara_ , I would like your names."

The guard with the dyed hair expelled a breath. "Evi."

"Then you must be Telaris."

The other man gave a small waggle with his fingers, a sign guards used for yes.

I hoped I hadn't crossed too many boundaries. Indrahui expressions were hard to read and what little I knew about their culture indicated that they were intensely private people. I'd have to make this up to them in some way.

"Then let's get to work."

Thayu indicated that I should sit next to her, facing a sloping control panel with a glowing web of blue lines, like a spider web, and sliding buttons at their junctions. I had seen a similar setup numerous times before, at the Exchange in Athens, but had never been so close to the equipment.

Thayu's hands moved over the lines with practised ease. The lines changed colour depending on how hard she pressed. Her eyes glanced here, then there. She adjusted this slide, then that one. There was a faint buzz and all around the walls little dots of light sprang into life. A 3D image of the _gamra_ logo appeared in midair.

Thayu pointed at a junction on the panel. "This is where you make the connection. Press here."

I did as she indicated, slid the touch-point right up to the junction.

Around the walls, the small projection nozzles of the imager increased in brightness and the image flickered in the air. Something that looked like the _gamra_ news channel.

"Do I have an access code yet?" I needed that to get into the message board and get my personal directives.

She drew the floating command board to her and typed, lightning-fast. Coldi characters flew over the screen. She waited, typed again when letters flashed. Then she gave me that alert, alive-and-fighting look. Gorgeous eyes blinked. Triumphant. "There." She was enjoying herself.

I squirmed, couldn't meet her eyes any longer. If Eva ever found out I'd lived under the same roof as this gorgeous creature, she'd have a fit.

I connected with my reader and sent off a couple of short messages.

To my father: _I am in Barresh. I'm fine._

To Amarru: _Have arrived. Everything fine. Please check Nations of Earth payment to my accounts._ I paused for a bit. _Do you have lists of refugees stranded at the Exchange?_

To Eva: _I'm in Barresh. Everything is fine. I love you._

To Nixie Chan: _Please report on Nicha._

To Delia: _I have started my appointment. I apologise for my hasty departure, but I assure you that everything is fine. Expect my first report soon._ I cringed at that one. I didn't trust Delia as far as I could throw her, but she was, for the Nations of Earth half of my contract, still my supervisor.

To Danziger: _I advise extreme caution in Nations of Earth actions. Please contact me as soon as possible._

Seeing as it was midmorning in Rotterdam, I expected replies very soon.

Then—I took a deep breath as if plunging in cold water—the Earth news services.

I linked to World Newspoint first. Across the page, in letters larger than this conservative service normally used, was one word: _War._

I read, heart thudding, of riots in many large cities. Two deaths in an apartment fire in Paris, a woman and a young child. Coldi, I suspected.

The projection showed image after image of riot squads, of screaming protesters, of young men hurling rocks at buildings. Rotterdam went without city heating. A woman ventured into the street selling old-fashioned electric heaters and was attacked by a mob.

Mayhem.

Danziger appealed for calm.

Governments introduced martial law.

And damn—Elsi Schumacher's body had been found in a bushland reserve in the province of South Bayern. The cause of death was not yet known, but since the body was tied up and wrapped in hessian bags it seemed highly unlikely she'd died of natural causes.

A huge military presence had closed the Exchange to all off-Earth air traffic. Athens was isolated.

World Newspoint displayed an article about me under the title _Betrayed again._ Underneath was a copy of my Nations of Earth staff photo, in which I resembled a rabbit caught in headlights.

As if causing the death of President Sirkonen was not enough, the Union has taken another of our candidates. Following the disappearance of Seymour Kershaw ten years ago comes the disappearance, in similar circumstances, of Cory Wilson. Mr Wilson, on a contract shared by the Union and Nations of Earth, had been scheduled to depart for Barresh earlier this morning. However, when department staff checked on his room last night, they found it unoccupied. No one could shed any light as to Mr Wilson's whereabouts. The hotel reception mentioned that "some black-skinned, red-haired people" had collected Mr Wilson's luggage and paid his hotel bill, but Mr Wilson himself has not been seen since leaving his fiancé's house in the early hours of the morning.

"It appears," Ms Delia Murchison of Nations of Earth said, "that the Union is deeply involved in both the attack on the president and Mr Wilson's disappearance. In response to our queries, we have heard nothing but silence."

I closed the article, feeling sick. I should have been there. I should have explained, I should have . . . But what difference would it have made? People were saying I was a traitor, even before I left.

I _wasn't_ old school. I wasn't from the aristocracy. I was a New Colonist from a section of humanity no one on Earth understood.

Flash Newspoint presented a different angle on the news.

Mr Zbrowsky, the Polish ambassador, said, "The young man has been mistaken in his belief that these people meant no harm. I had the two of them in my house. I should have stopped them leaving with Mr Wilson." Eva Zbrowsky, Mr Wilson's fiancée, was too distraught to speak. . . .

I clenched my jaws so hard my teeth crunched.

Wasn't that just typical of Flash? There was no need to drag Eva into this. She had nothing to do with it.

But it was at the Nations-of-Earth-funded background news service Peace Newspoint that I found the most disturbing report.

Following the military blockade of the Exchange, security agencies report an increased activity in high-orbital space activity. The Exchange refuses to divulge the identity of the fleet, but it appears that a force is gathering to counter military action by Nations of Earth.

Written by Melissa Hayworth, whose restraint I found admirable. Had she written _Asto is about to launch a counter-attack,_ this might have been all over the news.

I pulled out my reader and fired off a second, more urgent message to Danziger, even though he hadn't replied to the first one.

"Delegate? Muri?"

Someone stirred at the door, one of the young men I had posted outside; he had used the local term for _sir_. "Some visitors . . . here . . . for you." Interesting choice of pronouns, those informal ones. Not on purpose, certainly. The owner of the apartment obviously saw no need for correct formal Coldi pronouns.

"Let them in."

"They . . . already inside. They want . . . see the Delegate now."

Trouble.

Thayu glanced at me as I rose. "Do you want me to come?" That was a very intimate you she used.

I signalled _yes_ , appreciated her support, and as we crossed the hall, regretted not having a feeder, because feeders were most useful in situations like this. There was really no alternative: I knew I would have to get one, and deal with the consequences of her intruding in my personal thoughts and memories. And explaining it to Eva.

Five people waited in the living room. Three guards stood silhouetted against the light that came in through the window. Coldi. Armed. Both couches had been pushed back into their former v-formation. On one couch sat a woman and, facing her, a man, both Coldi. I'd seen both of them before, but never this close. Delegates Ayanu and Sishaya, ambassador and vice ambassador of the Asto delegation.

Trouble indeed. In big fat capital letters.

But wait—there were only five. That meant there had to be someone else. Two delegates each with two guards.

Indeed as soon as I walked into the room, the missing guard materialised from next to the door. He had his charge gun out of its bracket and held it, casually, pointing at the floor.

In _my_ living room.

The woman, Delegate Ayanu, said, "You accuse Asto of this attack on your _president_? What is your basis?" Her speech, harsh and abrupt, rattled with accusatory pronouns.

_Good morning to you, too._

I stopped a few paces inside the door. With both couches occupied, there was nowhere for me to sit.

So today's business was intimidation, huh?

In Coldi society, she would be my superior, and I should greet her as such: looking down, my arms by my sides.

_Gamra_ protocol didn't require this deference, but lines between _gamra_ protocol and that of the individual member entities blurred often, and if people wanted to impress or schmooze Coldi delegates, they usually adhered to Coldi customs.

Not me. Not today.

I quietly met her gaze, darker than Thayu's. Like a lot of middle-aged Coldi women, she carried a fair amount of weight, with soft fleshy arms protruding from her tunic.

"I do not accuse Asto of anything." And that was a goddamned royal I.

"Then what is this?" She signalled and the guard behind her placed a reader on the couch next to her and hit a button. A projection sprung up.

A sweaty-faced man sat at a table in a courtyard, fiddling with the hem of a dirty shirt. His hair, limp and grey, hung down the sides of his head like bits of greasy string.

With a sick feeling I recognised the image: the dramatic last scene from the movie about Seymour Kershaw. The fake-Coldi Asian man, the fake setting, the Jacaranda tree, the fake gun. The Coldi man shooting Kershaw.

Bang, bang.

The projection went black.

In the room, harsh eyes met mine, six pairs of real Coldi eyes that said _explain_. Thayu behind me was probably thinking much the same thing. She had a right to be angry. They all did.

If I ever met that movie producer I'd kick him all the way to Mars.

"I think the Delegate misunderstands." Back to a neutral I now. "I'm sure the Delegate can see that the attacker is not a real Coldi man."

"Then what is the value of this?"

I glared at the rolling credits.

The movie had been filmed in some studio in Italy and a number of companies with Italian-sounding names had been involved in it.

"The value of this _movie_ is entertainment, nothing more." Not _story_ because that could be interpreted as _lie_. Not _recount_ because that could also mean _history_.

"Entertainment." She snorted. "Surely the people of your world don't tell untruths for the sake of offending others. This . . . _movie_ is a load of propaganda."

Another word I'd been avoiding.

"It is not."

She raised an eyebrow.

I attempted to explain. "The educational value of this type of entertainment is not in the learning of facts, but in the exploring of possibilities. It is about asking the question: what if history had been different?"

"But it never happened any different." Trust Coldi bluntness to misunderstand my intentions. Curse Coldi to come in here unannounced, while I was unprepared to argue my case.

The credits had finished. At the end one single line remained on the black background. _Dedicated to Amoro Renkati,_ whoever that was.

Their guard shut down the recording. Delegate Ayanu's gaze never wavered from mine.

I said, "I agree with you."

Up went the eyebrows again.

"I am pretty sure it didn't happen like this, but we need to face the truth: no one knows what happened to this man because his body was never found. This _movie_ tells us how it might have happened."

"You contradict yourself. You just said this is unlikely to have happened. So why tell it like this? It's a lie."

"It's not, because it was never meant to represent the truth." I would make a comparison with dreams, but Coldi didn't talk about dreams; they were regarded as embarrassing. They did, however, have a high regard for history.

"For example, you could make a _movie_ about a part in the history of Asto that isn't clear, or a part where one little difference would have changed everything."

She frowned, but said nothing, so I went on, "For example, a _movie_ could show what would have happened if the meteorite that struck Asto thousands of years ago didn't wipe out all larger inhabitants."

"But it did," she said, her face stiff. And the Coldi race had risen from the ashes, people now known to have been engineered for survival by the race that had inhabited Asto and had spread humanity across the universe.

"Yes, I know, but that's beside the point. What if it hadn't? What would it have meant? Say if for argument's sake the meteorite had been smaller and it hadn't struck where it did, and there hadn't been a shift in surface temperature, and Aghyrians had survived in large numbers, then Asto would look very different today, wouldn't it?"

Her face hardened.

"This is not a joking matter."

"I agree, it is not." Shit. Bad move, Mr Wilson.

"Then tell me, why are we talking about this?"

"To illustrate my explanation. Someone tells an alternative sequence of events. A story. Not true. Our culture does that all the time."

Her face remained hard. "So . . . someone can say just about anything, make a _movie_ like this, and then when people get angry about it, they say it's not real. How do you even know which way it's intended?"

"By the way it's presented." But plenty of people on Earth seemed to have trouble with just this dilemma. When networks like Flash become involved, lines between fact and fiction blurred. Allegations were raised, and never retracted. Rumours spread, and never stopped doing the rounds.

Delegate Ayanu's finger went up a fraction.

The guard hit another key on the reader and the image displayed a copy of the World Newspoint report, with Delia's comments.

Delegate Ayanu gestured at the screen. "This person clearly says we are responsible. She is someone of authority, is she not? Where does she get her information other than from a _movie_ you say isn't true? A recount."

"Entertainment, not recount."

"There is _nothing_ entertaining about this nonsense. If you are right, why does this woman seem to think it is true?"

I couldn't tell her of the security report Danziger had shown to me, about the red light. "There is some evidence, which I'm not at liberty to discuss without my president's approval."

She snorted. "We had no hand in the attack. Why even should we want this man dead? This _president_ of yours. He's nothing to us. He dies, you replace him. We don't care. If we don't get an apology and the Exchange isn't opened so that our people can get out—"

"Delegate, forgive me, but I urge restraint. This is a volatile situation. It is in _gamra_ interest to prevent further violence. I'm sure you would agree."

Hard eyes met mine. "No. I do not agree. Asto does not stand for having its citizens held to ransom without reason. We agree to nothing less than a full apology. Convey that to your authorities. If we are polite, we might honour their silly blockade of the Exchange for a short while. However, in order to remain polite, we will need some demands met. Four days. If your authorities' response at _zhamata_ doesn't please us, we'll see about breaking the blockade our way."

Before I could reply, she rose and strode out of the room, her male colleague and the guards trotting after her like little doggies.

# 11

**O** H HELL. I suppose that wasn't unexpected. Worse, I agreed with everything she said. Whatever had caused the emergency council to instate the blockade, it had made things far worse than they needed to be.

Thayu came out from behind me, wordless, and sank down on the couch just vacated by Delegate Ayanu.

She folded her hands on her knees and said, not looking at me, "I've never heard her so angry."

I sat down as well, tension rising in me, knowing that I needed to get onto Danziger to make him understand how serious the situation was, and needed to know what the reasons were for the emergency council's decision, and why the _fuck_ everyone was stalling on me. I was cold; I felt nauseous.

She continued, "Why are _Nations of Earth_ so keen to accuse Asto? Is it really because of this _movie_?"

"I don't think so, but . . ." I shrugged, raised my hands, again on the verge of mentioning the red light. ". . . That is the problem. I don't know. I'm not being told."

That gold-flecked gaze met mine. "Your _president_ no longer trusts you?"

I shrugged again, and couldn't meet her eyes any longer or bring myself to tell her how close to the truth she might be.

Taking up Amarru's offer for a flight out of London might have been the biggest mistake of my life.

She reached out to touch my hand in that Coldi gesture of comfort, but couldn't reach.

At that moment, Eirani bustled into the room with a tray of food. She glanced at us, wordless, volumes of meaning crossing her face. Disapproving meaning, that was.

"Midday meal." Her voice sounded like that of a schoolmistress.

My cheeks burned.

What the hell had she thought, seeing us almost sharing that intimate gesture?

Locals in the city of Barresh didn't marry for love either. For much of the native population, wives were a possession, and although it was outlawed, polygamy was still common. Showing affection in public amounted to loose morals. Oh damn all these different cultures. That was exactly the reason why _gamra_ protocol was so ridiculously formal.

I rose from the couch to hide my embarrassment and that damned blush. "I'll have to check . . ."

I staggered back to the communication room, shivering. My stomach churned like I was going to vomit. A thought crossed my mind that there was a bit more going on inside my body than the discomfort of my poorly balanced adaptation—I ignored the little voice of my subconscious. I didn't have time to be sick.

The staff were still at work. Devin and the two guards sat silent and recorded, listened and read. Translators were going, recorders ran and slotted details of conversations into my work area.

"You have a list of refugee names," Devin said. "I've put it in your directive."

"Thank you."

They didn't know—they didn't realise—how bad things were.

A message had come from Danziger's office, but it was only from Danziger's secretary, to say that Danziger would reply as soon as he was available.

I felt like screaming _I need him now_ but I kept my calm. This reply was better than nothing.

"You can all go and have a break. There's food in the living room."

While the staff filed out silently, I dropped on the bench. Thayu sat next to me, silent, while I stared at the projection without seeing it.

"The Delegate is not having a meal?" Eirani stood in the door, carrying a tray with two mugs.

"Not now, Eirani."

"It is time for the midday meal. The Delegate is thin as a reed eel. Not healthy." She came in, and set the tray down on the first available flat space, which happened to be the edge of the control panel.

At this, Thayu shot up, "Hey, be careful with the equipment!" She snatched up the tray.

The two women glared at each other.

I leaned back.

_Oh. Please. Just. Stop. It._

A bitter scent wafted through the air.

My mouth watered. "Is that . . ."

"Manazhu, yes. The staff went shopping." Eirani was still glaring at Thayu.

"Thank you, Eirani. Much appreciated."

"Hmph. The staff will have to show the Delegate to appreciate proper food." Meaning local food no doubt.

"I would appreciate that, too, Eirani."

I took one of the mugs from the tray, and drank, gratefully. The _manazhu_ was a bit weak, but otherwise rich and bitter. It calmed my stomach. "Thank you, Eirani."

"There is a midday meal set on the dining table. The Delegate should have a break."

She bowed and walked out.

"She is right, you know," Thayu said in a low voice.

"I need to wait for a response from my _president_."

"Can I sit here while you eat?"

"You don't . . ." And then realised that if she didn't know what it was about, that was my fault. No, she might not know Isla, but translators did a fairly decent job. I sighed. "I'm sorry." I had to put the cup down, my hands were that sore.

I must have winced because next thing, she picked up my cup and held it to my lips, and I could do nothing but drink like a small child.

She was staring at my face.

I asked, "What?"

"I heard people say that you grew hair on your face. I've never seen it." She touched my cheek, gingerly, where the hair was already too long; I could feel it catch and rasp under her nails, and I wondered when the hell my shaver was going to turn up.

When she was so close, she looked like Inaru and Nicha all in one. The soft skin under her ear, silvered by the light from the projection, was very sensitive. Nuzzle that area softly and, if she favoured you, a Coldi woman's eyes became bright, the cheeks, palms and soft skin at the wrists flushed red with desire. Words were too banal to describe what followed, memories of the first time I had witnessed that ultimate intimacy too precious. I had been fifteen, and I could still smell the scent of gym equipment of the sport hall at Taurus Grammar, the feel of the exercise mat under my sweaty hands. She was a year older than me, the smart, witty, politically savvy daughter of some manager high up in the Hedron Mines. She knew about things; I had been a virgin.

I turned my head away; the memories, and the smell of Thayu's Coldi skin, were too much.

She put the cup down. I reached over and pulled my reader to me, shuffling away from her ever so slightly. "I need to sort out my speech."

I didn't know what I was saying, save that I wanted to clear out the confusion.

"Delegate Ayanu upset you, didn't she?" She was damn perceptive to boot.

I averted my eyes. "The situation is serious."

"She tends to bluff. I guess you know that."

I shrugged. All Coldi bluffed like hell; peacock hair, peacock nature, the conservatives at Nations of Earth would say, but between the Asto ambassador's rude invasion of my apartment, and the threat posed by Nicha's father, I had little doubt that the menace was real, no matter how much bluff was involved.

I had brought up the text of my speech.

Nice words about being allowed to speak in the assembly.

Light-hearted paragraphs of the history of Coldi involvement on Earth.

What a load of rubbish.

Everything needed to be re-written, and I was running out of time and out of answers.

I worked hard late into the night explaining the urgency of the situation to Danziger, who still hadn't gotten back to me. I also sent my agreed column to World Newspoint. While I waited for replies, which didn't come, I trawled through Amarru's list of refugee names and after an hour or so, found an entry: Azisha Omi, male, aged four. No other relatives. Oh damn.

When I finally went to bed, I couldn't sleep. I still had no answers. It was hot, and when I opened the window to let in some air, Evi and Telaris barged in, guns drawn. I cursed at the harsh light they shone in my face, and sent them back into the hall.

_I don't need coddling, mashara. The danger is on Earth, not here_.

I slept briefly, but my sleep was disturbed by dreams in which Danziger held Inaru hostage in a ring of fire, and where I burned my left hand trying to rescue her. I woke up, that same left hand throbbing with pain. Yellow ooze had seeped from the bandage into the sheets.

As I sat up, too quickly, my mouth filled with saliva.

I staggered out of bed, tripped over the fucking flattened-possum rug, stumbled through the connecting door to the bathroom and made the washbasin just in time. Watery puke went everywhere, two, three times, while I stood hunched over gasping in that can't breathe, can't stop puking kind of panic.

Damn.

I straightened; I stared at my own mirror image, sweaty, red-faced, unshaven and dressed only in my boxer shorts. There were dribbles of vomit on my chest. I hadn't eaten much yesterday. I'd forgotten to use the infusor last night; I hadn't needed it.

Damn, I had no time for this.

I cleaned up as best as I could, went back to the bedroom, threw on a shirt, never mind the shaving, and went into the communication room.

Thayu sat at the bench, staring at a projection.

A street in a city. People in uniform talked to a group of others, several of whom seemed agitated by the way they waved their hands, angry even. A row of buildings rose in the background. Pink stone, white sky. Asto, her home world.

A Coldi voice blared in the room, ". . . the groups that demand an answer to these allegations. The Atmospheric Institute has assured the Conclave that nothing unusual has happened. They have equally assured the people on the news channels that rain does occur and has been recorded previously."

The projection now showed a different street between blocky buildings. In the sky, dark clouds built. Wind whipped sand around corners. Fat drops of water fell on hot pavement. First one, then another. Then it started pouring.

People ran out of houses, drenched in seconds. Children played barefoot in the rivers of mud.

Thayu whispered, "Rain."

"I'm sure it rains sometimes."

Her black eyes fixed mine. "It doesn't rain in Beratha. In all my life, I've never seen it rain in Beratha."

Increased rainfall. Elsi Schumacher. Sirkonen's datastick. I felt for my pocket with the back of my hand, but of course I wasn't wearing a jacket at all, and I had been wearing the clothes Eirani had given me. I had taken off my jacket the day before yesterday. In the bathroom. And Eirani had walked out with it.

I ran to the bedroom, but couldn't see the jacket anywhere. I couldn't remember having seen it yesterday either. What was wrong with me? I should never have been so careless. Shit, shit, shit.

I ran downstairs. Eirani had gone out for groceries, or so said the young man in the kitchen. He couldn't look for my jacket in the laundry, since it went out each morning.

I groaned, hoping the jacket hadn't gone, too. I told him I wanted the jacket, and the contents of the pockets, back immediately.

He would ask about it immediately. Oh, and did the Delegate want _manazhu_?

I said yes, since it seemed the only thing I could keep down. I slouched back, where Thayu stood at the top of the stairs, tension on her face. "An important matter?"

I glanced at the ceiling, wishing to hell I knew who listened to us. "Could be."

Sirkonen had given it to me as _something I might find useful,_ in a meeting in which nothing else of importance was said.

Thayu called me. She stood in the door to the communication room, light from the hall silhouetting her athletic build.

I jolted out of my state of dozing behind the inactive controls. "What is the matter?"

"You have an appointment with the uniform fitter."

For crying out loud. War was about to explode and she worried about a uniform?

"We must also visit the Trader Ledger today to set up your account."

That was true; I had to check if any kind of payment had come in, in case someone sent me a bill for the apartment and staff. And appearance was going to be important at _zhamata_.

I pushed myself off the seat and almost fell with sudden dizziness. "Let me make myself presentable."

I stumbled to my room. My clothing had arrived there yesterday, and Eirani had put my clothes on the shelves in the walk-in alcove that functioned as a wardrobe. I went in there, found a clean shirt and the infusor band. Got the box of capsules. My hand hovered over the little vials. The top compartment were the ones to increase my body temperature. I was meant to keep taking them for a few more days until my adaptation balanced and my body could deal with the heat without medication. The bottom compartment contained the capsules that lowered my body temperature, and I was meant to have finished them in Rotterdam. As it was, there were two left, and I clicked both of them into the infusor. Maybe they'd kill my raging fever. Damn, damn it.

Also, no one seemed to have turned up my electric shaver, so I took the razor into the bathroom and applied Eirani's stinging soap to my face.

I felt a bit better when I re-joined Thayu, but still shivery and altogether not clear of mind.

"You're not looking healthy," she said.

"Just tired." I rubbed my stinging cheeks, which felt like glowing beacons. I'd have to ask Eirani what had happened to my shaver.

"It's not good to be working all the time." Thayu's face showed concern. "You must go out."

Out. Enjoyable strolls in the tropical air.

"How can I? I've heard almost nothing from Nations of Earth. Nothing from the _president_ or Nicha."

"Nicha will be fine." She slid the front door open, letting in a cool breeze and the scent of humidity from the waterfall.

I stopped and stared at her, more irritated perhaps than I should have been. "How do you know that? Do you know him? Do you know what he's facing?"

She just inclined her head.

I didn't know why Delegate Akhtari had appointed Thayu to this position, with her knowledge of spying and communication. Was I starting to see bogeymen around every corner?

Think, Delegate, be reasonable. The trouble was, I had some difficulty doing that right now. It was hard enough walking. I focused on the guard's back. Down the gallery, down the stairs.

The fitter's workshop was on the ground floor of the hall. Hundreds of uniforms, all with at least some blue, lay sorted on shelves. Tunics, robes, sashes, scarves, trousers. Never had I seen so much blue in one place.

While the fitter took my measurements with a piece of white tape, I glanced around the shop. "What do you advise?" Damn, I wanted to go back and crawl in bed.

The man mumbled with the tape between his lips, "The display rack over there. We have plenty of sizes for the Delegate to try on. If the fit is not correct—" He took the tape out of his mouth; he blushed. "You know, because we've never had anyone of the Delegate's race here before, then we will make changes."

_Never had anyone of the Delegate's race before?_ What did that make Seymour Kershaw? An orangutan?

Come to think of it, I had never seen pictures of Kershaw in local dress. In even his latest photos, his hair had been short. Kershaw had never had a _zhayma_.

I had met Seymour Kershaw only once, at a party organised on Taurus for the swearing-in of the new governor-elect. Earning a bit of pocket money behind the bar, I had taken note of how much he drank, and how much louder his laughter became as the night progressed. A favourite with the ladies, a charismatic man.

_Is that Seymour Kershaw?_ I remembered my Damarcian stepmother Erith exclaiming when I, my father and Erith walked home after the party.

My father had said yes, and then Erith had shaken her head and mumbled something about _gamra_ not being happy with him.

Half-distracted, I pulled a simple sleeveless tunic from the rack. The fabric was thin like gauze and when I draped it over my arm, my skin shone through. Was this acceptable?

Thayu stood at the entrance to the shop, legs apart, hands on hips. She wore a temperature retaining suit, and her silver-clad arms protruded from under her tunic. The fabric showed a slight bulge at her thigh, and a metallic glint.

Monitoring equipment? A gun? Nicha never carried a weapon.

Telaris leaned against the doorpost; Evi had come into the shop, but his eyes were focused on the plaza outside.

None of them was going to be much help in choosing. I should have brought Eirani, for all the hostility that would have evoked from Thayu.

"That would be an appropriate choice," the fitter said behind me, and his voice startled me.

I held the tunic up, and couldn't see myself in something so . . . revealing.

"Does the shop have something with longer sleeves?" I was no athlete and there was no need to advertise that fact.

"Yes, there are various other designs." The man proceeded to pull out four other tunics, some with sleeves, some not. None came with matching trousers, so I would have to buy those separately. Not blue—only senior delegates wore full blue dress.

Bewildered, I glanced at Thayu, but her attention was elsewhere: on a man who walked past her into the shop.

He was at least a head taller than me, carried his height without stooping or looking reedy. His uniform was all blue: a shimmering tunic and trousers in a slightly darker shade. A thin cloak, like an academic gown, hung from his shoulders. His chest and collar bore gold-coloured ornaments.

Not an ordinary delegate, this one.

He bowed, first to the uniform fitter, and then to me. His eyes were brown like beach sand, lighter than hazel and not vivid enough to be yellow.

"I'm here to pick up my order," he told the fitter in accentless Coldi.

Yet he definitely wasn't Coldi. Too thin, and too tall, his eyes deep-set, not flat and single-folded, like the Coldi, Asian-like eyes. His hair was night-black without the peacock gloss, hanging loose over his shoulders.

"Just a moment. Excuse me." The fitter scrambled to the other side of the shop, fumbled in a cupboard and pushed a wrapped parcel across the counter.

The man took it, gave a curt thanks and headed back to the entrance. When he was almost out the door, he hesitated, again turning his gaze on me.

"Delegate." He nodded at the tunic in my hand. "Delegate, if I may be so impudent, I believe that the short sleeves are out. If merchant Hadri wants to get rid of his stock, he can do so without preying on unsuspecting new delegates. Wearing short sleeves will make a person look out-of-touch. The hem of the tunic needs to be below the thigh and the elbow-length sleeves are very trendy at the moment."

The fitter made some spluttering noises.

I inclined my head. "Thank you. In all truth, I am new and I do not know much about the latest trends." Nothing, in fact.

An expression came on his lips that could be a smile, or maybe not, since I was lost as to what type of person this was. "We all know who you are, and merchant Hadri knows this, too. But you must forgive me. I better introduce myself. Marin Federza." He held out his hand in an Earth-style greeting.

"Cory Wilson." I held up my hands, clumsily. "I'm afraid I'm indisposed. You know our customs?" Most _gamra_ cultures did not shake hands.

"My grandfather taught me." He paused and then continued in Isla, "It seems that was a useful skill." Accentless.

One thing I had learned early in interactions with _gamra_ people: never assume that no one understood me, whatever language I spoke. Most delegates were fluent in at least one other language besides their own, if not two or three, but to hear Isla spoken this well surprised me, hell, more than surprised me. Not many non-Coldi came to Earth. Certainly no one I knew who hadn't grown up on Earth spoke _any_ Earth language this well. Those languages were of no import in the scheme of things at _gamra_.

"Forgive my rudeness, but you represent. . . ?" Also in Isla.

Thayu scrambled to attach the translator to her ear.

"The Trader Guild."

Ah. Reason clicked into place. Traders travelled a lot and knew many different languages. Now the unusual dress code also made sense. Traders had their own uniforms. The Trader Guild was a government without a country, but older than _gamra_ itself.

I inclined my head and went back to Coldi. "Forgive me, Trader Delegate. I didn't realise."

"We don't tend to be loud. We just get the work done."

"You have regular contact with Earth?"

"I've been there, a few times. Interesting place." His face showed no emotion.

I laughed away my unease. _A few times_ did not justify his total command of Isla, and I didn't know what else to ask, without being rude for no reason.

Marin Federza nodded at the tunic still draped over my arm. "I better let you choose your uniform. I will see you again when _zhamata_ meets. I believe your speech will be popular. A lot of delegates are talking about it."

"I bet they are." Damn that Asto delegate and her pressure.

"I am looking forward to it." He stepped closer to me, enclosing me in a scent of musk-like perfume. "Delegate, I want to say that we support you in this matter that has upset Nations of Earth. If you air your entity's concerns, we will support your vote, if it comes to that."

"Thank you, Delegate."

"We want to solve this peacefully."

"Sure."

"I will see you then." Marin Federza bowed and strode to the shop entrance.

Thayu watched him, the listening device attached to her ear. Her face showed no emotion.

As he walked across the plaza, the realisation came to me: like Delegate Akhtari, Trader Marin Federza was an Aghyrian, the original inhabitants of Asto who had almost been extinct.

I also had a feeling his meeting me here had been no accident.

After I finished ordering the uniforms, Thayu took me to the Trader Ledger. The _gamra_ financial organisation occupied a freestanding building in the middle of one of the courtyards. The outer walls made entirely from glass, it looked like a giant crystal cube, strangely out of place in this stately complex with its ochre-walled buildings, mosaics, carved columns, arched entranceways and nary a right angle.

I had been to the office before, but as I stepped into the cooled air and padded onto the soft carpet of the light-filled hall where couches stood around low tables, the whole atmosphere obtained a new meaning. This was the office of _gamra_ 's most important financial institution, and it belonged to the Trader Guild. No other entity had commercial representation within _gamra_ headquarters.

And Marin Federza, whom I had just met, represented them, represented this entire building with its wood panelling and glass walls, with its luxurious carpet and polished wood tables surrounded by soft chairs; he represented all the employees, dressed in Trader red, a bright carmine, who worked quietly at their desks, modern holo-projectors before them.

Thayu led me towards an employee who beckoned, and then bowed as we took seats opposite the table.

I gave my name and details, and the employee brought up my account.

There had been a modest transfer as part of my _gamra_ advance. Not a great amount. Not enough, I thought, to pay for the accommodation when that bill appeared.

"Is there anything else? I'm expecting an advance to come in from Nations of Earth."

The man used his eyes to give a command. More figures hovered in the air; he shook his head. "Nothing as yet."

Damn Danziger. What was going on?

"Could it be that the transfer is held up because new accounts need to be set up?" My first stipend was meant to have gone in at the signing of the handover.

"It could be . . . but in that case the hold-up is at the other end. Any transfer affected anywhere at any of our offices is available immediately. That is our service guarantee."

I blew out a breath. The money simply wasn't there. Right—I reordered the six office staff in my mind—I had to reserve one person to chase up the funds more aggressively for a few days. If I had a few days, because right now, I had nothing to pay them, and someone was sure to turn up with a bill.

# 12

**W** E MADE OUR WAY back to the apartment along the tree-lined waterfront. Delegates clad in various amounts of blue sat on benches, quietly discussing or reading. The windows of the administrative offices of _gamra_ subdivisions looked out over the marshland. A lazy harvester floated in a field, sunlight glinting off its beetle-like back and the surrounding water. Locals waded through the paddy to load bags onto a flat-bottomed boat.

In the distance, the main island of Barresh basked in sunlight. Pink-flowered trees spread their crowns over the roofs of the blocky mansions of the old families. The white dome of the council building protruded from a mass of green.

The air was heavy with humidity and the scent of wet mud.

I felt Thayu's presence next to me without looking. The warmth radiating from her pricked my skin, even in the bright morning sun; I hovered between wanting to step away and wanting to get closer. If she had been Nicha, we would have touched in some way, one of those wordless Coldi gestures. A hand on the shoulder, a tickle in the side, a pat on the head. Just to confirm that _yes,_ _I'm still here. I still support you_.

I halted and walked onto one of the eating-house terraces, if simply to step away from her, to have an excuse not to touch her, and put a table between us.

We sat down under a large tree, and I studied the branches for listening equipment.

Dappled shadows fell over her face, each with one yellowish and one bluish edge, an effect of the binary suns. It gave her eyes a soft look.

_Those gorgeous eyes._ I had dreamed of Inaru again last night. Was this bewitching woman going to leave me in peace?

The guards had stopped at a few benches that lined the edge of the terrace. For security, I guessed. Evi unclipped a reader from his belt and used his thumb to flick through the screens.

A small beep signalled the arrival at our table of a serving robot, a circular column about half a metre across, on three sturdy wheels. The top part swivelled so a screen faced us.

"Any idea about the specialties of this place?" I asked Thayu.

"The chilled juice isn't bad."

I went through the robot's menu, making sure that whatever juice I ordered from the selection was suitable for both of us. Even that simple action brought memories—asking for lists of ingredients from restaurants when I took Inaru somewhere away from the Coldi community. As afterthought, I added two lots of yellow-coded juice for the Indrahui guards, who sat, silent and observant, watching every movement on the terrace.

The robot accepted my code and ambled into the building. Silence lingered.

Eventually, she asked, "Is there a problem?"

I said, in a low voice, "I'd like to know who is going to pay for my accommodation. Is anyone paying you?"

Thayu frowned at me. Her gold-speckled eyes reflected the blue sky. "I get my usual stipend."

I presumed the money came directly from _gamra_ headquarters. "What about the apartment? How much am I being charged for that?"

"You haven't been told?"

"No. I know nothing. All I knew was that I'd have accommodation, and I assumed that would be on the ground floor."

"You are unhappy that _gamra_ gave you better accommodation?"

"The quality of the accommodation is not the issue. Didn't you see my fund balance back there at the ledger? That's all I have. There is no way I'll be able to pay for the accommodation, and for the staff."

A frown made her eyebrows bristle. "Maybe someone is lending it."

"Yes, but whoever lends me accommodation will want something in return. That's why I want to know whose apartment it is. Who is spying on us?"

She blinked, still frowning. "I don't know. I thought it wise to make you aware of the equipment. It may not be used for a reason in particular. As far as I know, all apartments are bugged this way. I don't know who owns the apartment."

"And I don't believe that."

She blinked. "The only thing I know is a name, a local I think, someone who is not in the assembly. The apartment is registered in the name of Renkati. I have no idea who this person is."

I tried hard, but didn't entirely succeed, in stifling my Earthly anger. She had known the name of the owner all along. How very Coldi.

"To me, the name alone is an answer, even if you don't know who the person is."

A short silence. She looked down. "My apologies, Delegate." Back to formal pronouns.

I touched her then, lifted up her chin until her eyes met mine; a Coldi gesture of forgiveness. "I said to call me Cory. I understand what you've been taught. Only the full reply will do, but listen: giving me the name would have told me that whoever owns the apartment, it's not anyone I know. I don't know why I was put in here or even if it's important, or if the listening equipment is routine, but one thing we do know: this is not a routine situation. I am sure this is not a standard job for you either. My boss was murdered. The person you replace has either been framed for the crime or arrested on the basis of discrimination. Delegate Akhtari seems to think someone is after me. Every bit of information, no matter how incomplete, is valuable to me, and it should be valuable to you. We are stuck in the same shit together."

She winced; I had used the word _orro_ , meaning the putrid contents of the latrine in army desert camps, drawn from Nicha's extensive vocabulary of Coldi swear words. She said nothing, blinking several times.

I let out a breath. "Thayu, I want you to find out who this person is, who is listening to me, and with whom they're allied."

"I will do that, Delegate. I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. I will try to do better."

I lifted up her chin again. "I told you to call me Cory."

She gave me a blank look.

I cursed myself for much of the way back to the apartment. This was not going well. How could I make her understand that I couldn't, just _couldn't_ , be as close to her as a normal _zhayma_ relationship demanded?

Eva would not understand that the reassuring pats on the head didn't _mean_ anything, or weren't supposed to mean anything, but reminded me of Inaru, or . . . awakened memories I thought I had forgotten. So many things I had never told Eva. How could I not adore anyone whose eyes were so incredibly beautiful? How could I not gaze and marvel?

It wasn't right. I didn't want to be touched by her, and when she got a feeder, I didn't want to share my thoughts with her.

With Nicha, it had been easy. Nicha grew up in London; Nicha understood.

And now Thayu thought she failed me, and this whole mess was my fault. I, who had lived under the illusion that I understood Coldi so well. That I could handle cultural differences. That I could separate intimacy for bonding and intimacy for love.

And I couldn't.

I wanted Nicha back.

As I stepped into the hall, Devin ran out of the darkened hub room. "Delegate. Someone has been most insistent to contact you."

"Someone?"

"I don't know who it is."

_Danziger._ Hope flooded me. "What did you tell them?"

"I couldn't tell them anything. They don't write Coldi."

In a few steps, I was in the hub room. I sank into the chair, still warm from where the young man had been sitting. "Where is the message?"

Devin bent over the control panel and dragged out the message from behind other projections.

It was from Eva. I knew I shouldn't feel disappointed, but I did. Why was Eva the only person writing to me?

Cory, I'm scared. The press, World Newspoint and Danziger's people are saying a lot of horrible things about you. Ever since you left our street has been blocked off. The place is swarming with journalists. They want information, as if Dad can give that to them. No one in Athens is willing to speak to the press. Nicha has been arrested. Some people are saying how you might have something to do with Sirkonen's murder because you disappeared. I don't believe this at all, of course, but I worry. Now there are rumours that you have been kidnapped in Barresh. Please Cory, let me know how you are.

I stared at the text.

I _had_ sent her messages. " _You disappeared"?_ What had happened to the contribution I had written for Word Newspoint yesterday?

I pushed Eva's letter to the side and opened the Exchange link.

As I scrolled through the World Newspoint service, my first thought was that they hadn't put the statement up at all. Eventually I found my long letter . . . in the _fucking opinions section_? I linked to the many comments attached to the article, half of which, or at least the ones I read before my eyes clouded over with anger, seemed to doubt the authenticity of my message.

_If you are really Mr Wilson,_ some loudmouth said, _maybe you could tell us why these aliens are dictating the terms to us._

Someone else said, _I hope the police are reading this. You do understand that impersonation is a criminal offence and that electronic mail is traceable?_

I scrolled down further—

No. I must write to Eva first. Tell her that I _had_ written to her and ask her if—

Nothing from Danziger or Delia or Amarru. Nothing from Nixie Chan about Nicha.

Who had been blocking my messages?

I breathed out, closing my eyes.

I could almost hear Eva's voice, _Work, work, work. Do you ever think about anything else?_

The truth was, and I might as well admit it, I didn't. I _was_ my work, totally committed to the project that had grown from a small suggestion I had made to Sirkonen many years ago. I lived the project, I breathed it. I might be stuck here forever because of it, but if I didn't believe in it, then who else would?

Not World Newspoint obviously. Not Nations of Earth, who seemed to have cast me adrift like a malfunctioning satellite. _Who_ was blocking my messages?

I had to answer Eva.

I opened a blank message screen on another patch of air and slid the thought sensor behind my ear. No typing—thank the heavens.

_Dear Eva,_

That sounded stupid. Delete.

_My love,_

No. The whole technologically-enabled universe was watching me. Delete.

_Eva,_

Not ideal, but heck, I'd think of something more endearing before I hit send.

I stared at the blank page. Saw Eva's face as she had kissed me goodbye, not knowing that I'd leave, saw the silhouettes of her parents in the hall of her house, always watching what she was doing. Her street blocked off, her house besieged by journalists. She would be terrified.

I remembered how I had first met her, at a Victorian ball organised by a group of wives of Nations of Earth ambassadors. I had happened to be visiting from Athens, and had been invited along to the matchmaking ball by someone in Delia's office, a girl who had long since left, and had probably had an eye on me and who knew I was looking for a woman after my painful break-up with Inaru had been publicised. Instead, I had become enchanted by the daughter of the Polish ambassador, and had dived headlong into a quaint society of dinners and balls, public morality and abstinence before marriage. Far removed from the New Colonist society of which I had been a part since I was ten. _Ichi_ and _ata-ichi_.

Eva, with the innocent brown eyes.

The message was still as blank as ever.

Thayu sat in the corner of the room. A slight frown made the hairs of her eyebrows stand up. Inaru used to look just like that, and then the next thing she'd say something hilarious and break into laughter.

Would Thayu have the same wry sense of humour? I'd seen some of it yesterday.

Damn, I was supposed to be writing to Eva.

What would I write? I couldn't, _couldn't_ write her a fake good-news letter. With everyone watching, I couldn't tell her the truth either. _I have no money and it looks like Nations of Earth no longer want to know about me._

Besides, there was no need to alarm her. Eva was safe with her parents. Eva might be upset by a picket line of journalists outside her house and some malicious gossip, and yes, I knew that was not very nice, but her father knew about potential risk involved in these types of situations. He had security staff at his disposal. There was no need to say, _Look, Mr Zbrowsky, it might be wise if you kept your daughter away from anyone you call a "chan" for a while. She might be a target for kidnapping._

Would Asto do that, if they were really involved in the whole mess? That was not at all the style of the Asto military. Never discount anything, of course, but in the history I had read of Asto, their policy was shoot first, ask questions later. OK, so let's just presume they had shot. Where were the questions?

Oh, confound it. My mind was wandering all over the place. I needed to think about this letter, and I didn't feel comfortable with both Devin and Thayu watching me like cats before a mouse hole.

I grabbed my reader, pushed myself from the chair and strode out of the room, across the hall, through the sitting room. I opened the doors to the balcony and stepped into the hot midday air. The heavy scent of tropical flowers enveloped me. I leaned on the railing, looking out over the marshland that glittered in sunlight like a bath of mercury. A few flat-bottomed boats travelled lazily along the channels between the reeds. For a moment I pictured myself in such a boat. Nicha sat opposite me and on the floor stood a picnic basket. Way out beyond sight, following the currents across the marshes, the delta ended in a sand spit where the water tasted like liquorice and waves crashed on the shore. Waves perfect for surfing. On the other side of the island city, where the escarpment met the marsh, there was a lagoon surrounded by lush forest where water steamed in pools of pink and orange.

I'd seen pictures.

When all this trouble was over, I should find the time to see these things for myself. With Nicha.

A bench stood in the corner of the balcony. A tree in a planter box cast dappled shadows over the wooden seat. I sat down and balanced the reader on my lap. A sting reminded me that I was favouring my right hand today, and that simply picking something up with my left hand required bending the fingers, and that was just too painful. At least I could stop shivering here.

I tucked the thought-sensor behind my ear.

So what could I write to Eva?

_I have arrived safely and everything is fine._

No. Delete that. I was not on a holiday; she knew that.

_I just want to say I'm fine, and have arrived safely, contrary to what the gossip press might say._

Oh, it wasn't just the gossip press, and language like this sounded too stiff. I wasn't writing a political document. Delete.

_Eva, don't worry about me, no matter what people say. I am fine, and starting work here in Barresh. No one has kidnapped me._ Not entirely true, but what the heck, I had a start. _There are reasons why I had to come here quickly, and in time, those reasons will be revealed._ No, scratch that, try again. _I can't tell you why I had to come here so quickly. There are reasons which I didn't know when I left your house. I wish it had been different._

_I have been given a very large apartment here overlooking the water . . ._ and I carried on a bit about the accommodation and the city, and imagined she would still like to come, but had no idea how that would ever come to pass, or at least not in the near future. Not unless I could convince Danziger that continuing the position would be a good idea, and he didn't seem inclined that way at the moment.

I sat back and read over my efforts, intensely dissatisfied. I was dying to ask her what was going on with Danziger, but that would upset her and would make me look desperate. People were watching this link. The whole section about the apartment felt like crap. The apartment wasn't mine; I couldn't even pay for it. Maybe the people watching the link would get the message and transfer the money.

Wishful thinking.

I concluded with _Love, Cory_ and then sent it before I could change my mind. And then I felt awful because I should of course have asked if she had looked at wedding dresses yet, since that would be the most important thing on her mind. It was just that . . .

Get married? In a madhouse like this?

I couldn't offer the kind of life I wanted to give Eva, and I surely wasn't going to rely, no matter how temporarily, on her father's charity, suffering his _I told you those chans are bad news_ looks.

Nor was I going to take a desk job at Nations of Earth.

But to stay here, I needed money. With the code I'd been given at the Ledger, I logged onto my account, not that anything had changed there. As soon as the bill came for this apartment, I'd be in deep trouble. Either I would have to borrow money, or acknowledge that I was indebted to whoever owned the apartment, whoever they were and whatever leverage they would hold against me.

No, I'd best try to pre-empt that situation. I'd look for work independent of my position, so that if Nations of Earth wanted to play the standoff game, I could hold out.

A job.

Surely, _gamra_ had a fair share of rich people in need of a translator to iron idiocies out of mechanical efforts.

The Trader Guild for example. I had a vision of myself sitting at a desk, writing a letter. _Dear Kazakhstani rebel leader, the shipment of arms ordered by you is now underway. . . ._

I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

And yelped with pain. It was as if someone slashed a knife across my left palm. For a while I sat there, breathing deeply.

When I looked up, Thayu stood at the door. She said nothing while she came out, crossed the balcony and sat down in the sun, her legs flat on the hot pavement. I remembered painfully how Nicha did this, too, soaking up heat. A very Coldi thing to do. Nicha said it made his body temperature rise by a few degrees. He said it was pleasant. Coldi could drop their body temperature to as low as 40 degrees, but Nicha said that around 45 degrees was much more comfortable.

Sunlight caught in Thayu's glittering hair, leaving her face in shadow. Her gaze flicked to the reader on my lap. "She is the woman of your contract?" We were back to friendly pronouns.

"Yes."

As far as I knew, Coldi female officials who had a male _zhayma_ usually had a contract with the same person. Someone like Amarru, whose "husband" worked in permit processing. People at the Exchange had gossiped about their relationship a lot, since Amarru had re-signed for no less than ten years. Heavens above, could they actually be in love with each other?

"Eva is . . . worried about me."

"When does your contract with her start?"

"When I was scheduled to visit."

"After that, would she come here?"

"That was the plan."

I stared at her arms, soft and yellow-skinned, trying to decide if her voice gave away any emotion. I had no doubt she had come into my apartment expecting a sexual relationship with me. Was she disappointed or glad that it was not going to happen?

"What were the conditions of the partnership?"

What a typically Coldi question. "There are no conditions." Other than _do not fool around with others_. "Our partnerships are for love, and for life."

"You must care a lot for her, then."

The lack of emotion in her voice disturbed me. "Do you have any family?"

"My father."

"What about. . . ?" I couldn't help my gaze straying to her breasts. She had a child, somewhere.

She shrugged. "He lives with his father."

"How old?"

"Four."

That would make her about my age, counting in _gamra_ years, unless she meant four in Asto years, which meant that either she was older than me or she had been very young when she gave birth.

"Do you ever see him?"

"No." She gazed out over the marshlands. A muscle twitched in her jaw.

Damn, I shouldn't have asked.

When I had been with Inaru, I had always felt that our relationship wasn't serious for her, that Coldi treated family relationships like paper wrappers: useful until you got to the lolly in the middle. Even in Nicha, I had never felt he actually _loved_ his mother, nor had I felt Nicha would form a steady relationship with a woman. I hadn't thought Coldi had a need for this sort of thing.

I had been wrong.

I rose from the bench, and put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. "You have the right to have one more child." I was not so foolish as to suggest that she contact the father to see her son. The contract was finished; he was out of her life. That was the Coldi way.

"No. My father has already arranged a contract. It's worth a lot. I wouldn't have the funds to . . ."

I swallowed hard. That was where my relationship with Inaru had faltered. I could keep her, she had said, if I paid out the other man. To which I had replied that I wasn't about buying people and she could either come with me if she loved me, or not at all.

And she had run away.

I stared unseeingly over the marshlands. In my mind, I saw her on the beach of a Greek island—I had forgotten which one. She laughed at faces I pulled after eating bits of mushroom from her picnic basket. I could still feel the burning on my tongue from trying just that tiny little piece of red-coded mushroom. I could smell the hot-stone scent of her skin, hear her deep-voiced laughter. Feel her heat on my naked skin.

_Inaru._

Had she been serious? Had she thought I was more than a game? Had she thought because I wouldn't pay, I didn't love her?

What did it matter? It was too late. She had gone to honour her contract. By now, she would have her money and the man would have his children, and I had no doubt that, being from the Palayi clan like Nicha, she would occupy a plum position somewhere on Asto.

And in six months' time, I would marry Eva.

Thayu said, "I came about something else. You asked me to find out about the person who owns the apartment?"

I shook my thoughts free of times I would do better to forget. "You found something?"

"Come and have a look."

I followed Thayu inside. It was a lot cooler inside the building, and cool air stroked my sweaty skin.

But when I sat down, I made the mistake of putting my left palm on the seat. Something snapped under the bandage and white hot pain seared across my hand.

I cried out; black spots danced in my vision. I sat there, breathing deeply.

A hand came into my field of vision. "Let me have a look."

Trembling, I extended my hands.

Somewhere on the instrument panel, she flicked on a small light that showed a wet patch of yellow ooze seeping into the bandage.

Thayu gave me a sharp look. "Why haven't you seen a medico yet?"

All of a sudden, fatigue and pain overwhelmed me. I leaned back in the bench. My head spun, and when Thayu reached past me to a control, the heat radiating from her body made me shiver.

"I'll arrange it right now." Thayu slid an earpiece over her ear.

I sat there, fighting dizziness.

A little while later, she said, "That's arranged. Are you all right to continue?"

I desperately wanted to say no. I wanted a hot mug of _manazhu_ , to crawl into bed and ignore the world around me. But I nodded. "Show me what you found."

Her hands moved over the panel and dragged a projection forward. "I came across this."

I squinted at a piece of text. I could just make out that it was in the local keihu language, which I couldn't read. The translator had made a copy in Coldi next to the original document, and had done its usual job at mangling up the sentences. Something about a meeting. Thayu had highlighted one sentence. _It is said that representatives of Amoro Renkati came to the meeting._

And a memory came to me.

Like this, with the two names together, I remembered where I had seen that name before: in the credits of the movie on Seymour Kershaw. The same person who owned this apartment?

"This . . . Amoro Renkati . . . is he a local?"

"I don't know. I checked the population register, but nothing comes up under that name."

But this person could be an unregistered local, not a _gamra_ citizen.

A local, who was spying on me, who funded movies that told lies about my predecessor.

Renkati sounded awfully like Akhtari; I was sure it was an Aghyrian name. The Aghyrian section of Barresh were rich; they were high up in politics, or in business.

Was it really as simple as that? A businessman in Barresh discovers the glamour and money of the movie industry on Earth, supports a movie about a subject that is close to his heart—and vilifies the much-maligned Coldi in the process. Sirkonen tries to stop the release of the movie, and in return the businessman—not understanding the nature of free speech and democracy—thinks his investment is at risk and orders the attack on the president?

A possible motive, but I didn't think the potential loss of income was serious enough for murder, not by any _gamra_ entity's understanding. But it was a start.

And I had an idea. A stupid and risky idea maybe, but one that might answer some questions.

"Right," I said, "let's see if we can find someone to give me paid work."

If Thayu was surprised at the sudden change of topic, she didn't show. "What do you want me to do?"

"If you could take down what I tell you." I cringed, holding up my useless hands. I hated being dependent, but could only get the auto-type feature in Coldi to work through my feeder, and since I didn't have one . . .

"That's what I'm for, to help you." While she clipped on her thought-sensor, her eyes met mine in an intense, almost accusing stare, but she said nothing and calmly took down the text. The lines of curly Coldi script grew in the projection.

Finally, she read it out. "My name is Cory Wilson, delegate of _gamra_. Unforeseen circumstances in my home entity have necessitated that I seek temporary alternative funding. I have completed training in _gamra_ law and am familiar with Trader law. Besides Coldi, I am fluent in Standard, the language of my home entity, and proficient in Damarcian, Kedrasi and Indrahui. I am willing to take projects as translator or negotiator. It is my hope that your organisation can help me."

"What do you think?" I asked.

"It's very . . . unusual."

"Anything wrong with it?"

"It's very direct—for something coming from _gamra_."

Yes, I knew the pronouns were too direct. But _gamra_ was the only place where such archaic forms of Coldi were used. "This won't be sent through _gamra_. Not officially anyway."

"You want to send this—to whom?"

"Anyone I can think of. Marin Federza and the Trader Guild and the Ledger, but also the Damarcian master builders, and local businesses in Barresh." If Amoro Renkati was such a rich man and wanted to keep close watch on me, he might bite; I was sure that if I were in his position, I would bite. "Do you think anyone will be upset?"

"I don't know."

I spread my hands, frustration welling up in me. "What do you do when you're stuck for a job?"

Her look was blank.

Of course. That didn't happen in Asto. When Coldi children were thirteen, they went into schooling and moved up through the ranks by completing tasks and exams until they reached a level they couldn't attain. At that stage, authorities matched their abilities with a position, where they remained for life. It was easy to plan for a government which operated on strict population control.

"Well, I'm going to send it, whether it's polite or not."

# 13

**"D** ELEGATE, THE MEDICO has arrived." Eirani stood at the door, a washing basket on her hip.

I stopped my transcript mid-sentence, thoughts of flowing sentences fleeing my brain. For a while, I had almost forgotten the throbbing pain in my hands, since it had become less after the popping feeling, but now, with treatment in sight, it returned in full force. I did _not_ like doctors and hospitals.

Thayu gave me a small nod. "Go. I'll keep working on this."

I rose, reluctantly.

A woman waited in the hall. She towered almost a head over me, yet held her back straight. Wide but bony shoulders made me think of an athlete thirty years after Olympic glory. An orange robe hung from her thin and knobbly shoulders, leaving bare thin arms with skin wrinkled as an elephant's hide.

Dark eyes met mine from a face with a sharp nose and high cheekbones. She wore her greying hair in a tight bun.

She nodded a greeting. "Delegate."

Eirani returned a tiny bow. "There are benches and a clean table in the bathroom."

The woman gave a short reply in a language I didn't recognise but presumed was keihu, after which Eirani bowed again and shepherded us to the bathroom.

The medico woman followed me into the cavernous room. Without looking at me, she gestured at one of the couches that lined the wall. "Sit there." Right. Someone who didn't adhere to the _gamra_ formality.

She plonked a metal case on the table next to the couch, and dragged the table until it stood between me and her. She flipped open the lid. From within the depths of the case, two telescope arms extended, and lights flicked on at their ends. Then the front and back of the case clicked open and panels unfolded into a working table, while a fine mist sprayed from nozzles hidden in the remaining side walls of the case.

I stared. I had never seen anything like this.

"Put your hands here." She pointed at the pool of light on the treatment table.

I did so. In the brightness, the bandage looked positively disgusting.

"This is not good. Why not come earlier?" She met my eyes with deep black ones.

I shrugged, feeling both hot and cold at the same time; I had left this far too long and I knew it, but I didn't need this abrupt woman to tell me that.

From the sides of the medicine case, she unfolded another panel which held a neat row of metal instruments, many with pincer-sharp points that would put a dentist's pick to shame.

Squinting, she selected a tweezer-like gadget with knife-sharp points.

I focused on the languid steam rising off the water in the bath past the woman's back. I didn't want to know what she was doing but, at the same time, I felt a morbid fascination. Just _what_ had made that popping sound under the bandage?

She used the implement to alternately pull and cut the bandage away from my palm.

Like Nicha's, her skin carried not even the faintest fuzz of hair. Yet she wasn't Coldi.

_Aghyrian._

She had all the aristocratic features. The height, the wide shoulders, the straight nose, the high cheekbones, the long fingers.

It was the first time I had heard an Aghyrian speak with an accent, staccato, snappy, as if she really hated Coldi.

By now, she had removed most of the bandage. The skin of my left palm, red and shiny, strained against strips of tape which the doctors in Rotterdam had applied to keep both sides of the cuts together. One had come loose, leaving a raw and gaping wound, red rimmed and oozing pus. The faintest breeze of air stung like acid.

A drop of sweat rolled down my stomach.

"Hold still." She put one hand across both my wrists and with the other picked up an instrument, with what looked like a small light bulb at the end. _Something_ , a spark or a light, flew from the glass bulb. It hit my palms with a sharp stab of pain. It crackled along my fingers . . . and then . . . nothing.

The pain was gone.

"What . . ." I stared.

She gave me a withering look, while putting the instrument away, nothing more than a metal rod with a little piece of glass at the end, a simple thing, a . . . _conductor_.

On second thoughts, I had heard of this. It had something to do with the ability to store energy in the body, like static electricity. All three races native to Barresh had this to some extent. It had a name—which I had forgotten. I had read a report written by someone, a Coldi author I seemed to remember, who was quite scared of the ability, calling it _a regrettable abomination_.

I wriggled my fingers. "Could you show me how you do that?"

"Is not for fun."

Talk about grumpy. "You are Aghyrian, aren't you?"

She gave me a piercing look, but didn't disagree. "Aghyrians are locals, aren't they?"

"Not by choice, we're not."

Heh, my probing had struck a raw nerve. All those years ago, a meteorite strike had made Asto, the Aghyrian home word, uninhabitable for them. Through the ages, the once-brilliant Aghyrian race had clung onto survival, but only in the last hundred years or so had their numbers increased substantially. There were rumours of a hard core within that group, who believed it was time for the Coldi race, their temporary place holders, a people created by them, to relinquish control of _gamra_ , and of their home planet.

Never mind that these days Asto was too hot for any species except the Coldi.

"Do Aghyrians all live in Barresh or are there concentrations somewhere else?"

Another sharp look. "You have a lot of questions, young man."

"It interests me." I could hardly say that I was hoping to pave the way for a question about Amoro Renkati.

But I was not to be so lucky.

She picked up the tweezers and proceeded to peel off the strips of tape, releasing a foul scent. My palms started bleeding again, but I still felt nothing.

After another spray from the nozzles, she took an implement like flat-tipped tweezers with incurved gripping edges, and pushed together the sides of the cuts, while with the other hand, she took a pen-like device made of metal, which she ran over the jagged cuts. I could have sworn the metal glowed with a faint greenish aura. Steam rose where it touched my skin, but I felt no pain.

Slowly, with a sure hand, she worked over all the cuts. The metal pen appeared to _seal_ my skin and left it shiny but less red.

She treated both my hands this way, then put down the implements. "Move your hands."

I did. The cuts had indeed sealed together, almost as if new skin had formed.

"Hurt?"

"No, not at all." I clenched my fist and let it relax again, staring at my palm. It was sensitive, not entirely healed but much better. "Is there anything I should do? Keep my hands dry? Can I bathe?"

She met my eyes squarely. "Hands gone bad like this because you never take bath. Must keep clean."

Was there a more blunt way of saying I stank? "I will do that. Thank you."

I stared after her back, realising that during the entire conversation I had not thought about pronouns.

In the afternoon, I received a terse statement from Danziger's secretary about the military blockade of the Exchange, mentioning that I was one of the individuals sanctioned to enter, from which I deduced that Danziger wanted me to come back.

To my question clarifying if this was indeed so, I received no reply, so I wrote that if Danziger did want me to come back, I would need some funds first.

To which there was also no reply.

Communication failure? I didn't believe it. Not for this long. I knew Nations of Earth couldn't communicate with me without _gamra_ listening in, and this probably meant, or rather I feared, that Nations of Earth were being deliberately obtuse because they had found something significant.

The news services only reported that Danziger would make a general statement immediately following Sirkonen's funeral.

I concluded that was going to be it.

Unfortunately, the timing of the statement fell just after my speech.

What if Danziger had found evidence of Asto's involvement?

There was no reason for them to be involved. If Asto interests had killed Sirkonen, Asto would lose much more than control over two hundred thousand of its citizens. They would lose their standing as a non-aggressive entity within _gamra_. A lot of entities would no longer be happy to vote with them.

Meanwhile, the bullying Asto delegation held a deadline over my head, almost like one of their damn writs. Respond satisfactorily or else. And no one was cooperating.

I submitted an application to _gamra_ administration to meet Delegate Akhtari and to my surprise, was granted a short audience. Maybe the reason I'd given for wanting the meeting, _to avoid a humanitarian catastrophe,_ had something to do with it. Maybe not. _Gamra_ entities could learn a thing or two from Earth about humanitarian aid in major crises.

And so I put on my new uniform, submitted my cheeks to another round of torture, never mind what had happened to that elusive shaver. By now I was starting to fear I'd forgotten to pack it, and I wondered how that poor abused razor was going to hold out for six months.

Delegate Akhtari met me in her office, seated behind a gleaming, kidney-shaped desk, and listened to my plea. When I had finished, she clasped her hands before her, and said, "Delegate, the situation is stable. Without _gamra_ and the Exchange, Nations of Earth forces are not going to harm any other entities, are they?"

Isolationist policies, at which _gamra_ excelled. Got a problem? Isolate it and ignore it. I bit down on my frustration. "Delegate, the situation is sliding into war. There is a large population of Coldi trapped on Earth. Asto is readying military to free them."

"They won't be used. The Asto delegation assures that."

"That was not the impression they gave me." Pronouns, Delegate, pronouns! Not such a good idea to use the offended-me in this case. "Delegate, I think the establishment needs to move with some urgency to allay suspicion that _gamra_ had a hand in the attack on the _president_ , and is willing to help solve this crime. When that statement is forthcoming, I can negotiate the withdrawal of Nations of Earth military forces so that normal Exchange traffic can resume."

"The establishment has been assured by the highest Asto authority that there will be no action until after _zhamata._ The Asto delegation have given the assurance that the Delegate understands that also."

"That deadline is too early. The _president_ is to make an important statement after _zhamata_ sitting."

"The _president_ cannot give the statement earlier?"

Damn. "There are communication problems."

Her eyebrows rose.

My argument was weak and I knew it. Hell, _communication problems_ would well alert her to where the real difficulty was: that Danziger wasn't talking to me. That I was failing in my job, that my network had broken down.

"I'm asking that my appearance in _zhamata_ be postponed to the following day until the _president_ has made his statement." The Asto delegation wouldn't be happy with that, but they had said _your authorities' response at zhamata_ , which referred to my upcoming speech, but nothing about when that speech would be held.

"The Delegate can plead for this at the sitting. It is not for me alone to decide. I am not the aggrieved party." That was an offended-I as well.

And that was the end of my hope. Shut up, Delegate, and talk your puny arse out of this. Ask before all the delegates in the very public _zhamata_ meeting if Asto—the aggrieved party—would wait. I already knew their stance on the matter. Worse, Thayu sat next to me, listening to every word of my squirming. _She_ had ties with Asto, _she_ would probably report back to their delegation. Asto would draw the only right conclusion about my relationship with Danziger. Where the spider veins of _imayu_ reached, they protected against conflict, but where there was a barrier . . .

A barrier that started and ended with me. And that was the root of the problem.

There was distrust between me and Danziger, between me and Nations of Earth. Not just now; it had always been this way, even back when Sirkonen first appointed me. I was appointed for a political reason: to shut up my father, to shut up Marius Sena, governor of Taurus, and other intelligent and well-spoken politicians of the New Colonist faction, who wanted a greater say in Nations of Earth policies.

When I returned to the apartment, the accounts assistant waited in the foyer.

My heart jumped—good or bad news?

I waited until Thayu had gone into the communication room and Evi and Telaris had shut the door before addressing the man. "Anything to report?" _Let it be payment from Nations of Earth. Let the lack of communication be through technical problems._ Although I no longer believed that.

The man cleared his throat and by then I knew that the news wasn't good. "The staff needs to pay some grocery bills, Delegate. The staff are happy doing this, but there are not many funds in the general account. Maybe the Delegate has another account he wishes to use to pay the bills?"

Oh the innocence of him. "The account has enough to pay the bills?"

"It does."

"Then pay them."

The man nodded and scurried off. I went into the communication room.

I needed to do something, and quick. It was time to start playing tough with Danziger.

It was midday in Rotterdam and Melissa Hayworth was online, delighted to hear from me, she said. I imagined her crouched in a corner in some newsroom, reading her screen while all around her some other crisis was being played out.

Oh boy, did I have a story for her.

_I'd like your help._ I typed, knowing that what I said here would be on Flash within five minutes. I stood at the edge of a cliff and was about to jump, a point beyond which there would be no way back. Then again, how much lower could my relationship with Nations of Earth sink? _I am in a difficult situation. Nations of Earth haven't paid any of the agreed stipend as yet._

_Are you suggesting the president has abandoned you?_

Sure as hell I was suggesting that. _I would appreciate if you would not put words into my mouth. I am saying only that Nations of Earth is late paying their agreed contribution. I'm giving an address to the assembly, and need information from Danziger. No one is getting back to me about either issue. I'm contacting you as a last resort._

_So you want me to publish this?_

Another deep breath. Knowing I was about to jump off an even higher cliff. _Yes. If I can have a share of your payment._ It hurt me to say that. In normal life, I found the selling of news stories morally repugnant, something Flash Newspoint did. Stories circulated about how people wilfully put themselves through newsworthy weird events so that they could sell their experiences. In one word: revolting. But hey, I happened to be talking to Flash Newspoint's highest-profile journalist, and I'd run out of options.

If I did nothing, I'd live in a palace and starve. If I did nothing, the Asto military would attack and I'd never see my family again—or get married.

Melissa came back to me after a short pause. _I will have to negotiate with the boss._ Did I detect a slight hesitation? Time to pull out all the stops.

_Ms Hayworth, when this comes out, it will be anchor page news. I want it there. I know you are skilled enough to get it there. I need to continue this job so I can try to preserve the peace. I'm holding off a squadron of Asto fighters who are keen to free their kinsmen and retaliate for whatever has been done to them. You of all people should understand._ Her Coldi stepfather would be under pressure, too. All the signs were that she had a good relationship with him.

Another pause, and then she replied, _Yes. I agree. I will get this onto the anchor page._

_Thank you. I have some other things. At the Exchange in Athens, find a four-year-old boy called Azisha Omi_.

_Any reason?_

_Ask him what happened to him. It will make a good story_. Flash loved those kinds of stories. And I hoped it would get the boy looked after.

_Also, the credits for the movie on Kershaw mention a name, Amoro Renkati. Do you have any idea who this is?_

A few minutes went by without reply. I glanced at Devin, who sat in the corner making sure everything was recorded, oblivious to the meaning of it. "Have we lost connection?"

"No."

I typed, _Melissa?_

_Hang on. I've got the movie. I am watching the credits right now. Where is this name?_

_Right at the end._

Another period of no reply.

_I see it. No. I have no idea who this is._

_Can you try to find out as much as you can about this person?_

_Any reason?_

_It will be newsworthy, and if it works out, you can sell the story._

_Ha, ha. Funny. OK, boss. I'm onto it._

When she signed off, I balled my fist at the ceiling. Yes, _yes_!

Within an hour or so, headlines at Flash would scream foul at Nations of Earth. Other news networks would follow. Danziger: one, Cory Wilson: one.

When I turned to the door, I found Thayu standing there, her eyes wide. "You just broke loyalty to your superior?" Her voice resounded with horror.

I shivered, thinking that this was something Coldi would never do. "We don't have those ties."

"No wonder you have so many wars." After casting me a look, not a friendly one, she stalked out of the room.

Meanwhile, I needed to get serious about my speech. The apartment had no office, apart from the one downstairs, but I wanted some peace and quiet. I made a little work area in the sitting room by dragging a table to the window overlooking the greenery. I placed photos of Eva on the desk and asked for a sheet of the smooth, plastic-like material that shops used for posting prices. It could be wiped clean and reused. The request puzzled the office staff, but I had enough of looking at screens and projections. In that perpetually dark hub room, one could forget that there was a beautiful tropical world out there.

So for the next two days, I sat at my little desk and doodled diagrams and flow charts for my new speech.

The staff worked downstairs and Thayu in the hub. She only came to speak to me when she had a question; and when she did, she reverted back to using formal pronouns. For the time being, that suited me fine. She could do administrative stuff, but for the rest, there was no way she could replace Nicha.

A girl from the office came to see me. In translating Delia's documents, the translator had thrown up some interesting sentences. Some of the type I had seen before when translating Isla to Coldi, others more inventive, probably because some of the language in the documents was fairly archaic.

What, for example, was an _adult school_? And yes, with "adult" meaning just what it did in "adult shops" and "adult movies".

It took me a while before I realised that they meant _university_. Coldi reached legal adulthood when they were seventeen, so the translation had morphed from "an educational institute where students are older than eighteen." Ah. On Earth, Coldi used the word "training" for this, having stolen the Isla tendency to use verb forms as nouns. The evolution of language in action. _Gamra_ retained old-fashioned forms of Coldi, which Asto had long since abandoned, while the Coldi on Earth were developing their own dialect. Mechanical translators had trouble keeping up with all this.

Interesting, if confusing.

Melissa Hayworth wrote that she was trying to negotiate the best deal for her article—I guessed that getting it on the anchor page proved a little harder than she thought. In my experience, news services were not so keen to publish material that highlighted major wrongs performed by governments for the fear of losing access to government information channels. She had so far drawn blanks on Amoro Renkati. The Italian studio which had produced the movie had been bought by a larger international crowd, and they—typically—didn't know anything.

Eirani came to tell me that my jacket—and something that the laundry had found in the pocket—were on their way back. Laundry, she said, was done in the city. I didn't understand why, when it took no more than ten minutes on the train, my laundry should take days to return, but such were the ways of Barresh. I had other things to worry about.

On the evening before the speech, Thayu beckoned me into the communication hub.

Projected in the air hung an article with a picture of me. The Flash Newspoint anchor page. The headline read, _Is this the way we thank dedicated professionals?_

_. . ._ Mr Wilson has been left marooned in Barresh, with his funds cut off and his assistant jailed for no apparent reason. Repeated attempts to contact the justice department were met with silence. "We cannot say why the man is in custody." This leads to questions whether the police know anything at all, and whether Nicha Palayi is held as scapegoat. Beyond the initial witness reports, the Special Services Branch appears to be totally in the dark about who attacked the president. If no charge can be brought against Nicha Palayi, then he should be released.

A spot of satisfaction glowed while I read. Melissa had copied everything I said, diverging only by the use of more dramatic words.

In the comments section, I found that messages of support ran about even with racist comments.

_He has worked hard for it,_ one commenter said, _We need to support Mr Wilson wherever we can. The Union is not going to go away, and arguments will only hurt us in the long run. Let us have the facts on the table._

Strange how it often took one such show of support to feel vindicated.

The accountant came to report that a payment had come in from Earth, too. It wasn't a huge amount—it came from Melissa Hayworth—but it was better than nothing, and I felt much better. I authorised the staff to pay another bill, for cleaning and clothing.

Danziger: one, Cory Wilson: two.

Even with that bit of good news, the night before the _zhamata_ meeting had me lying awake, staring at the vaulted ceiling of the bedroom, repeating sentences of my speech, hoping that what I said would persuade Asto to extend the ultimatum.

I begrudged people like Nicha, who could turn off their brains and sleep almost anywhere at any time. I wondered if Thayu, in the next room, slept just as well, and then I wondered how she slept—curled up with her knees drawn up to her chest like Inaru, or flat on her stomach like Nicha. I could almost see the golden morning light as it used to shine on Inaru's shoulders, and how she would turn and look at me as if she had a built-in sensor knowing that I was watching her. Inaru wasn't _gamra_ staff, so we never had feeders, but we didn't need them. In the flat we rented above a restaurant in downtown Piraeus, we had a little breakfast table we would drag out onto the balcony. I would make _manazhu_ in a coffee percolator—she'd almost died laughing the first time I did that—and the restaurant owner would bring us hot rolls. We would discuss politics, serious stuff. We would mine the depths of every political movement, place ourselves in the shoes of every bigot and terrorist on Earth or off it to attempt to understand what motivated them. We would—

I took a deep, ragged breath, dragged my sheet across my face to dry my cheeks.

It was over, damn it. I'd clawed back from that precipice; I was putting my life back together.

Damn it.

I rolled off the bed, padded to the window and peeked between the curtain and the wall. The marshlands bathed in the golden light of Ceren's two small moons.

What should I do? Try to go back to sleep?

_Zhamata_ sat at dawn. _Gamra_ schedules ran to standardised _gamra_ time, a day of about twenty-three and a half hours, agreed after long discussions between member entities. The Exchange needed a standard time to operate, but no single entity wanted to give up its time, or be forced to accept another's. So in addition to my trouble in adapting to Barresh's twenty-eight hour days, I needed to accommodate for _gamra_ days. And people called Nations of Earth bureaucratic.

No, there was no point in going back to bed. I went into the bathroom and decided to have my daily tussle with the razor now, before anyone else was up. I'd had to give up on the soap—it was too painful, but now the razor was getting blunt. It was only a gadget for travelling light, a flip-out, lightweight thing. Very soon this issue was going to come to a head. Growing a beard was not going to be acceptable, so I'd have to find another solution.

In the dark, I went to my little nook in the sitting room and sat down, lit only by the glow from my reader. But the text of my speech bored me; I knew it by heart. I leaned my chin in my hands, marvelling that my palms no longer hurt, and sat staring out the window, seeing myself go into the large hall, seeing the faces of all the delegates—

Deep red light flashed through the sky, silhouetting the trees whose branches just poked up over the balcony railing.

_What the fuck?_

Heart thudding, I rose and slid open the door to the balcony. A breeze heavy with the scent of flowers carried the faint sound of a wailing siren.

# 14

**I** STARED INTO the dark, heart thudding.

The red circle of light, the attack on Sirkonen.

I expected shouting, panic elsewhere in the building. I expected Thayu to get up, or the guards to come and check on me.

None of that happened.

I strode into the hall—and almost crashed into Eirani carrying a tray with tea and bread.

"Delegate!" Eyes widened.

"Sorry, Eirani. I didn't see you—did you . . . did you see anything outside?"

She frowned. "Outside? I was in the kitchen, Delegate. The laundry delivery came in." She nodded at the tray. On it lay Sirkonen's datastick.

Thank the heavens.

"You haven't heard that something has happened in town?"

"Nothing has happened, Delegate."

"No one saw anything?"

Her frown deepened. She set the tray on the table. "No. What were we meant to see?" That was an accusatory-we; she was annoyed.

I began, "There was a . . ." And stopped. The light was red. Coldi had no word for red. They couldn't see it; neither could Eirani. "Never mind."

Eirani had started offloading the contents of the tray onto the table. "Eat, Delegate, and I will see if the lady is awake."

She left the room and I sat down at the table, forcing myself to concentrate. Never mind what had happened. I'd try to find out later. My speech was more important now.

I was halfway through the last slice of bread when Eirani rushed in again, carrying some garment over her arm. She hung it over a chair and produced a comb from her pocket. "Doing your hair, Delegate."

She put up the collar of my shirt, and undid the clip in my hair. With a few swift strokes, she pulled it back into a ponytail, flattening the recalcitrant curls with gel. She then produced a small box and opened it on the table. Two stones glittered inside, white opals, on golden hooks. "I picked these up from the jeweller's yesterday."

I took the hoops out of my ears and let her put the new earrings in. When I shook my head, the stones dangled against my earlobes.

Eirani brushed the hair off my shoulders and held out the jacket.

I opened my mouth to protest—I'd boil in all those layers of clothing, but she would have none of it. "The Delegate must absolutely wear this. The first impression is important."

No choice about it. For all her grumpiness, Eirani did have an eye for looks. I rose from the chair and studied myself in the reflection of the glass. The stones reflected the light and glittered when I moved my head. White opal, for peace.

I wondered what Eva would say if she saw me now. _Who is that stranger?_

I took Sirkonen's datastick off the tray and slipped it in my pocket. At least that had been recovered. I'd have a good look at it when I came back, hopefully—I took a deep nervous breath—with good results.

"Delegate?"

Thayu came in.

She wore, of all things, a dress, a dark blue, shimmering garment that exposed her shoulders and yellow-skinned neck, luscious soft skin. Her hair was up in a bun and a glittering stone hid in the hollow between her breasts.

"You look . . . different." Different? She was gorgeous. Strong, athletic, vibrant, everything a Coldi woman should be.

She inclined her head. Gold paint glimmered around her eyes. "You look different, too." Her earrings—with blood-red stones, the Domiri colour—dangled against the soft skin under her ears. Both earrings were the same—in Coldi society a sign that she was single and available. Her gaze lingered on my earrings.

I cleared my throat, hoping she wouldn't see the redness of my cheeks. "You're ready to go?" Friendly pronouns again.

"Take this, Delegate."

She held something out to me, in the palm of her hand, something looking like a large and purple daddy longlegs.

A feeder.

"Whose is it?" Not mine; the one I had lost had been cornstalk-blond, like my hair.

"I borrowed it, and set it up last night. Take it, Delegate." She raised it to my shoulder.

_Damn, no_. I put my hand on her arm.

She froze and met my eyes. A tiny frown crossed her face. "Anything the matter, Delegate?"

"I told you to call me Cory." _Please, stop confusing me_.

"Take it," she said again. "We need it and we don't want to be late."

I couldn't refuse it. I dipped my head and stood still while she eased my hair apart with her warmer-than-normal fingers. My heart thudded like crazy.

Eirani muttered about upsetting my ponytail.

"There." The device's legs reacted to the proximity of my skin and latched onto my hair as the semi-sentient material was designed to do. Its "body" settled on my skin with a burst of heat. The infused patch in my brain fired. Connections lined up with long-forgotten threads. Contact.

The stream of thought-noise overwhelmed me. Images, sounds, light, memories all assaulted me at the same time. Information overload.

I raised my hand to my head, half-muttering, _eshi_ , retreat, back off, another word that was hard to translate.

The reception range contracted and focused. Familiar sensations crawled through me. The warmth, sharing, the mental intimacy. I met Thayu's eyes, focused and saw myself as she saw me: a bit taller than her, but scrawny and, in the artificial light, incredibly pale. She felt concerned about me, and worried and amused at my impression of her.

_What's a "cat"?_

_It's an . . . animal._

_I look like an animal?_

_Not look like, remind me of one._

_Is that good or bad?_

But she didn't need a direct answer. There was no hiding the truth. A warm glow hit my brain as her response. Flattered. Much too close, too much intimacy.

I damn well knew I wasn't going to keep this blasted thing on for one moment longer than absolutely necessary. Of course, she could follow that thought as well.

_I embarrass you?_

_Just forget it, right?_

She retreated at that, shocked, scared, and I knew I had no right to be harsh. But damn it, damn it. I had _cried_ over Inaru this morning. I was _not_ going to start any of this cross-species emotional closeness again.

"Let's go."

Much better to speak aloud, much better.

I thanked Eirani with a nod and went into the hall. Neither woman looked at the other, but I sensed they had reached a truce. Thayu protecting me, and Eirani a part of Renkati's staff.

_See, the feeder is good for something._

I just felt sick, avoiding her eyes. By now, she would know everything.

Devin waited in the hall, as well as a young woman from the office whose name had escaped me. They greeted me with polite bows, each dressed in demure khaki with blue pinstripes. Devin carried the reader he had been using in the communication room, and the young woman's belt bristled with listening equipment. She stepped forward and attached a tiny cylinder to the collar of my jacket. A microphone, no bigger than a pin. Whatever happened, whichever way the vote went, it was sure to be recorded for posterity.

Meanwhile, Thayu had opened the front door and we all went out. Evi and Telaris already waited there, one on either side of the door. Both had changed into formal attire: blue shirts and black trousers. They displayed no guns or other weapons, but both men carried an entire shop of electronics strapped to their belts, arms and legs. Various readers, listening and recording equipment and goodness knew what else. Weapons would feature in there somewhere.

I gestured. " _Mashara_ , lead the way."

No one said a thing as we made our way down the gallery to the stairs, down to ground level. We went past the uniform fitter's shop, closed at this time of the day, and out the arched entrance into a courtyard. Faint blue light silvered the trees and abandoned chairs and tables on terraces. Water burbled lazily in a fountain.

I remembered the red flash and increased my stride to meet up with Evi. " _Mashara_ , did anything happen in the city overnight?"

A sharp look. "The Delegate should be assured that safety is not a concern here."

"That's not what I mean, _mashara_. Last night I couldn't sleep, and while I was on the balcony, there was a flash of light and I heard an alarm go off."

Comprehension dawned on his face. "There was a minor disturbance at the Exchange. Nothing to worry about."

Did these men see literally everything in terms of my safety? "I'm not worried, just curious."

"An approaching craft experienced a shift. There were no injuries."

"Shift?"

"It's a minor malfunction in the Exchange, causing an aircraft to jump a very small distance."

And now they told me. I'd never liked this transfer business. Pick an aircraft up from one point in space and create a loop of antimatter through space to deposit it somewhere else. The process was supposed to be double and triple checked, but in that moment of nothingness, possibilities for accidents were endless and frightening. What if, through a silly mistake, you ended up somewhere in mid space, and could do nothing but keep flying until fuel and oxygen ran out?

And if the Exchange had something to do with it, why had there been that red flash . . . _Later,_ my subconscious told me.

Thayu frowned at me. _What is "red"?_

_I'll explain later._

Evi led us across to the other side of the courtyard, where the entrance to the _gamra_ building was black in deep shadow.

Other figures moved in the same direction, all dressed in blue, all different species. There were tall Damarcians, diminutive Kedrasi with copper hair and leopard-spotted skin, black Indrahui of whom only the whites of the eyes stood out. All walking two by two, each delegate with his or her _zhayma_. My escort drew silent looks and civilised frowns.

In the corridor that led into the main building, even more delegates joined the steady stream. Out of side passages, down stairs, they came and merged into the flow.

Ahead, two large doors stood open into the inner sanctum of _gamra_ , signified by a carved arch which carried the symbols of the founding entities including the two-sun symbol for Asto. Directly above the door, in the middle of the arch, blazed the five-pointed star symbol of Barresh.

Under this work of art we passed into the entrance of the hall. Into the dimness, the golden light on the central floor, the vastness of the member stands which surrounded the central dais.

Evi and Telaris peeled off at the door. Thayu led me down the steps into the giant amphitheatre, past benches, past delegates carrying readers, holding up traffic in the aisle by talking to each other. Thousands of delegates were getting to their seats, streaming down the stairs and to both sides.

"Delegate Cory Wilson."

I stopped and turned. A man was behind me, his flowing cloak billowing over his shoulders while he made his way down. Marin Federza, in all-blues. He bowed politely. Delegates in benches on either side of the aisle looked up. One elbowed his neighbour, whispered something and then they both stared.

Marin Federza drew closer, enveloping me in a cloud of musk-scented air.

"About your request for paid work—I have spoken to the appropriate persons at the Trader Guild and the Ledger." He spoke Isla.

"Thank you for doing that." My hopes rose.

"They said they weren't looking to appoint a liaison contact at the moment."

Oh. I shrugged. It was always worth asking. "Maybe in the future?" However long I could hold out without payment.

"Maybe, but I did speak to a few others, and there is someone who might want to discuss the possibility of paid work with you. Could I send them your details?"

"Is this within the Trader Guild?"

"My contact is not a Trader, but I've had dealings with him."

"What sort of work?"

"I don't know. He didn't tell me."

This was all suitably vague enough for the contact to be Renkati.

I glanced around to find Thayu, who was wrestling her way back up the stairs, as she seemed to have missed the fact that I had stopped.

"All right, send him the information."

"Thank you."

With a polite bow, he turned on his heel and strode down the stairs, towards Thayu. She hesitated, but said nothing. Via the feeder, and her eyes, I spotted a twitch of dislike across Marin Federza's face as he met her. Her feeling matched it.

_You know him well?_ I asked.

_He's always too keen to please._ She closed the distance between us and continued in normal speech, "Did he say he has work for you?"

"He said he might know someone who has work for me."

"The Trader Guild?"

"No. He is going to pass on my details."

"Oh." She didn't sound convinced, and I didn't want to discuss the issue, and didn't want to explain why I was doing this. My speech should be my first priority now.

We continued down the stairs in silence.

About two-thirds into the hall, Thayu led me into an aisle to the left, along a gallery where delegates and their support staff sat in boxed-off compartments, flanked by partitions high enough to shelter the occupants from view when seated. Thayu opened the door to one such compartment. "This is our box."

Again, this was an unexpected privilege. Most delegates sat in the gallery on benches.

This particular box had three rows of seats.

Thayu made for the desk at the front with sound equipment and screens. My place was in the middle of the box, directly behind Thayu, where a desk light threw a pool of light on the smooth surface of a table.

I sat down, put my reader on the table and slipped on the earpiece that lay on the desk. The holo-screen flickered into life, displaying the _gamra_ logo. Devin and the female assistant settled in the benches behind me.

I flicked through the meeting timetable. My speech was the second item on the agenda.

Thayu leaned back in the chair, gazing lazily over the lower benches and the central floor, where a spotlight cast Chief Delegate Akhtari's empty table in bright light.

All around, delegates were walking to their seats, talking with each other, silhouettes in the dark—

A muffled shout. A group of about six or seven people had emerged from the entrance under the galleries, the door that gave direct access to the centre of the hall and Delegate Akhtari's chair. Since not all the lights were on yet, they were no more than dark shapes, now going up the stairs.

I glanced at Thayu; she returned my look with a frown, fiddling with something on her belt. Her frown deepened.

_What is it?_

"Ezhya Palayi has just arrived."

_What?_ Asto's Chief Coordinator was somewhere in that group of dark figures that was now settling in one of the delegates' boxes halfway across the hall? I remembered Chief Delegate Akhtari's voice, _important prime delegates will be in attendance._

"What is he doing here?" But I already knew the answer: to hear my reply to his ultimatum, delivered to me by Delegate Ayanu.

Thayu answered, _Indeed_.

# 15

**T** HERE WERE REASONS _gamra_ manners stood stiff with formality. Preventing ugly cockfights was one of them. That didn't mean they didn't happen, though, especially when Coldi were involved. Asto was notorious for its disregard of the conventions, and I was sure that plenty of rules of behaviour were going to be disregarded today.

I stared across the hall, clenching my jaws. _I don't care who he is. I won't let myself be bullied under the table._

Thayu glanced over her shoulder; she had heard that thought, of course.

_Don't. He'll destroy you. I'm serious._ The statement brimmed with emotion.

I met her eyes squarely. _Let him try_.

She turned completely in her seat and stared at me, mouth open. I could feel her confusion. I was taking on her supreme leader to whom she had sworn loyalty, and was closer in hierarchy than I realised. Much closer. Something about her son's father, who was a close advisor to Ezhya Palayi, but she clamped down on those thoughts before I could fully comprehend them.

_Thayu, is there anything I should know?_

The deep boom of the gong reverberated through the hall. People rose. Additional lights flicked on in the ceiling.

Thayu turned back to facing the middle of the hall. I could almost feel her heart racing.

_Thayu?_

Her thoughts came through strongly. _I support you, and Nicha_. Very fierce.

It seemed I wasn't the only one to have secrets.

The door in the centre of the hall clanged open once more. Two guards marched out and to the sides, lining up and bowing when Delegate Akhtari entered the hall. The ceiling light glittered off the gold embroidery on the hems of her robe. White hair flowed over her shoulders, a fine gossamer curtain that belied the harshness of the woman underneath.

In strong regal strides, she glided to the dais.

A second beat of the gong and she sat down, folding her hands on the table.

People settled in their seats with a rustle of clothes and documents.

Light dimmed until much of the hall was in darkness and a strong beam from the ceiling silvered Delegate Akhtari's hair.

Her voice rang through the hall. "Delegates."

The last scuffles and coughs died away. All through the audience, little lights indicated screens of readers, gilding the faces of delegates from below.

_"Zhamata_ meets on the fifty-sixth day of the second quarter. In this meeting, the establishment will discuss seven items. We shall now turn to the first item on the agenda. Delegate Mavros will report on his preliminary talks into the expansion of the Exchange network to include Ziskmirthar and other geographically isolated areas of Indrahui."

The delegate for Kedras came to the speaker's table. Like all Kedrasi, he was small of stature and almost vanished behind the structure except for his flaming red hair, but his voice sounded confident. "Delegates, the question here before us is a vexed one. The local authorities of Ziskmirthar have applied to the establishment to open a second Exchange node for Indrahui, independent of the main node."

A few delegates in the galleries rose.

A clear voice came from somewhere up in the gallery. "This is lunacy if it is allowed to proceed, after all the effort the Indrahui establishment has put into peacekeeping! This will reopen the conflict we've spent years trying to quell."

People thumped on their desks, a way to show appreciation.

"Language, Delegate!" Delegate Akhtari rang a bell. "The delegate for Kedras will continue his speech uninterrupted." Her eyes blazed in the direction of the man who had spoken, a black Indrahui of the same race as Evi and Telaris. I wondered if they were listening up there.

At the dais, the Kedrasi delegate continued unfazed, showing maps and proposals.

I studied the text of the speech that had just arrived on my reader. An explosive subject that was sure to raise heated discussions. Indrahui was like the Middle East on Earth—always a hotbed of conflict, and could not settle on a single policy to deal with _gamra_. If the relationship between Nations of Earth and _gamra_ broke down, Earth could well end up in a similar manner. Because even if Nations of Earth didn't want to deal with _gamra_ as observer or member, it would be certain that several countries would continue their relations with _gamra_ independently. Greece, for example, would never give up the advantage _gamra_ had delivered it by putting the Exchange in its capital. Other countries, too, would see the benefit. Countries with valuables to export, or countries that wanted fancy weaponry.

After the Kedrasi delegate had—barely—finished his speech, another delegate stood up on the stairs. The spotlight revealed a member of the race that had once been common and plentiful on Indrahui. Hair grew all the way down her neck as if she wore a fuzzy scarf. Her face was coarse.

They were fighting for land to be returned to them. The newcomers—the black Indrahui like Evi and Telaris—declared them primitive. Not fit to be called human, black Indrahui said, and I wondered if most _gamra_ people thought the same of Earth, or if Aghyrians thought the same way of Coldi, the people their forefathers had created, or of all the other people who could be traced back to Aghyrian origin, which was more than ninety percent of all humanoids. Scary.

The woman declared, in simple but clear sentences that, having been given the island of Ziskmirthar as part of the so-called Indrahui peacekeeping solution, she and her people should be allowed their own Exchange. To which a lot of others shouted that they could not expect _gamra_ to pay for this, seeing as none of these original inhabitants had either the funds to travel across the network or the ability to pilot aircraft.

More shouting followed, and inevitably, Delegate Akhtari's ringing of the bell. Her voice boomed, amplified, over the racket, _language, Delegates, language._

When the noise died down, political opponents put proposals for consideration. The Kedrasi speaker accepted them and finished up by saying that he and his independent negotiators would consider the merits of each and report back to _zhamata_ when they had finished. That pleased the meeting; the bureaucratic machine had turned one cog.

Then Chief Delegate Akhtari declared time was up.

My heart skipped a beat, and another one.

She gestured at me.

This was it. My legs rigid, I rose from my seat, grabbing the reader from the table. On the way up to the entrance of the box, my foot caught on a step. I would have fallen had strong hands not grabbed me from behind.

Thayu. Warm feelings seeped in through the feeder link.

_Thanks._

I felt that she was nervous, possibly more nervous than I was.

We reached the gallery and turned left to walk towards the stairs. Lights came on in the ceiling to light my path to the speaker's dais.

People craned their necks to look at me, and whispered while Chief Delegate Akhtari introduced me. I didn't hear any of her words and instead repeated the first lines of my speech in my mind. Thayu walked a few steps behind me, and I felt she was the only reason I kept walking.

Under thumping on the desks, I climbed up, into the pool of bright light, turned to face the crowd and bowed.

I put down my reader and thumbed the screen back into life, all movements mechanical. How much depended on my success here. Thayu rushed forward and attached a tiny clip to my ear. She indicated the screen on the dais. _Turn it up here, off with this control, press it again to turn it back on. I'll be just behind you if you need me._ A fleeting warm touch of her hand, another one of those Coldi gestures.

_Thank you._

She gave me an intense look and retreated into the shadow. I could still feel her, though, with me as Nicha should have been.

The spotlight brightened.

It was time.

"Delegates."

My voice echoed in the hall, where nothing in the darkness indicated that at least two thousand people populated the stands.

"Delegates, I cannot say how much it pleases me to be here, and how much of a step forward _gamra_ has taken today by allowing me to come here. I am here, and my ears are yours to share, my thoughts are yours to hear and the people I represent have much tied up in my presence here." A formulaic statement that was commonly used. "My presence, I must add, that in the last few days has been given extra meaning."

I waited for it, but there were no protesting shouts in the audience. I took another deep breath, air flooding my lungs like turbo-charged fuel. My cheeks glowed.

"I'm here to mend relations, to forge new ones and to show our willingness to work with _gamra._ It is my strong belief that together, in cooperation, we will be stronger than apart. We cannot ignore each other any longer. We cannot succeed to our full potential.

"Nations of Earth is ready to talk. Nations of Earth is ready to have all the opinions out in the open, and to determine the way forward towards a fruitful cooperation. Of course, it would be foolish of me to suggest that we forget the past. In fact, I believe we should look at it closely to learn from it so that the same mistakes are not made again."

Somewhere in the hall a voice went up. "Delegate, let's do away with all the pretty words and let me ask a few questions."

The voice was Coldi, the pronouns challenging, and the spotlight had no trouble finding the speaker, who stood in amongst the rows of delegates seated in their boxes. Light glinted off his hair and silver temperature retaining suit. A red sash over his shoulder and around his waist seemed unnaturally bright.

Of course Ezhya Palayi didn't wear _gamra_ blue. If Coldi were bluffing peacocks, this man was top rooster and considered himself above such mundane issues as dress code. He stood on a walkway between the benches, with his arms crossed over his chest, his legs slightly apart.

He bowed to Delegate Akhtari in an exaggerated theatrical way. "May I?"

She waved her hand, palm up in a _go-for-it_ gesture. What was this? Delegate Akhtari hadn't been so accommodating to interrupting speakers in the previous discussion. Was this meant to be some sort of retribution for how I had tried to push her into postponing my address?

_Keep calm,_ Thayu sent me.

Ezhya Palayi bowed again, now to me.

I remained straight backed, no matter how much I felt that a small bow would be polite, no matter how much I was determined not to provoke him. I was determined to play this by _gamra_ rules.

In the deathly silence in the hall, he stalked across the floor in powerful strides, between rows of delegates, in my direction. His face remained without emotion.

"Delegate. Our newest delegate, who comes here with noble words, but whose words do not match his actions." His speech rattled with accusatory pronouns.

I kept my face equally emotionless. No one in the hall made a sound.

"I take it that all present have heard of the two-facedness of this Delegate's world, how his leader makes baseless accusations, while he sends his delegate to us pretending to be peaceful? I take it that _zhamata_ has heard that Delegate's entity accuses _gamra_ interests for the disappearance of their previous delegate? Worse, that _gamra_ assassins have killed their leader?" Although he had every right to use those royal-I pronouns, they rankled. What right did this man have to hijack time allocated to me? What right did he have—

"Thank you, Delegate. I was going to address those subjects in my speech."

A few people snorted. I didn't think it was funny at all—in fact I was going to kick the movie producer's arse all the way to Jupiter.

I continued, "I should perhaps point out to the Delegate, and others in this assembly who are of the same mind, that there have been no official statements appropriating blame." Goddamned royal-I in return. The level of murmur in the audience increased. "I should also point out that until a proper investigation comes up with a result, I am not laying the blame for the murder of my _president_ with anyone and it is unwise for any entities to do so." I met the man's eyes squarely, acutely aware that it was very much against Coldi custom to do so. He expected me to behave as subordinate, because everyone else did.

Ezhya Palayi returned the stare. "Yet, your _president_ has closed the Exchange and, therefore, he is laying blame."

"The _president_ of Nations of Earth is trying to sort out what has happened. I have cautioned him against speaking out too clearly." Never mind that Danziger wasn't listening. "I understand why he makes allegations of _gamra_ involvement."

"A correction, Delegate, he makes allegations of Coldi involvement."

"The people of my entity make that specific allegation, not the _president_."

Another voice came from somewhere to my right. "Is that because when your people look around, all they see is Coldi?"

Ezhya Palayi's withering gaze found the speaker, a dark Indrahui, at the same time the spotlight did. "What do you imply by that, Delegate?"

This man, too, returned the Asto leader's gaze squarely. "I refer to rule 91-473 of _gamra_ , that in order to remain in the network, no entity shall annex another, either by force or by stealth."

Oof, that was a direct hit. I could feel Thayu recoil. Of course Asto was being accused of doing just that on Earth.

Someone yelled from the back of the hall, "Slander!"

More shouts broke out.

Ezhya Palayi glared at the man. "Delegate, this allegation seems a little ironic. Aren't your people at Indrahui doing just that—annexing another people's land?"

Now an avalanche of shouts burst from all sides of the hall.

Delegate Akhtari rang the bell. "Language, Delegates, language!" When the level of noise had fallen, she continued, "The establishment shall conduct this meeting in orderly fashion and not roam off topic. Sit down." She glared at Ezhya Palayi. " _All_ delegates."

He slowly unfolded his arms and sank behind the partition of the nearest delegate's box, all without apparent emotion. The regular occupants of the box stared at him.

I continued, "I assure _zhamata_ that if my entity has been invaded or annexed, my people do not know about it."

More snorts rose from the audience, this time from the Coldi delegates.

"I have prepared, as several delegates have requested, a brief outline of the history of _gamra_ interests in my world." I quickly substituted _gamra_ for "Coldi", but the history was exclusively Coldi. Yet I refused to believe in the invasion by stealth theory. The first Coldi settlers had been refugees from an oppressive regime, with little more in common than a desire for freedom and to be as inconspicuous as possible. They had cut their ties with Asto and were as remote from the regime as I was from the old generation diplomats of Nations of Earth.

"Meanwhile, _gamra_ must act decisively." I continued and turned to Ezhya Palayi. "The _president_ of Nations of Earth may have poor manners in this assembly's view, but their laws work differently. The authorities have decreed that no force must be spared to find the people responsible for the murder of the _president_. The investigation will be conducted by military forces." Of course I meant _police_ but Coldi had no such word, having little need for internal law enforcement, because their loyalty networks already dealt with crimes, brutally so. "Their laws require no official accusation to suspected individuals before their arrest. They do not use writs and ultimatums. According to their law, people will be taken into custody without opportunity to prove themselves innocent; people have _already_ been taken into custody."

"So," Ezhya Palayi continued. He had risen to his feet again. "Your _president_ accuses us specifically."

Delegate Akhtari shot him a sharp look. "This has already been said."

"I repeat it, because the assembly has a right to know why this accusation was made. In fact, our delegation has made it clear we expect an answer today." Accusatory pronouns now. "So tell me now, Delegate, and show us all the proof. Why is your silly and ineffective _Nations of Earth_ accusing _us_ of this deed?"

Here it was, and oh, that _us_ was polemic. Delegate Akhtari picked up the bell—

Thayu recoiled—

I gripped the edges of the dais. He was not going to bully me. "I am not at liberty to discuss the investigation."

"That's because you don't know." Accusatory-you. "There is no evidence."

"Language!" Delegate Akhtari's sharp voice boomed through the hall.

Ezhya Palayi spread his hands in a melodramatic gesture of protest. "This man here does not answer our questions. How can we deny what we're supposed to have done if there is no official accusation? If there is no proof?"

"That is why I have appealed for this discussion to be delayed." I turned to Delegate Akhtari. "Meanwhile, I think it would be beneficial, Delegate, if the establishment sign a statement for our _president_ that no entity with _gamra_ , including Asto, is responsible."

"I propose a vote on that," someone shouted.

Many thumped on the desks, not entirely for the right reasons, I feared. They thought Asto was guilty, and by demanding a vote, they would force Asto either to admit guilt, or to lie, and both had deep consequences for an entity's entitlements within _gamra_.

Delegate Akhtari rang her bell. "Quiet, Delegates, quiet!"

Ezhya Palayi harrumphed, but gave a single nod and sat down. "We will have no trouble writing such a statement." Anger oozed from those words. "Asto votes that it be sent as soon as possible."

There was some cheering in the back of the hall, and some grumbling, but no one said out loud that they thought Asto _did_ have a hand in killing Sirkonen. This vote would put that issue to bed as well, I was sure, because whatever was said, I could see no way in which Asto would profit from a strike at Sirkonen, and many ways in which it would lose.

Delegate Akhtari rang her bell. "Is the establishment then in agreement to take a vote on this issue?"

There was a lot of murmuring, but no protests.

"Also note that by voting positive, Delegates will swear that their represented entity has no official involvement."

The desk screen in the dais went black. In golden letters flashed the text, _Gamra Eysh' zhamadata should send a statement denying all involvement of the establishment and its members in the murder of the leader of Nations of Earth._

Underneath the question, clearly marked, each in its own box, were the two choices, _for_ or _against._

I pressed _for_ in my first-ever vote, one that would seal my own future. I cast glances around the hall, as if to spy what others were voting, but of course couldn't see from my position at the speaking dais.

The level of murmur rose again, until Delegate Akhtari rang the bell. "Three hundred and two delegates voted positive; five delegates negative. The vote is carried in favour of the positive. The establishment will arrange for a statement to be sent."

I blew out a breath of relief. I could find out later who the five _nay_ voters were, but I half suspected they voted against the majority out of belligerence.

The important one—Asto—had voted yes. That's what mattered most to me. I didn't know if that meant the attack on the Exchange was off, but the ball was back in Nations of Earth's court.

Next it was time for my historical presentation, which went well enough. I was so busy watching reactions that I stuffed up on some of the tables, but I doubted anyone noticed.

"You're a fool," Thayu whispered to me when we walked back up to our box. "But a fool who defended himself well."

I didn't miss the tinge of admiration in her voice.

"Sometimes you just need to take a risk," I said.

Our eyes met longer than necessary.

Next on the agenda were some technical discussions about improvements to the Exchange network, then a proposed amendment to the official definition of the term "refugee", followed by a lengthy argument about raising prices for transfers.

Ezhya Palayi left halfway through this discussion, surrounded by the solid, maroon-and-silver figures of his bodyguards.

Yes, he had indeed come for me.

Thayu and I, Devin and the female assistant went back to the apartment after the sitting concluded, collecting Evi and Telaris at the door. By now it was almost midday and sunlight beat down on courtyards, casting harsh, double-edged shadows on pavements and tables. Not having eaten since before dawn, I felt dizzy.

As soon as we came into the door, a mouth-watering smell of baked bread, hearty soup and smoked fish tortured me. A glimpse into the sitting room revealed a veritable feast on the table.

I turned to Thayu. "Go inside. I'll quickly check the messages." Maybe Melissa had written, or Eva. Danziger's statement wouldn't be made until later tonight.

_You work too hard._

And now she was starting to sound like Eva.

I grumbled a deliberately vague response, and as I went into the communication room, I raked my hand through my hair. The "legs" of the feeder latched onto my fingers, allowing me to pull the device clear of the skin.

A switch turned in my head. Off. Blissful silence. No more interference with my thoughts. No more accidentally stumbling into hers.

I was in the mood for a long letter from Eva, full of trivialities about wedding dresses and guest lists, but when I had slipped into the chair behind the control panel of the communication hub, the first thing that came up was a message from the secretary to the president of Nations of Earth, very official looking, with the Nations of Earth symbol and a picture of the assembly hall with its grand columns and marble steps.

The main content of the message, however, was from Danziger, written last night. Oh damn. I'd spent four days waiting for this. Couldn't he have sent this a few hours earlier?

Mr Wilson,

I have been most disconcerted with allegations raised by you in your article at Flash Newspoint.

In response, I want to make a number of things clear to you.

Nations of Earth have not cut your funding and have not isolated you or interfered in your communication. While it is true that a number of countries, as well as the emergency council, wished your position to be cancelled, this vote did not pass in the general assembly.

More importantly, and I will be making an official statement about this later today, upon occupying late President Sirkonen's office I uncovered a number of documents relating to the matters you have been studying, or so Ms Murchison tells me, namely the history of Coldi involvement in Earth matters.

In doing so, I have come upon some material that I find downright disturbing. There is evidence of serious plans to relocate a large part of Asto's population to Earth. We have detailed technical drawings of a string of settlements planned for the northern and western fringe of the Sahara Desert. I send you this material which I have presented to the emergency council and which was received with utmost concern. There is absolutely no evidence that governments of concerned countries on Earth were ever consulted. I do not take a positive view of this material. It seems to me that those who have claimed danger of an invasion have been right.

In response to this, the general assembly has voted for you to be recalled. I have arranged for funding for your immediate return to Rotterdam.

Sigobert Danziger, Acting President, Nations of Earth.

# 16

**I** OPENED UP the documents that had come with Danziger's letter.

Street plans, buildings, satellite photos of an area in the Sahara with the outlines of the plan drawn in. Huge complexes of units. Accommodation for thousands, tens, hundreds of thousands of people. Detailed plans with explanations in Coldi.

My heart thudded in my throat. Wherever did this come from? How had it fallen into Sirkonen's hands? I looked for information, a name, a date on the document, but found none. Instead, there were balance sheets of costs, including a plan for transporting a huge number of people across the Mediterranean unnoticed. They even had damned security.

Oh, shit.

Whichever way I looked at it, a large-scale Coldi migration to a poor African country which had probably been paid for the land without the knowledge of Nations of Earth amounted to an invasion. A silent, peaceful invasion, but an invasion nevertheless. Exactly the sort of thing people had feared. Present this in the emergency council, and representatives would go ballistic, which was what they had done.

Closed the Exchange.

Limited off-Earth communication.

Yet why had no one told me about this?

_Because you're so far in bed with the enemy, Delegate, you don't know which is the right door out of the bedroom_. Or so had Eva's father said not so long ago, in one of our heated discussions.

I'd known about Asto's bugs in electronic surveillance. I'd judged them benign.

And it seemed I had been very, very wrong.

Meanwhile I'd spent a large part of my speech this morning defending Asto's innocence? And Ezhya Palayi accused me of double standards while at the same time he said he would vote—wait.

I brought up the _gamra_ link, with the results of this morning's voting. I was right, Asto _had_ voted for making the statement that no entity of gamra was involved, including Asto. That meant that they were in breach of _gamra_ law. My fingers trembling with anger, I opened up a blank message. I was going to—

No. Telling Delegate Akhtari would solve nothing; she was a bureaucrat, and I couldn't say I trusted her.

I was going to face the bully head-on. Hopefully, Ezhya Palayi hadn't left Barresh yet. I typed, _I need to see you immediately about a matter of great importance._ With commanding pronouns. I signed off with my name and selected _send_ before I changed my mind. There. I was going to play him at his own games.

Now—what was I to do about Danziger's command to come back?

According to my contract of employment, Nations of Earth could recall me for a specified period of time, and _gamra_ would need to be notified.

Had Danziger done that?

Come to Rotterdam to do what? To be carpeted for disappearing under the noses of Nations of Earth Special Services Branch spies? To face suspicion about this plan, which I had to have known about, otherwise why had I left so quickly? To join Nicha in custody? Defying Danziger's order would probably amount to resignation. I was pretty much on my own already, but if I did that, I'd lose all the leverage I had.

No, I would have to do something else; but until I had a brilliant idea, I'd have to stall.

I sent off a quick message to the office downstairs to ask if the money for travel had come in from Nations of Earth. It had.

I fired back another message, _Set it aside and do not touch it._

Then I sent a message to Danziger, _According to my contract, gamra authorities will need to be notified if I am to be recalled. I would like to know if this has been done._

Send.

Let Danziger take a few days to answer that, then I'd ask another question. Decide what to do when I had the answer. Could I possibly enlist some _gamra_ support to keep me here?

"Are you coming? The staff are impatient to start serving."

Thayu's voice jolted me out of my concentration.

I stared at her, vaguely remembering lunch. "I'll be there soon." Damn, I didn't have the time for lunch.

"The food is really good."

"Yes, yes, I'm coming." Dazed, I pressed myself off the seat. I hesitated, then quickly copied the plan onto my reader and carried that into the sitting room. I slotted the original into my code-protected work area.

Thayu hadn't lied. A gauze-like golden cloth covered the table, and on it stood a selection of bowls and plates so colourful I could barely believe all this was edible. There were slices of fruit—orange, yellow, red and vivid purple, salads in green, white and red, jars of juices, smoked fish—or so I thought—pickled mushrooms, nuts, various kinds of bread and of course the ever-present red tea.

Eirani waited at the head of the table, giving me a sharp look when I put my reader next to me and sat down.

"The staff promised to show the Delegate proper food. This is the local food of Barresh, Delegate. All the freshest, best quality the markets offer. This bread is made from the nuts of the megon tree."

She put a thick slice of bread on my plate, grey in colour with a swirl of brown. It smelled of roasted almonds. My stomach rumbled.

"What code is it?"

"The Delegate can eat everything on the table. Barresh has a gentle climate and we are not so desperate that we need to eat food with nasty poisons." A glare at Thayu.

Thayu returned the glare. "And if some of us didn't have such delicate stomachs, there would be no nasty poisons."

_Enough_. I placed my hands on the table, as if I was about to get up. "If you two are going to be like this to each other, that's fine, but at least tell me what it's about, do it somewhere else, or shut up and stop sniping at each other!"

Oh, Delegate, much too direct.

Eirani stared out the window, her face impassive.

Thayu looked down at her empty bowl, lips twitching.

So they were going to be stubborn. Fine! Just fine, for crying out loud. As if I didn't have enough trouble already.

We ate in total silence. I tore pieces off the bread, and picked at some salad. I made an effort to try at least a bit of every dish. Eirani supplied me with more fish, an orange meat with a strong salt-and-pepper taste.

But my thoughts were in the communication hub, that dark place devoid of daylight, where there might be messages from Danziger, and my stomach seemed to have taken leave of its normal appetite.

I took my reader and thumbed it into life, shifted my chair so I faced the window, and dragged my tea closer.

The reader's screen had come up with the material Danziger had sent. I studied the maps, the detailed plans of apartment blocks, water storage, canteens, covered walkways, tube trains. Why had Danziger said nothing about this discovery when I spoke to him?

Even Sirkonen must have known. Then another thought: was there more on the datastick than weather maps? Oh, damn.

I fished it out of my pocket and inserted it in my reader. It whirred and whirred, but nothing came up on the screen.

I took it out and put it back in. The same thing happened.

Damn, the laundry. While most data media were waterproof, who said they were resistant to soap?

"Anything wrong?" Thayu asked.

I shook my head, pulled the datastick out again, and put it back. It whirred, but nothing came up. Sweat broke out on my upper lip.

Thayu still stared at me. I was doubly glad I had removed the feeder. Someone had put her in this apartment with me for a purpose, I was sure of that. What if the purpose was to get her hands on this data and destroy it so as to destroy evidence of Asto's guilt?

She looked at the reader. "It's not working? Let me have it and I'll see what I can do."

_No, I couldn't have that._ "No, it's fine."

Eyebrows rose. "It makes that noise when it refuses to read."

"I'm not sure you could fix it. The data is not recorded according to the Asto system."

She gave me a sharp, what-do-you-think-I-am look. "I don't know that a different system should be a problem. Hedron uses different coding, too. The principles of each are similar. It's a matter of reading binary code, then just applying formulas of how many _bits_ there are to a _byte_."

That shook me more than anything else. She didn't know Isla, but she knew those words. What was she—a trained network spy? She was right about the data of course. Although different systems used different conventions, all digital technology was based on the same principles.

No, I decided. I couldn't let her have it. Not at all. Not until I knew Asto's intentions. Not until I knew that secret she'd almost let slip this morning in the assembly hall. "Thanks for offering, but I think I can manage."

I was no ace at computer skills, but I did have a program on my reader that might help me—at least I thought I had copied it after that course I had attended on data recovery. If I couldn't find it, or if it didn't work, I would ask assistance from a specialist at Nations of Earth. Failing that . . . I remembered how in Sirkonen's office, a man in Special Services uniform had taken a copy. There would be copies on Earth.

When I finished eating, I took the datastick and my reader back into the communication room. Alone.

For some reason, a conversation I'd had with Amarru came into my mind. We'd been sitting in her office sipping hot cups of _manazhu_. It had been winter, and the cityscape outside the window was bleak and grey.

She'd said, "Between you and me, Cory, I'm convinced that one of the reasons Seymour Kershaw committed suicide was that he had become isolated. He found it hard to trust people, even those we had sent to work with him."

Amarru, of course, had gone through the whole crisis; she was a lot older than me.

I had been so convinced that isolation and lack of trust would never be my problems. I had a _zhayma_. I would run an open system, encourage people to inquire, and I'd give open answers to all of them. But in hindsight, that was just a load of bullshit.

In the real world, people spied and cheated and went behind your back.

In the real world, you couldn't trust everyone, maybe not even anyone.

I sank into the chair and activated the Exchange connection. While the icon crawled over the projection, I rummaged on the seat, found Thayu's translator, and pressed both on and off buttons for a few seconds to completely flatten the charge. Even if the office downstairs held a supply of charged pearls, she'd have to go there first, and I would have time to get material out of her reach.

Damn, I was starting to think like a detective now.

I shoved the datastick in my reader.

Luckily, I found the program in one of my tucked-away folders which I didn't use often. I followed the instructions, but no matter what settings I used, the program wouldn't read the undamaged part of the file. My heart thudded in my throat. Did that mean that all of it was damaged?

The connection icon for the Exchange was still crawling at the bottom of the projection. Wonderful. Out of all times, the link chose this moment to play up.

I brought up the _gamra_ link—it worked fine—and entered my code.

A number of messages came up. A news report on my first appearance in _zhamata_ , generally favourable. A report from _Shey' shamata,_ the major news service of Asto, on Nicha's capture, forwarded on by staff in the office downstairs. I guessed the _local lawkeeper_ Inu Azimi who was mentioned was the same person as Nixie Chan. That made sense. Azimi clan were administrators. The report said, _Meanwhile, Inu has assured Nicha's family in Beratha that help will be asked for when the local officials keep stalling his release._

There was also a message from Nicha's father, _I am getting impatient about my son. Please advise on your progress in negotiations._

I cringed, seeing Asto military craft descend on Rotterdam. I had no progress to report. Nicha was a hostage, along with two hundred thousand other Coldi. After having seen Danziger's material, I doubted if there was going to be a peaceful solution.

That link to Earth still wouldn't work.

Oh goddamn it! _This isn't helpful, people, not helpful at all._

I fiddled with the reader and discovered another option on the recovery program that was called _map file_. When I selected it, a solid block of numbers and letters came onto the screen.

Hexadecimal code, I guessed, because the numbers went up to nine and the letters up to F. I turned on the projector so I could see a greater section of the data and scrolled up, and then down, feeling stupid.

Whatever had given me the notion that I would be able to fix this file? I was a diplomat, and knew nothing about the inner workings of computers. Nicha had usually taken care of that. Coldi were good with numbers, and binary and hexadecimal numbers ran in their blood, since they counted everything in exponentials of two. The exceedingly complicated counting system reflected the Coldi sense of outward-spreading spider veins of a network. In Coldi, _one, two, three, four, five_ really meant two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, representing an ever-increasing circle of influence. In Coldi societies, you could not subtract five from sixteen and arrive at a workable number. Mathematicians had devised notations for anomalies like the number eleven. There was spoken mathematics and absolute mathematics. Coldi children learned both from birth.

_And here I am, not trusting the only person in this apartment who can help me._

I scrolled further down.

There were gaps in the data, all over the file.

"That's artificial," a voice said near the door.

I gasped and whirled around.

Thayu leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest. How long had she been standing there?

"Artificial?"

"Yes, don't you see it?" Professional-you. She strode forward, scrolled back up. "Look at the data pattern here." She pointed at the image. "And down here." She pointed again.

I didn't see anything except numbers, numbers and more numbers, and random gaps. "See this pattern? It repeats all over, at regular intervals. This is from the damaged file, isn't it?"

"It is."

"This damage was deliberately caused. Whatever was on this, someone didn't want you to read this information, or wanted to destroy proof. Is it important?"

"I don't know." What a lame answer. How about: _a president has been murdered over this?_ But why? Did she know?

Maybe, I decided; but before I questioned her, there was one other person in this household who might know more.

I pushed myself up from my seat. "I think it's time I have a bath."

A bit after midday, of course, was not the appropriate time for a bath, but Eirani came with me nevertheless, bringing her basket of towels and soaps. She didn't question the strange timing, and that in itself might be a sign.

I undressed, sank into the water and sat back on the underwater bench. Eirani unloaded the contents of the basket onto a bench, and spread out towels and clean clothing, in a way more meticulous than previously. She cast me glances when she thought I wasn't looking.

Finally, she asked, "Does the Delegate wish to retire early today? The Delegate was up most of last night."

"No, Eirani. I want to ask you something, in private."

She froze, a towel in her hand. "Does the Delegate need to go into the bath for that?"

"I do." There was only one bug in the bathroom, in the far corner, and with a bit of luck, our voices would echo too much to be intelligible.

"Eirani, where did you take my jacket to be washed?"

"To the laundry. It has come back, hasn't it? I—"

"When you took it, did you know about the thing in the pocket?" I made sure I splashed water over my shoulders as I said this.

"Delegate?" Her cheeks coloured. "I don't check clothing for private items."

"But you knew it was there when you took it out of the bathroom, didn't you? And you knew that someone at the laundry would be interested in it."

She opened and closed her mouth several times, like a fish on dry land. "I . . . don't know what the Delegate is talking about."

Oh, the innocence.

"Eirani, as I have told you, I am perfectly capable of washing myself. You may find it unusual, but I have lived independently, and I can cook and wash my own clothes. You know that my funds are tight. It is my bet everyone on the island knows this. But in the time I've been here, no one has presented me with an account for staying in this apartment, which is obviously beyond my capacity to pay. To me, that means someone _wants_ me here, like someone who is spying on me." I let that sink in for a bit; she showed no emotion, and then I asked, "Who is your boss, Eirani, and what does he want?"

"My . . ." Her mouth fell open. "I don't have—"

"Yes, you do."

I let the silence build and slipped under the water. I rubbed my face, and came back up, my heart thudding. It had been stupid perhaps, to come here alone. But when the water cleared from my eyes, she was still staring at me, and hadn't produced a weapon.

I pulled myself onto the underwater bench, out of her reach, and sat, semi-lazily, trying to look as relaxed as possible. My heart was thudding like crazy.

"Eirani, I understand that you have ties of loyalty that conflict with mine. I understand that my living here is a favour of me to you, rather than the other way around. I agree to it. The apartment is pleasant and the food is good."

She merely blinked at me.

"But in the future, Mr Renkati can ask for information I have, and if I'm free to do so, I might share it. You understand that?"

"Yes, Delegate."

"Also, you can pass onto Mr Renkati that if he wants, he can come and meet me, and tell me what he's about. Destroying the data isn't helping anyone. The information will be recovered, one way or another. There are other copies. Tell him that, too."

"Yes, Delegate." She looked down, all her taciturn arrogance wiped from her face.

I stirred in the water. "If you're still keen, I'd like you to wash my hair, Eirani."

She sank onto her knees and put soap in my hair. Her hands trembled.

Mr Renkati: one, Cory Wilson: one.

When I came out of the bathroom, my hair still wet, but neatly tied in a ponytail, I nearly crashed into Thayu, who came rushing from the hall.

"There was a message from Ezhya Palayi. He says he will be delighted to see you right now."

# 17

**D** ELIGHTED TO SEE me; that was a bit steep. Knowing the situation, I had no idea why Ezhya Palayi should be _delighted_ to see me. The game continued, but I was ready to play it.

I'd ask my questions, clear and direct. _What does Asto know of this plan, and do you realise Nations of Earth see it as a provocation?_ and _Does this matter bear any relationship to the murder of the president?_

In like a kamikaze pilot. Accuse the most powerful leader, out of all _gamra_ member entities, of murder. I had to be the biggest idiot in the universe.

Thayu led me over the gallery and down the steps. It was just at the midafternoon break and people crowded the steps and the plaza below. In the throng of delegates in the staircase, many threw me curious glances, or spoke congratulatory words about my first appearance, which I acknowledged with a polite nod while trying to focus on what I would say in the meeting.

Part of me found it hard not to feel awed. Ezhya Palayi had been in my life for a long time. I remembered when I was five or six, and my mother was still alive, when the entire world watched news reports showing the arrival in Athens of Asto's Chief Coordinator on his first ever official visit.

At the time, Earth was just emerging from the anarchy of what historians now called the Third World War, but which was a series of conflicts over hot spots in the Middle East and Central Asia, and which had dragged on for the best part of fifty years. The fighting had been more contained than expected, but had done major damage to what remained of Earth's already-depleted oil fields. Beyond that, the damage was psychological. Poor countries, feeling the double-whammy of changing climate and financial pressure, had affected boycotts. Deep distrust had paralysed the UN and as a result, richer nations, the US in the lead, had refused to pay their contributions, reducing it to an organisation which represented the poorest. As revenge, continued boycotts had destroyed a number of major economies and their governments. The US, China and India had split along equity lines. That came on top of climatic disasters. By the end of the century, large parts of the world suffered hunger and lack of water.

Even in unaffected countries, like where I grew up in New Zealand, people were hurting, clamouring for hope. Many had lost family members, in the wars or in countries which had descended into chaos. Others had lost their houses, or all their life's savings. A diversion, any diversion, was welcome.

_Gamra_ planned their coming out well.

The people had liked what they saw of Ezhya Palayi: his sleek shimmering aircraft—it had been one of the few times that a _gamra_ based aircraft had openly landed at a regular airport—and how he bounded down the gangplank and met the brand-new Nations of Earth president, then the moustachioed Pedro Gonzales. Ezhya Palayi was young, handsome, and his smile oh-so charismatic. A fake smile, I later realised, because the Coldi smile was a much more intimate expression than it was on Earth, and Coldi didn't smile at strangers. But his minders had taught him well about Earth manners, including smiling, and the people had lapped it up.

This would be the man, with his technology, to lift them from their misery. People loved to dream, after all.

And what a dream it had been. The Coldi had fallen from saviours to invaders in the space of twenty years, despite, or maybe because of, the investments, the businesses, the technology they had brought, things that had been going on since the crash landing of a ship carrying two political refugees from Asto on a remote beach on the Greek island of Kea in 1961.

I eyed Thayu's swishing ponytail. An invasion? She wouldn't want to live on Earth—not warm enough. Earth had its fair share of problems, overcrowding being one of the more serious ones. Asto was overcrowded, too. There were many other worlds which were fertile and underpopulated. The Coldi hadn't invaded Ceren, their neighbouring planet, either, so why would they invade Earth? Surely if they wanted to do that, they would have already done so.

From the crowded stairs we went into the plaza, where the multi-hued spots of light falling through the ceiling window turned the groups of chatting delegates into a playful kaleidoscope of colours. We crossed the ground floor and went up the stairs to an apartment opposite mine. A bevy of guards waited outside the door, a solid wall of Coldi muscle, clad in body armour over silver temperature-retaining suits. All wore the red belts of Asto's Inner Circle service. They carried charge guns, and arms and legs bulged with various attachments and pockets, hooks and electronic equipment. Out of the four, two were women, both with muscles that would put a body builder to shame. I had admired Thayu's athletic build, but she looked emaciated compared to these guards.

They parted to let our group through, none of them meeting our eyes, as per Coldi protocol. A guard opened the door.

I walked inside, into a wall of dry heat that seared my skin, like midday in Arcadia, somewhere in the high forties, perhaps even hotter. I had to stop, concentrating on breathing, my eyes watering, thinking that I would never be able to stay for more than five minutes. Could I go back to take two extra infusor doses without losing face?

Gradually, my body became used to the dry heat, although sweat poured off me, seeping into my shirt in ugly dark stains.

Thayu glanced at me, a look of concern on her face.

I gave a small nod, as if to say _I'm fine._ I _had_ lived in Arcadia after all. Without climatic adaptation.

We were in a hall such as the one in my apartment. Bright light radiated from what looked like glow-in-the-dark towel rods mounted vertically along the walls.

A fluffy maroon carpet covered the middle of the floor, the area in which there was a five-pointed star in the hall of my apartment. I also noticed that this floor was plain white stone. Coldi valued simplicity.

Opposite the door stood a table with, on one side, a glittering gemstone on a thin but very tall stand of silvery metal, looking like some absurd insect's feeler. On the other side of the table a number of rough rocks lay in a glass dish.

A typically Coldi arrangement, symbolising _rimoyu_ , balance, a state of perfection in the Coldi mind. That was why they always did everything in pairs.

Having heard a bit about the Coldi penchant for precious stones, I could only imagine that the stone on the stand was worth a fortune. Elevated over the unworked rocks, it probably meant to say that refinement wins over crudeness. I had learned from Nicha that it was important to pay attention to these types of items when coming to a Coldi house, because they were rarely purely decorative, but said something about the mood of the host and the subject he or she wanted to cover.

So—was I right in interpreting that Ezhya Palayi wanted me to ease on demands and anger? I glanced at Thayu, who looked quite relaxed. I had no idea if I should have put my feeder back. Thayu hadn't said anything about it, and I surmised that whatever communication we had through it wouldn't be private anyway. Rumours went that Ezhya Palayi had no less than three feeders and that his immediate advising staff needed special training to keep up with him. Probably I was safer without.

Guards led me into the sitting room, also paved with the same smooth white stone, and devoid of the bathing pool so popular with the locals.

Coldi hated water.

Here, too, there were carpets, and low tables made from heavy beams of material that looked like granite. Cushions on the floor and the heavy curtains that half-obscured the windows were all maroon, which I knew to be a much-favoured colour, and I wondered what this signified, because Coldi didn't see the colour red, yet Nicha could tell the difference between this rich maroon and black.

Ezhya Palayi sat on a couch near the window, legs crossed, Buddha-like, his hands resting in his lap.

From close up, his age showed more than it had in the assembly hall. Strands of white highlighted his hair, giving it the impression of a partly albino peacock, a salt-and-pepper look that softened the normally harsh lines of the Coldi face.

I didn't meet his eyes. In his home, that would not be appropriate. I performed a greeting such as Coldi gave a superior, a small bow with the hands by my sides. I hated every bit of this subservience, but I wasn't about to start off the meeting by offending him. There would be plenty of offending later.

"Sit." The voice was decisive without being overly harsh.

I sat.

Only then did I notice the second person in the room, on a couch to his left. Someone tall, with long white hair, wearing a long blue- and gold-rimmed robe. I shot up and bowed for the second time. "My excuses. I didn't realise the Delegate was here."

"I did not advertise it." Faint amusement coloured Chief Delegate Akhtari's voice; she used professional, not formal, pronouns. "I believe, though, that what you have to say is important enough for me to hear."

I resettled on the couch feeling more uneasy. I guessed she knew the content of Danziger's message, and I wondered who she was going to side with to make the other man squirm.

These two people facing me held all of _gamra_ , all its member and even non-member entities, in their grip. I had no doubt that both of them regarded me as a chess piece to be moved to their advantage. "I am afraid you are right about the urgency of this matter, Delegate. We need to move so that it doesn't get out of hand."

"Indeed, talks are very much called for. A person can only hope that all parties will be restrained in their reactions." A slight barb to Danziger. She said nothing about the fact that Nations of Earth wanted to recall me, so I guessed no one had officially notified her.

From the seat to my right, Ezhya Palayi gave a snort. "So what's all this about?"

Typical Coldi.

I bowed to Delegate Akhtari. "My excuses, Delegate."

"The Delegate has no reason to give excuses. It is other parties that are not observing protocol." And that was a definite barb in Ezhya Palayi's direction. What had the two of them been discussing before I came?

Even with my eyes downcast, I noticed Ezhya Palayi glaring at her. "There is no protocol to be observed. Just tell us what it's about."

I couldn't help but agree with him.

In total silence, I put my reader on the table, unfolding the projection stand. By now I was so hot that a sheen of sweat coated my hands and made slippery marks on everything I touched. It was hard to concentrate. "My _president_ sent me the information I'm about to show, and it greatly disturbs me, as it has disturbed him." I activated the projector.

A copy of the plan hung in the air, with drawn outlines of buildings, streets, landing pads, even a separate Exchange node.

"As far as we can determine, this is a project planned by Asto to be located on Earth, and as far as my _president_ has been able to ascertain, without the approval of the local governments or Nations of Earth. The proposed locality of this project would be here." I zoomed out to show a map of northern Africa. It also showed the Mediterranean and the southern part of Greece, with the location of the Exchange clearly marked.

Since I wasn't allowed to look Ezhya Palayi in the face, I could only guess what the man thought by glancing out of the corner of my eye. And that didn't give me much of a clue. No frown, no hand raised to his mouth, no laughter. There was a silence which seemed to go on for a long time.

Then he asked, "Where did your _president_ get this material?" Again, there was little emotion in the voice.

"He says it came from the office of the previous _president_." I wiped sweat from my forehead. Sweat stung the skin on my cheeks after its abuse with the blunt razor.

"The one who was killed?"

"Yes."

Another short silence. I imagined getting comments about Asto's involvement, denials, accusations even against Nations of Earth, but the silence lingered. I remembered the table arrangement in the hall and the relevant proverb came to me. _A gem on a ring has more clout than a gem in the ground._ Refinement gets you further than brute force.

Faced with my rude, in _gamra_ 's eyes, provocation, he seemed to take his own advice to heart.

Then a yellow-skinned hand moved into my field of vision. "May I?"

"At your service."

I pushed the reader over the table.

Ezhya Palayi zoomed in again until the plan reappeared, then scrolled through all corners of it. Then he pointed to a handwritten scrawl at the bottom of one of the architectural drawings.

"This is signed by Mizha."

I scrambled through my knowledge of Asto's Inner Circle for the name Mizha, but drew a blank. By the way Thayu raised her eyebrows, she didn't seem to know either. That was odd, because Coldi always knew _everything_ about their world.

Delegate Akhtari leaned further forward, her hair falling over her shoulders. "Mizha? What would it be doing in the killed _president's_ possession?"

"The question asks itself." He turned to me.

"The current _president_ didn't tell me." Sirkonen seemed to have had a lot of things he shouldn't have had. "At this moment, he is of the belief that Asto is about to invade Earth to put this plan into action. I feel it my task to assess if it's genuine, or some sort of hoax."

Ezhya Palayi gave a chuckle. "Oh, it's genuine all right."

"You mean . . ." My heart hammered in my throat.

Across the room Delegate Akhtari looked on, long fingers worrying at her upper lip.

Ezhya Palayi continued, "I mean that this plan, these maps are genuine. This plan was approved by an Asto Chief Coordinator. Mizha was a predecessor."

Thayu spoke up, "But with respect, I thought your predecessor's name was—"

"Shaya, yes. Mizha took over in 3278."

In Earth years, that was in . . . 1975.

Oh.

I frowned at Thayu. Why would Danziger be worried about a plan more than a hundred years old?

Staring at the projection, Thayu said softly, "There is no date on this."

I had noticed that, too.

"No," Ezhya Palayi said. "The date would instantly give this away as a hoax. I don't know who obtained these plans and what their aim is releasing them now, but someone is trying to destabilise Asto's relationship with Nations of Earth and _gamra_ by doing so."

"Someone?" I was too numb to feel angry, so much of a shock it was to me.

"I would very much like to know how your _president_ obtained this data."

"It's the _president_ 's jurisdiction, so he has every right to have knowledge of this. I am afraid that this revelation will be a great danger to the relationship, especially in the light of what has happened. Already, people are saying that Asto killed the _president_ because he was about to make this plan public. If it's not genuine then Nations of Earth is going to want some very strong apologies, before relationships can deteriorate further." All right, I was angry now.

Delegate Akhtari snorted. "If I may be so impolite, Ezhya, but I fully support the Delegate's outrage. This . . ." She gestured at the screen. ". . . is a gross violation of _gamra_ law."

"Which is probably why Mizha didn't judge it worth the risk." I wondered how the man stayed completely calm.

My heart still beating furiously, I said, "Just to be clear: the plan is dead."

"Yes. It was never approved by the First Circle administrators."

Never revived either? Asto always had overcrowding issues. They didn't produce enough food for their own population. This was a sophisticated design, with a lot of detail. Did I believe him?

I glanced at Delegate Akhtari. Did _she_ believe him? I thought not.

There was a brief moment of silence, in which Thayu fiddled with some of her equipment. She glanced at the screen of her comm unit. Her eyes widened, but then she tucked the unit away.

"That still leaves the question: what is this material doing in the _president_ 's hands?" Ezhya Palayi was looking uncomfortably at me while he said this and I was resisting the urge to return his gaze and tell him he'd better answer that himself. No, I didn't believe him either. I knew that much of Asto's government structure. First Circle administrators didn't have the authority to make decisions as big as this. They only had the power to make decisions when delegated by the Inner Circle and, most likely, vetted by the power at the very top. I hadn't missed the bank of readers with the Asto command key in the corner of the room. This man looked in on every decision made in his name. This man was not a good-natured leader. By Earth definitions, he was an absolute dictator.

Ravaged by hunger and poverty, Saharan countries might well have sold large areas of land to Asto. There might well be an underground population of Coldi operating in Africa. The Coldi might well own the land, never mind that they hadn't yet built anything on it.

Then, to my surprise, Ezhya Palayi said, "Joyelin, I would appreciate if I could have a private word with the Delegate."

Delegate Akhtari raised one thin eyebrow, but rose and left the room, taking two black-clad guards with her.

As soon as she had left, Ezhya Palayi snapped his fingers at the guard at the door, who went to the other side of the room, opened a cupboard, and reached inside. Rows of lights winked off. Turning off the recording equipment. Thayu watched with hungry eyes.

Ezhya Palayi of course owned this apartment and could turn off the listening equipment whenever he pleased. If I turned off any of my listening devices, I bet I would have someone bashing down my door within half an hour, if not sooner.

Even the guards left.

Thayu did not. I met her eyes briefly; they blazed with anger. I mouthed _what?_ Anger and irritation simmered just under the surface. My shirt clung to me with sweat, and my head swam with dizziness. The heat was worse than midday in the sun at Taurus, but I would not give in.

A yellow-skinned hand reached out, hot even in this searing temperature, and touched my chin, pushing it up until my eyes met Ezhya's. The irises glimmered with golden spots. I tried not to feel belittled by this gesture. To be allowed to face him was a victory in Coldi eyes, but, damn it, I was too hot to think rationally, and I was _not_ a toddler and found it _very_ hard not to feel treated as one at this moment.

A minute passed during which we just looked into each other's eyes. My heart thudded like crazy. This was the moment of danger. Was he going to react to me? If he did, I only had Thayu to protect me, and I wasn't sure that she wouldn't support him over me.

He blinked. Stiffened. Blinked again.

And settled back on the couch.

I let out a breath. Whatever his instinct had decided about me, I was not deemed to be a direct threat.

He said, "I am strongly aware that Asto is being blamed for the death of the _president_ , especially in light of this information you have just shown me."

I fought to concentrate. "It is true. My president demands an explanation."

"So do we. Tell me this: if _we_ wanted to kill the president, would we have left the building standing?"

Was that a threat or an admission?

"Oh, do not think that we haven't considered sending the military. The military is still on standby. We sent your _president_ a writ. It would be good to know whether he intends to reply."

"A writ? For what purpose?" This was going in an entirely unexpected direction. Surely accusing Asto wasn't an offence that justified a legal action as severe as a writ? They mostly covered property matters, and crime. If anything, if there was enough evidence, Asto would have expected a writ _from_ Nations of Earth asking for explanation. A writ which would have included evidence for Nations of Earth's position.

This was . . . unexpected.

He continued, his voice more measured. "I commissioned some work to be done by a leading scientist. We paid for her time, her expertise. Secrecy was important, because we did not want to raise panic within our own population. She promised us this secrecy, for a handsome payment, and as far as we can ascertain, she did the work. The next thing we knew, your _president_ was talking about the results. We then contacted the scientist, who said that she had been pressured into giving the information to the _president_ , and that she had no choice or harm would come to her."

Shit. Elsi Schumacher. This was getting more complicated by the day. "What sort of work? I'm guessing it was a climate assessment?"

"It was indeed."

"For what purpose?"

"There have been some disturbing changes in our climate recently. The people of Asto are nervous and want to understand what is happening. Nothing of this scale has happened before, and on your world it has. I wanted predictions and models so that we can allay people's fears and plan for the future. It seems that some are already panicking."

"Like planning settlements on Earth."

"That is a totally false allegation." His voice was now downright angry. "The plans pre-date this information by many years, which is probably why the person who wanted your _president_ to draw that conclusion removed the date."

I didn't allow myself to be intimidated, even though I was now so hot I thought I'd faint. I wasn't sure whether to believe him; I couldn't think properly. "Do you realise that the scientist who did the work has also been killed?"

"I do. It seems that she has disappeared with her work, and that even a writ to return the material for which we have paid—which expired yesterday and is awaiting my instructions—has not produced results."

I realised the value of what I had in my apartment: Sirkonen's datastick, that I needed to fix. "My _president_ does not understand the nature of Asto writs."

"He should. It was explained."

For all the great impression that would make. I could imagine the uproar in the corridors of Nations of Earth. _And they bully us into giving this to them?_ Unfortunately, posturing was part of Asto's tactics. Pomp and ceremony, and frightening shows of numbers. They were like peacocks, but Nations of Earth might well misinterpret their bluff for real aggression, and therein was real danger of the type that involved military aircraft and weapons.

I said, "This material is of that much importance to Asto? To risk armed conflict?"

His eyes met mine squarely. "Listen to me, Delegate. Conflict will follow for those who choose to mess with us."

Ezhya Palayi rose from the couch, indicating that the interview was over. "The material is ours, and we paid for it. The scientist had no business giving it to someone else, least of all to the _president_. That it might have been a factor in his death is unfortunate, but has nothing to do with us. I want you to go back there, Delegate, and let your _president_ know that I want the material or there will be consequences."

I rose, too, and bowed. "With all respect, even if I go, I can't guarantee that I'll be able to retrieve anything. It is part of an investigation of justice." A process Asto wouldn't understand.

He stiffened. "Get me that material and we'll talk. I'll be happy to provide you with protection."

"Armed personnel, you mean, _your_ guards." With all the wrong pronouns. Oh, I was overstepping my boundaries; I knew that, somewhere in between being terminally hot and damned annoyed with his posturing. For all I knew, he had been intending to build this settlement in the Sahara.

He stepped so close I could feel his heat. He was about my height, tall for Coldi, and his eyes were extraordinarily gold-flecked. There was another moment of intense silence, of sizing me up. Too late perhaps, I realised that he had never fully relaxed after that initial eye contact.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted silver-and-maroon figures entering the room: his guards were back.

"You, Delegate, are impertinent." And that was a very rare form of _you_ that only Coldi of high rank could use.

If he thought it intimidated me, however, he was wrong. I no longer cared. "If you want to deal with my entity in peace, you better get used to that."

I didn't realise how much I trembled until I stood on the gallery outside, where even the sultry Barresh breeze felt like a blizzard on my skin.

I raked a hand through my hair. A large strand came undone from my ponytail. It was damp with sweat.

I swore, loudly.

"He does that on purpose, to intimidate people," Thayu said, after a while. Her voice was soft.

"Well I'm not going to be intimidated. I swear I'll get to the bottom of this, I'll—"

"We, not you." Inclusive, intimate we.

I stared at her.

"Don't forget what you said a few days ago: we are in the same shit together. How about you let me in on what's going on?" The anger shimmered through the restraint in her voice.

I grabbed the balcony railing with sweaty hands. _Please, I have no time for this now._ Down on the ground floor of the building, a woman in a red robe led a group of girls across the hall. "They have school visits here?"

"You're changing the subject. You've been changing the subject on me all day." Accusing-you.

"No, I haven't—"

"You haven't? Then what about that damaged datastick you have? You try to fix it? You couldn't even find the right flap to load recharges for your reader. You don't want me to see it, that's all there is to it."

I opened my mouth, but she kept going, "No, don't try to deny it. You remember what my position is? I'm your _zhayma_. I'm supposed to help you, but all you do is cut me out, block your feeder access, and now you're not even wearing it anymore. Do you think I can work with that?" All accusatory pronouns.

"Thayu, please—"

"No. I think it's time we had a good talk. Come." She took my arm in a vicelike grip. Then she gestured to Evi and Telaris, who had waited at a distance. " _Mashara_."

I stumbled along with her, too sick to care where she took me, too sick to fight.

After a blur of corridors, courtyards and stairwells, we arrived in a part of the complex where I had never been. Here, the thoroughfares narrowed and the walls on both sides blocked out light, especially because plants spilled over every inch of gallery railing on all four floors above us, filtering light to a muted green. The air was heavy with humidity.

Thayu led me into an elaborate arched entrance which gave access to a cool hall, where our footsteps echoed against a ceiling I couldn't see in the sudden gloom. Light streamed in through an open door on the other side. I caught glimpses of lush greenery.

Thayu fished in one of her many pockets, produced her account card and went up to a counter in the hall with the words, "Just for two."

The woman behind the counter took her card.

By now, I felt dizzy.

Evi and Telaris stationed themselves in the shady archway. A man in a green shirt led us into a courtyard in which grew a veritable rainforest. Flowering bushes and mossy trunks. Steaming water in lush dark pools. People sat in the water, sipping drinks. In a basin in the corner a young man rinsed a middle-aged woman's hair. The lower half of her body hidden in water, her ample breasts just tickled the surface. The attendant gestured at a pool surrounded by flowering bushes too low to completely hide the occupants from the rest of the courtyard.

"Thank you," Thayu said, and to me, "Come."

I stopped dead. "Oh no. Oh no, I'm not going in there."

"Yes, you are. You suffer from heat stroke, and you have some sort of problem. I am your _zhayma_ , and although you seem to have forgotten that I am here to help you, I will, whether you want it or not. So you are going to take off your clothes, get in the water and then you're going to tell me what's going on."

"No, _you_ tell me what's going on. You work for Asto. You have some sort of loyalty to Ezhya Palayi. Just in case you hadn't noticed back there, he's knee-deep in this little tangle." All my pronouns were of the accusatory form. I was reeling, not thinking clearly. I had _never_ used accusatory pronouns when talking to Nicha.

"Yes, I've noticed. I'm also guessing that he's probably after that datastick you didn't want to give me."

"Too right I didn't. You're a spy, aren't you?"

She planted her hands at her sides, glaring at me.

"Trained by the Intelligence division of the First Circle Elite, if you have to know."

_Holy fucking shit._ The best spying organisation on Asto, maybe the best there was in the known universe. "Then why didn't you just tell your big boss about the datastick back in that room?"

"Because my contract is with _gamra_. Because Delegate Akhtari appointed me to work with _you_ , and that's what I'll do, no matter how stupidly you behave!"

"I don't behave stupidly!"

The people in the next pool had stopped talking and turned to us.

She lowered her voice and grabbed my arm. "You don't? Then why do you distrust me so? Because I belong to the side you love to accuse of invasion? You know nothing about us. You have no idea how to behave. You know nothing about _imayu._ "

Her eyes blazed. She was so much like, no she _was,_ Inaru. Fire and passion. Burning anger.

"I don't accuse Asto of invasion. And I know about shared loyalties, and _imayu_." Yet, I had ignored this aspect. She _had_ sworn loyalty to _gamra_ and those types of loyalties were not easily violated. Those bonds were almost pathological and part of the Coldi biological make-up. I _should_ trust her not to do anything that would harm me, even if she _did_ report to this man I didn't trust as far as I could throw him. Because that was how Coldi society worked. Tangled webs. Everyone was connected to everyone else.

"What then? All you've done is keep me away. _Just listen and translate_ , _I'll fix it myself_ , _I want to bathe by myself,_ that's all you do. By yourself. And get into the water. People are staring at us."

"Fine!"

What the fuck did I know anyway? I was failing, coming apart at the seams, pretending to know what I was doing, but I knew nothing. In critical moments, I understood nothing of these people's behaviour. Any of my attempts to pretend otherwise were a farce.

I turned to face the bushes and tried to peel off my sweaty shirt, but my hands trembled so much I couldn't negotiate the fiddly hooks of the fastening.

She mumbled, "I don't know how Nicha put up with this."

"Keep Nicha out of it."

"I'll talk about whatever I want. Did you treat Nicha like this, too?"

"No, if you really have to know. Nicha is . . ." _a man_.

I let my shoulders sag, because that was ultimately where the problem lay.

"Nicha is what? Is he better than me?"

"Stop twisting everything. Just shut up!"

I flung my shirt down. It flew past a branch with obscene pink dangling flowers. I felt like ripping the bushes out of the ground, like flinging dirt all over this lovely courtyard. Damn Ezhya Palayi and his brand of intimidation. Damn Thayu. Damn everything.

The next thing a warm hand touched my shoulder. Her breath tickled my skin.

"Hey, calm down, you." That was a very intimate you.

I repressed the insane urge to turn around and fling myself into her arms. Nicha would have touched me; Nicha would have offered comfort. Nicha _could_ offer comfort.

Her hand moved over my shoulder, massaging muscles that ached with tenseness.

"Come into the water, seriously. Let's stop this silly fight. You're not well."

I stepped away, out of her warm reach, and slipped into the water, trying not to look at her. But while I was trying so hard, of course I saw everything. Her soft, completely hair-less body, her round breasts with black nipples. Muscles moved under the skin of her shoulders while she settled on the bench. I took deep breaths to dispel the roaring of blood in my ears.

Face the problem head-on.

"Thayu, this is the first problem you must understand. In my world, if you're contracted to a woman, it's not right to be convenient to another."

"Touching is convenient?"

"It is. So is sharing one's thoughts." Of course, they weren't _just thoughts_ , not for me. Neither was Thayu _just another woman_. Neither could I tell her how I had doubted her professionally and shouldn't have.

"Oh." A moment's silence. "I'm sorry. You must care a lot about her."

I shrugged, not meeting her eyes. I had thought far too little about Eva lately.

The silence lingered. Water rippled as she splashed it on her face, and glistened in diamond drops on soft shoulders. A young girl brought drinks, condensation pearling on the outside of the glass. I sipped, breathed out tension. The juice made a wonderful cold spot in my belly.

Talk and laugher from the other patrons drifted through the courtyard.

"Sorry I upset you," I said. "I was stupid, really." Stupid human reaction. I was not doing very well.

She gave me the most gorgeous look I had ever seen. Bright eyes with golden spots in the irises, even white teeth—no canines, full, dark-skinned lips. "Does that mean I'm no longer on your suspect list?"

I sighed. "No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you feel that way."

She sat back and sipped from her drink.

My face glowed; my ears glowed. I kept hearing Amarru's voice. _If you can't trust your zhayma, you distrust the entire basis of the system_. She had said that in the second week of my training.

But damn it, I had Thayu imposed on me.

Just as much as Nicha hadn't been my personal choice either. He'd been there; _gamra_ had matched our personalities and he had loyalties to them.

No difference between him and Thayu, because _gamra_ would have matched her to me, too. We fitted together in this job; we were complementary; it had always been designed that way.

Shit. Another near-fatal mistake, Delegate Wilson.

She said, "All right. About your datastick . . . Maybe I can fix it, or maybe not. It's hard to say. I need to scan the matrix for irregularities. Maybe a single cleanup will do it, but I suspect not. I suspect there are more sequences embedded in the document, and I will need to run it through a parser. Any data that has been overwritten will be hard to replace. We may lose part of the information." She figured all that from a single look?

A grim expression crossed her face. "It might be quicker to find someone else who holds a copy of it."

"That's what Ezhya Palayi wants." I closed my hands around my drink, balancing the bottom of the cup on the surface of the water, thinking how I'd had many such bathing sessions with Nicha and how relaxing they had been. I felt much better, and ashamed I'd behaved like such a prick.

"I'm reluctant to do what Ezhya Palayi wants. I think everyone, not just Asto, has a right to know what this is about. Asto has something to hide, or he would not have sent Delegate Akhtari out of the room."

While I spoke, an idea formed in my mind. "You know that Danziger has given me notice to come back?"

"I guess you want to use that opportunity to get the data."

Was there anything this woman didn't guess correctly?

"Maybe. It's an option."

Her eyes formed into mirthful little slits. "That is . . . sneaky."

"A person has to be resourceful at times."

Thayu gasped and hauled herself out of the water. Stark naked, and with me not sure where to look, she rummaged in the pile of clothes and returned with her comm unit. "I forgot to tell you. I received a message about a job."

She turned so I could see the screen.

I read. _Come to the city wharf tomorrow. We have a paid contract to discuss with you._

I frowned. "Who is this from?"

"There's only a number," Thayu said. "I got the message when we were with Ezhya Palayi. I haven't had the time to track it yet. I'll do that right now." Her fingers went over the control panel.

"Is this the contact through Marin Federza?"

"I can't tell from this information."

"Where is the city wharf?"

"On the main island."

"Meet there? Why? Is the employment in the city?"

She stared at the screen.

"Thayu?"

Her eyes wide, she turned to me. "Don't go—I think the number belongs to Renkati."

Bingo. He'd taken my bait.

"Of course I'll go. Don't you see? Somehow, this man plays an important in this whole matter. He's funded the _movie_ , and he's been far too interested in what I do. He probably knows I've spoken to Ezhya Palayi, and now he's annoyed that he couldn't listen to that conversation. This is my chance find out who he is and what he wants."

"But it could be a trap."

"Of course it is, but that's why Delegate Akhtari gave me you and Evi and Telaris, isn't it?"

# 18

**W** ITH A WHINE of metal on metal, the train whizzed on its track, away from the artificial _gamra_ island. I stared out the window, where wan light reflected off the bits of water between clumps of reeds and the occasional tree.

Fortunately, it had stopped raining, but low clouds scooted over the roofs of the main island of Barresh, hiding the rock cliffs of the escarpment that lay beyond. Monsoon had started. Water churned darkly under the train line. Another few days, and it would turn into a flood, flushing out paddies and destroying dams, dragging anything loose in its inexorable quest towards the ocean.

Including dead bodies. Was I about to follow Seymour Kershaw?

I shivered, even though Thayu's heat radiated next to me.

_You're fine?_

I nodded, clenching my hands to fight an urge to fiddle with the feeder, which once again sat in my hair. Whether or not reinstalling it was a good idea I didn't know, but Thayu's argument that we might need it when something went wrong was more powerful than my misgivings.

_Of course we'll need it. Why do you keep fighting it?_

I met her perfect eyes, completely black in the low light.

_You wouldn't understand._

Hell, I wasn't even sure I understood it myself. I was trying to keep my life in neat compartments, one containing my job, one containing Eva and the diplomatic set, back on Earth, the people I represented. To protect them, to protect Eva, because _she_ would definitely not understand. _What do you mean, you have to invite all these people to our wedding?_ That was another minefield of relationships. Eva's family might tolerate Nicha's presence, but Amarru's or Thayu's? Yes, they were colleagues, not friends. No, Coldi didn't make that distinction. _Gamra_ formality regarded these types of invitations as polite, the right thing to do. I could of course claim that Earth customs didn't extend to inviting work colleagues to private functions, but Amarru would be offended. She'd never tell me in so many words, but she would. Coldi saw their life as a continuum of interlacing contacts that balanced each other. People on Earth preferred barriers.

_You make everything so complicated,_ Thayu scoffed.

But she joked. Ever since we had come back from the baths, Thayu and I had worked as a team.

Evi and Telaris sat a few seats back, pretending to be travelling by themselves. The message from Renkati had not explicitly told me to come alone, but Thayu said that no one on the streets of Barresh had guards. I didn't want to stand out.

She had supplied me, herself and the two guards with a locating device that had a little light which flashed more frequently when the others were near. It also sent a signal back to the hub in the apartment in case any of us became lost. I wore the device under the sleeve of my shirt—a local khaki—provided by Eirani. She had been suspicious at my request for local garb. Delegates should be proud to wear _gamra_ blue, she said, and why would I go to markets on a foul day like this? But her protest hadn't been vehement. Judging by the look on her face, she knew something was up. Being in Renkati's pay, she might even have arranged this meeting.

The game continued.

When the train slowed, the guards sprang to their feet and went to the far end of the carriage.

I rose, too, as the island came closer. Thunder growled in the distance.

The train stopped and the doors opened.

I stepped onto the platform amongst a stream of fellow passengers, mostly domestic workers on shopping trips, carrying empty baskets and bags. They formed a steady stream to the far end of the platform, purposeful like worker bees.

I let them pass, making sure that Thayu and the guards were still with me.

A humid cloud of droplets drifted under the station's roof. It had started raining again. Not much, but a drizzle that looked miserable and made people squint.

Having been built recently, the train lines never crossed the islands directly, but skirted them. On one side of the station was the island, the ochre houses crowded together all crooked and squished like blocks of rubber. Oversized trees cluttered whatever narrow alleys snaked through the maze of walls.

A metal walkway bridged the short distance between the station and the shore; from the walkway, a staircase went down to another walkway which backtracked under the rails to the deserted jetty, where I was to meet the contact.

I went down these stairs, Thayu a step behind me. My footfalls on the metal steps echoed between the pylons encrusted with sea-growth, and the underside of the platform. Evi and Telaris lingered at the top of the steps, pretending to be talking, but their eyes took in everything, and I had no doubt they would have their guns out within a second, if necessary.

But for now, there was no one down there.

The rainy weather had reduced the landscape to shades of silver and grey. Cloth-covered boats lay on the far side of the jetty, tied up with sodden ropes; piles of fishing baskets tottered next to bollards.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" I asked.

Just then, there was movement on the jetty and a boy unfolded his legs, rising from under the oilcloth which sheltered him from the rain.

"Delegate Cory Wilson?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Come." The boy threw off the cloth and ran down the jetty, up the stairs.

"Hey, wait!" I yelled, but he kept going. His thin legs disappeared up the stairs and out of sight. _What the hell. . . ?_

I walked back to the stairs, where Evi and Telaris were peering down at us through the metal steps and framework.

"Did the boy just come up?" I yelled at them.

"He did. Ran past and vanished," Telaris replied.

"Can you still see him?"

"No. _Mashara_ is not happy about this, Delegate."

In honesty, I couldn't say I liked this any better than they did, but I hated to think I had come for nothing.

While I climbed the stairs, looking at Thayu's heels, I heard the inevitable voice of my conscience, which always sounded like my father. _Proper business stays above the table, son. Don't fall for the tricks of a con merchant._

Thayu broke in. _Someone in that brain of yours has sense._

_Thayu, I need to know what this man is about_.

_You've promoted yourself to an investigating authority?_ There was a hint of playful sarcasm.

_I can't see anyone else doing it. Certainly no one else is being shadowed by these people._

_You're crazy._

_That's been said before._ Many times, most often by Eva's father.

I reached the top of the stairs, Thayu behind me.

"What now?" she asked.

"Why don't we try to find that boy and walk around for a bit? I told the staff we'd be going to the markets, so we might as well. Just follow close behind and keep an eye out, _mashara_."

The train had long since left the station, and all passengers had vanished into the miserable wet day. A lone guard paced the platform and a woman sat on a bench, surrounded by a ring of baskets. A homeless peddler, I guessed. The city hosted plenty of them.

In spite of the rain, the markets burst with colour. Bright yellow, pink, orange, one canopy was brighter than the next. Underneath, vendors slaved over vats of steaming water, lowering cooking pots and pulling them back out. The smell of sulphur was everywhere. One could not make a fire in Barresh, courtesy of the megon nut trees, which grew along waterlines. The oil exuded by the tree's flowers was the most powerful fire retardant known in the universe. In Barresh, it coated every surface. As a result, the local cuisine didn't include anything that required a fire to cook. Eirani's bread was boiled in the water of hot springs that was piped into the kitchen.

In that light, the Coldi woman selling deep-fried food from a pan of bubbling oil had to be a novelty, and a popular one at that. Everywhere in the crowd people walked around nibbling golden, curly things from bags she sold. The smells that rose from the pan were heavenly. Memories flowed. Spicy hot Asian food, fish and chips on the beach, meals I'd shared with people I loved, none of whom were here. My parents, Inaru, Nicha—

"You must try this," Thayu said.

Before I knew it, she had taken a bag from the stallholder and pushed it into my hands. Steam curled up from it, spreading a delicious smell.

I stood there, feeling like an idiot. Now what? Coldi presented each other food as courtship rituals.

_Just try it. I'm not trying to buy you._ Thayu's eyes met mine.

Heat rising to my cheeks, I picked up one of the deep-fried curls and put it into my mouth. Tangy, hot, crispy, the piece was gone within a second.

I took a bigger piece.

She fished a curl from the bag. "Is it good?"

I nodded, my mouth full. "What are they?"

She picked up another piece with a yellow-skinned index finger and middle finger, as Coldi often did.

"I'll tell you later."

Ah—right. Coldi didn't eat the meat from invertebrate animals, so they were probably some kind of slug or worm.

"Have another one?" She dangled it before my mouth.

_You weren't trying to buy me, remember?_

The skin around her eyes crinkled as if she wanted to say _What if I was?_ Through the feeder, I sensed a warm feeling, of a type I didn't recognise from Nicha. And yet, I knew what it was, and I pushed it as far back as I could.

I couldn't . . .

I wouldn't . . .

Eva . . .

I turned away, holding out the bag to the guards. " _Mashara_ , you should try some." I had to clear my throat. My heart hammered in my chest.

Both Indrahui refused. I had never seen either man eat anything. I didn't even know where they ate or slept, or where they bathed. I didn't know if they had families, or if they were brothers or lovers, or if they had lovers, far away from here.

"Please, _mashara_ , treat this as a day out as well."

"When we're with the Delegate, _mashara_ is on duty."

Very proper.

We had started walking again, past clothing stalls, barbers, fabric sellers, jewellery makers, stalls with furniture, fortunetellers. The rain pattered on the canvas roofs, but no one took any notice. People talked, argued, shared drinks, tried to convince others of their political views. Every now and then, we passed little islands of high-tech, where some vendor sold gadgetry, but for the most part, the markets were about locally-produced food and clothing, about services and about meeting each other.

I looked at necklaces, trying them on Thayu's soft-skinned neck, imagining how they would look on Eva—and failing. I hadn't been away long, but I already had trouble visualising what Eva looked like, how her voice sounded and what she liked wearing. Velvet Victorian-style dresses with deep necklines. Perfect for a pretty pendant.

Instead, I asked Evi and Telaris for their opinions on necklaces—they had seen Eva after all—but they remained stiff-faced about the subject of my impending marriage. All right, I knew they didn't agree with my choice.

I also looked out in case I saw something that would solve my shaving conundrum. I tried fish knives, fruit knives, scalpels, cutting myself a few times, but no one had razors, and the redness on my cheeks was starting to develop into a rash.

By the time the light faded into a darker grey, I decided it was time to head back. I had bought a necklace, established that no one in the city needed to shave so there was no equipment for doing so, and now merchants were packing up for the day.

And then there was that boy again, sitting on a wall on the corner of an alley. A skinny thing of maybe ten, all arms and legs and a head full of curly, honey-coloured hair. His eyes were blue. Unlike that of the locals, his skin was deathly pale. I didn't need to see the long fingers and wide shoulders.

He was Aghyrian.

"Delegate Cory Wilson?" he said, in a clear voice.

"What is this game? We are here to see Mr Renkati." I figured the boy had already seen us together, and it was pointless to pretend I'd come alone. "Who are you?"

The boy shook his head. "Amoro Renkati?"

"Yes, that's who we're here to see. Are you taking us to him?"

He stepped back and beckoned.

Thayu and the two guards moved closer behind me.

"Tell him to get his master to meet us here, Delegate," Telaris said, his voice low.

"I don't think he speaks Coldi."

Telaris pushed to the front and spoke in various languages, neither of which changed the blank look on the boy's face. When Thayu offered him her translator, he bolted into an alley between two houses. He stopped at the end.

Evi and Telaris exchanged looks.

" _Mashara_ advises the Delegate to wait here or go back," Telaris said. "If this man wants to talk to the Delegate, he will have to come to the _gamra_ island."

Sensible, so sensible. I understood their position, totally.

Except it wouldn't solve anything. Renkati wouldn't come, because otherwise he already would have.

The boy, apparently still waiting, climbed on top of a garden all and sat there, his legs dangling.

I gestured the guards and Thayu closer.

" _Mashara_ , I'm afraid I don't see a choice but to follow him. _I_ want to know what it is about; I need to know. These people are somehow tied up with the information Ezhya Palayi wants. So I am going to follow him. Stay close behind me. Thayu, if you could walk in front of me. I'm sorry, but I . . ." As a diplomat, I made a point of not carrying arms.

Thayu nodded. She dug in a pocket strapped to her leg. I couldn't see what she took out, but her hand, radiating warmth, slipped something in the pocket of my jacket. I stuck my hand in and half-withdrew a disk-shaped object. A small screen at the front of the disk gave the time in four different notations.

_I gather this is not a normal timer?_

_Press the screen, hard. It fires, once only. Use it well, only in emergency._

_Thank you._ Hating guns was only noble until you faced armed opposition.

"If, for some reason we become separated, or the feeder won't work, use the tracker." She pressed a button on her listening device, and then did the same for me. A light flashed. "This connects to my comm unit. Press it if there is trouble. No need to speak."

I nodded, silently. Noticed how the skin of her fingers had gone white.

"Aren't you feeling the cold?"

She shrugged, and looked away. Damn it. She was cold, I could feel it. I'd tell Eirani to make her some hot soup when we came back, and I would have a stern word with the kitchen to provide her with red-coded food. Poisons, as Eirani loved to call them. Thayu's body needed them to stay healthy.

We entered the alley, between the back gates of yards and gnarled trunks of huge trees, the foliage of which was thick and lush and drippy. The boy jumped off the wall and ran forward. At the end of the alley, we came to an oasis of leafy trees, cordoned off by high walls marking the yards of surrounding houses. Steam rose lazily from a pool in the centre; raindrops made little ring patterns on the surface. Gnarled trees grew on the sides, roots bulging over stone.

The boy waited on the other side in the semidarkness, in the company of a broader figure, a keihu local, a thickset character with meaty arms and a groove down the middle of his nose. He wore a calf-length garment that was wide like a kaftan.

"Are you Delegate Cory Wilson?" Heavily accented.

"Yes. Who are you? Do you represent Renkati?" I didn't bother with formal pronouns; they would be wasted on locals anyway.

"We've been asked to meet you."

"Why all this secrecy?"

"We will explain. The situation is delicate. Your support is appreciated."

Shit and shit. This excursion had been my idea, and there was no going back, not if I wanted to know what Renkati was about. But I really, _really_ didn't like this sneaking in alleys. And so far I hadn't agreed to any kind of support.

Thayu's eyes met mine. _Be alert._

I could only feel guilt. I had brought her here, and trouble might follow.

She was wise enough not to offer her opinion on the matter.

I followed the man into another alley. He was shorter than me, about Thayu's height, but three times as wide in the waist.

No one spoke. Thayu walked with the agility of a panther ready to spring. Evi's and Telaris' green eyes took in every detail of the surrounding buildings. Their hands never strayed below their waists, ready to grab the guns from their arm brackets at the slightest provocation.

Our guide plodded through a maze of back alleys, up and down quaint stone steps, under overhanging flowering bushes that dripped water on us. I tried to remember the way, but the usual landmarks for orientation—the suns and the golden rock wall of the escarpment—hid behind clouds. It was also getting dark. For a while I thought that the guide was deliberately confusing us by using only back alleys, but we never passed any wider streets. Houses, low and built from ochre stone, crowded together in a way that convinced me there _was_ no main street. In Barresh, boats and trains between islands were the main traffic. And little trolleys on rails. There were plenty of those.

Rain fell heavier. Thayu gave a single shiver. For a few seconds, her eyes lost that lion-like alertness.

_You're freezing._

She didn't reply to that.

I was just about to ask our guide if we were going to get some place soon when we reached an alley that ran past a continuous wall, a fortress of stone and mortar. I glanced up into the drizzle, and sensed Thayu doing the same.

_The building takes up an entire block._

I didn't know how she got this information so quickly, but I didn't question it.

Our guide led us to the only door in that solid wall, a thick wooden affair that opened noiselessly, although it looked like the type of door that would have creaked. Must be the wet.

We entered the courtyard beyond, facing a featureless stone building. Black, soot-like moss covered the paving except for a well-worn path that led directly to an arched entrance.

Our guide turned right into a room where light pearls cast their greenish glow over stone walls. A desk stood in the middle of the room, and cupboards lined the walls. Through the glass in the doors, the light reflected from the silky surfaces of more types of gun than I knew existed.

"This is where we leave weapons." The guide said.

A local woman bustled in through a door. She eyed the guards, then Thayu, and shook her head. "Definitely not allowed inside."

_Thayu?_

A harsh squeak. Garbled sound.

_Thayu?_

She squinted. I didn't know if she heard the same noise, but the feeder's signal was very weak.

. . . _interference. Don't know what's causing it._

_She's not going to allow you in. What should we do?_

_Leave it to me._

I looked over my shoulder, where Evi and Telaris stood rigid. One did _not_ ask Indrahui guards to leave their weapons behind. I suspected these men took their weapons to bed, if ever they slept.

The guide said, "No one goes armed inside this building. We're a peaceful community. If it worries you, you can stay here. We will take the Delegate to a room next to this one."

Evi and Telaris glanced at each other. They probably didn't like it.

" _Mashara_ , I'm going to a meeting," I said. My eyes met Evi's. He knew just as well as I did that this was no ordinary meeting, but damn it, I did not want to bail out now.

"I'll come." Taking a breath through flaring nostrils, Thayu unstrapped the gun from her arm and flung it into Evi's hands. A show—I knew. She would have other weapons. Or so I hoped. Evi still scowled.

Thayu flicked me a warning glance. . . . _listening in . . . careful . . ._

_What?_

The high-pitched noise whined in my brain.

She shook her head, probably trying to tell me not to use the feeder.

I raked my hand through my hair and pulled the feeder's legs to lift it ever so slightly from my skin. The noise stopped. But the feeder wouldn't stay detached like this, programmed as it was to connect with the patch in my brain. Already, the legs moved to reattach itself. I resisted an urge to scratch the spot. When it sent a warm burst through my head, I blocked it.

The guide searched Thayu, and found nothing. Then it was my turn. He found the timer and turned it over in his hands. My heart thudded in my throat, but he handed it back to me. I slipped it into the safety of my pocket. Phew.

Finally, he asked the two of us to follow.

The two guards took up their usual positions, one on either side of the door, their hands behind their backs. Already, I longed for their comforting obsidian presence. I'd left them behind when I went to see Sirkonen, and look what had happened. This venue was much less safe. Into the lion's den indeed.

A short passageway led to a glass-covered courtyard, full of people.

Some sort of cafeteria, or canteen, with rows of tables, where many people sat sharing drinks and talking. A serving robot trundled between tables, avoiding wayward chairs and planter boxes overflowing with greenery.

The knot of muscles in my neck relaxed. I checked my tracker—there were now two lights—one flashing quickly for Thayu next to me, the other flashing more slowly for the two guards.

The guide led us across the courtyard, zigzagging between tables. Many of the cafe's patrons turned. Eyebrows rose, whispers travelled amongst the varied crowd. In fact, I didn't think I had ever seen so many different kinds of people outside _zhamata_. Without exception, these people _glared_ at Thayu.

The guide stopped at a table where a man sat in the shade of a potted tree. The guide bowed and the man returned his greeting, but I didn't recognise what language they spoke.

Dressed in a khaki kaftan, he looked to be a local, but there was something familiar about him. I wracked my brains trying to think where in the past few days I had met this olive-skinned man with curly greying hair. Any of the keihu locals? A Barresh councillor? Mr Renkati? When the guide beckoned me closer, I saw the whiteness covering the man's irises, which accounted for his emotionless stare. A tilt of the head—he was listening, but _not_ meeting my eyes, because he couldn't.

I also realised he was not local. He _shaved_. And that narrowed the possibilities as to who he was to exactly one person.

My heart racing, I sat down. Folded my hands on the table, studying him. I _had_ met him before, after all, a long time ago, when I was young and he could still see.

"Seymour Kershaw?"

He smiled and inclined his head.

"Mr Wilson, I presume?" In an odd kind of Isla with a trace of an American twang.

Seymour Kershaw indeed.

A recovering breath, and another one, and then a chilling thought: had Sirkonen known?

"Do you know that everyone on Earth thinks you're dead?"

He chuckled. "Have you been asked to look for my body?"

"I don't think it's funny." I fought to keep my voice even. On Earth people fought in this man's name, and he sat here without a care in the world—laughing about it even.

Kershaw's face sobered. "You're right, of course. And I can assure you, there is nothing funny about the situation."

"Are you kept here against your will?"

"No, no. Not at all."

"What then? Why let your family suffer? Do you know that . . ." Heck, the movie. A feeling of cold went through me, and then another thought. "You're Amoro Renkati?" The trick of the century: sponsor a movie which portrays your own death.

"Me? No." He spread his hands. "This is Amoro Renkati."

The truth sank in. "Amoro Renkati isn't a person. It's an organisation."

"That's correct. In case you're wondering, it means Enlightened Path."

"In Aghyrian." And wasn't there once a terrorist organisation on Earth with a name very much like it?

"Yes," Kershaw confirmed my guess.

And _that_ was probably where Marin Federza fitted in. _We will support you_ he had said, _we_ being this organisation, or the Aghyrians. The enemy were the Coldi, who had made some very blatant attempts to annex certain powers on Earth, and who were still the most likely candidates to have killed Sirkonen.

I glanced at all those faces in the courtyard. Kedrasi, Indrahui, Damarcian, and people from many other races, at least two hundred of them, all in local khaki dress. Many still glared openly at Thayu.

There were not just a few dissenting voices. It was a political movement, and likely their invitation of me to the complex, heck, even their offering of their apartment for my use, was a calculated gesture. I had wondered when I would be called upon to honour the unspoken agreement I had entered by accepting the accommodation. It seemed that time was now.

It also seemed that Chief Delegate Akhtari was fully aware of the situation. She had supplied me with a _zhayma_ who had obvious loyalties to Asto, and put me into the hands of an organisation which was against Asto. What was that gesture supposed to mean?

She wanted me to take a stance.

She wanted me to evaluate matters as an outsider.

She wanted me to be a referee.

My position had been bumped up at least ten notches in importance. And that was typical _gamra_ politics, too. At Nations of Earth, I would have received briefings; here, I was thrown into the situation unprepared. Sometimes I believed that innocent blundering was part of their way to test novices in the political game, a tactic they'd applied to me ever since I arrived.

And that annoyed me, because, damn it, there was far too much at stake to risk stupid mistakes through ignorance.

I needed space to think.

"Tell me, how did you become involved with these people?"

Kershaw leaned forward on the table. "Well, like you, I arrived in Barresh full of ideals and plans, but almost immediately things happened to me that had not been planned. Before I left, I had an agreement that I would have a small office with two staff. The people in question, two Indrahui, I had met before. But when I arrived, the two weren't here. I was informed that they had been caught up in the civil unrest at Indrahui and couldn't join me for the foreseeable future. Instead, someone in the upper hierarchy appointed a single person, a Coldi woman, to replace them. This woman knew nothing about my situation or about Earth, and within a few days of starting, she had made it clear that she expected favours of me. She expected to share my apartment and my bed, for chrissakes."

It was fairly well-known in diplomatic circles that Kershaw's long-time partner, who had died in an accident, had been male.

"More than that. When I started prying into who she was, I found that she counted a number of Asto spies amongst her friends. She was passing information back to them. Personal information."

I couldn't help but feel chilled. I might have reconciled with Thayu, but this sounded horribly similar to my situation. "Did you find out what they did with this information? Who wanted it, and why?"

"I went and asked, didn't I?" There was a tone of belligerence in his voice.

"Did anyone tell you?" I imagined him barging into Delegate Akhtari's office, and demanding why there was listening equipment in his living quarters—

"They said it was nothing unusual. I demanded that everything be taken out and dismantled. I demanded to have my original staff returned to me."

Perfectly reasonable demands, by Earth standards, but—

"They wouldn't comply, so I ripped all the cables out myself, and I told the lady that she could leave my employment, unless she was willing to take orders only from me. She left."

"That would have made some people happy." I let sarcasm into my voice.

"How did you guess?" Equally sarcastic.

"They would have viewed that as a fracture in _imayu_ , the loyalty network."

"Damn the network. She just couldn't stand it that I'd outsmarted her. So she went on a rampage and deleted all my accounts and connections, and so I looked her up and confronted her. She wouldn't see me, but next thing, there was this piece of paper—"

"A writ."

He turned his head to me, lifting one eyebrow. "You know all about this, do you?"

I wasn't sure if he was sarcastic. "I know enough to see that these misunderstandings could have led to led to a writ. What was it for?"

He snorted. "Would you believe it? Her clothes, her personal items and her reader. But you know, there was spy stuff on that reader. Material I needed to prove that someone was passing my correspondence with Earth to some higher authority in Asto."

Damn, this got worse and worse.

I wanted to tell him that this was supposed to happen, that every delegate was under constant scrutiny. At the same time, my anger grew. None of this was Kershaw's fault. He was untrained, and not the right type of character for this job.

"I know what you're thinking, Mr Wilson. You're thinking _poor Kershaw, back then we knew nothing. We know a lot more these days"_?

"We _do_ know a lot more. These people don't react the same way we do. You can't apply our values to their deeds. The woman appointed to replace your assistants thought she was doing what the job required. They don't distinguish between family and work spheres of their lives. They need to work with an equal, and need to fit into their part of society. It's pathological."

"That may be, but don't tell me that you, too, are not experiencing invasion of your private domain by Coldi people with connections you are not entirely sure about."

Damn. After meeting Ezhya Palayi, I'd wallpapered over my concerns in that direction. Because I didn't even completely understand Nicha's connections, because I'd given up hope of ever fully understanding them. Thayu had volunteered her connection with the spy division easily enough, but what else was there?

My heart was thudding against my ribs. I glanced over my shoulder at Thayu, who wouldn't understand a word of this conversation. I found it hard to believe that she might be part of a bigger plot, but then again, what did I know? What did any of us really understand about these people?

"I can tell it concerns you," Kershaw concluded. "So let me tell you our view. This is all official, by the way; that's why I haven't asked your minder to leave you. She already knows this."

How did he know that Thayu was Coldi and that she was with me and that she was female? He was blind.

"You believe that if we understand the differences between the many peoples of _gamra_ , we can work out a workable agreement."

"I do, but—"

"Good, then we agree. With one exception. Have you noticed, in your case, as it was in mine, who has been doing all the adapting? That would be you, right? Or us. All of us in this room. Have you noticed who has not been doing any adapting?"

Yes, this was about the Coldi.

"I guess I don't have to tell you that either. When more than half the votes in _gamra_ are yours, do you need to adapt? When you can claim that your social structure, your instinct, whatever, justifies your repression of other people, justifies the bullying, the invasions, do you truly respect everyone else in the neighbourhood? It is our belief that this isn't the case. They are happy to play by all the rules, as long as they can be chief. This is not something we can change. The need to dominate is endemic in the Coldi. It's part of their genetic makeup. Meanwhile, they will invade Earth. Not by force, but by stealth. They give us their technology as they already have for such a long time, and eventually, they'll demand something in return."

All my worries returned. Kershaw had much more experience than I. I couldn't prove that he was wrong; in fact, there were some signs that he might be right.

There was a Coldi proverb: lend the neighbours mushrooms and harvest bread—a deed done for another put the receiving party in debt. Asto had shared with Earth a lot of its technology. It wasn't obvious, and had gone on for a long time, but what if, just if, Asto wanted something in return, such as was Coldi custom? If all those little bugs in computer chips amounted to something coherent? Some paranoid people on Earth were arguing just this in ever-louder voices. Could they be right?

No—no. The first Coldi settlers on Earth, the ones to settle very quietly on the Greek islands in the 1960's were _refugees_ from Misha's totalitarian regime. They weren't inclined to be organised. Besides, if such a coordinated master plan existed, wouldn't it have been activated in time of stress, such as—?

Now.

And damn it, I didn't know what was happening on Earth. Danziger was playing hard to get, because he didn't trust me.

I swallowed. _Keep your options open, Mr Wilson_.

I didn't trust Danziger. I didn't trust Ezhya Palayi either.

"So, if, for a moment I believed you were right, what is it that Amoro Renkati wishes to do to fight it?"

"Not fight it, Mr Wilson. You cannot fight Asto and win. After your experience with the bully today, you will know that. But we can simply ignore them. Break away."

"Break away?"

"Start again, away from Asto. Start our own group of entities who will not be overwhelmed by the juggernaut."

"Away from _gamra_?"

"Precisely."

"Who is _we_?" But a glance around the hall provided me with that answer. Sections of the Kedrasi, Indrahui and Damarcian population. No Coldi. Hence the vicious looks at Thayu. "All these people? Their governments?"

Kershaw held up his hands. "Not yet; no authorities as yet. We're working on it. In fact, President Sirkonen was the first leader who said he'd join."

Oh holy shit. I saw where this was going. "You're saying Asto has killed him for that reason?"

"You're moving a little fast, Mr Wilson. No one except the murderer knows who has killed President Sirkonen."

I had heard better-veiled accusations. "Nations of Earth know about this, too?"

"No, and that is where we could use your help. When Sirkonen was killed, the negotiations broke down. We need to initiate talks with President Danziger and whoever takes over from him after the elections. We'd like to offer Nations of Earth an alternative to submitting to the tyranny of Asto. We'll have our own trade, our own rules, and real democracy. All of it very attractive to Nations of Earth."

_And you'll have war._ I was sure of that. Coldi interests would hold no loyalties to these groups; there was a break in the network and nothing would hold them back from violent action. And on top of that . . .

"You can form an independent group, but aren't you forgetting that _gamra_ controls the Exchange? You'll be denied access and can't travel."

Kershaw smiled. "That's true, but let's just say that we've found some technology to overcome that problem."

"You have?" Aghyrian technology, I was sure. "It would have to be a pretty major operation." In the early days of its operation, just the auxiliary equipment of the Athens Exchange would consume so much power as to leave the city in the dark. No one knew about it until _gamra_ came clean and legalised the illegal network node. Exchange technology was incredibly powerful and expensive, and needed more than a backyard operation to run.

"There have been some major technological breakthroughs," Kershaw said. "The prototypes we have are both much smaller and more efficient in energy. If we use this technology to set up an alternative network, prices of transport would fall considerably."

Exactly in line with Danziger's objections to the current operation of the Exchange.

"I would be interested in seeing that technology."

He hesitated.

"I'm a diplomat. I keep secrets for a living. If I'm to understand and argue your point, and I will be seeing President Danziger soon, I want to see what you've got." Oh yes, I could play the bluff card, too.

"All right. Come with me, Mr Wilson."

# 19

**F** OR A MAN whose eyes were white with cataracts, Kershaw rose in a manner much more fluid than I expected. He didn't bash into the table either, or hit his head on an overhanging branch. Familiarity with the environment?

Thayu rose, tigerlike, but waited until the others had started moving. First Kershaw, greeting a few people in the hall—how could he see them?—then me, with her close behind.

Many in the crowd eyed us all the way to the door. When we left the courtyard, I found myself walking next to Kershaw. His eyes stared straight ahead and didn't move.

We went from the hall into a passage that faded into darkness, with the occasional pinprick of light, and any number of doors and passages on either side. We turned left, and then right in dark stone corridors. This place was like a warren.

_Thayu?_

The feeder remained silent.

A couple of others had joined us, no more than dark shapes slithering out of doorways and falling into step behind me. I checked the tracker on my arm. The light that indicated the two guards flickered slower than before. The other light, indicating Thayu, also blinked more slowly.

Heart thudding, I glanced over my shoulder, but saw nothing except walking silhouettes of men, probably Indrahui also, judging by their height.

"Thayu?"

"She's coming," Kershaw grumbled in a what-are-you-worried-about tone.

"How can you. . . ?"

"See?" He completed the sentence for me. "I see very well, Mr Wilson. Your lady guard is just behind you."

I glanced over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of Thayu's body armour. Relaxed.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were—"

"Blind? I was, thanks to cancer in my eyes from high UV at Taurus, but my friends here have fixed that up."

With eyes that looked like a thick soup of mist?

"If you can see, what colour is my shirt?"

"Blue."

That would have been correct had I been wearing my _gamra_ uniform, which I wasn't. So . . . was he bluffing? Guessing? Did he know the behaviour of his men so well?

He laughed. "You're right, Mr Wilson, my eyes are totally blind. I have infused into my brain a patch that allows me to see like a bat. That's the power of technology I'm about to show you."

The corridor ended in another room, empty except for a spiral staircase. Kershaw led the way up and around, and around into some sort of tower. Small lights dotted the circular walls, neatly stuccoed and with impressions of various shapes—little flowers and animals.

I looked over my shoulder, but saw nothing except unfamiliar men, Indrahui indeed.

We went around the circular tower wall twice before we emerged through a rectangular opening under a dome of glass. Low clouds scudded overhead, discharging a light spit of rain. On one side, the room looked out into a sparsely-lit courtyard, where a potted plant waving in the wind threw eerie shadows on the earthen ground. Two levels of arched galleries surrounded the courtyard. Empty balconies and closed doors.

In the middle of the glasshouse room stood a pentagonal bench. One person sat there, at the controls of a machine which reminded me of the hub in my apartment; two more people stood behind him, silhouetted only by the lights from the building below.

Kershaw said a few words, presumably a greeting.

No one replied. Their eyes glinted at me in silent suspicion.

The men following us took up positions by the top of the stairs. Not armed—huh? They looked suspiciously like security. Where was Thayu? I shifted my sleeve up slightly. The light that indicated Thayu blinked slower still.

Kershaw exchanged a few words with the man behind the control panel.

"Please realise that you are very privileged to come up here."

"Thank you, but I'd like to know where my _zhayma_ is first."

"Downstairs. She'll wait there."

"But I—"

"Really, Mr Wilson, don't worry. She is just waiting. With her connections, we cannot allow her inside. Surely, you understand that."

This was stupid. He had to know that I could share the information with her as soon as we left the building.

The seated man brought up a single white light on a holographic display, and its glow lit up the faces of the others in the room.

The two on either side of Kershaw were a man and a woman, their faces pale-skinned, with high cheekbones. The man had straight and very dark hair, his eyes black. The woman had to be older because veins corded the back of her long-fingered hands, although her hair was the colour of honey and curled softly around her face. Her eyes were the clearest green I had ever seen, like glass bottles.

Aghyrians, both of them, sure enough.

"Watch closely, Mr Wilson, and know this is only a prototype."

An image flickered into the air. A pink, dust-covered planet, intersected by deep grooves. Asto. The image zoomed out until the planet was only a dot and was joined by a second one: Ceren.

The operator peered at the screen before him, seemed to spot something, and shifted the image. Ceren again, now closer, and compared to Asto, compared to Earth even, obscenely green. A tiny green dot moved over the surface of the planet.

"Shuttle from Kedras," the operator said, in curt Coldi, sliding some controls, his eyes on the moving dot in the projection.

Kershaw grinned. "Watch."

There was an intense hum that vibrated inside my chest. From somewhere on the roof of the building a beam of dark red light shot out. It showed up like a thread on the holographic image, snaking through the sky. It hit the little dot that was the approaching craft and pushed it a good deal further, all in the space of a split second.

In the distance, there was a sound like thunder which rattled the glass in the windows.

My heart pounded as I tried not to meet Kershaw's eyes. He said Sirkonen had agreed with them? Agreed or been bullied into agreeing? And then murdered when things didn't go as planned? Here was my proof. The red flash. They had used this machine or something like it to move part of the window to kill Sirkonen. It had always been their intent to kill him, not me, and the datastick . . . did they know I had it?

I knew what had to be on it: a letter from Sirkonen to me with what he had found out about these people. Names, contact details. A warning about why, and how.

I swallowed, my mouth dry, and realised I had to say something, anything. "A one-way Exchange interaction?" The Exchange was safe because it was a three-way interaction and needed confirmation from all involved parties: from the sending entity, the receiving entity and the transferred craft.

"It's called a sling, and the Aghyrians had already worked out the theory at the time of the meteorite impact so that space-travelling vessels could propel themselves across space, no need for a receiving reference point. It means that we won't need the existing Exchange network anymore."

"And there is . . . only one of these machines?" Oh, a dangerous question, Delegate.

"Yes, we don't need many to maintain a network."

I felt sick. If these people were allowed to break away from _gamra_ , and build a larger version of this machine, they could sling _others_ across space without their knowledge. Use this technology as a weapon. Move the opposition into mid space, with no way to get back. That was just the sort of thing _gamra_ was set up to prevent.

"That is the deal, Mr Wilson. Nations of Earth could be part of this development. President Sirkonen was very excited about this technology."

_No, he wasn't. It killed him._ Did they realise I had been with Sirkonen when they killed him? They had to know. So what were they doing? Sounding me out. Is he safe? Can we buy his vote? If I ever got out of this room alive.

Over on the horizon, over waterlogged roofs, searchlights cut through the rain, and lights flashed. The blaring of a siren drifted on the wind. An emergency at the airport. They'd been testing this equipment for the past few days—and—

No one—including Kershaw—could see the red light. They didn't _know_ I knew. Did they even realise the red light was there?

I chose my words as carefully as I could. "I'd say this technology is rather . . . dangerous. If I am to consider your proposal, and take messages to Danziger, I think I need to know that it's safe."

"Oh, it is safe," Kershaw said.

"I want guarantees," I said. "Written in clear language. Scientifically explaining it, why it's as safe as the current technology." My mind worked hard. How was I going to get out of here?

"That can be arranged," Kershaw said.

"All right. I will await that information. You know where to contact me."

I turned to the entrance of the stairs.

"A moment, Mr Wilson."

"Yes?" Something in the tone of his voice chilled me deeply. It was a cold tone, one that said, _You don't think we're going to let you leave without a promise, do you?_

I fumbled for the tracker. My fingers had found the alarm button, and I pressed it as far down as I could. I slid my hand out of my sleeve.

Kershaw said a few words and a man sprang into action. The next moment, the huge Indrahui guard had my arms behind my back.

"Hey, let me go!"

Another man switched on a light at Kershaw's back. A pool of golden light showed a table with, on its polished wood surface, a medico box of the foldout type. There were some frightfully thick needles, attached to a syringelike apparatus with a gunlike trigger. A tiny object of metal, looking like a piece of wire, lay on the work surface, looking, for all I could see, like a piece of wire. That was a security implant, as was used in prisons. It sent signals to the wearer's brain causing confusion or headaches. More sophisticated versions muddled with the wearer's memories.

I stiffened. "You can't do this."

"I don't think you have a choice. This equipment—"

There was a shout, a voice in Coldi down the stairs. Thayu.

Stains of dirt marked her face, but the eyes that met mine glittered with relief.

Someone rose and ran through the room, yelling, "Grab her!"

I dug in my pocket. My fingers closed around the cool metal of the disk. In one motion, I rose, drew it out, and pointed it at the table. "Stand back!"

Kershaw cursed.

I turned and pointed the gun at their precious machine, willing my hands not to tremble. I had one shot to get it right.

Kershaw shuffled between the gun and the machine. "Don't do anything you'll regret."

I took a few paces towards the stairs. "No one is going to meddle with my memory."

"Please Mr Wilson. Put that gun away. It is you and I who are at risk here. These are not normal people."

"I don't care who these people are. What I care about is this: your machine is a weapon, and I'll make sure it won't be used as such."

He shouted.

I didn't think, I didn't question; I pressed the screen on the disk.

It fired. Lit the room in a bright blue beam of light, which hit the assailant square in the chest. The Aghyrian operator.

Light crackled over the man's clothing, in his hair. His eyes widened and for an eerie moment that seemed to go on forever, he stumbled. But he didn't fall. Blue light blazed from his eyes, and a crackle of lightning trailed up his arm. He still didn't fall, but stood there, like a zombie. He blinked, then brushed the lightning off his arm as if it were a bit of dirt. Reached out . . .

A bolt of light hissed through the room. Blinded me.

Something pulled at the back of my shirt, hard. I crashed flat on my back. The light whooshed over my head and hit the opposite wall, ricocheting to the ceiling.

I was dead, I was dead. I'd die here and people would make movies about how I went in to save Kershaw but failed.

Glass shattered. Smoke billowed.

Through all of this, I saw my father's face, and my mother's, and Erith's, and my uncle's: all the people I needed to protect from this dreadful device. And Thayu—I'd led her into danger. Thayu and Nicha both.

Someone yanked on my clothes.

Not dead then.

I lifted my head, tasting blood in my mouth. Smoke filled the room with a chemical smell. Glass and debris lay everywhere. I couldn't see Kershaw or any of the others, including the man who had thrown, or projected, the light, somehow, or whatever had happened.

"Cory, come!" Thayu said.

A harsh shout came from the other side of the room—it was too dark to see.

"Hurry!"

I scrambled up on hands and knees and launched myself head first down the stairs. I slid, bumping and trying to slow my fall by pushing against the wall. Rough stone scraped skin off my elbow.

I hit the bottom in a pathetic example of terribly unfit white human male.

Thayu, who had somehow followed me, pulled me to my feet. "Run!"

My mind clicked into gear. I ran. Had no idea where I was going. Up a flight of stairs. Footsteps followed, Thayu's, I hoped. Light flashed behind me, but I didn't look.

Thayu shouted directions. _Right_ , _left_ , _up_ , _down._ I did as she told me, dazed, out of breath.

I came to a door, lifted the handle, but it was locked.

"Aside!"

A second to duck. Thayu bore down on the door hefting a metal bar over her head. A tremendous crash. Shards of wood scattered and bounced off the walls.

A moist breeze wafted in.

"Come." Thayu was already through the hole.

I scrambled through splinters out into the street.

I still clutched the disk, now useless.

"This way." Thayu grabbed my hand and pulled me into an alley, running at full speed, which was a good deal faster than I could run. I let myself be pulled along. Trying not to trip over my feet was the best I could do. Rain swept in my face, water splashed up my legs.

I couldn't go any faster. My breath ached in my lungs. Pain stabbed my side. But Thayu pulled me and ran and ran. How she knew the way, I had no idea, but I had no breath to question. Flashes of light whizzed overhead. Someone had caught up.

Thayu stopped and pressed something cold and metallic into my hands. A charge gun.

I stammered, "How did you get that—"

"Not mine. Shoot at the trees, the walls. Don't shoot at them or they'll throw the charge back at us." However they did this. Normal people just _died_ when hit by a charge.

Shit. What sort of technology did they have?

She set the example, firing a volley of blue flashes into the walls at both sides of the alley. A rubbish bin disintegrated, spilling its contents on the pavement.

Then we were off again. Down the hill.

Down was good; we needed to get to the station which was somewhere on the shore. But I didn't know which shore; it was too dark to see much, and the rain was pouring down in torrents that ran in my eyes. Thayu wasn't doing much better, and I knew how much the water hampered her. The pavement, worn and smooth, became slippery under our feet.

"Stop!" She screeched to a halt in an alcove.

"What's wrong?"

"Need . . . recharge. . . ." She was panting.

She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a canister. A bright glow betrayed our position when she flipped off the lid.

"Shield the light!" I whispered.

She turned her back to me. I felt her indignation—the feeder was working again. Then I also felt guilty about being harsh on her. Coldi had very poor night vision and I didn't even know if she could see the glow from the pearls, the glow that was like a beacon to me.

A shiver ran across her back.

_Sorry._

The feeder returned a burst of warmth. I was forgiven.

She took out the spent pearl—with her fingers—jammed it in her pocket without burning herself and clicked the new one into place. Her skin steamed and I could feel her heat through my wet clothes. She needed to increase her body heat to be this active, but it wouldn't be long before her stamina ran out.

_Do you know where we are?_

"No." In all likelihood, with her poor night vision, she couldn't even see me.

_Where are Evi and Telaris?_

_Gone, I hope._

I felt sick. They might be in trouble because of me. I tightened my grip on the gun and blocked the alcove with my body, giving her time to recover. The chemical taste of the discharge was familiar in my mouth. I licked water off the back of my hand by way of rinsing my mouth, but that only made it worse.

_Why is no one coming after us? Do you think we lost them?_

_Wouldn't count on it. Maybe they've set a trap._

We waited. A steady rain fell from the sky, pattering on uneven pavement and in puddles. We were about halfway up a sloping alley that, as far as I could see in the dark, zigzagged down the hill. Sparse lights burned in courtyards and windows.

Sounds of normal life—people talking, the occasional shard of music—drifted over the street.

A strange thought struck me. In that moment I thought I might die, I'd thought of protecting _gamra_ from the implications of this invention, I'd thought of my life being made into a movie, I'd thought of my father and Erith. I'd even thought of Nicha and Thayu. Now I stood here protecting her, feeling the heat radiate from her skin, knowing what she felt or would soon feel through the feeder. She was Coldi, but I _understood_ her.

And I knew, deep within me, that I was right and Kershaw and the rest of them were wrong.

Human philosophical historians talked of waves of expansion. The first wave of colonisation had been when people from different continents "discovered" each other, followed by an understanding that regardless of skin colour we were all human. The second wave of colonisation had come when humanity established permanent populations on the Moon and later Mars, and when scientists discovered, quite by accident, that the anpar lines produced by the Exchange occurred naturally in some places, and so humanity had ventured to Taurus and New Taurus on its own steam, without intervention from _gamra_. The third wave of colonisation . . . no philosopher had mentioned a third wave as yet, but that was me, taking steps for humanity to rejoin the network of human species long ago seeded by the diaspora of the Aghyrians, truly immersing myself in human cultures that had no history on Earth, and feeling more comfortable with them than with my own.

It was a profoundly strange thought to have while standing holed up in an alcove sheltering Thayu from the rain, and it was a thought I should have voiced to Kershaw. He was wrong about the Coldi being too different from us to be part of humanity as a whole. Underneath the differences, we were all the same. If people on Earth had overcome discrimination based on race, then we could also overcome these problems.

A flash of lightning blazed over the city, showing, for a mere split second, a mass of houses, and over the roofs the station and the train line leading to the _gamra_ island. I jerked my head. "Over there."

Thayu peered into the rain.

"Run down the hill. You go first. I cover your back."

_Run_ was an order Thayu had no trouble following. I was flat out keeping up with her, having to stay close to the walls and watching for any possible pursuers. Once, I thought I heard footsteps behind us, but I couldn't be sure. Down the hill we went, onto a small square dark in the shadow of trees. Thayu tripped over a tree root, but scrambled up before I could reach her. I didn't miss how her hands trembled. She was weakening.

We kept going, through the shadows, onto the metal walkway. The station. Empty except for a deserted train. Even the station attendant had gone.

Oh shit. If train services had stopped, how were we going to get home? But then I remembered the jetty, the boats.

"In here!" I swerved into the dark, down the steps that backtracked under the rails and ran onto the jetty. I jumped into a canoe. Thayu half-fell in after me and I drew a sodden cloth over both of us. We lay there, panting.

A single figure walked across the walkway. Someone called out; the man replied. He ran up the platform and bashed the door of the lifeless train.

The man went back to his comrade on the shore, and the two of them vanished, but their hollow footsteps echoed in the dark long after their silhouettes had gone.

Then there was only silence.

And the pattering of raindrops on the cloth.

And the buzzing and trilling of creatures amongst the reeds of the marsh.

Thayu was shivering uncontrollably. I slipped my arms around her waist and warmed her as much as I could.

We waited. The cloth that covered us stank of fish and must.

Thayu shivered and shivered. Her teeth chattered. I pulled the cloth closer around her, but I couldn't offer her anything more. My own clothes were as wet as hers and my body temperature was too low for her. We had to do something; morning was a long time away.

In inky darkness, I moved my hands over the bottom of the boat and found the pushing pole.

I hefted myself to my knees, and untied the boat, wobbling. I lowered the pole over the side of the boat and plunged it into the water. Shit—that made a lot of noise. It found soft sand. I pushed; the boat drifted. "Here," I whispered, holding the pole out to Thayu. "Do this, and keep yourself warm."

She rose on her knees, large eyes glinting at the water. Terrified, if Nicha's feelings about water were anything to go by. But she bit her lip and took the pole from me, plunging it once more in the water. The boat shot away from the jetty. She whispered, "Where to?"

I jerked my head at the island, along the silver rails. The sanctuary, _gamra_ territory, where warm lights beckoned and delegates slept in blissful ignorance. Across a large body of frightening water. With someone who couldn't swim.

# 20

**I** PLUNGED THE POLE into the water, pushed, and heaved it out again, mechanically.

By the faint glow of the lights that illuminated the boulevard at the _gamra_ complex, clumps of reeds showed up as mounds of blackness, but I hit many of them nevertheless; the railway line was a blurry line of silver to my right.

My arms ached, my legs ached, and rain sheeted down on me. I had long ago given up wiping it out of my eyes. Long ago, when I had taken the pole from Thayu, when she had dropped it in the water and we had almost lost it. I had told her, too harshly perhaps, that if she was that scared of water, she'd best get out of my way. Ages ago.

But we were relatively safe, or at least until Renkati breached the security perimeter of the _gamra_ island.

Thayu just sat there, her legs pulled up against her body, sheltering under the oiled cloth. Even her feeder input had gone silent. Soaked, exhausted and filthy, I couldn't help but silently curse her. She was much stronger than I was. If she could pull herself together . . .

The boat clonked into the wooden pylons.

I grabbed the rope with stiff hands and tied it to the nearest post.

"Thayu, you can come out now. We're here."

She didn't move.

_Don't tell me she's fallen sleep._ Although deep inside, I knew that her behaviour had been strange and my anger irrational. Thayu had never shown a sign of shirking her duty.

"Thayu?"

I yanked the cloth up. Her arms unlooped from her knees, and she slumped backwards against my legs. I lost my balance and had to lunge for a pylon to stop myself falling in the water. The boat went the other way. For some precarious seconds, I hung between boat and jetty, trying desperately to keep my feet in the wobbling boat.

Oh, fuck.

I pulled, with my feet, butt ungraciously in the air. The boat moved closer.

Only when I sat on my knees, gasping, on the wet bench in the boat, did I realise that there had been no reaction from Thayu.

She had slumped against the side. Her eyes were half-open, her hand uncharacteristically cool.

"Thayu!" I shook her.

She drew a shuddering breath. There was no response from the feeder.

"Thayu, get up." I was almost screaming now. All sorts of horrible stories came to me about the effects of hypothermia on Coldi people. It was their major weakness, and could easily lead to death. It set in much sooner than in races not suited to high temperatures, and races with a fixed body temperature. The Coldi body simply lowered the temperature too much, and shut down vital processes as a result.

I jumped to my feet, hauling Thayu up. "Wake up, wake up."

She mumbled something unintelligible.

With shaking arms and trembling legs, I heaved and pushed her up the jetty. It still rained, and in the pitch darkness I could discern no one to help me.

I draped one of her arms over my shoulder and pulled her to her feet, then tried to get her to walk, but she was so still; she didn't even shiver.

So, I dragged her to the end of the pier, her feet scraping over the boards, onto the quay and to the back entrance of the building. Into the courtyard.

At the bottom of the stairs, she slipped from my grip onto the steps, awkwardly landing on her side like a bag of potatoes.

"Thayu!"

I pulled her up, but she would not stand by herself, so I slid one arm under her back at the shoulder blades, and one under her knees and lifted her. I wasn't particularly strong, and although she was shorter than me, she was much more muscular and heavy. My arms were screaming by the time I walked onto the gallery, but sheer determination kept me going. I was _not_ going to leave her alone, after all she had done for me. I was _not_ going to lose another _zhayma_.

I called out, " _Mashara_!"

There was no one at the door. Where were Evi and Telaris? I couldn't get in without them, unless I had the access card. I set Thayu down against the balustrade and fumbled through her pockets. Where was hers?

Confound it. No time. I bashed on the door. "Eirani, open up!"

Nothing.

Back to Thayu's pockets. Cards, keys, pearl-money, items of which I could only guess the function. Right. This was definitely the last time I left my security anywhere. Just then I closed my hand on Thayu's keycard.

I yanked Thayu up again, dragged her to the door, held her card up to the panel; the door slid open.

I stumbled through, looking into the astonished face of Eirani, who came running into the hall wrapped in a sarong.

"Muri! The guards are all out looking for you. They came back saying that there had been shooting and . . ." Her mouth fell open. "Is she—"

"Into the bathroom."

Eirani ran ahead, making sure to roll the door aside properly so I could get through.

In the humidity of the bathroom, I lowered Thayu onto the floor. Her head lolled back. Strands of hair had escaped from her ponytail and clung to pale lips.

Eirani helped me peel off her sodden overgarments.

"It was silly of the Delegate to go out alone."

"I will do it again. Tell your bosses this: as long as they resort to manipulation of people's minds, no one will support them."

She said nothing, recognising defeat perhaps; who was to say? I was too angry to care.

The temperature-control suit was harder to get off Thayu's limp form, but it would be a hindrance getting her temperature back up to normal, insulating her body from heat as well as cold. It clung to her skin like rubber, and we had to pull so hard I feared we would damage something. Finally, we had it off.

I jumped into the pool with my clothes on and held her on my lap, while Eirani poured hot water over her head and shoulders. If it was possible to sweat underwater, I did.

After Eirani had made many trips to the hot well, a bit of colour came back into Thayu's face. Her eyes were still closed, but her breath was regular. I even got a few indistinct responses from the feeder.

Eirani helped me heave her out of the pool, where we rubbed her with towels until her skin glowed. I carried her into my bedroom and put her gently on the bed, then found all the sheets, covers and even the flattened-possum rug to put over her. She was now visibly shivering, and that was an improvement.

I grabbed my reader and told Eirani, "I'll sit with her. You can go to bed now."

Eirani left. I found the infusor band, looped it around my arm and inserted a capsule. When the contents were gone, I clicked in another one.

Shivering with the effect, almost feeling the heat of my own body, I slipped out of my shirt and, just wearing my boxer shorts, I pushed the covers aside and climbed in the bed.

For all sorts of reasons I had no inclination to explain, I hadn't wanted Eirani to see me doing this, but remembered what to do from when I had gone camping with Nicha. She might be out of danger, but she wasn't warm yet, and the best way to warm up someone was with your own warmth.

She barely reacted when I inched into the hollow her body made in the mattress and pressed myself against her, naked skin to naked skin. Her skin felt cool, not natural at all. She let out a soft sigh and put a hand on my arm. A few shards of images flowed through the feeder—black water, a sense of immense fear.

_I'm sorry, Thayu._

I hugged her close, rubbing her shivering muscles.

I lay there for a while, listening to her shivery breathing. She mumbled a few incoherent words before lapsing into sleep.

I wriggled myself around so she lay at my back. In the dark, I dragged my reader onto the cover and wrote a quick and cryptic message, _What was suggested in the plan is not true. We urgently need to get the missing information. I'll prepare to leave as soon as possible. Appreciate any assistance._ I didn't dare say much more, because Renkati would be watching, and hoped Ezhya Palayi would understand what I meant, or that at least the cryptic message would trigger a reply. We needed to know exactly what Sirkonen wanted to tell me.

I put the reader aside and turned back to Thayu, pressing my body to her back as much as I could. Her skin was still too cool.

"Come on, help me," I whispered, rubbing my free hand over her arm and shoulders.

I massaged until her warmth grew heavy against me and I became too tired and rested my head on the pillow. I slept.

Strange pictures clouded my dreams. I was on a raft in a raging torrent. I had a pole to push the boat, but it wasn't long enough to reach the bottom. Water sprayed over the side of the raft, but it was hot, not cold. And I tasted salt on my lips. The raft rocked, almost throwing me off, but a jungle vine had reached down from the trees and grabbed me around the waist.

I thrashed to break free, but couldn't. I dangled above the boiling water. Someone shouted.

Thayu stood on the riverbank, looking pale and scared. Every part of my body told me to go back. She would be killed out there. Suddenly I was on the raft again. I plunged the pole down, struck the bottom, pushing into it as hard as I could, but the raft merely stayed in position against the raging current. I yelled, "Thayu!"

She had to swim. It wasn't far, but I knew she couldn't, and I had to jump off the raft to save her. . . .

It was dark. Sheets tangled around my shoulders. Something warm pressed against the length of my body. My nose rested in the hollow of a soft-skinned neck. The scent of hot stone. Coarse hair tickled my face. Long-forgotten memories welled up. Instinct awakened and took over.

I nuzzled the skin under her ear. Breathed her scent, brushed her skin with my lips. She turned her head and ran her lips over the line of my jaw.

Multiple shivers crawled over my back. Absolute bliss.

_Come on._

That scent, that fleeting touch of hot fingers. Memories too good to forget. I could go all night without sleep.

I raised myself on my elbows, one on each side of her shoulders.

My heart thudded; my hands raked back her hair, thinking nothing, wanting nothing but her. Then reasoning clicked in my brain.

Eva.

What the hell was I doing?

"Thayu?"

The sliver of light that fell into the window lit her face enough to show her lips, moist and slightly parted. Eyes were wide, confused. "You were screaming my name."

"I'm sorry." I dragged a hand over my face. "I had a strange dream." My heart still thudded like thunder, and my whole body throbbed. For those few horrid seconds, I had thought I would lose her, and that would be . . .

Too horrid to contemplate.

In the fear of dying, I had screamed her name. Not Eva, but Thayu.

"I'm sorry, Thayu." I started to retreat, but couldn't, didn't want to. Her breasts pressed against my chest.

"Don't be sorry. I liked it. You touched me . . . there." Her hand went to that soft skin under her ear, in Coldi an ultra-sensitive spot—to initiate sexual interaction.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . ." What was I saying? Hell, I meant exactly what I had done.

"You weren't thinking?"

"Yes . . . no . . ." And I was a coward to boot. I groaned.

She gave me a long look. "Your kind of people do something else?"

One of her hands was on my shoulder, the other at my waist. Her skin, once more hot and glowing, made me burn. Everything about her posture and words was a blatant invitation. The way she stroked my shoulder, the way she applied gentle pressure on my back. I should be sensible and get out of the bed now.

Except I didn't want to.

I leaned over her and whispered against that oh-so sensitive skin under her ear, "Yes, we do something else."

_Stupid, stupid, you're engaged._

I didn't _care_ I was engaged; I didn't _care_ about the stiff world of Earth's diplomatic set, about their manners, their righteousness, and their forsaken belief in abstinence.

I gently brushed my lips against hers. She started, stiffened. Coldi didn't kiss. I drew back to give my feeder time to do its work, to tell her what I felt, let her feel what she was supposed to feel.

It didn't take long before she closed her eyes, breathing out in a soft blissful sigh. I pressed closer, blood roaring in my ears, pushed her lips apart, my tongue meeting hers, hot and feverish.

She learned quickly; heavens, she responded; her breath blew a warm patch on my cheek. My hands slid down her naked shoulders, meeting her soft breasts. Fingertips trailed over my sweaty back. The feeder screamed ever louder, _take me, take me._ I hovered on the edge of that precipice.

_No._

Panting, I pulled away.

"Anything wrong?"

_Everything._ "I can't."

She blinked once, twice. Another blatant invitation. I knew what would happen next. She would flush pink on her cheeks, her chest and the soft skin on the bottom of her arms; then she would go crazy, and being stronger than I was, there would be no stopping _her._ In a good and very satisfactory, _convenient_ , way.

My whole body throbbed, ached to do what I most desired.

I groaned. "It's not right. I . . . I'm sorry."

"What isn't right?"

She blinked those gorgeous eyes and I almost slipped from my extremely precarious position of self-control.

"Please, Thayu, go to sleep before I do something really stupid."

"This is not stupid." She raised her lips to mine and I couldn't resist another kiss.

After a minute or so, I wrenched myself loose. I whispered to her, "Please—later."

"Later?"

"I promise." I don't know what made me say that. Because I wanted it, more badly than I had ever wanted anything in my life.

She seemed content with that answer and settled on her side, with her back to me.

I rolled onto my back, waiting for the throbbing to subside, staring into the darkness.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Yet, if I went any further now, I had no doubt that the story would leak out and spread to Earth before I had a chance to—

To what?

A sick feeling settled in my stomach.

To break off my engagement with Eva. There was no other option.

In the past few years, I had mistaken duty for love. I had bowed to the demands of the Nations of Earth highbrow diplomatic set. Find a pretty wife from a suitable family, give dinner parties in Victorian-style dining rooms. Heavens knew what I had tried to achieve. Maybe I had hoped to buy their favour, my acceptance in regular diplomatic circles, through Eva. With her in Rotterdam, expecting me to come back, the relationship would never work. In the end, there was only one thing that mattered: I might like Eva, and I liked her a lot, but I didn't love her. Looking at Thayu, seeing her ear silvered by soft blue light, and feeling myself filled with the warm excitement that had not coursed through my veins for years, I knew I never had.

I was never going to be a stodgy diplomat and would never fit into their society.

And I was hopelessly in love with this crazy woman in my bed.

To hell with what they'd say in the gossip press.

I tightened my fingers about Thayu's hand, but she remained unresponsive; she had fallen asleep.

I awoke with a shock when the door to the bedroom rolled open with a clatter. "Delegate, there is—oh!"

Eirani stood in the doorway, staring at the bed, her hand pressed to her mouth.

Groaning, I raised my head. Grey morning light streamed in through the window. My entire left side was wet, where my leg touched Thayu. She still lay on her stomach, her hair a lovely mess, her face scrunched into the pillow.

Eyes wide, Eirani backed into the hall. "There is someone here for you, Delegate. He won't—ah!"

Someone else pushed past her, dressed entirely in black and wearing body armour over his clothes.

Eirani protested. "I said the Delegate—"

"The Delegate understands."

Shit. Ezhya Palayi. In my bedroom.

I lunged for the bench next to the bed. Empty. All my clothes were still in the bathroom. Great. One of the most powerful men in _gamra_ came into my room, and I was half-dressed, in bed with a woman I didn't even have the guts to sleep with?

Thayu mumbled something and stirred. I dragged up a sheet to cover her naked back.

Ezhya Palayi sat on the edge of the bed, showing no emotion. There was no damn privacy when Coldi were involved.

"About your message. Does this mean we're going to get the full information from your _president_?"

"I guess so." _We?_ Who said anything about _we_? I cleared my throat, hoping I'd heard wrong. I couldn't imagine Nations of Earth being amenable to a visit by a hostile dignitary, and neither did I wish to travel as part of a hostile leader's entourage. "You said you were in a position to provide protection. I have decided I want the information and if I go there I guess I'll need the protection." _For crying out loud, mind the pronouns_. I pushed myself up on the other side of the bed, trying to kick-start my brain into action.

"I have provided protection." Ezhya Palayi tapped his arm bracket where he carried a frightfully heavy-duty charge gun. Right—that was the wrong kind of protection. I could just see customs in the train at the Greek-Macedonian border, _Do you have anything to declare, sir?_ That was even if we got that far. Amarru would surely stop anyone overtly armed. On Earth, one did _not_ talk with guns.

A panicked breath, another thought. "They are listening . . ." I gestured at the ceiling, and all the things that had happened yesterday came back to me. Amoro Renkati, whose apartment I used _wanted_ to shut me up. They had me in their claws; they'd make sure I didn't leave, that I never got the data.

"My people have taken care of that. In case, you're wondering, there are plenty of snipers watching this place, too."

Just what I feared. Yet he seemed relaxed, bemused even.

"The matter seems simple to me. I want the weather data that is ours. We've asked for the data to be returned, and the ultimatum expired with no action on the _president's_ part. We understand that he might have trouble recognising a writ. But I have enough of understanding being one-sided. I want you to make it clear to him that if he continues to act like this there will be consequences—"

"No. I'm not going to deliver blackmail."

Ezhya Palayi gave me a what-do-you-think-you-are look.

My heart skipped a beat. I wasn't talking to some Earth politician who was used to being shouted at all his working life; this man was an absolute dictator who controlled the lives of his people with the snap of his fingers.

"I'm sorry if I am overstepping my boundaries but I believe that is not the best approach." Oh, I chose my words carefully. I didn't say "wrong approach" because that would lay the blame with him.

"What then, do you think is the right approach?" I didn't miss the hint of sarcasm, or his playfully familiar pronoun-form. I was a goldfish in a bowl, and he was a boy in the pet shop, watching me from all around, holding me above eye level only because I amused him.

I raised my head, meeting the gold-flecked eyes unwaveringly. "I firmly believe that whatever we do, we must keep sight of two things: in the first place, in the long term, there is nothing to be gained by letting the relationship between Nations of Earth and _gamra_ deteriorate any further. In the second place, and more importantly perhaps, there is a threat to _gamra_."

A small silence. The bristled eyebrows went up. Had I finally succeeded in surprising him? "On what do you base that? _Gamra_ is strong as ever."

"Don't get comfortable. There is an organisation called Amoro Renkati, the ones who have posted the spies and snipers you saw when you came in. They are a conglomerate of Kedrasi, Indrahui, Damarcians, anyone except Coldi, who want to move away from _gamra_."

He snorted, not entirely comfortable, I thought. "They can do so if they wish. _Gamra_ controls the Exchange. They'd be isolated."

"They want to set up a rival network. They have the technology. I've seen it. They're keen to have my cooperation, my _president_ 's cooperation."

The silence lingered. All right—this was news to him. That meant he wouldn't know what happened last night.

"But before I decide what I'm going to recommend to my _president_ , I need all the facts. I need the same information you're seeking. I am prepared to negotiate with my _president_ for this information, as long as I can have access to it as well. I believe it is part of the reason why the previous _president_ was murdered."

"Share information that is legally ours?"

"It may be legally Asto's, but it affects all of _gamra_. If it's warranted, I intend to present it before the assembly." I continued to meet his eyes as a silence passed during which I wondered if he was communicating with people outside the room. I was _not_ going to back down. He _couldn't_ get the data without upsetting Earth's goodwill. Not on his own. He needed me.

"Say I agreed to share this information—what would you need to retrieve it?"

"As far as I know, the Nations of Earth block of the Exchange is still in place. I have permission to travel, but only to get in."

I might well need some kind of military action to get out. Of course Danziger wasn't going to give me everything he found in Sirkonen's office. For Danziger, I was virtually an enemy. That would only be confirmed when I turned up with _gamra_ protection. "We must be careful. I think it's unlikely the _president_ will want to share this information voluntarily. Maybe I . . ." My thoughts whirled with the implication of what I was about to suggest. What was more important: my relationship with Danziger, or getting a clear picture of what was going on? Could I possibly convince Danziger of the importance? I doubted it. Not within the short time frame we had. Danziger was barely comfortable with the second wave of colonisation. He wasn't ready for the third wave. Not yet.

So we were back to spyware.

Thayu hadn't experienced much trouble in using and penetrating Earth-based technology. Amarru . . . maybe she could do something. "Maybe I should go in to talk to Danziger about whatever he wants to talk about, while some others . . . I could bring them as guards . . ."

Ezhya Palayi listened; his whole face showed that he liked the sound of this. "And while you talk, they will copy as much as they can in the office?"

Damn.

The words _high treason_ flashed through my mind. But then again Asto probably already had most of the information, anything that had been electronically circulated to more than two or three people at least.

I breathed out heavily. "I guess that is the way it can be done without causing large upheavals." Upheavals of the military kind, that was.

Oh shit, if this went wrong, it would blow up badly.

"That's agreed then. Can you negotiate with your _president_ for this visit?"

Not a space for a single breath when Coldi were involved.

"I will do that as soon as I get dressed." I glanced around, but couldn't see any of my other clothes either. "We need to decide who will accompany me."

"May I suggest six?"

"Six guards? For one person?"

"It is a delicate situation. You will need guards even to get out of this apartment. To Amarru, I will suggest your status at _gamra_ is now increased so you require six guards."

That said all sorts of things to me as well. My status wasn't increased, so he meant to go behind _gamra_ 's back as well, and Amarru was meant to be kept on the outside of what we were doing. Did that breach my loyalty network? I didn't have the instinct to answer that question. This was going way too fast.

"You have six personnel here at the moment. The two Indrahui outside. I presume they're yours?"

I nodded. Evi and Telaris. Thank goodness they were back.

"Then the lady . . ." He glanced at Thayu. ". . . my two personal guards, and myself."

"You?" I stared, meeting gold-spotted black eyes. "As my guard?" I was tempted to ask if he was joking, but Coldi rarely joked.

I tried to parse this according to the Coldi _rimoyu_ principle. Based on equal status, there would be me and him, with two companions each. No, that left one person unaccounted for. A leader, and two companions, and each of those with two companions made the total of seven. Who would the leader be? Not me certainly.

"It is my entity your _president_ is accusing of impropriety. I want to speak to the man who makes those allegations and put it right." Those last few words also translated as _put it out of its misery_. Oh wonderful. Was Danziger meant to live through this experience?

"It will be dangerous." Oh heck, _dangerous_ didn't even half-cover it.

"We can handle the danger. You do the talking." Ezhya Palayi took my hand in a warm-skinned grip. "My success will depend on yours. _Iyamichu ata_." And those were damned personal pronouns.

What else could I say? " _Iyamichu ata_."

"I'll leave you to prepare. We'll leave as soon as possible." Ezhya Palayi rose from the edge of the bed and left the room.

Eirani scurried in, carrying a variety of items over her arm. My blue shirt, a pair of trousers that weren't mine, also blue, the rigid shapes of body armour. I wondered about the upgrade in uniform, but she told me she had been given these items. She gave Thayu, still asleep on her belly, a strange glance, but said nothing and bustled about arranging Thayu's clothes, too.

Only when she left did Thayu roll onto her back and mutter, "Hmmm?"

"Ezhya Palayi is here. We're going to get Sirkonen's data."

She blinked at me, confusion on her face. Her hair was messed-up and the imprint of the folds in the sheet creased her face. So lovely. I fought an insane urge to kiss her.

"Why are you wearing all blues?"

"Eirani gave me these. Are you feeling well?"

"Yes." Her expression said, _should I not be?_

My feeder stirred. _Last night? What happened last night?_

I met her wide eyes. Did she honestly not remember?

But a blush rose in her cheeks, as I guessed my feeder did its work.

I rose, faster than I intended. Get out, before it gets embarrassing. "Just get changed as soon as you can. We have work to do."

I went into the sitting room, gulped a quick breakfast and went into the hub, where Ezhya's two guards had a projection up that identified all the places where people hid. Thayu was already there, excited about this new technology. I told her to have breakfast, but she wouldn't go until the guards showed her how the program identified a person likely to be an enemy spy from listening in on real-time conversations and parsing words against set parameters.

There were five potential enemies in the building, including one in the apartment. It wasn't Eirani, because she walked across the hall at just that moment, carrying my jacket. I went to take it from her. "Thank you, Eirani."

She blushed, and didn't meet my eyes. "I'm sorry about what happened last night."

"Thayu is fine."

"Yes, I'm glad." She hesitated and added, "I don't work for them anymore, Delegate."

"You admit that you took the datastick from my pocket and gave it to them?"

"Yes." Her colour deepened. "I'm sorry, Delegate. I shouldn't have done it. I thought Renkati would make a difference, challenging . . ." Her gaze flicked to the dark door of the hub room. "But they tried to kill you last night. They had passes to come onto the island, and wanted to come in here, when you were asleep, but I didn't let them in, and I've reset the door locks now. I helped him . . ." another glance at the communication hub, ". . . turn off the listening equipment."

I stared at her. "Eirani, I had no idea . . . I would never have asked you to risk yourself on my behalf."

"You are a good person, Delegate. I hope you can get what you want and come back."

"If I do, you'll be welcome to work in my household."

"Thank you, Delegate." She bowed and scurried down the corridor.

I went back into the hub room, where the four guards were discussing the merits of various exits of the apartment. We were to leave the apartment under the cover of darkness. _Gamra_ would be meeting at the same time, so the complex would be extra quiet.

"What about Renkati's equipment?" I asked.

Ezhya Palayi gave me a sharp look. "Thanks to your observations, we know where they are. If they move, they're gone. We'll send prior warning. If they ignore it, we'll fire."

That didn't comfort me much, but seemed to satisfy the others.

The planning continued. Ezhya's staff would organise a train to take us to the airport.

The advantage of travelling with someone high in the pecking order was having your own transport. I was the only one in the party without pilot training.

I wondered if Ezhya Palayi's distinctive craft would be recognised on approach by anyone on Earth. No doubt any Coldi who watched would know who was on board. The news would spread around the world in five minutes. It would send a powerful signal to the Coldi stuck on Earth. _Your leader is willing and brave enough to come into your prison._ That was the sort of thing Coldi did. I couldn't see Danziger travelling into a war zone to fight.

I had been warned never to underestimate this man.

And so the plan took shape. I sent messages to Danziger, who remarked that I must finally have come to my senses and reopened my link to the news services, even though he denied that I had ever been cut off.

I looked at news from a world I barely recognised. Riots had broken out in almost every city, not just against Coldi, but against people who had money and held the technology to liaise with _gamra_. In spite of rhetoric by politicians over the last two decades, the divide between the haves and have nots, Whites and Blues, _ichi_ and _ata-ichi_ had grown into a ravine. Wherever I went, I would have a healthy life, healthy food, and the latest medical treatments. The Blues struggled to survive. They hated Coldi, who often employed them, but whom they viewed as taking opportunities that should be theirs by right. And Danziger was a champion for the Blue class. I admired the man for that. I hated him for it, too, because it made the current situation so much worse.

Within a few minutes of the link being re-established several messages came in.

From Eva, _Cory, I'm so worried about you._

Again, _Cory, are you getting this?_

And again, _Please respond._

I closed those messages, painfully aware that Thayu was in the room. In Rotterdam, I would have an extremely unpleasant job of telling Eva the truth. I hoped she hadn't made too many commitments yet. Oh damn, I was such an arsehole about this whole engagement thing, but there was no way I could go through with it.

Then another message came in, from Nixie Chan: _Have finally made progress in my talks with Nations of Earth. They cannot hold Nicha Palayi any longer without attracting serious legal trouble. He will be released within a day._

Relief flooded me. Nicha free. Nicha to come back to me and work with me, instead of . . . I met Thayu's eyes.

"Good news?" she asked. She hadn't been reading my messages, but had been working on the restoration of Sirkonen's data, because we needed a reference point to see if we had recovered everything Sirkonen had wanted me to read.

"Nicha will be released."

"That is good news." The way she said it . . .

I cursed myself. Had I learned nothing from the experience with Inaru? Thayu had told me she had a contract to go to. There was a man waiting for her somewhere. She just saw me as a plaything. She didn't care about Nicha coming back, because she didn't care about me.

# 21

**W** HEN DARKNESS had fallen, we left the apartment through the kitchen door. A short walk brought us to the station, where a private train took us to the airport. No one bothered our group; in fact no one much seemed to be out at all. One could, of course, blame it on the _gamra_ meeting, but I suspected that Ezhya's status gave him perks which reached into places I couldn't begin to contemplate.

A casual observer would have seen a high-ranking _gamra_ diplomat in all blue walking to the station with six bodyguards—two Indrahui and four Coldi. Within the group, I had no doubt whose mission this was.

There was no crush getting into a crowded aircraft, no waiting. Ezhya goaded me into taking the front bench seat while he took the controls.

Casual conversation continued.

What? I had no skill in piloting? Didn't I know all senior delegates were pilots?

I almost laughed when I thought how, when coming here, transfer through the Exchange had been scary to me. How about being shot at, and having shot at someone else, who simply collected the charge and fired it back at me?

Maybe one day, I could handle piloting.

Just say the word and he'd send me an instructor, he said. I seemed to have progressed from object of suspicion to focus of amusement and curiosity.

Stubborn puny human refusing to step back.

_A secretary with quaint habits and an unnatural desire for self-destruction_ , Eva's father said.

But at the same time, all the pronouns were informal today.

When we left, two other aircraft took off from Barresh. They were sleek, silver shapes which I could mistake for nothing except Asto military. I tried to tell myself that it wouldn't be in Nicha's father's line of work as general to be aboard and provide backup for an operation that was meant to return his son, but then again, a normal leader wouldn't pilot his own transport either, and here I was, sitting next to Ezhya Palayi, who went through the motions as if he did this every day.

So yeah, considering the Coldi hands-on approach, Nicha's father _was_ probably in one of the other craft, keen to blast the living daylights out of whoever held his son.

It was nighttime in Athens but the air space above the Exchange was totally empty of waiting aircraft. A couple of Nations of Earth hoverjets kept watch. I couldn't see them, but they showed up on the sensor image. Ezhya Palayi told me that they had been informed that the approaching craft contained _Mr Wilson returning from duty, accompanied by six gamra personnel_.

Indeed.

I let out a deep sigh to dispel my nerves. Either this was going to work, or it would go horribly wrong.

By the time we had shot into the maw of the Exchange building, walked through the eerily silent hall, and been led to some sort of executive apartment, the sky was starting to turn blue.

I had lived at the Exchange for eight years, but I had never been in this part of the building: the floors directly underneath the canteen, with their luxurious rooms. The privileges one had as head of government.

Exchange staff came in to serve breakfast, which I, Ezhya and Thayu took while seated at a glass-and-metal-frame table looking out over the city. The sky was not so hazy now, and patches of green had appeared on the lawn. It was winter. I had almost forgotten.

There was a commotion amongst the guards at the door and Amarru came in, bowing, shuffling forward, her gaze on the floor. She reported in a demure voice that she had been in contact with Danziger, who was expecting me. She had arranged a private train carriage with sleeping cabins.

"Good," Ezhya Palayi said. "Do you have a contact for the _president_ 's office?"

"I do. I'll send it."

"Have you contacted Dr Schumacher's work place?"

"I have."

"I want you to contact someone in the institute, and make an arrangement for us to visit if necessary."

"I will do that."

"Then I want full connectivity for all of us, for as long as we're here. I want shadow security, and I want us to be cleared for carrying weapons, or be resupplied when we arrive, or have the weapons taken to our location separately."

"But weapons are—"

"Illegal. I know. Get them cleared."

She took in a deep breath. "Yes."

I balled my fists under the table. Amarru was a confident woman who knew her job. It made me feel sick to see her bullied like this.

"She is right. You can't barge into the _president_ 's office looking like . . ." I gestured. Hell, we _all_ looked like we were dressed for combat. "My security can be armed, though not overly so, but no weaponry will be allowed in the _president_ 's office."

Ezhya Palayi's eyes were hard. "We will _all_ go in."

I met his glare equally. "If the _president_ is harmed, I will create such trouble that you won't forget it in a hurry."

Ezhya Palayi stared back at me. "And who are you?"

"I am the reason that you have any hope of retrieving your data at all. Don't forget that."

"I won't forget." But there was nothing comforting about his voice.

Thayu watched, mouth open. From near the door, Evi did the same.

Then Ezhya Palayi laughed. "You have a lot more pluck than I give you credit for."

Amarru mumbled something about starting her work, and headed for the door. I rose from my chair and intercepted her before she could get out. "Any news from Nicha?"

Amarru's eyes met mine. Her cheeks were bright red.

"How did you _dare_ do that?" she whispered, in Isla.

"You and I are the guardian of peace. We both know the sort of trouble we'll be likely to meet if you let the arsenal of weaponry through."

"But argue with him!"

"Yes." Strangely enough, I enjoyed it. I'd use his curiosity for as long as it lasted.

Amarru stared at me as if I was mad.

"Nixie says Nicha will be released today. I guess he will probably catch up with you in Rotterdam somewhere."

"Thanks. That's such a relief." And it was. At least one less thing to worry about, with those two military craft in orbit somewhere, and all the backup that could be here very quickly.

Amarru left, and I took Thayu aside in a corner of the sitting room. "I want you to contact Nicha's father."

Her eyes widened.

"No, don't fool me. I know he's in one of those craft that followed us. Contact him, and tell him that Nicha will meet us in Rotterdam."

"He will?" Her eyes shone.

"Yes." It sounded more like a question. As far as I knew, Thayu knew Nicha distantly, no reason to be so happy about his release.

I wanted to ask, but she had already gone into the apartment's communication room.

I stood there in the corridor, under the questioning gazes of Evi and Telaris. And then I had a horrible thought. Both Nicha and Thayu were about to take up a partnership contract. What if they were contracted to _each other_?

There was no more time to ask, no more time to contemplate the possibility. Word came that the train was ready, a private wagon, and everyone could keep their weapons because there would be no checks.

However Amarru did this I had no idea, and I wasn't even sure I wanted to know. I could still hear her voice when she had spoken to me before I left Rotterdam. _Our bugs are better than theirs._ That was all very well, but why were they so surprised that people had trouble trusting the Coldi? And what would the fallout be for Amarru, and why had she submitted to his bullying that she _knew_ would create no end of trouble for her?

As soon as we were in the wagon, readers came out and projections of maps sprang in the air. Amarru had provided the guards with extra satellite tracking equipment.

Thayu kneeled, surrounded by listening devices which Evi and Telaris were helping her adjust.

I felt useless; I knew nothing about equipment. I went into one of the cabins and lay down in a bunk, but couldn't sleep, not in the least because I left the door open, not wanting to miss any trouble. But the only thing that happened was that Evi kept walking backwards and forwards past the door, carrying some piece of equipment, speaking into it at the rear of the carriage and carrying it back to Thayu.

In all the years I had lived at the Exchange, I had never seen the full extent of _gamra_ spying devices.

Then the train plunged into darkness. Someone swore, and a bout of laughter drifted from the front of the carriage. The Alps. Tunnel.

Ezhya's female guard called everyone into the cabin for a briefing session when the train emerged in daylight. We would _all_ go into the foyer of Danziger's office. She would seal the door and take care of the secretary, who would be stunned so he wouldn't remember anything. Evi would stay outside, but only so he could warn us. I would talk to Danziger while Ezhya's female guard and Thayu logged into his computers. Communication lines would be cut. She could guarantee a bother-free period of fifteen minutes. By that time, Thayu had to be finished with her electronic probing. I could speak to the president however long I needed. It was probably better if I kept Danziger occupied for longer. The rest of our group would sit down quietly, restore the secretary's awareness and wait for me to come out.

A simple plan, but totally crazy. I didn't, _couldn't_ think of all that would happen if things went wrong.

At the station, Ezhya Palayi's refusal to split up the party into two taxis caused some consternation. There was no bus, so we walked.

A biting wind whistled between the buildings of Nations of Earth, carrying the last of the autumn leaves. Low clouds scooted over the city, hinting of snow, but if Ezhya felt any discomfort, he didn't show it, neither did either of his Coldi guards. Tough military men and women. I froze in my official _gamra_ clothing made for the tropical heat of Barresh.

Thayu muttered, "What a dreadful place."

"It can be nice, in summer."

I told her how I had lived here, gone to school in the residential complex, and how I and my friends used to run up and down the steps until the guards became annoyed and shooed us on. It must have been hard for her to imagine how green those lawns could be, and how lush the trees.

We came to the end of the lane where the building that held the president's offices rose up like an absurd neo-classical sugar cake with columns and arches and wide stairs all in marble. The fountain had been turned off for winter.

The appearance of six black-clad guards raised some eyebrows with the Nations of Earth servicemen. I assured them that the president expected me. They checked, and heard it was true and waved us up the stairs. All of us, _with_ weapons.

Amarru was _really_ amazing.

In the warmth of the hall, I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought Thayu did the same. For a fleeting moment, I remembered the feel of her cold skin pressed to mine. Never, never would I allow her to be in danger like that again.

There were more guards on the stairs than there had been during my last visit. I hardly dared look at them for fear of being challenged. Stealth and speed were going to be of utmost importance. One mistake, and all these guards would come barging in. And I would be dead; we would all be dead. There would be war.

The two Indrahui at the front parted and I proceeded onto the landing in front of Danziger's office. My legs felt weak with nerves. There were four Nations of Earth guards at the door.

One nodded. "Mr Wilson."

"My security will wait in the foyer." I hoped my voice sounded more confident than I felt.

The man stepped aside. The door slid open.

I entered the foyer.

A photo of Sirkonen hung at a prominent spot opposite the door. He looked at the camera with his usual mild expression, soft light gilding his face. His eyes, light blue and mild, seemed to look at me.

_What are you doing, Mr Wilson? Are you betraying our trust? Did you read the information I gave you?_

Damn, Sirkonen was _dead_. He could never answer any of my questions.

"The president will see you shortly, sir," a woman said. Danziger had kept his own secretary, a woman of about forty.

Soft footsteps behind me indicated that the others had come in: Thayu, Ezhya, Telaris, Ezhya's guards _and the Nations of Earth guard_. Evi stood in the doorway.

Great. Now what?

I cast a glance at Ezhya's female guard, who returned a tiny nod.

Evi slipped back outside and shut the door. Click. The lock turned.

The secretary's eyes widened. Her hand hovered over the comm unit. "I'll call security."

"Not necessary," said Telaris, who dragged the security guard with him, one hand over the man's mouth, his belt—and comm unit—in the hand the guard couldn't reach. "Security is already here."

He plonked the man on the couch and in one single movement, drew something from a pocket on his thigh and held it in the man's face. Click—hiss. His eyes rolled back. Telaris eased him down on the couch.

Ezhya's male guard had done the same thing with the secretary.

Shit. That wasn't in the plan.

Thayu's reader was already on the secretary's desk, turned on, next to the secretary's computer. Ezhya's female guard had another reader on top of a cabinet behind the desk.

Then the door to Danziger's office opened. "What is this noise, Miss—"

Danziger's hair looked thinner than when I had last seen him. His gaze went over my un-Earthly outfit and then from one black-clad guard to the next.

"What is the meaning of this, Mr Wilson?" His face had gone pale. "I'll call . . ." His gaze fixed on the unconscious guard on the couch.

He drew himself up, even paler than before. "Mr Wilson, I demand—"

"Listen, Mr President, this is a matter of utmost importance. I apologise for this—"

"This is a hostile act. You are in the office of the acting president of Nations of Earth. Kindly take your personnel outside."

I said in a low voice, "Please, Mr President, this is a delicate situation. I've spoken to you about this before. It seems Nations of Earth has received a writ from Asto for the return of material I didn't know existed."

He harrumphed. "We don't succumb to bullying, Mr Wilson." Damn, he was aware of the writ and its meaning. "Whatever you're doing here, I will not give it to you."

"I am not asking that you give anything to _me_. I'm asking that you return this material to Asto officials, who have paid for it. I'm asking that you turn it over to the _gamra_ community, so we can all determine what happened and what led to President Sirkonen's assassination."

From the corner of my eye, I saw that Ezhya was listening through a translator.

Danziger licked his lips. "Let me just get this clear. What material are we talking about?"

"A report by Elsi Schumacher of the Dawkins Institute. It's extremely important that it be returned." I glanced at Ezhya Palayi, wishing he weren't here and weren't listening. There was more I wanted to say, but I could only do so in vague terms. "I think Sirkonen knew something. It could provide proof of who his killers were."

"You know Dr Schumacher is dead?"

"I do. I might be able to find out why."

Some of the lines on Danziger's face smoothed out.

"Mr Wilson, this information would interest me also. Special Services mentioned this datastick of yours."

"They should know what was on it. They took a copy. I want that copy."

"The copy was empty."

_What?_

From the secretary's desk, Thayu interjected, _Not empty, copy-protected._

Had she just established that by probing the office system for five minutes? How many things could this woman do?

She added, without taking her eyes from her reader, _There's a sequence at the beginning of each document section that needs a sixteen-digit unlock code. There's a file that matches up with it that zips the codes in. If you copy the document, only the main file transfers. You need a security key to copy the code file. If you don't have that file, the document self-destructs when you try to read it. Oh, you can access it, but decoding is one hell of a job, especially since you never know what numerical and notation system the makers used. This one has all the marks of the Asto underground hackers; they use the Aghyrian notation; everything in multiples of five. It's incredibly hard to crack._

_And Sirkonen had this?_ Material with the signature of Asto hackers?

_Only the file on the datastick we have_.

The original.

_The rest of this office system is mindnumbing in simplicity_.

Danziger glanced from me to Thayu, as if he was aware that some form of communication was taking place. "She says the data can't be copied."

_But hang on,_ back to Thayu, _if it can't be copied, then what's the point of looking for other copies?_

_We have the key file. We need an undamaged original that no one has tried to read_.

Ah. Stupid me. Back to Danziger. "We need to access Sirkonen's personal workspace."

"The hell you don't. Not _them_ anyway." Danziger's mouth twitched. He probably knew, as I did, that Thayu was already into the system anyway.

She brought a long list up on the screen of her reader. I hoped she was finding what she was looking for.

"You'll find nothing more than I sent you. I _have_ nothing more than I sent you. That's the damn truth, Mr Wilson. Whatever Sirkonen wanted with this material—weather data you say? However he got it, however Dr Schumacher gave it to him—you won't find answers here. Don't you think we haven't looked? So if you don't get these people right out of my office . . ." He pointed at the door, his hand trembling. "Before I call—"

"You speak for your people?" Ezhya's voice sounded threatening.

Danziger stared at him, then his grey eyes met mine. "What's he saying?"

"He asks if you are a true representative of Nations of Earth."

Danziger straightened. "I am the acting president until the elections."

Ezhya placed both his hands on the desk, his thick fingers splayed over the wooden surface. "You represent your people well enough. With the document you have sent to your representative Cory Wilson, you accuse Asto of planning an invasion."

I translated more or less faithfully.

Danziger stared at him, and then his grey eyes met mine. "This man doesn't look like a security guard to me."

"He is."

Ezhya's strict instructions. He was to remain unnamed and unidentified, even though his behaviour right now wasn't helping much.

Danziger raised his eyebrows. "His point is?"

"Nations of Earth accuses Asto of planning an invasion based on what is a two-hundred-year old plan that was never seriously considered. There is a signature on the plan which belongs to a predecessor of the current Chief Coordinator from that time. I have run the material you sent me past the current Asto Chief Coordinator. He did not know of the existence of the plan."

Danziger stared, running his finger along his upper lip. He frowned. I could almost see him thinking. There were some tense moments in which I feared he might say something that would make the situation worse.

Then he said, "Say for one moment I believed you, how would this end up in Sirkonen's possession?"

I breathed out tension. "That is what we are here to establish."

Thayu had something else up on her screen and was speaking in a low voice with Ezhya's female guard.

She met my eyes and shook her head. "There is nothing here."

Even though she spoke Coldi, Danziger had understood the gist of her words.

"I told you there is nothing else. What I sent you was all."

And based on that flimsy evidence, he risked starting a major conflict?

"We need to find this material." I kept my voice even, even though despair clawed at my thoughts. If there was no other copy, we would have to try to piece together the information from what we could find at the Dawkins Centre, and I knew that wasn't going to be the complete story.

As for other places . . .

We had contacts for Sirkonen's immediate family, and only one of them lived in Rotterdam. I only knew Sirkonen had been divorced. "Did he have a special friend where he might have left a copy?"

Danziger shook his head. "No girlfriends. Not that I know."

And then I got a stupid idea. I _had_ seen that photo, taken by Melissa Hayworth in her best impersonation of a gutterpress journalist. Elsi Schumacher attending a dinner in the presence of Sirkonen. I'd wondered what he was doing there, because the occasion didn't seem to demand his professional presence. What if there was more to their relationship? That would also explain why Sirkonen had the material. Elsi Schumacher might have had a full copy, since Sirkonen seemed to have been aware of the explosive nature of the information.

Yes, we should go to the Dawkins Centre.

On the couch in the corner, Ezhya's male guard had pushed the secretary and the security guard up straight. Both had their eyes open, but didn't look alert as yet.

"Was there really a need to knock them out, Mr Wilson?"

"Would we have been able to check your administration otherwise?"

"I would have told you the same thing: I sent you all I have."

"With the way Nations of Earth has treated me and my _zhayma_ , would there have been any incentive for me to believe that?"

Danziger said nothing. I think he got the point. "I'll submit a letter of protest about this."

"Sure." Let the bureaucrats fight over it.

I continued. "Mr President, I want Nations of Earth to understand that this has the potential to blow up into a conflict much bigger than taking two hundred thousand _gamra_ citizens on Earth hostage."

"We didn't—"

"The emergency council used the military to close the Exchange."

"To keep the murderers from leaving."

"The action targeted the wrong people and sent the wrong signal. _Gamra_ has no involvement. Nations of Earth did not invite me to give my opinion. I was not invited to the emergency council meeting."

"Your position was compromised."

"I was being treated as a _suspect_. Nicha Palayi was treated as a suspect, without reason."

"I admit on behalf of the police that it was a mistake, but one I think they were justified in making."

"It's time that Nations of Earth understood that the conflict isn't about Nations of Earth, but Nations of Earth is being used as a pawn. Nations of Earth is being used—forced and pushed to choose sides. Does anyone at Nations of Earth know what the conflict within _gamra_ is about?"

Danziger stared at me.

I said in a low voice, "Isn't that why I was employed?"

"You are welcome to explain this to the assembly." Stiff-faced as hell.

"I will, after this is sorted. After that, I will return to my post. This isn't over yet." I met Danziger's eyes squarely.

Danziger only nodded. "As you see fit, Mr Wilson. I don't like you or your methods, but you do seem to have a talent for holding together a number of slippery threads."

"Thank you, Mr President." I made for the door.

"Mr Wilson?"

I turned.

"Just to be clear, don't expect _my_ vote. I intend to replace you as soon as possible."

Oh shit, hell and damnation.

Danziger was going to bring in his cronies and take Nations of Earth back to the days of Kershaw. After this debacle, he might even have the numbers.

Where did that leave me?

I sure as hell wasn't coming back here for a diplomatic post. Back then, when Amarru gave me the choice of getting out or staying, I had burned my bridges. I'd hoped, perhaps stupidly, that I could patch things up if I could solve Sirkonen's murder.

But I was no nearer to finding proof, and now I'd been put on notice. Did I need Nations of Earth? Yes, I did, for the money. Did I fully represent them?

Well, actually . . . I represented peace, stability, mutually agreed relationships. I represented respect for cultures, _all_ cultures, not just my own. I was a pioneer of the third wave of colonisation, moving beyond the parochial interests of Nations of Earth. I _didn't_ represent them. In all honesty, I probably never had.

Well, damn, that was one heck of a useful revelation that came about ten years too late.

In the train on the way to the hotel I was not the only one lost in thought. Night came early at this time of the year, and it was already almost dark outside. Evi and Telaris sat on either side of the cabin, silent, listening to whatever chatter came in on their comm units.

Ezhya Palayi sat in a corner alone, lost in communication.

I went to sit with Thayu and Ezhya's guards, who were debating the course for tomorrow. We were to travel on the fast train across the Channel to York for the Dawkins Institute.

Thayu split her attention between the discussion and her reader, which displayed Sirkonen's file in the familiar array of hexadecimal data in which she seemed to have patched more holes. She had restored two maps.

"We try to contact the son," the female guard was saying. "He lives in this town. He might have something."

Security seemed to have everything under control.

I dragged my reader onto my lap and connected with the news services. Flash Newspoint. I read through the headlines.

_Housing crisis in Europe._

_India defeats South Africa in cricket._

_Our promise to the poor: Danziger._

I selected the last article and skimmed through text that spoke of Danziger's commitment to suffering people of central Asia and Africa. Housing for refugees of the dust storms. Water recycling plants. Immunisation programs. Education. That was Danziger all over. _Gamra_ was obviously a low priority on his list. Maybe he was right about that.

He wasn't a bad man, and maybe I should just shut up and go away.

There was nothing about my visit. Nothing about _gamra_ , the closure of the Exchange, or about Nicha's release. It seemed the issue had already been forgotten. The world was still turning around; there were other news issues to take up space on the anchor page.

And there was nothing written by Melissa Hayworth. I entered her name. A list of articles came up, the last of which was the one about my isolation in Barresh. That was now ten days ago. Ten days in which she hadn't published anything, or been in contact with me.

A chill went over my back. Either Danziger had silenced her, or . . . I had asked her to find information about Amoro Renkati.

Feeling sick, I sent her a message. _Am in Rotterdam, if you want to see me._

I waited for her reply, but none came. I stared out the window, but all I saw was the reflection of Thayu and the guards at the table behind me. Ezhya Palayi had come back from his corner and spoke to his male guard. Telaris was checking the charge level on his gun.

Thayu stiffened, straightened, and pushed her hand to her earpiece.

The others stopped talking.

"Anything up?" Ezhya's male guard asked.

Thayu listened, a frown coming over her face. "I'm getting an outside signal."

_Outside_ being jargon for _enemy_.

"Close?"

She listened again. "Wait . . . it's gone."

The guards exchanged meaningful glances.

"Are we in trouble, _mashara_?" I asked.

The female guard turned to me as if noticing me for the first time. "Of course they know where we are, Delegate. We know where they are, too. They won't move until we have what they want. But if they're coming closer, we'd best get to our accommodation soon."

Amarru had booked a hotel next to a railway station, in a sleepy, insignificant new suburb, one I was not familiar with.

There were three rooms: one for me, and Nicha, I hoped, but there had been no sign of him yet; one large room for the men and a smaller one for the two women. My room had enough beds to sleep a family of six. I stood there, looking at all those beds, feeling miserable. How I wanted to be back in my apartment in Barresh. I dumped my luggage on the double bed in the separate bedroom, because its window looked out over a courtyard rather than the street.

After a quick meal of take-away chicken, which we shared in the men's bedroom and at which the conversation consisted of security arrangements, I left for the solitude of my own room.

Someone waited at the door. Someone slender, wearing a dress, and with a mass of curly dark hair.

"Cory?"

My heart jumped. "Eva, what are you doing here?"

"It seems this is the only way I can see you."

"How did you know I was here?"

"I got a message."

"Who from?"

"From you."

"I didn't send a—" I stared down the corridor. Nothing.

_Thayu?_

_What?_

_Check bugs. Someone's slipped our security._

"Come." I pulled her into my room and shut the door behind me.

"Oh, Cory!" She flung her arms about me. It was awkward to feel her warmth through all those layers of clothing, and I noticed how small and thin she was, compared to Thayu. I pushed back, glancing at the door, listening out for Thayu's response.

Someone was running down the stairs to the entrance of the hotel.

Eva stood there, looking very small and fragile, and frightened, her eyes wide.

"Eva, what were you thinking? It's dangerous to come here."

"I really wanted to see you. The message said—"

"I didn't send you a message. Honest. I wanted to keep you safe. Dangerous people are watching us. Please go to a safe place. I will come and see you. I promise."

"I'm not important."

I cringed. _Please Eva, don't start this now._

"Cory, you've been running away from me ever since you left so suddenly. I don't know why. I can't get onto you. I leave messages, but you never write back."

"I replied to every message I got. Danziger cut off my communication. I've had to deal with an emergency."

Her eyes went hard. "It's always the same, isn't it? The world revolves around you and your work."

The door opened. "Hold it!" Thayu, in Coldi. She stood there, legs apart, pointing her charge gun into the room.

Eva screamed.

_Cory?_

_It's fine._

Thayu let the weapon sink.

Eva came out from behind me, panting, her eyes raking Thayu's black-clad form, her armour, her massive shoulders and arms. Looked from me to Thayu and back.

"I see." Her voice was cold. "I received this message from Delia Murchison's office, that you'd taken up with . . . one of them . . . that you had taken her to bed."

Thayu strode into the room and passed a scanner over Eva's back.

_Thay'? Any bugs?_

_No. How did she get in?_

Eva's voice sounded far off through the roaring of blood in my ears. "I didn't believe it, Cory. I thought you were a good man, and I thought she was just trying to be nasty. I trusted you!" Her voice cracked. "You're not even listening to me!"

Thayu stepped between us, as if ready to protect me.

"That's her, isn't it?"

"Eva, this is Thayu. She is my _zhayma_ temporarily replacing Nicha. She is my colleague. _Nothing_ happened between us."

"I don't believe that. Tell me. Tell me to my face and look me in the eye. Then I will believe you."

"Listen Eva. What I'm going to say now is important. I want you to go home, and stay there until this has been solved. The people who sent you the message are extremely dangerous, and they're using you."

"No one is using me. I came by myself."

"But someone gave you this address."

"No one gave me anything! You're avoiding the question. Tell me the truth, Cory. Did you sleep with her?"

"No, I didn't! Listen to me and stop the hysterics. I'm trying to keep you safe."

She stepped back, blinking. "I don't believe you."

"Then don't." I let my hands fall by my sides. There was no arguing the evidence anyway. She could easily have seen the recording of me and Thayu kissing in bed, because there _was_ a recording of it somewhere. Never mind I hadn't taken it any further. In hindsight, I _should_ have taken it further.

Eva let out a strangled sob and hid her face in her hands. "Why Cory, why? You promised you'd marry me."

"Damn it, Eva. Listen to me. I want you to go home safely. I'll come when all this is over, and then we can talk about it."

"Talk about what? I have a life, Cory, and I don't want to spend it justifying you."

Why should she have to justify me? For her family? That I couldn't be at every damn dinner party? It was always the same issue, always. Laying claim on my time. Demanding things I could not, possibly, comply with. And I had enough of it. "If that's what you want, fine. Go and find yourself a Polish guy who will be happy to be your trophy husband."

Silence. Shit, I'd let myself go.

"Cory . . ." Her eyes were wide. A tear slid down her cheek "You didn't mean that, did you? You couldn't possibly take up with _her_ could you?"

Oh, how the memories flooded back of how insanely jealous she'd been when we just started going out and someone mentioned Inaru.

"It is not about _her_. It's about us. I'm stressed and there are dangerous things afoot, so you're not getting the best response out of me right now, but since you're pressing me for an answer, I'll tell you as it is, much more bluntly than I wanted: This—us—is not going to work. My life is in Barresh, and you want me to come to live here permanently. I—"

"I said I'd come."

"Eva, please. I'm no regular diplomat and you know that. You're much better off finding yourself a man who agrees with your father and who is happy to host dinner parties."

"But I love you, Cory." A tear trickled down Eva's cheek.

I let a silence lapse.

"You know, Eva, I don't think you do. You love a person you think is me. You love me as you want me to be, not as I am. It's the same for me. You dream of me being a perfect Nations of Earth diplomat. I dream of you heading my household in Barresh. Neither of us is going to fulfil the other person's dream."

A further silence. Eva sniffed.

"Eva, you have a lot of love to give, but I am not the man you want to give it to. Step into the world and enjoy yourself. You're young—you have plenty of time. Don't wait for me."

She said nothing, crying silently. I felt a stab of guilt. It was a bugger of a thing to have happened like this, and I had known people were watching when I kissed Thayu, and I'd still let myself go.

"I'll get Telaris to take you home."

"I can get home by myself."

Abruptly, she turned and ran for the door.

I heaved a sigh and sat down on the bed. What a mess.

Thayu shut the door and crossed the room, silently settling herself on the desk. After a long and heavy silence, she said, "That is the woman who is contracted to you?"

I nodded, not meeting her eyes.

"What did she want?"

"To see me." To a Coldi, that would sound strange. A person did not love the subject of a contract and would not seek them out for pleasure. "Tell me, Thayu, she wasn't wired at all?"

"Not her."

"Renkati sent her the images of . . ."

There was no emotion in her eyes, no sign of understanding or sympathy. No sign that she even remembered that crazy kiss.

I breathed out heavily. My job didn't lend itself to relationships, least of all with her. Soon, Nicha would be back and I'd best not interfere with Nicha's contract.

She pushed herself up. "Well, that was all a scare for nothing, then."

Then she left the room, too.

I lay awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling.

# 22

**A** RATHER STRANGE procession boarded the train in the morning. I had persuaded the guards to dress less conspicuously, but that didn't take away from the fact that two of them were dark-skinned and very tall, and they still had to wear sunglasses to hide their green eyes, and that the others all had peacock hair and included a woman more muscled than an Earth champion weightlifter. Earth clothes fitted them poorly. Only Ezhya Palayi looked remotely normal. At least his clothes fitted him, but his hair gave him away. He sat a little apart from the rest of the group, fiddling with a comm unit. Something to be taken care of at home no doubt.

I sat and stared out the window, where green fields whizzed past under a leaden sky. I was exhausted, my eyes gritty. I kept seeing Eva's face, and wished there had been more time to talk to her, wished there had been the opportunity to break the news gently, if such news could be broken gently. It was all my fault. I should never have let myself be lulled into thinking I could adapt to her world.

I had deceived her; I had _not_ done the right thing with her, and I couldn't possibly, ever, make up for it.

Guilt cut deeper with Melissa Hayworth's continued silence. When I decided sleep wasn't going to happen, I scanned the news services, but found no trace of her. She had a network diary—untouched since the day that fateful article had been published. Had she lost her job because of me? Was she hiding from Renkati?

One point of light had been a message from Nicha saying he would meet us as soon as we came back from York. Again, this made Thayu happier than she should have been. I couldn't stand to look at her, and I couldn't stand not looking at her, and each time I did, my guts turned to mush.

It was raining by the time we came to York. A minibus taxi took us to the Dawkins Centre, a low building on the outskirts of town surrounded by green paddocks and grazing cows.

Before going up the stairs to the entrance, I checked with security. "All still fine?"

Evi gave a single hand signal. He fiddled with something in his pocket. "There are agents all around, Delegate. Very noisy here."

"Meaning?" I glanced at Thayu.

She gave a shifty glance at the other guard, and avoided returning my look. "I think we want to be out of here as soon as possible." She used formal pronouns.

While we walked up the stairs, I felt irritated with myself. She hadn't been this formal with me for a long time. I could, of course, just _ask_ her what her relationship with Nicha was. I had to face the fact: I was too much of a coward to hear the answer. I didn't want to think about her with Nicha. Hell, I was jealous even before I had taken her to bed. And I had no time for this crap right now, but my mind churned and my heart ached and I knew I had lost her.

We were already in the foyer, a light-filled room with floor-to-ceiling windows. The receptionist gave us a wide-eyed look. First at Thayu, then at me, and then at the rest of the party filing into the foyer, then back to me, her gaze raking my _gamra_ outfit. I knew that look; I could almost hear her think _a human in chan clothing. . . ._

I stepped up to the counter, placing my hands on the wood in a Coldi gesture—show them your hands; they'll know you mean no harm. "I need to speak to Mr Scott."

"Dr Scott, you said?" Redness creeping into her cheeks, she reached for the phone, dialled and listened. "Dr Scott is on a call."

"Good. Then he's here. Where can we find him?"

She met my eyes, a touch of defiance coming over her face. "You need an invitation from one of the scientists to get in."

"Let's just say the invitation comes from Dr Elsi Schumacher."

She sat up straight, her face closed. "I don't know who or what you are and what you're doing here, but I don't appreciate jokes like that."

"It isn't a joke. My name is Cory Wilson, delegate to _gamra_. What I want to ask Dr Scott is of vital importance for Nations of Earth and for peace in this part of the galaxy. Now let me talk to him, please."

I could play the pompous-arse role if I wanted.

The secretary swallowed, then glanced at the others, who formed a black-clad wall between her and the exit. "I'll let _you_ in, not all of _them_."

"They come with me. If it pleases you, I'll leave two guards here." _To make sure you don't let in anyone else._

Another short silence; she licked her lips. "Very well."

She stumbled up from her chair, grabbing a keycard from the desk.

The glass door slid open for her.

I gestured to Telaris and Ezhya's male guard. Wearing translators, they would have heard that two of them were meant to stay behind. They placed themselves on either side of the glass doors while the receptionist led the rest of us into the corridor.

We passed closed doors with high voltage warning signs, and open doors into rooms full of equipment in dust-free encasements. The odd worker sat behind a screen.

At the end of the corridor, we entered a light-filled room in which the centrepiece was an oval conference table. Each of the chairs around it faced its own little screen. A holo-projector stood idle in the middle.

More equipment lined the perimeter of the room. There were also two partitioned offices.

In one of these offices a man worked behind a large screen displaying a map of lines and circles. He was about fifty and wore a washed-out jumper over thin shoulders. He had more hair on his chin than his head.

The receptionist said, "Dr Scott, there are visitors for you."

One look at me and my party and the man reached for the comm unit on the desk. Thayu leapt into the office faster than I had ever seen her move, and slammed her hand on the unit before he could pick it up.

The man tried to push her away. "I'll call the police!"

"I wouldn't if I were you," I said in a low voice. I walked into the office. "We only need to talk to you, nothing more. Mind if I sit?"

I sat down when Dr Scott said nothing, and added to the guards in Coldi. "Jam this room; shut the door."

Evi moved to the door, shutting it in the receptionist's face; Ezhya's female guard took a reader from her pack and put it next to one of the computers in the main room. A touch of the screen, and it came to life. Thayu crouched next to her, thumbing her reader while studying the display of one of the machines in the cabinet.

Ezhya Palayi leaned casually against the doorframe.

Dr Scott's face had gone pale. "If you are looking for any of Dr Schumacher's data, you're too late. It's all gone."

"We'll see about that," I said.

In the conference room, Thayu went to work. Tables and lists scrolled over the screen of her reader. Every now and then, she keyed something into her translator, or spoke a few words with the guard.

Telaris remained by the door, a patient obsidian statue.

I waited.

Dr Scott sat back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. Every now and then, he threw a dark glance at me, or at Ezhya.

Silence lingered.

Deleted material could be restored easily enough. If Special Services or the police had been here, which in all likelihood they had, they knew this, too. The material hadn't been in Danziger's office, Special Services didn't have it; I had a feeling we wouldn't find it here, either. With each minute that passed, the chance that someone would come into the building's foyer and discover the receptionist more or less under siege increased. We had gotten unnoticed out of Danziger's office yesterday, but we were pushing our luck to do so again.

I rose from the chair and went into the meeting room.

"Thayu? Find anything?"

She turned, and a brief expression of sympathy flickered across her face before it became professional again. She shook her head.

I paced to the door, turned on my heel and paced back again. "How much longer do you need?"

She shrugged. "I don't know that we'll find anything. How much longer do you want me to keep looking?"

Glancing at Dr Scott, still with his arms folded in his office, I decided in a split second. "Don't bother. Keep whatever you have there running. Do you have that damaged report here, the one you've been trying to fix?"

She nodded.

"Then come into the office with me."

Without a word, she took her reader and followed me, her face still so unemotional. At my gesture, she placed the reader on the table in front of Dr Scott.

While she turned on the projector and opened the report, I said, "I have a question regarding some material we have been able to restore."

Dr Scott tightened his arms closer about his chest. "I don't comment on a colleague's unpublished work."

"I understand you and Dr Schumacher got on well?"

"That's none of your business. Flash Newspoint and their rubbishy gossip. Elsi is _dead_. She can't defend herself." His voice wavered.

"I appreciate that and your privacy, but I thought that if you were friendly with your colleague, you might be interested in something that could clear her name. It's in everyone's interest to understand what happened."

"Who do you work for?"

" _Gamra_. I'm Cory Wilson."

"The one who was in the office with President Sirkonen?"

"The very one."

"And now you come to ask about Elsi's work?" He pushed himself off the desk, looking wearier. "I thought they'd finished with that. Taken it all and gone. I have nothing to do with it. I don't want to have anything to do with it. It's bad enough Elsi was killed for this, and I'm sick of suggestions that I had anything to do with it. I didn't." He backed further away.

"Dr Scott, I'm not coming to investigate or accuse anyone, least of all you. Those matters are up to the police. My concern is with the information that went missing at the same time your colleague did. My employer on this mission is the government that has paid for this information, and would like it back."

"Then you've come for nothing, because they've already been here and have already looked."

"Who?"

He shrugged, his face a mask of defensiveness. "Some of those . . ." He glanced at Thayu.

"Chans?" Oh, how did I hate the feel of the word in my mouth.

"Yes."

My skin crawled at the hatred in his voice.

"They found nothing, just like the police found nothing and you will find nothing."

"Yes, I understand, but we actually _have_ some of the information that went missing."

His eyebrows rose.

I touched the screen and activated the holo-projector. "We don't have all the data, but we need your help in interpreting what we do have."

Displayed on the crystalline screen was one of the maps with its pretty fields of blue, green and purple. Just like Thayu's hair.

"This is one of the maps we've been able to retrieve."

Dr Scott reached out for the reader and scrolled over the map. I thought some of the defensiveness left his face. "I remember this. Elsi came to show it to me. She said she had never seen a more dramatic trend in her life. Very significant and sustained. This map represents rainfall? Oh yes, I see it does."

"Increased rainfall?" I asked, aware that Ezhya at the door listened intently to every word.

"Oh yes. In this case, if I remember correctly . . ." He scrolled through the next map, which resembled the first, and the next one, then frowned. "That's strange. It doesn't appear to be here."

"The data was damaged," I said, keeping my voice neutral, and hoping Dr Scott would go on.

Which he did. "There was another map which was the oddest thing I've ever seen, showing the distribution of a greenhouse gas, sulphur hexafluoride. At the edge of this continent here. . . ," he pointed, ". . . was a large red spot, indicating a huge concentration of it, and then in the next measurement, it had lost about a third of its size. Where is this?"

Ezhya didn't miss a beat. "Crystal Wastelands. The crater." He spoke Coldi, and I translated. "It's a meteorite crater on Asto."

Dr Scott studied the screen a bit more, his frown deepening. "Is there any industry in this place?"

"There is industry on the planet, but not here. No one lives in this area."

"No surprises in that. Anything alive couldn't possibly breathe this air. There wouldn't be enough oxygen in it."

Ezhya confirmed. "No one comes near the Crystal Wastelands. Many have tried. Some of the desert kids go there. Apparently, they ride boards on the air in the crater. It is dense and grey and makes their voice go funny. If they fall off they die."

I translated for Dr Scott, who nodded. "That sounds like sulphur hexafluoride all right. It's the heaviest gas known. When you put it in a tank, it looks like water. You can float things on it. We only know it as an artificial product. Production requires free fluorine gas, which is one of the most reactive substances known."

Asto, I knew, was extremely rich in fluorides.

Dr Scott stared at the screen again. "It's also the strongest greenhouse gas we know. It doesn't break down, because it doesn't react with anything much. Its effects last for at least twenty thousand years."

I thought I understood. In some way, the gas had formed in the crater when the meteorite hit, and wasn't being formed anymore. "So this work shows that it's running out, or running down, or whatever—disappearing in any case?"

"So the data seems to suggest."

"And that causes an increase in rain?"

"Probably. Most importantly, though, it would cause a significant drop in temperature."

"How much?" Ezhya's voice sounded harsh, stressed, I realised.

I translated.

"Hard to say without having all the data," Dr Scott said.

"If we provided him with new data, could he tell us?" Ezhya asked again, his eyes meeting mine.

I translated.

Dr Scott turned and looked directly at Ezhya. I cringed. "Do you think I want to sign _my_ death warrant?"

Thayu stirred, staring at the screen of her reader, then glanced at me, "With permission, _mashara_ advise that we move." There was an undertone of urgency in her voice. I'd have to come back to Dr Scott later.

I rose from the table. "Thank you for your time, Dr Scott."

Ezhya's female guard opened the door and strode into the hall.

I followed, trying to keep up with Thayu. "What's the matter?"

"We have two identities incoming."

"Close by?"

"Not yet."

"Who are they?"

_Renkati_.

The receptionist met us in the corridor to lead our group back to the foyer. Evi and the other guard still waited there. Thayu spoke to them in a low voice. They pulled out readers and compared screens. There seemed to be a disagreement about what to do.

I joined them. _"Mashara,_ is there a problem?"

Ezhya's female guard inclined her head. "Delegate, while you were speaking, _mashara_ received a message from one of the people the Delegate wanted us to contact."

"Who?"

She held up the reader.

On the screen was the text: _I have a bottle of my father's vodka to give you. Michael._

Michael Sirkonen. Our last chance, and I would hazard a guess that he was trying to tell us he had a copy of the data.

"Did he give a place to meet?"

She fiddled with the screen and showed me again.

_The Station Juice Bar, Barendrecht._

"Do we know where that is?"

"A part of Rotterdam. _Mashara_ is working on the details right now. If we leave now, we buy ourselves some time before Renkati shows up."

When, not _if,_ they showed up.

I glanced at the relative safety of the waiting minibus outside the entrance. Rain still fell in sheets, leaving trails of mist over surrounding paddocks. The minibus was a regular taxi and had no equipment with which the guards could communicate, so one of them had to wave until the driver spotted them and brought the vehicle to the entrance.

Two guards first, then Ezhya and me, and then Thayu and the last two guards behind her. Into the rain. Cold wind whipped straight through my shirt. Shivering, I clutched my reader to my chest. I wasn't used to this kind of weather anymore. At the door of the van, I waited for Thayu to catch up. She half-ran, shielding her eyes from the rain. Her face was drawn taut.

Horrible memories of near-death on the marshland outside Barresh? Her feeder output was blocked.

I ached to say a few personal words, but she avoided my eyes, flung herself into the first available seat.

I clambered up the step and sank in the seat next to Ezhya Palayi.

The driver closed the door, and sought for my eyes in the bewildering party of weird people. "Back to the station, sir?"

"Yes, thank you."

The bus turned onto the road.

I stared unseeing out the window. I hoped desperately that Michael Sirkonen would have the information we were after. I also hoped that whatever the meeting entailed, the Station Juice Bar served meals, and coffee, because, not having eaten either breakfast or lunch, I was swaying on my feet. Maybe Coldi and Indrahui could survive on thin air, but I definitely could not.

Next to me, Ezhya said, in a thoughtful voice, "This particular visit was very useful."

"Was it?" That was news to me.

Ezhya let a small silence lapse.

"What he said—that the surface of our planet is cooling significantly—is what I suspected—and feared. It also explains actions by some groups."

"Does it?" I tore my gaze from the sodden paddocks and met the gold-specked black eyes.

Ezhya's face looked drawn, the grey in his hair more noticeable. He clasped his hands on his knees. "Not directly in relation to the murder of your _president_ or this organisation that calls themselves Amoro Renkati, but to the larger motives behind it all."

I frowned.

" _Gamra_ has a law that none of the member entities should have repressed populations. An original population of a piece of land can stake a claim on their home territory to have it returned to them. In the past those claims have largely been granted by _zhamata_ , and secondary populations, invaders if you like, have scrambled to defend themselves, and remain eligible to the network. That's partly why Indrahui is such a mess."

I nodded. Then a feeling of cold ran over my spine. I whispered, "The Aghyrians." They were the original inhabitants of Asto.

Ezhya sighed. "Yes. Indeed. There has never been a point for them to make the claims, but a lower temperature is likely to make the planet once more inhabitable by the Aghyrians."

And leave a whole planet open to be claimed by a few? That was too ridiculous to contemplate. "But they've been gone for—how many years?"

"That doesn't matter. They'll want what they think is legally theirs."

I didn't think that was bluff. The hatred of Coldi had been obvious in everything I had seen from the Aghyrians: in Marin Federza's words, in the way the medico spoke, in the way they offered Amoro Renkati the technology to break away from an Asto-dominated _gamra_. "There are only—what—about two hundred thousand of them?"

"There are, but they are the fastest-growing ethnicity within _gamra_. Already, they hold many positions of power."

Delegate Joyelin Akhtari, Trader Marin Federza.

"Most are extremely intelligent. They have technology that baffles our best teams."

"Which Amoro Renkati wants to use to set up a rival Exchange network, and which has been used to kill _President_ Sirkonen."

"The Aghyrians have simply pushed Amoro Renkati into action. They are using Amoro Renkati as their lackeys. The Aghyrians have time. Before they make their claim, they would like to see our standing within _gamra_ weakened."

"That's ridiculous." I knew: it also made far too much sense. "Something must be done against this law. They can't just go ahead and disown an entire population for the sake of a few."

"If the law isn't changed, they can. The law was written to protect small populations who have been driven from their homelands. There are conditions that must be met, but we've tested them, and if the Aghyrians decided to claim, they could probably meet all of them. Asto would have to make huge concessions to the Aghyrians in order to maintain its Exchange. If this Amoro Renkati gets their way, there will be a lot of entities voting against us. I wouldn't like to predict the outcome."

I stared. There were billions of people on Asto; they wouldn't be happy with this. "So the material Danziger found was indeed a contingency plan?"

Ezhya blew out a breath. "There are many such plans for many different places. We must be prepared for the worst."

In other words: yes?

My voice dropped to a whisper. "Would you evacuate the entire population?"

"Only if absolutely necessary. If the climate changes are worse than we feared. If we can't come to an agreement. If . . ." He shrugged. "Right now, it doesn't look good."

"Wouldn't you . . . fight?"

"Only if we have to. But it would split _gamra_. We would lose the Exchange network, because it can't exist without us. Without others, who would walk out, we have no trade." He let the obvious hang in the air: Asto imported much of its food. He shook his head. "No. We must keep talking. It will take a long time, but we must solve this peacefully, with _gamra_ , with independent negotiators. It's the only way."

Where had I heard this before? Out of the mouth of a much-too-young, much-too-cocky wannabe diplomat, facing the full Nations of Earth assembly, most of whom were at least twice his age? A young man full of ideals. Look where it had got me.

"There are many other issues that need clearing up," I said.

"Agreed." A small silence. Then, "Such as this belief issue."

I cast him a sideways glance. Was I hearing this correctly?

"I have a theory. I think belief is a bloodline issue. It is bred, not taught. I have studied the reports from early discovery missions." The ones that had re-established contact between the various parts of humanity. "By far the majority of peoples have in their population both people capable of supernatural beliefs, and people who are not capable of such. Sometimes the believers dominate, sometimes the non-believers do. It's taken me some time, but you can track it down through bloodlines, recombinant characteristics, if you get the analysis of the characteristic allocations on the chromosomes. If you know the codes, you can tell by a blood sample whether or not a person is a believer or not. I have a diagram. I can show you one day."

_Never underestimate this man's intelligence_. "What about people who change their mind later in life?"

"They were always non-believers, or believers, but were forced into circumstances by their environment. They were people, like the ones on this world, who grew up with strongly believing families, but only believed by rote themselves. Because everyone else did. You can control such person when they're young, but there comes a time they will acknowledge the truth, or maybe not, but they will never believe. They're not that way inclined."

"All right. . . ."

"The Coldi are the only type of human who do not possess the believing characteristic, at all. That is not a fault. That is the way we are."

And that was pretty much what Kershaw had said, but still I saw no reason for this wonderfully diverse humanity to split.

I was lost in thought when Ezhya asked, "Would you be interested in a position as negotiator? A full _gamra_ stipend, the apartment, six staff and a generous travel allowance."

That brought my attention back. "Me?"

"You're on speaking terms with everyone. Your _imayu_ reaches in places I can't go. I've not heard a single person within _gamra_ say a word against you. Even Marin Federza talks to you. Seeing what you've gone through, it's obvious you can function under pressure. Besides . . ." Black eyes fixed mine. "Do you ever lose your temper? I admit, I tried very hard at that first meeting in my apartment to crack you, but I've been unsuccessful. Do you ever try to intimidate someone by raising your voice? Do you ever let personal discomfort get the better of you?"

I thought of that afternoon in Ezhya's apartment, when I had nearly collapsed from heat stress.

"I will now; if I don't get anything to eat soon, I'm going to faint."

But I recognised a good offer when I saw one. Get a paying job that didn't depend on Danziger's goodwill and whims? Tick.

# 23

**I** N THE NEXT HOUR or so, I discovered that Barendrecht was one of those new social-experiment, high-tech, low-impact suburbs that replaced older centres which had fallen victim to the rising water levels. Built in a pentagon design around a central square with bus shelters and a tram station, and surrounded by shops. Or so the map on Thayu's reader said. Barendrecht had no train station on the main line and rather than wait for a taxi in the cold and wet, the group declared it was safe and less conspicuous to use the tram. It was only two stops along the line.

As to inconspicuous . . . when I stepped aboard, with two obsidian-black guards much taller than myself and four guards much wider than myself, a sole puny human in an unearthly blue outfit surrounded by a wall of flesh and body armour, passengers stopped talking. A mother yanked a toddler out of the centre aisle; the boy started screaming.

My old transport card of course had been left in Athens, but Thayu had given me a new one. I had no idea how she arranged these things out of thin air. However, when I slotted it in the ticket machine, the screen said _ticket malfunction_. Oh great.

I took the card out and tried again. The same thing happened. I muttered a silent curse. Where was technology when you needed it? We were about to proverbially save the planet and a ruddy machine was going to stop us?

As if to rub it in, a mechanical voice said, "An entry has not been detected. Please insert your EuroTransport Card to begin the transaction."

I yanked the card back out, fighting an urge to slam my fist into the screen.

The voice said, "Please leave this car and contract EuroTransport to report any difficulties."

Oh, for crying out loud!

"Excuse me," said a young voice in Isla.

The girl was perhaps thirteen or fourteen, thin as a broomstick, pale-skinned, with her hair dyed violent pink, and piercings in her eyebrows, nose, lips and all the way down both ears. She squeezed herself between Evi and Ezhya—the guards tensed—and held out a hand so be-ringed that I wondered why her fingers didn't fall off. "Sometimes you got to put the card in upside down. Some machines are funny like that."

Long fingers with black-painted fingernails took the card from my hand and put it back into the machine.

The screen said, "Welcome to EuroTransport. Please state your destination."

Phew. "Thanks."

"No prob." Quick as she had come, she sat back down.

I paid for the fares and settled between Thayu and Evi. The girl had gone back to listening to music, unfazed by, perhaps used to, our strange group. Some of the older passengers still stared. That was, I thought, the division I was trying to overcome, between young and old, between people upset by "chans" and people who didn't mind them. People who had watched Ezhya Palayi's first official touchdown in Athens, and had marvelled, and hoped, and people who just accepted Coldi as part of the scenery.

No one spoke during the short tram ride; the atmosphere in the carriage was tense. I tried to look around casually, and studied advertisements above the windows and on the ceiling. Brand names that meant nothing to me. Advertisements that puzzled me so much I didn't even know what they were for. Directly opposite me was an advertisement for, of all things, a cosmetic clinic. It mentioned skin-resurfacing, hormonal hair loss treatments, foot and heel abrasion—whatever that was. The things people did to themselves. But it also offered _unwanted hair removal_ —

My mind did a monumental shift sideways. I could almost feel the sting of the blunt razor on my skin.

Damn. Now _there_ was an idea.

As if on cue, rain stopped and the sun flashed out, even though the wind chased brightly-lined clouds through the sky, many of them a dark shade of lead-grey.

Barendrecht Plaza, as it was imaginatively named, glittered with puddles and drops of water on stainless steel bus shelters, like something out of a crystal shop. After two days of gloom, it hurt my eyes. The biting wind, as we stepped from the tram, hurt the rest of my body and dislodged half my hair from my precarious ponytail.

The Plaza looked like it might be a pleasant place—in summer. A ring of now-leafless trees surrounded a central parkland in which stood a quaint old church with a squat tower of dark bricks—salvaged from before the rising of the sea levels? There was also a kiosk, a playground, a fountain—the basin empty in preparation for winter—and various seating arrangements, glaring wetly and startlingly in the sudden burst of sunlight. The tramline circled the park like a giant roundabout. Shops and terraces occupied the perimeter of the plaza, and above those shops rose several storeys of apartment blocks in a pyramid formation.

The Station Juice Bar was located—unsurprisingly—opposite the tram station. It had a large glass-covered seating area. An open fire glowed invitingly in a decorative bowl-like hearth in the centre of the room. More inviting still was the serving counter on the far side.

Food! Coffee!

Michael Sirkonen waited at a table in the very corner, studying the menu on the table screen. A bag lay on the seat next to him. His father's reader? I hoped so.

He was dressed entirely in black, the lush veil of silver-blond hair hanging over his shoulders. The hair reminded me uncomfortably of his father, but his eyes were grey rather than blue.

He nodded formally and shook my hand. "Mr Wilson."

"Nice to meet you."

Thayu came behind me silent and soundless like a cat. The others were settling on the next table, effectively cutting the corner off from the rest of the room. A young serving girl behind a counter that led into the main part of the building looked on, wide-eyed. Ezhya took the chair facing away from Michael.

"My _zhayma_ , Thayu Domiri. The others are my bodyguards."

Michael raised an eyebrow and shook Thayu's hand formally and bade us to sit down.

"I'm sorry to ask you to come all the way out here." Michael spoke just loud enough to be heard over the rumble of a tram outside the window. It occurred to me that he looked tired and his face appeared older than it should.

"Has anyone been harassing you?"

Michael snorted. "Where do I start? All the time. I've been staying with friends since my father died."

"I'm sorry. My condolences." I could not begin to understand what a circus his father's funeral must have been, and how he would have been thrown in the limelight through no wish of his own.

"Excuse me, what would you like?" The serving girl stood at the end of the table.

"Oh. I haven't looked at the menu yet." Fancy place. I had expected to order through the table screen. "I need something solid to eat."

"A salad roll?" she asked.

"I guess. I'm dying for a coffee."

"Sure. Do you have any vouchers?"

"Vouchers?" I frowned at her.

"Health Authority regulations, sir, since coffee was declared a drug."

Oh, for crying out loud! "No. I don't have any vouchers. Does this rule apply to visitors? I normally live in Barresh."

"Yes. You need the vouchers all over the country."

I clenched my jaws so tightly my teeth crunched. What had Ezhya said again about my temper? "Is there anything else you can recommend?"

"We have the orange mix on special today. It's one of our favourite drinks. It has orange juice, avocado, honey and cinnamon."

That sounded perfectly . . . disgusting. "No thanks, I'll just have water."

I ordered a vegetarian roll for Thayu, then the girl took Michael's order and left.

I shook my head. "Tell me, am I so out of it?"

Michael grinned, but said nothing. I knew the truth. Life on Earth had moved on without me. Orange juice mixed with honey and avocado. I felt sorry for the oranges.

"Now, let's get started. Your father."

"Did you get the message about the vodka?"

"Yes."

"I've got it with me." Michael glanced at the empty seat next to him. A flat bag lay there, of the type that normally contained a reader. "He had dinner with me, the night before . . . He asked me if he could leave it with me."

Yes. I had struck gold. "How was your father that night?"

"To tell you the truth, Mr Wilson? Nervous. They both were."

"Both?"

"He and Elsi."

Ah—I had been right. Things were starting to make sense to me now, including Dr Scott's hostile behaviour.

"You asked what was bothering him?"

"I did. He said he got carried away by something and he'd been wrong, and he was trying to sort it out."

"Did he say anything about danger?"

"Danger? My father?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh, he was good at delegating, but he kept his private life close to him. _It never does any good to trust a journalist with a personal feeling,_ he used to tell me. I bet you didn't know he and Elsi were an item."

"I suspected." Yet it pretty much echoed my experiences with Sirkonen. "So—do you think he was in trouble?"

"In hindsight? Of course he was. But then again, he'd been in trouble for most of his presidency. It goes with the job. _Someone_ is always trying to take a swipe at you, he used to tell me." His voice sounded unsteady.

The serving girl returned with a tray from which she unloaded three plates with bread rolls—the outside covered with seeds—two glasses of water and a tall glass of orange-browny goop. Michael took a long swallow from it and set it down.

"You actually like that stuff?"

"It tastes a lot better than it looks."

Thayu gave it a disgusted glare that echoed my feelings. Somehow, I preferred deep-fried worms. And _manazhu_.

I bit into my roll. At the next table, the girl had brought a veritable mountain of bread. It was the first time I'd seen the guards eat anything. Ezhya's female guard was pointing to cheese protruding from her roll and asking Evi what it was.

"So . . ." I glanced at the reader on the chair. "Have you looked at it?"

Michael shook his head. "He told me explicitly not to do so."

Smart man. Sirkonen had known about the protection then.

"But he told me a few things." He swallowed his bite and leaned closer. "Did you know that Seymour Kershaw is still alive?"

"I do. When was your father's last contact with him?"

"About six months ago. I read the messages. They were discussing political ideas. Then about a month or so before he was killed, my father tried to break with Kershaw. He said something about Kershaw's claims not being true, and Kershaw was angry."

"Did he . . . did Kershaw make any threats?"

"None that I saw."

But the picture was clear now. I had been right. Amoro Renkati had killed Sirkonen, because he refused to cooperate.

"May I?" I reached for the bag.

He nodded. I pulled out the reader, set it on the table and gestured Thayu over. She pulled my datastick out of one of her many pockets and slid it into the reader. I turned it on.

A few nervous heartbeats later, the menu came up on the screen. I navigated the directory.

The guards on the next table were laughing, but I was sure at least some of them would have an idea what was going on. I didn't want Ezhya Palayi to see this. Not yet.

I found the copy of the file that was also on the datastick.

It opened normally.

Phew.

When I moved to scroll down, Thayu batted my hands away.

_Make a copy first_.

Yes. Indeed. The key was on the datastick. It was more valuable than the reader. A few seconds later, it was again complete in the breast pocket of my shirt under my armour.

Now for the information itself. I scrolled through.

The maps, Elsi Schumacher's report—I knew what was in there. I didn't know that the person who had passed it to Sirkonen wasn't Elsi, or even remotely Coldi; there'd been a leak in the Dawkins Centre computer.

A transcript of a meeting between Sirkonen and a couple of people unknown to me, representatives of a travel consortium with the aim of setting up a second Exchange node on Earth. Highlighted passages contained carefully veiled advice to Sirkonen not to involve me, because, they said, I didn't have the authority. Hell, I didn't, neither did they. No one decided about new Exchange nodes except the full assembly of _gamra_. It was a grave error of Sirkonen's judgement. I knew he _wanted_ to be rid of the stranglehold Athens had over off-Earth travel. He wanted it too badly—

But after a few such meetings and conversations—I scrolled through scanning the highlighted passages—Sirkonen had his doubts about the consortium. He'd kept them at a distance; he'd conversed with Kershaw directly, still keeping him at arm's length.

Representatives from Asto had heard he was in possession of the weather data and had harassed Elsi; Sirkonen had been about to send his private jet for her when she disappeared—

Conversation at the next table stopped. Thayu's hand rose a fraction to her upper arm. Someone else wouldn't have paid the movement any notice, but I knew that she kept the charge gun there, under her jacket.

All guards turned their heads towards the street.

A couple of people waited in a bus shelter. A few others lined up at the drinks kiosk in the middle of the park. Steam rose from the cubicle's counter, while the vendor, dressed in cheerful orange, moved inside. A few more people waited at the crossing, wind whipping their hair. The sun had long since vanished.

_Thay'?_

Thayu moved her hand higher up her arm, and spoke, not looking at me. "It might be prudent for us to move to a less exposed position."

She had spoken in Coldi. Michael looked from her to me and back, frowning.

"She says it's probably wise to go inside."

Thayu urged me, "Quickly."

I thumbed the reader into hibernation, slipped it into its bag, pushed myself up from the table, still studying the square and not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

The young waitress crossed the room. "Do you want the bill, sir?"

"No, thanks, we're cold. We'd just like to move into the warmer part of the cafe."

"Fine. I'll prepare a table. That's . . ." She glanced around at all the people standing, which included the guards. ". . . a table for eight—"

A flash of light hit the window. The glass exploded.

People screamed and dived for cover. Evi shouted a sharp command in Indrahui and pushed me onto my knees under the table. Thayu unclipped one of her charge guns and tossed it to me through the forest of table and chair legs; I missed. A veritable light show broke out over my head, the crackling of charges ringing in my ears. On my hands and knees, I fumbled for the gun, cursing. My palms had just healed from my last encounter with broken glass.

Ezhya's two guards clambered over glass-strewn tables out the broken window and ran to the nearest bus shelter. Both held a charge gun in each hand, and fired at some place on top of the roof of the next apartment block. Glass, concrete and splinters of wood rained down.

A bus had stopped in the middle of the street, rocking as the passengers scrambled to get out.

Thayu had taken cover behind an upturned table. She was firing at the top of the buildings across the road, cursing. "There's too many of them; they're moving too quickly."

I still saw nothing. I might be armed, but I felt utterly useless, and guilty, being the focus of the attack. Michael sat with his legs pulled up in the shelter of a low wall.

A few tables down, a young mother struggled with two children. Her pram had toppled, spilling vegetables and a baby bottle onto the glass-covered floor. The child strapped in the pram's harness was screaming.

I crawled out from under the table. "Come." I had to yell to make my voice heard.

The hysterical child glanced up at me, a man in weird clothing, and promptly stopped crying. I grabbed the baby from the fallen pram, and crawled into the darker part of the building. The kitchen staff huddled in a corner.

"Is there a back entrance to this place?"

One girl nodded.

"Here." I passed her the child. "Take him and get out."

The girl was so startled that she said nothing, but promptly did as I asked.

I returned to the front of the cafe to meet the mother and her older child. She cried, "Thank you, thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just go. Save yourself. Get out of here." I virtually pushed all the staff and customers out the door. Michael was last. "Take yourself to safety. Your family has already suffered too much for it. Run home. I'll call tonight."

If I survived this.

Michael nodded, patted my shoulder, and left.

I stood in the room amidst fallen and shattered furniture, taking deep breaths to gather courage. I tucked the reader in the inside pocket of my armour and did up the fastening. Slowly, I reached for the charge gun which I had thrust in my belt. It felt warm in my hands. Heavy, uncomfortable. I flicked up the safety switch.

Glass crunched under my shoes as I stalked back to the front of the shop.

The shattered sunroom was empty, tables and chairs strewn over the tiled floor. The back of a chair had fallen into the glowing coals in the fireplace and was giving off coils of smoke. I kicked it to the floor and stamped out embers.

A flash lit up the roof of a shop opposite the square. That was another thing movies involving _gamra_ weaponry often got wrong: charge guns didn't produce beams. Their charge only became visible when it hit something. A cry rang out.

As if in slow motion, a black-clad figure fell onto a shop's canvas awning, which collapsed under the weight. The body flopped down to the pavement and didn't stir.

Panic crawled over me.

I didn't _think_ that was one of my party; the figure wasn't wide enough to be Coldi or tall enough to be Indrahui.

_Thayu?_ I ran to the front of the cafe. The abandoned bus stood there, billowing smoke. The shelter had been reduced to a grotesque piece of modern art of molten glass and metal.

"Thayu?"

Another shot rang out, hitting the frame of the by now glassless sunroom. I ducked, but not so quickly that I didn't see another figure jump down from the roof of the next block. In cat-like grace, it crouched behind a ventilation tower, a gun pointed in my direction.

A few flashes struck the tower from the side, leaving the figure unharmed. Almost relaxed, the person dug in a pocket and replaced the charges in the gun.

I slid the barrel of my gun on top of the stone wall of the cafe's porch. Sweat rolled over my stomach. On the tiny screen, I lined up the reference points.

Fired.

Missed.

Roof tiles flew up and clattered on the street below.

The figure jumped up and gave a shout. Immediately there was the sound of running feet, somewhere in the building above me, coming down the stairs.

I didn't think twice, but clambered over the wall into the street.

A cacophony of fire broke out over my head. To my side, behind me, on the other side of the street. I ran to the bus shelter, clutching my gun. Where was everyone?

A man on a motorbike entered the square. A figure leaped from a roof and flattened him. He yanked the bike out of its owner's hands and jumped on, then came full speed in my direction, over the grass of the park.

More fire rang out, this time from my side of the street. It hit the roof of the bus stand. Telaris leaped out of nowhere . . . into the path of the motorbike. And as I recognised the bike rider as Kedrasi, and holding a gun, the man fired at Telaris, continuing his path straight for me.

"Cory!" someone called behind me.

I turned.

A shot crackled. I ducked, and the motorbike crashed into the mangled remains of the bus stand without its rider. Panting, I glanced around to see who had saved me. A figure ran along the street, pushing fleeing pedestrians out of the way. I recognised the man. "Nicha!"

Thayu was firing at another target on the roof. Fire came back, shattering windows.

Nicha ran and ducked behind the recycling station where I sat.

We fell into a wordless hug.

"When did you get out?"

"Just in time to save your arse, it seems."

I flung my arm over Nicha's shoulder. There was so much to say, but no opportunity to say it.

Whining sirens echoed between the buildings. First one and then another police van screeched onto the square. A flash of light struck the windscreen of the first van. It skidded into a traffic barrier, and the second van had to swerve. It came to a stop in a cloud of burnt rubber. The doors of both vans opened and police armed with shields and guns streamed out. More flashes hit the pavement. A dark-clad figure ran over the roof of a building opposite us.

Someone else saw it, too. A flash, and the figure fell.

The police crowded against a shop wall, holding up their shields. More shots were fired from a second floor window, but a single shot from behind our bus stand put a merciless end to that. I hadn't even seen a glimpse of the sniper, and wondered who the sharpshooter was.

Across the square, police officers gathered up someone wounded and bundled him into the van. Evi materialised out of a shop entrance, pushing another person, struggling in vain against his grip. Ezhya's two elite body guards brought three men from inside the ruined cafe. One was Indrahui, which earned him a slap in the face from Telaris, who'd been standing outside putting recharges in his gun. They exchanged some sharp words in Indrahui which I didn't catch, swear words no doubt.

Thayu crouched over the fallen body, searching the man's clothes.

Then I spotted movement on the roof opposite. I yelled, "Thayu!" while raising my gun. I didn't think twice, but fired, once, twice. Both shots went wide. But then there was another, from the roof above me, that struck the sniper in the chest.

He fell.

All went silent.

Blood roared in my ears. Whoever that was had just saved Thayu's life. Nicha sat behind me, wide-eyed.

I unclamped my hands from the gun. "I didn't hit him."

"The guy would have shot her."

His white-faced, wide-eyed expression sent a chill through me. I'd been right about him and Thayu. A surge of ugly jealousy made my face hot. I couldn't bear to face Nicha, and raised the gun again, as if more snipers hid on balconies.

The next moment a shadow jumped down from the roof of the bus shelter. I was too late to react, but it was Ezhya Palayi, tucking the gun back into the bracket.

"I think we got them all."

For all the excitement, the man looked like he'd been enjoying himself. Where I felt and probably looked dishevelled, he glowed with satisfaction. His hair was still tied up in the ponytail, slick and undisturbed, not a hair out of place.

He put a warm hand on my shoulder. My feeder made a rushing sound, as if someone opened a door to a room.

_Well done._

I met Ezhya's eyes. Had he just opened the link without setting it up? Perfect control.

_Indeed._

From the other side, a human voice said, in Isla, "That's one hell of a body guard you have there, Mr Wilson."

# 24

**T** HE ATTACKERS, twelve in all, three of them dead, were Renkati, or so I presumed because none of them were Coldi, and none of the survivors wanted to speak Coldi. Besides a few hissed words of Indrahui, there was no further communication between them and our party. None of the captives looked any of my guards in the eye, and I couldn't gauge whether or not they recognised Ezhya. The police made the attackers strip off all armour and weapons which they spread into a veritable collection of non-Earthly gadgetry which they'd managed to get past the border patrols. This had been no amateur operation.

I sat, numbed and still hungry, through the questions police asked me. They had swarmed en masse into the Plaza, blocking roads and keeping curious pedestrians behind barriers.

Ezhya and his guards took their own records, and relayed some of them to me so I could inform Amarru. Evi and Telaris spoke with the police in their halting, abrupt way.

Thayu stood next to Nicha. I didn't miss the glances of mutual affection or Nicha's hand on her shoulder and then wished I hadn't seen. Jealousy was not going to help get this sorted out.

Because I was the only one who spoke fluent Isla, the police kept me busy longer than the others. Somehow, they seemed reluctant to interfere. Had anyone from Nations of Earth been in contact and ordered them to keep their heads down? Were they intimidated by the huge arsenal of weapons? Did they suspect our party included someone very important? Over my comm unit, Nixie Chan told me that the captives would probably be extradited into the control of the Exchange soon, which meant that they would face a _gamra_ court, would be stripped of their citizenship and sent to work in a labour camp on some backwater world.

I spoke to Amarru several times, giving her the names and codes of the attackers as Ezhya's guards uncovered them. They were all residents of Barresh, but there were no Coldi, and no Aghyrians.

Ezhya's words about Renkati being nothing but lackeys for the Aghyrians came back to me. Throughout the last few days we'd found no evidence for that hypothesis, not even amongst their weaponry.

Ezhya came to stand next to me and said in a low voice that Delegate Akhtari had commanded _gamra_ inspectors, backed up by Barresh city guards, to raid the Renkati complex in Barresh and bring all people found there in for questioning. They were to look specifically for the new technology, although I doubted they would find anything.

I felt sick. Of course the Aghyrian operator and his female friend had long since left, long after the builders of the machine, so all the blame would fall on Renkati. Admittedly, they deserved most of it, but they weren't alone. Aghyrians got off without questioning. They weren't even disturbed in their daily activities. The medico would see her patients, Marin Federza would go to his meetings, and Delegate Akhtari . . . did she have anything to do with it? Did any of them? How well were the Aghyrians organised? Did they have a leader?

I mumbled, "We might have caught these people, but this isn't over yet."

"No, it isn't," Ezhya said, in an equally low voice. "It will be quiet for a few years or so, but this issue will flare up again, and by that time, we must have changed _gamra_ law and come out with some sort of compromise." _I'd really like you to take that position. Think about it very seriously._

I nodded.

It was almost dark by the time the police offered to take me to the hotel.

I didn't say much on the way. Now that all the excitement had been dealt with, the foremost thought in my mind was how I would discuss the subject of Thayu with Nicha, because I had to talk about it or it would get in the way of our friendship. Maybe it was better that Thayu would leave now that Nicha was back. Congratulating Nicha on his impending contract would be hard enough. There was no room for the three of us. I only hoped that Thayu would get the care of the child that would no doubt be the subject of their contract.

Still, as soon as Nicha and I started work and reconnected our feeders, Nicha would find out. No matter how much I would try to hide it from him, he would probably see how much I cared for Thayu and would offer for me to take up his contract when it finished. That was a very Coldi thing to do as well, but I didn't think I was ready for a case of girlfriend-swapping. I would do best to forget about her.

Then why did I feel so awful?

Because I was back to square one. Now potentially a diplomat with an enviable position, but without a home, a family or a wife. Not that I would go running back to Eva. No, and I had to write to Eva's parents explaining the situation as well. But I was sick of being alone. Three times in a row I had started relationships that had gotten me nowhere.

Maybe I should fill out a questionnaire and take it to a matchmaker. There were plenty of those both on Earth and in Barresh.

What did I want in a woman?

Someone well-educated, independent, with a sense of humour. Someone who didn't care about race or language, or about one's status in society or about clothing. Someone who could handle being shot at, who could handle me being the focus point of attention, and, occasionally, in danger.

I stared into the dark street unseeing. Everything about this description screamed _Thayu_.

When I opened the door to my room, Nicha sat at the dining table, watching a news report on his reader.

His eyes shone. "I put my stuff in this room. I didn't think you'd mind me sharing." All his luggage lay spread on a bed in the corner.

Oh, I was so glad to have Nicha back again, let there be no mistake about that. I crossed the room and hugged him. Familiar, warm and strong. I would need to reconnect my feeder to him, and then things would be as before.

_Except for Thayu._

I sat down. There was a chickpea pita box on the table, two pieces still left in it. My stomach rumbled.

"You're not having these?"

"I've had enough. I guess it's better than jail food, but it's rather bland."

I took a bite and struck a piece of chilli. Tears sprang into my eyes; it was easy to blame them on the chilli. I had missed Nicha and his definition of _bland_.

"What are you watching?"

"There's some interesting news here," Nicha said. "Sigobert Danziger has confirmed his candidacy for the upcoming election."

"That was not unexpected. Who else is standing?"

Nicha flicked on the holo-projector. The report displayed on Nicha's reader was from Flash Newspoint. I didn't even register the names, but thought instead of Melissa Hayworth. I should find out what happened to her. Maybe I should take her up on her offer for lunch. We seemed to have plenty in common.

Nicha's voice broke into my thoughts. "I'll be glad when we're out of here."

"So will I."

I picked at the crust of the bread, trying to remember where I'd stored Melissa's contact details.

_You're being stupid, Cory Wilson._

Melissa was a good journalist, but not a woman I should be dating, not even a woman I wanted to date. But I wanted . . . someone special in my life.

"You made a good start at _gamra_ , I heard."

"What is good? I managed to upset a lot of entities." I forced my thoughts back to the conversation.

"No. Ezhya told me you did well. I heard he offered you a job."

I shrugged. "He did. I guess I don't really want to say anything until I'm sure of the arrangements. He said it would be a new position."

"Oh, it's sure all right. He told me. I think you did really well. Ezhya Palayi is a notoriously hard man to pin down. He doesn't have much time for losers either. If he offered you this job . . ." Nicha shook his head; his expression was sad.

"If it goes ahead, you'll be coming. He said I'd have six staff. You'll be one of them, unless . . ." _Thayu._

Nicha's sharp eyes met mine. "Unless what? I'd love to come, but I don't know that the invitation extends to me."

"It does. I say so."

I took a larger bite from the pita, not meeting Nicha's eyes. The bread was cold and tasted like rubber. I longed for Eirani's cooking, but I couldn't even be sure I'd be back in the apartment. Probably not.

"But you're not happy?" Nicha said.

Was it really that obvious? I shrugged. "We haven't caught Sirkonen's killer yet. I've been in contact with Amarru, but none of the people we got today were in Rotterdam at the time of the attack on Sirkonen."

"Whoever has done it will be caught. Apparently _gamra_ guards and Barresh officials have arrested a great number of Renkati supporters. One of them will have killed Sirkonen, or they will know who did."

I nodded and took another bite.

"But that isn't it, is it, the reason why you're not happy."

"I'm just tired."

I could see in Nicha's eyes that he didn't believe this, but I said nothing, picking fallen threads of cheese out of the box.

Then he said, "I heard you got on well with my sister."

I jerked my head up. "Sister?"

"Same parents as me. What did you think she was?"

"I thought . . ." I let it go. Obviously what I had thought was wrong. Not only that, what I had thought no longer mattered. His _sister_! I watched the projection but saw nothing, only felt the heat rising in my cheeks. I whispered, "I thought you were contracted to her. I thought you loved her."

"Oh I do, but I assure you, I'm not interested in her in _that_ way." He cocked his head. "Although I'm guessing you are."

No point denying it. I nodded, once, and felt more heat creep up my cheeks.

A few seconds of red-eared silence passed. Nicha frowned.

"But I thought . . . what about Eva?"

"I'm breaking off the engagement."

"You are. . . ?"

"It would never have worked. She was only interested in dinner parties and when I came back. I don't think she would ever have been happy in Barresh."

Nicha blew out a breath. "You know, that must be the first sensible thing I've heard you say about women."

I stared. Nicha had always been reserved about Eva, but he had never told me this. For the last two years, he had shielded his thoughts about her, so as not to hurt me. Oh, how I loved him. How I loved them both.

Nicha leaned back in his chair. He flicked a glance at the closed door of the bedroom—the room where my things were.

"You know my _sister_ is in the shower?" He yawned. "I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed. You don't mind if I sleep here?"

He sounded much too rehearsed. I raised my eyebrows.

"Go for it. She's all yours. Just don't keep everyone awake all night."

That Coldi bluntness.

But my heart leapt when I rose and opened the door.

A thick blanket of steam hung near the ceiling of the room, making the light hazy. Thayu sat on the bed, a towel wrapped around her, baring yellow-skinned shoulders. Water dripped from her hair and steam rose even from her skin. She was working on something on her reader. A view of the president's office in a sickly blue hue. And then a flash. Nicha's recording of the event. She stopped the projection and then played it again, as if she hadn't noticed me come in.

I hesitated.

She turned to me. "I've changed the frequency, and I can see the light now. Is this what you experienced before?"

I nodded. "It will conclude the case neatly. Amoro Renkati killed the president."

"But then . . . if you can see the light, why didn't Kershaw pick it up?"

"He's blind. He can see with the help of some technology, which doesn't convey colour." I remembered how he had guessed the colour of my shirt—wrong. It also dawned on me that a lot of Aghyrian technology could be beneficial to everyone, or dangerous, and that we must aim to negotiate with them, and not point fingers. Like Coldi on Earth, they had perhaps traded some of their technology for benefits needed by their community, technology which the buyers had gone on to misuse.

But I was not in the mood for discussing the matter further. There would be plenty of time for that once we returned to Barresh.

Thayu was going to play the recording again, her hand hovering over the button, but her fingers trembled. Then she blinked.

I tried the feeder. _Thayu?_

Her input was still blocked, and, unlike Ezhya, I couldn't open it without setting it up through the reader.

"Thayu?"

"Are you still angry with me?"

"Angry? Why would I be angry with you?"

"Because I made your girl run out on you."

_Oh, Thayu._

She gave a surprised squeak when I pulled her up and drew her in my arms. From close up, her eyes glistened with moisture.

"Come, come, Thayu. Open your feeder. Let me tell you what's going on." _How much I love you._

"What—"

My lips cut her words short.

She must have been standing under the hot shower for ages; her mouth was so hot it nearly burned me, but I didn't care.

A progression of vague images spread from my feeder, getting clearer while I focused on them. Her horror as she realised she had interfered between me and Eva, as she realised that she must have done something very bad in our custom, but not understanding it. Bewilderment, regret. Love.

_Love._ Like a warmth seeping through me, tingling to the very tips of my fingers.

"Thayu, I would never be angry with you, because it would never have worked out with Eva. It took me to meet you before I realised that."

"I thought you were contracted to her?"

"Not anymore."

"You mustn't throw away your chances, the status she was offering you."

"I'm not interested in that type of status."

She just blinked.

"I'm serious, I'm not. She's part of a world that isn't mine. I was mistaken. I want you, and if . . ." I swallowed hard. "If that means I have to buy the other man out, I will do so."

She looked up at me, her eyes blinking. "Really?"

"Really. Is he old and ugly?"

"Yes. But rich."

I heard the warning in those words. "I will pay him out, no matter what."

She blinked hard, and more tears formed in her eyes. It was so unlike her that I kissed them away; the tangy taste of her on my lips.

I felt a twinge of fear through the feeder. She asked, her voice hoarse, "For how long?"

"If you want, forever. If you want a child, we'll get around that problem somehow. I don't want to lose you."

She raised her head and met my eyes. I lost myself in her gaze. Her voice was no more than a whisper. "I'd like that very much."

After that, neither of us said anything for a long time.

I shut down the projection, still flushed with the rush of excitement.

Those two thousand delegates of _zhamata_ sat in stunned silence.

No protests, no shouts, just total shocked silence. My words about Sirkonen's troubles, his murder, Danziger's discovery and Renkati's plan and their machine still echoed in my ears. I'd shown them the two-hundred-year-old plans, verified the signature of Asto's leader of that time. How Renkati had tried to play the climate change data to make Nations of Earth vote against collaboration with _gamra_. I had even raised the subject of how Asto could become the subject of a territory claim. That there was an urgent need to revise the _gamra_ membership laws.

There was not one delegate I could see from my position who hadn't had something to yell at some stage, but now I had finished, everyone was quiet.

A group of about thirty people sat on the floor in the middle of the hall, between the speaker's dais and the lowest tiers of the audience. Two Barresh city guards in black stood on either side. A few more guards sat on the lowest bench. They had brought the group in after the meeting started, a collection of men and women in dirty clothing.

Chief Delegate Akhtari rang her bell. Her face had remained emotionless during my speech. I didn't think she was involved in any Aghyrian plan or even knew of it, but it would have been nice if she had shown outrage at my evidence. She was meant to remain impartial, and so far, she had done just that, which meant I still didn't know how deep the Aghyrian involvement ran. Would we ever know? Would they ever make their claim? Had they deliberately set up Amoro Renkati with their technology? How organised were they?

I repositioned the earpiece. "And in this way, Delegates, a small organisation almost succeeded in driving a wedge within the heart of _gamra_. Some of you may say why does that matter? We need to have a discussion about the structure of _gamra_ anyway. They might have said _we need to end the domination of Asto and curb the power of the Coldi._ Some of you—many of you maybe—might have agreed."

Ezhya Palayi sat quietly, his hands in his lap.

"Amoro Renkati heard these voices of dissent and, while _gamra_ wasn't looking, gathered a group driven by hatred. They attempted to court non-Coldi entities to form their separate network. I don't think we have seen the end of this. We have seen the technology they've used and I don't think it's going to go away."

I glanced at Marin Federza, whose face was equally unreadable. Was there an organisation of Aghyrians? If so, was he involved?

"Rather than pointing fingers at each other, _gamra_ needs to face this challenge as a united front. I think it matters that we air grievances publicly, here in this venue, before they become deeply ingrained. We have just seen how quickly a conflict can escalate. I have no doubt that if we did allow this split to happen, we would have major conflict within a year."

Now for the official part of the meeting.

"At the start of this meeting, you saw the guards of Barresh bring in a group of people. They are what is left of Amoro Renkati, those people who still swear by an organisation with the blood of my _president_ on its hands. Now only one question remains, and I have been chosen to ask it on behalf of _zhamata_."

A few of the people in the group on the floor looked up.

" _Gamra_ law gives you the opportunity to answer freely and escape a forceful investigation and detention for those of you not guilty. Out of all of you here, whose hand killed the president?"

In the group, no one looked at one another. People sat with their shoulders slumped. I felt a twinge of disappointment. It had probably been too naïve to hope that anyone would come forward. But then there was a commotion in the group. Someone rose. A thin figure, a middle-aged man. Greying hair.

Seymour Kershaw. His vacant eyes stared in the distance.

"I did."

His voice carried in the hall.

He said again, "I did." He laughed. "I killed the backstabbing bastard. He was going to run off with data some of us risked our lives getting for him."

I had never heard him speak Coldi, and he did so with a heavy accent, loathsome almost, but it was his face that disturbed me most. An expression of pure hatred.

Kershaw continued, "The Coldi have used, screwed and betrayed us for hundreds of years. _Gamra_ as well as my home world. They will never share power. They must be stopped." He pointed at Ezhya Palayi; he had something in his hand.

I didn't think twice. I pulled the charge gun from under my shirt and fired. Once. Twice. No, that second shot came from Thayu.

Both blue flashes hit the standing figure. Crackled like lightning. Gave off a cloud of steam.

People screamed and scrambled from their seats. The guards shouted, pulled weapons. Restrained the Renkati members who tried to run.

Lights went on overhead.

When the panic had cleared, one figure remained on the floor. Thayu sprang over the railing and knelt next to the prone figure.

Breathing deeply, I clicked the weapon back into its bracket. The barrel was hot. I swallowed hard and for a moment felt like I would faint or throw up. "Is he. . . ?"

Thayu rose and nodded. "Bitter old man."

I steadied myself against the dais, fighting my rebelling stomach. I had pulled a weapon on a fellow human, and _killed_.

Thayu's warm thoughts touched my mind. _Really, you did well. That was a shot worthy of a sniper_.

But what if I'd missed?

_What if he'd killed Ezhya Palayi?_

I gulped deep breaths. The hall's floor had become a seething mass of people, most of them security.

Everyone had failed Kershaw. The wrong candidate for the job, he had received little training and not enough physical preparation. Without adaptation, Seymour Kershaw had gone blind, and the lack of support had made him bitter, making him easy prey for Renkati.

The best I could do for him was to make sure I succeeded.

A humidity-laden breeze stirred the curtain. I leaned back in my chair, reading once more over the text on the screen.

To Sigobert Danziger, acting president, Nations of Earth,

It is with regret that I report I have found the remains of previous Earth envoy Seymour Kershaw, which I hope you will clear to be returned to his family.

It was still uncomfortable to think of what had happened, and something I would have to explain to Danziger, but not now.

I send some pictures as proof of identity. I advise you against displaying them in the general assembly—the detail is gruesome and might upset some members. Before his death, Kershaw admitted to having used new technology to kill President Sirkonen, who had been about to reveal the extent of Renkati's treachery. All known members of the organisation Amoro Renkati have been arrested. There is no further threat to Nations of Earth. Gamra wishes to apologise deeply for this upheaval, but hopes that normal negotiations will resume.

Meanwhile, I wish to notify you of my intention to resign from my position. I have been offered a fully funded position as negotiator, but will be available to offer assistance to my replacement. . . .

Oh, how it pleased me to write that. He'd threatened to sack me, and now I'd made the first move, a move which he probably wouldn't have expected. Yesterday I'd made my first down payment for the apartment which had been seized by _gamra_ as part of the disbanding of Amoro Renkati. I'd also paid the staff outstanding wages. Money never interested me much, but I had never felt so good. And there was more to come.

I flicked to the other message.

Ms Hayworth,

I hope you have arrived in Athens by now. Amarru said she has been awaiting your arrival so your training as my publicity officer can be fast-tracked—

A light flicked on behind me, and soft footsteps entered the room. A yellow-skinned hand placed a steaming cup of _manazhu_ between the edge of the table and my reader; its tantalising smell rose to my nose.

I reached over my shoulder, and found Thayu's arm.

"I thought you might like this before we go to bed."

The glow from the reader silvered the soft curves of her face.

"Bed? Is it that late?"

"It is. You do forget yourself sometimes. You work too hard."

She said that a lot, in a mocking-joking way, but it was true. In the past few days, I'd spent far too much time in the semi-darkness of the communication hub. I would become anaemic at this rate.

I half-rose and pressed "send" and again "send".

Then I picked up my cup and followed Thayu out of the room. My new office, my staff and the problems of the universe could wait a while. The night was warm and there were better things to do.

### Thank you for reading Ambassador 1: Seeing Red.

In the next book in the series _The Sahara Conspiracy_ , an aid worker in Djibouti discovers smuggled Coldi weapons. Vice President Danziger asks Cory a "please explain". Cory investigates, but the solution is neither easy nor tidy.

Get Ambassador 1A: The Sahara Conspiracy here.

Visit the author's website at <http://pattyjansen.com> and register for a newsletter to keep up-to-date with new releases.

# Lunar Discovery

### Discovery Series Book 1

By

Salvador Mercer

* * *

**A Contemporary Sci-Fi, Techno-Thriller, by Salvador Mercer, Author of the Claire-Agon Fantasy World Books.**

When a Chinese rover discovers an alien technology on the dark side of the moon, it is up to Richard 'Rock' Crandon and his NASA team of scientists and engineers to devise a way to return before the Chinese and Russians.

Forced to deal with bureaucratic oversight and a complex team of personalities, Rock Crandon pushes his team to their limits.

With pressure mounting, the world is pushed closer to conflict and war as the NASA team finds itself seriously behind in the newly initiated space race. The future of mankind, its ideological and technological advances are at stake, as the world's super powers race to discover what lies on the dark side of the moon.

Who will get there first, and at what cost?

Author's note:

Many people use the phrase "the dark side of the moon" to describe something mysterious and unknown. The dark side of the moon is supposed to be the side we never see, the side that faces away from Earth. This side of the moon faces the cold, black expanse of space. What could be on this side of the moon? (As taken from "science.howstuffworks.com/dark-side-of-moon.htm"

Dark side is used as a literary term and a metaphor for the alien's artifact and intent. Any similarity to any popular album by any group is purely coincidental.

Direct link to sign up for Salvador Mercer's newsletter: <http://eepurl.com/benueb>
To the men and women who gave their lives in the quest and search for knowledge. May we never forget.

# Prologue

The Neanderthal looked up in time to see the large, black, angular shape entering the earth's atmosphere, causing the oxygen around it to ignite as it was superheated from its rapid entry. He spoke to his comrades who were hunting the blood trail from the mammoth they had wounded the day before. There was no need to point at the strange object as the sonic boom rolled over them, surprising several enough that they dropped their crude spears and fell to the ground, covering their ears.

Kark wasn't one of them. He stood on the edge of the forest's tundra, feeling the cool permafrost under his feet, looking north toward the rapidly slowing object. He didn't know what it was, but unlike his brethren, he couldn't allow himself as leader of his clan to show fear, no matter how bizarre the display.

The sleek-looking form seemed to stop in midair, floating a few miles north of where they stood over a glassy, ice-laden lake that started where the forest ended. Slowly his companions stood, helping one another and pointing to the mystical object. The sense of God, or any other omnipotent power, was a foreign idea to these people, and the thought wasn't even possible in a species that had literally no culture.

A bright beam of blue light shot out from the tip of the angular shape, illuminating the ground beneath it at the lake's shore. The object moved again, floating southward toward Kark and his hunters. The blue ray of light pulsated, sweeping the ground from lakeshore to forest's edge, and then it disappeared momentarily as the object swung about, hovering over the trees.

Kark heard faint shouts from the forest before seeing the Cro-Magnon hunters running from it toward the base of the hilltop where Kark stood. His rivals had been tracking their prey, and Kark felt anger rising within him. Without warning, the object moved, once again sending out the surreal blue light sweeping the forest behind the Cro-Magnons who were now running directly at Kark's group, the object following.

"Prepare, battle!" Kark uttered, his voice strong and powerful but guttural. The sight of their rivals galvanized the Neanderthals into action as they picked up dropped spears and formed a rough line next to their leader, facing the fleeing Magnons. "Hold!" Kark shouted, hefting his spear and preparing to throw it.

The Magnons ran until the blue ray of light intercepted them. Several suddenly stopped, falling where they were as the rest scattered in all directions, no longer heading toward Kark's group. "Run," Kark said, pulling his spear in tighter to his body and sprinting quickly downhill toward the other group and the light. Several smaller black objects dropped from the large angular one and floated just above each Cro-Magnon.

Kark ran faster until his group was within a hundred yards of the spectacle, caution finally slowing and then stopping his advance. There were no signs of the other Magnons who had kept running either back into the forest or over the far hills near the lake. Kark would not allow fear to show in front of the Magnon, though several of his hunters looked at him apprehensively. Kark prepared his spear in his attack stance, facing the blue light and the immobile Magnons.

Each levitating black ball had a slender, silver-looking line coming out of it, and they were placed or injected into the spine of each of the prone Cro-Magnon, none of whom moved. Then, just as quickly as they arrived, the smaller floating objects flew back to the angular object, disappearing within its massive shadow, and the blue light ceased its probing sweeps, stopping altogether.

The angular object turned away and started to rise into the bright blue sky until it disappeared from sight over the horizon many miles distant. Kark's hunters lifted their spears and shouted their war cries, triumphant in deterring the unknown object from their lands. Then the Cro-Magnon all awoke at the same time, standing and brandishing their own spears in front of them, despite being outnumbered. Kark prepared for battle, but his fate and that of his fellow hunters was sealed. The future of the Neanderthals was over; the rise of the Homo sapiens had begun.

# 1 Discovery

37,000 years later

NASA Space Command

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 1

* * *

"Telemetry readings are no longer updating, Chief," Jack said, peering over the communications console and looking at Mission Leader Richard "Rock" Crandon sitting at the main control console. "We have new signals, multiple types, multiple frequencies, but no more data from the rover or orbiter."

"Low gain on our interceptor or an issue with the originating signal?" Rock Crandon asked in return, leaning forward in his black leather chair.

"Wait one," Jack shot back, using his old military lingo and concentrating on the computer feed coming into his work station. "Marge, you getting the same readings I am on that Chinese probe?"

Marjorie Jones was the senior-most analyst in NASA's black ops room. She had more PhDs than the rest of the technicians combined. "You referring to those intermittent gamma bursts?" Marge replied, not bothering to raise her eyes from her console where she sat just in front of the command desk. Rock liked to keep her close. Any intelligent man would, and for the same reasons.

"Not just gamma. I'm showing activity on the x-ray band, as well as low gain AM and higher gain FM," Jack said, standing to look at Marge for confirmation.

Marge began typing furiously on her keyboard, eyes constantly trained on her main monitor. After a few long seconds, she finally peered over her bank of monitors at Jack. "Confirmed on all frequencies."

"What the hell is going on, people?" Rock asked, standing to observe his control room better.

"It seems the Chinese probe's telemetry feed has been terminated," Jack said, "and replaced with unknown radio bursts covering the entire RF band."

Rock was confused. "You're saying the digital data feed has been replaced by radio waves, Jack?"

"That's what it looks like from my desk, sir."

"Something's not quite right with that," Lisa said from one of several consoles in the room. Only about four of the twenty consoles were being manned for the overnight mission as not every NASA staffer had been cleared by the NSA for this operation.

Marge looked disconcerted at Lisa's remarks, a fact that didn't go unobserved by Rock. "Marge, you have something to say?"

"No," Marge shot back, returning her focus to her bank of monitors at the scientific desk she manned.

"Lisa, what isn't looking right from your perspective?" Rock asked.

Lisa Wilson was the antithesis of Marge. Tall, young, and with more than her share of good looks, she commanded attention in most any room dominated by the male scientific and engineering types commonly encountered in the old school NASA ranks. Rock chalked up the unusual interaction between the two to some sort of female rivalry, which extended to not only the physical appearance but the intellectual as well.

"Richard," Lisa said, refusing as usual to use his nickname, "can you look at my console repeater? Specifically look at the signal strengths that are being recorded."

Rock sat back down, turning his attention to his third monitor which repeated what Lisa had displayed on her main console. There were several data bands that showed the radio signal telemetry that NASA's interceptor was currently receiving. He had to pay close attention to the key metric graph to the far left of each signal line. They no longer read in the lower decibel microvolt range, but instead in the millivolt range, and the lined graphs were in the hundreds, not single digits.

"Are these decibel readings accurate, Lisa?" Rock asked, looking even more confused at the data he was currently viewing.

"The main housing array on board the _Orca_ is confirming it, sir," Lisa said, referring to their ELINT spy trawler near the Chinese coast, just within international waters.

"That would mean the RF signals currently being broadcast would be in the gigawatt range, would it not?" Rock asked.

"It would, sir," Lisa said.

"Could the Chinese probe produce something that strong? Is it even possible?" Rock ventured, standing again to look across the cavernous floor of his control center.

"Impossible," Marge said. "The maximum voltage from the probe, or even the main Chinese orbiter, couldn't exceed a megawatt, even if the entire orbiter had nothing but energy capacitors on it.

"Explanation?" Rock asked Marge, looking at her intently while she pulled up data from Lisa's console. As the second in command of the mission, Marge had access to every work station, including the unmanned ones that automatically gathered and recorded various data from the Chinese lunar activities.

"None," Marge said, continuing to look at her data stream from Lisa's console.

"Damn it, Marge, guess then," Rock ordered.

Marge did look at Rock then, not accustomed to his outburst and definitely not used to him asking her to guess. He knew her well enough to never ask that question. She was a professional, and she didn't _guess_. Marge pulled a stray strand of sandy brown hair from in front of her eye, tucking it behind her ear before she answered. "The RF signals are from a secondary source."

"What are you inferring?" Jack said now that everyone was standing. Even Tom, the mechanical engineer, stood from his desk, looking at Marge, and Tom never got excited. He was too old for that.

"I'm not inferring anything, Jack," Marge answered rather shortly. "These signals are coming from a different source near the probe, but definitely not the probe nor its orbiter."

"Lisa, run a diagnostic on the receivers. Make sure they are both functional and accurate. Do it now," Rock said, looking at each of his analysts in turn.

"Running diagnostics now. Should be two minutes," Lisa replied, her focus back on her monitor.

"Ruskies?" Tom asked, a tone of hesitation in his voice.

"Oh, please," Marge exclaimed, impertinence in her voice.

"What? Why not? They have the equipment for it," Tom said, piping up now. Tom was definitely old school. He seldom talked, but when he did, it usually was about the glory days of the Apollo program and the lunar landings back in the sixties. He was known to have a thing against them _Ruskies_ , as he always put it.

"That would be a hell of a way to start a war," Jack said. "Nothing like the Chinese and Russians duking it out in space."

"You going to let this continue?" Marge asked Rock, giving him that look that she got when she was listening to someone less intelligent trying to explain a simple concept and failing miserably at it.

"Well, unless them spooks didn't tell us there was Russian equipment at the Chinese landing site, then I'd rule them out," Rock said.

"Spooks are them CIA folks. NSA are geeks, Rock," Tom replied matter-of-factly.

"I thought we were the geeks," Jack said.

"We are—good geeks here and bad geeks there," Tom said, sitting back down and rubbing his back as he usually did after standing. His hair was pure white, and his face wrinkled except when he smiled. He had to be pushing seventy, if not older. Still, he was brought out of retirement specifically due to the nature of this operation, and the fact that it consisted of foreign operations on the dark side of the moon. He was one of the few living people that had actual experience with lunar operations. Screw the low orbit programs, this was a quarter of a million miles from earth, not a few mere dozen, and Tom knew his stuff well.

"I'm sure the NSA—" Rock started, but was interrupted by Lisa who stood straight up.

"Diagnostics confirmed, everything is five by five. The signal strength is rated in the one-point-two-gigawatt range, sir," Lisa said, smiling as if she had just won an argument.

"So what the hell is going on up there?" Jack asked, his face revealing an unusually confused look across it.

Rock never got a chance to respond. He was about to grab the direct phone line that had been installed months earlier when it rang first. It could only be one person. Rock looked at his team noticing that no one was monitoring their consoles anymore. They all had their eyes on him.

Rock picked up the receiver. "Yeah, go ahead, Mr. Smith." Rock knew the liaison officer between NASA and the NSA wasn't really named Mr. Smith, but that was how the man was introduced to Rock's team.

"Are you receiving any unusual readings down there?" Smith asked. Rock could hear something of a commotion occurring in the background where Mr. Smith was at in Maryland.

"Should we be?" Rock responded.

"I'm serious, Crandon. What do you have?"

Rock thought about it for a moment and then decided to roll the die. He'd had enough of Mr. Smith's semi-abusive mannerisms and lack of information sharing. As a professional, he put science in front of politics and felt the government, his government, would do better if they operated the same way. Oh, he understood the need for national security, but he knew way too many things were cloaked under that broad umbrella and hidden from public scrutiny. He knew he was close to retirement and, while most common American taxpayers didn't know it, most every federal employee was represented by a union including managers and directors, so he had a modicum of protection if necessary.

"Tell me what's going on first so we can make sense of the data," Rock said over the phone.

It was hard to gauge the man's reaction from over a thousand miles away, especially when there were no body language clues to inform the speaker how the listener was accepting his words.

"Now is not the time, Crandon," Smith said.

"You heard me, Smith, what's happening on your end?" Rock asked, louder this time.

Smith must have been in a hurry as his response was quick and desperate. "They lost both their lander and orbiter. Now what's going on there?"

Rock knew the NSA covered HUMINT or human intelligence and they had the linguists to do the job. If he said the Chinese lost their entire mission equipment, then this was being confirmed by HUMINT or actual personnel involved in the lunar operation, not just speculation or a wild hunch.

"Their telemetry stopped at oh three forty-seven hours. It appears to confirm what you said," Rock responded.

"You're sure it's a full equipment failure?" Smith asked, his tone rising a bit, perhaps a touch of anxiety displayed within it.

"No, I said their telemetry ceased. There were no updates to the data stream. We have no way of knowing the status of their equipment," Rock said, trying hard to keep his tone level. He didn't like the man putting words in his mouth.

Smith breathed heavily for a second and then said something muffled to someone else in the room where he was before uncovering the mouthpiece. "All right, then you're not receiving any electrical signals."

Rock looked at his team and was glad they weren't hearing this conversation. He knew it would frustrate them more than it was himself, and he was getting impatient with the good Mr. Smith. "Not from the Chinese probe or its orbiter. We are, however, receiving RF signals from a secondary source." Rock knew this was going to get complicated.

"Secondary? What secondary? Are you sure?" Smith asked, audibly flustered.

"Source unknown. Type unknown. Signal strength one-point-two gigawatts. Frequency range covers the entire RF spectrum from three hertz to over three hundred gigahertz," Rock said.

He could see Marge shaking her head as she sat down in her chair and turned to face her monitors. She was perhaps the only team member close enough to his console who could hear him well enough to know what he was doing. Rock often resorted to scientific jargon when he was frustrated with Smith, and it was a surefire way of getting the man to back down during showdowns similar to this one.

Smith sighed. "Can you put that in layman's terms, Crandon?" This was Smith's way of giving in and allowing Rock to do his job.

"Chief!" Lisa exclaimed, almost shouting. "Listen to this!" She leaned over and raised the volume on her external speaker while unplugging her earphones so that the radio signal reverberated off the large control center walls, despite their sound-dampening materials.

A loud series of beeps were coming through her speaker in a repetitious manner, clearly audible and clearly understood, much like Morse code. First three quick beeps and then a pause followed by four beeps, another pause, and then five beeps.

"Is that what I think it is?" Rock asked, ignoring Smith who was practically yelling into the phone, upset at being ignored.

"Yes, Richard, I listened to it completely at first. It will go to ten tones and then a triple pause with some sort of data spurt and then it starts over at one," Lisa said, excitement in her voice.

"So what? The Chinese equipment rebooted to fail safe?" Jack asked, looking at Lisa.

"Oh my God . . ." Marge said, standing without ever removing her eyes from her monitor. She looked pale, and she had brought her hands to her face, covering her mouth, drawing her elbows in tight against her side. She seemed shaken.

"Marge, are you all right?" Rock asked, about ready to step around his own console to approach her.

Marge was galvanized into action, suddenly typing commands into her keyboard and then finally motioning to Rock. "Check the new data feed from console eighteen." She never took her eyes off her monitor.

Rock refreshed his screen, replacing the prior RF feed from Lisa with the unmanned console information Marge had streamed his way. A blank screen appeared, and each time a tone was heard, the screen dazzled in light as if a thousand tiny sparks were lit and then died in a millisecond. The display kept pace with the repeating tone, constantly lighting up in cadence with each audible occurrence. At the top of the screen, Rock could see the display subject NEUTRINO looking at him in mock shock, daring him to believe.

"Marge . . . You fed me the stream from the New Mexico neutrino detector?" Rock asked, dropping the phone to the ground and placing both hands on his console counter, steadying himself as he felt his head getting lighter, the feeling of dizziness now pervading his senses.

"Ah huh," Marge responded, also leaning now on her console.

"What the hell?" Jack said, but his words fell silent.

"Not possible." Rock heard himself, so softly he could barely hear his own words.

Marge stood upright, gaining her composure, and finally tore her gaze away from her monitor to look at her colleagues. No need to look at Rock, he knew what the streaming feed of neutrinos meant.

"Source of the secondary signal is designated extra-terrestrial," Marge said, her voice firm and her findings undeniable. The scientific part of her mind was finally grasping the significance of the data.

"Oh bloody hell," Tom said.

# 2 Executive Decisions

White House

Washington D.C.

In the near future, Day 2

* * *

Richard "Rock" Crandon stood in the hallway outside the large conference room located in the main building of the White House. He knew that passing through TSA security lines at the nation's airports could be challenging, not to mention time-consuming, but his ordeal this morning made those security checks pale by comparison.

"Don't use all that techno-jargon talk you're so fond of," Mr. Smith said, grabbing his suitcase from the conveyer belt and straightening his tie.

"Rock will be just fine, Mr. Smith. Try being a bit more diplomatic when you discuss our team's findings," Director John Lui said, stuffing a few more personal items into his pockets from the small white tray nearby.

Mr. Smith looked at Lui sideways but kept quiet. NASA was one of the few agencies that reported directly to the White House, not subject to a cabinet-level position or other bureaucratic department.

"Come with me, gentlemen," a nameless administrator said, motioning for them to follow him into a nearby conference room. The room was larger than most that Rock had seen, and several people were already inside waiting for the president and staff to arrive. Rock checked his temporary identification badge, making sure it was secured and displayed properly. He didn't fancy a misunderstanding with the Secret Service only a few months after the assassination attempt on the president's life.

Another aide swung his hand, waving them to be seated at a rectangular table. Each of their names were stenciled in the finest calligraphic font by hand on cards placed in front of each seat on the table, indicating their assigned seats. The mere act of preparing for a presidential meeting was well orchestrated, and Rock thought this was very similar to a NASA operation.

Within seconds of sitting, several Secret Service agents entered the room from a different door and the president's chief administrative aide called for everyone to rise. Rock stood and watched as the madam president entered, taking her seat at the center of a very long, wooden conference table.

"You may be seated," the man said.

"This meeting is called to order. Let the minutes reflect the security level at Alpha-One." Rock noticed a transcriber stationed in the far corner typing at a steno machine furiously, recording the meeting in distinct detail. The president swung her head to look at everyone seated at the table, even looking at Rock before finishing her sweep. Rock thought this was a formal courtesy until the president returned her gaze to look directly at him.

He felt a nudge under the table from Mr. Smith and then heard a slight whisper in his ear as the unruly man leaned closer to him. "No techno-babble."

Rock felt anger again, but it was tempered by the fact that he was more than a little uncomfortable with the gaze of the president upon him. In fact, her gaze was quickly turning into a stare, and he wasn't the only one to recognize this. He quickly forgot about his pesky, over-controlling handler as the president continued to look at him.

The woman was slight in stature, but her stern countenance commanded respect. Rock barely noticed the scars of surgery behind her left eye and above her left ear. He was sure the president would have received the highest level of medical care, to include plastic surgery, but there is only so much a skilled surgeon can do when a nine millimeter ricochets off of someone's skull.

One Secret Service agent had died in the attack, and another was wounded. Rock remembered it well, and the anxious hours afterward as an entire nation, indeed the entire world, waited until news broke that the president was still alive and had suffered a fractured skull instead of the intrusion of a bullet into her cranial cavity. News reports had the would-be assassin as a Jihadist, but enough conspiracy theories circulated to cloud the facts of the attempt. What was important now was that she was alive and fully in command of the United States of America. Given the vice president's track record, this was an actual relief to more than just the members of her own political party.

". . . and the main presentation will be performed by National Security Director—" The chief of staff never got to finish his opening presentation.

"We understand that, Thomas," the president said, never taking her eyes off of Rock. "Deputy Director Richard Crandon, correct?" she asked, looking him in the eye.

"Yes, Madam President." Rock nodded his head, remembering to swallow and breathe.

"I'm more interested in hearing from NASA right now, if you don't mind, Thomas. We can have the presentation shortly thereafter," she said with a slight waving motion of her hand. Dismissing him or signaling him to silence? Rock didn't know, wasn't sure, and wasn't about to ask.

"As you wish," her chief of staff said too regally for most of those in the room. This was, after all, a republic, not a monarchy.

"I can brief you on the NASA operations, Madam President," Mr. Smith chimed in, leaning forward, trying to make himself more visible to the president. For once, Mr. Smith and Rock were in agreement. Better if he performed the briefing since he was liaising between three key agencies and Rock felt he was more in the dark than in on the program.

"I appreciate your offer, Mr. . . ." An aide leaned in close to the president. "Mr. Smith, but I'd prefer to hear about the actual discovery and its significance from Deputy Director Crandon," she said, finally releasing Rock from her gaze just long enough to reward Mr. Smith with a perfunctory glance.

"You have the entire report, Madam President. I submitted it myself yesterday evening," Mr. Smith said. Indeed, less than thirty hours had passed from the lunar discovery till this very meeting with several of those hours spent sleeping on a private government jet on the way from Houston to Washington D.C. In fact, Rock's team members were still sequestered in the NASA control center, building two, and they weren't happy about it either.

The president waved him off, not bothering to address him verbally this time. "I read the report, but I want to review how you and your team recognized what you were dealing with."

"It wasn't my discovery, actually, Madam President. Dr. Jones discovered the actual significance of the signals," Rock said, referring to Marge's neutrino discovery.

"I understand you being hesitant, but you represent the entire NASA ELINT team, so please, share with us your assessment," the president said.

Rock felt easier after the initial anxiety that the president quickly put to ease. In fact, he had all but forgotten about Mr. Smith, who was fidgeting anxiously in the chair next to him. His boss, John Lui, sat quietly, unmoving and not indicating either way if he approved or not of the direct questioning by the executive branch.

"Well, initially my team noticed that the telemetry feeds had ceased updating," Rock began, looking around the table, seeing many stone-hard faces concealing who knew what kind of feelings and emotions. "Almost immediately after the data feed loss, we encountered several strong signals across the RF band."

Rock paused to see if anyone would interrupt. Apparently the Mr. Smith lesson was fresh in everyone's minds as no one said a word. "Our first indication that something was amiss wasn't the radio frequencies. Those exist even as background noise throughout the universe, rather it was the signal strength of those frequencies . . . They were literally off the chart in strength. They radiated in the gigawatt range of power output when the entire Chinese space mission wasn't capable of summoning even a megawatt of power at the most."

At this, the president did interject. "So you're saying the radio signals were stronger than what the Chinese could produce?"

"Exactly," Rock answered, pleasantly surprised that the president summarized his information so succinctly. "It was only after this revelation that Assistant Mission Leader Marge Jones noticed, and pulled, the feed from the neutrino detection tank at Los Alamos."

The president flipped through a few pages stapled in front of her that she had pulled from one of three manila folders, and began reading. "When the tertiary scientific data stream was noticed, Analyst Jones declared the signal source as 'extra-terrestrial.' Is that correct, Deputy Director Crandon?"

"Ah, yes, that is how it occurred, Madam President," Rock responded.

"What is tertiary referring to here?" her chief of staff asked, looking at his own set of papers.

"Oh, that is the non-critical science data that the operations control center is plugged into at all times," Rock said. "Consoles twelve through twenty monitor various non-critical mission elements of all our mission profiles during the execution phase."

"What kind of non-critical data are you referring to, Crandon?" her chief asked, never looking up from his briefing paper. "The discovery seems more than critical. How was it initially classified as non-critical?"

"Well," Rock began, exhaling again and taking a deep breath since he knew this would take time with a civilian, "several systems aren't really critical. They simply monitor various scientific data in order for NASA to execute or support a wider range of mission profiles. For example," Rock continued, seeing some faces furrowing their brows, indicating confusion, "one station monitors our sun for the occurrence of plasma ejections or solar flares. Another station monitors tectonic activity, assessing the strength, location, and frequency of earthquakes."

A few more of those looks and Rock hurried to explain. "Yes, I know plate tectonics isn't exactly space related, but the correlation between the two is that we use orbital satellites to micro-measure the position of various key points on certain land masses thus enabling us to tell how far the upper plate moves during any certain magnitude quake. The program was funded several years ago, and through financial efficiencies and a cooperative funding program of the European Union, we've managed to keep the program operational several years past its end of funding date."

"Could we focus on the neutrino project?" the president asked politely. This was followed by an annoying nudge of Mr. Smith's knee to Rock's leg, reminding the NASA mission leader that his handler was still there.

"Yes, of course, Madam President. Sorry for the digression. The neutrino monitoring program was one of several non-critical mission items that were being monitored automatically. Marge, uh . . . I mean, Dr. Jones, had the foresight to pull up the program's data feed when we discovered a pattern in the radio signals. From that data, we were able to determine that the source was indeed extra-terrestrial," Rock finished.

"Exactly how did you make that determination?" the president asked.

Rock was confused for a moment—the report spelled it all out—but since this was the president, he repeated what he thought was in the documents in front of her. "Madam President, if you look at your report you'll see that the neutrino activity was approximately one-point-four million times the normal base and the activity was timed perfectly with the radio signals that we intercepted from the moon. Our conclusion is obvious, is it not?"

"It is from the report, but before I go to the legislative branch and ask for who knows how many billions of dollars in funding to retrieve this alien object, I want to make damn sure I understand what we're getting ourselves into," the president responded, looking at Rock once more.

Rock understood her ability to move from diplomat to strict governess in the proverbial blink of an eye, not to mention the use of a more common profane word. "Well, as you've read in the report, the neutrinos aren't detected directly. We didn't even know for sure that they existed until we discovered the traces they left behind—"

"I'm not sure NASA even understands the physics involved here," Secretary Morris said. "Better to let our scientific team of physicists arrive for a full briefing on the neutrino discovery. We can have one scheduled late tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest."

Secretary Morris ran the newly created Department of Science and seemed to still have a grudge that the prior administration didn't fold NASA into it. The prior president felt that computers, digital streaming, and computer technology were sciences and NASA was space related. Rock was just happy that the inclusion of his agency didn't happen three years prior.

"Schedule the meeting, but we don't have time to wait. Deputy Director Crandon, finish your explanation, but briefly, please," the president said.

"The neutrinos are detected by the collisions that occur when one of them hits a hydrogen atom head on. These collisions are rare but measureable by their by-product, gamma rays. Usually an underwater heavy water tank and the associated monitoring equipment are all that is needed to detect the presence of these collisions. Since neutrinos are practically massless, they pass right through solid matter as if it wasn't there. The sun itself is the primary producer of neutrinos in our solar system, and despite its massive output, we record neutrino strikes at a fairly low rate. Taken as a whole, the massive neutrino collisions we observed could only have been produced by a major energy source far stronger than anything we can produce on earth. Thus our conclusion, Madam President."

There was silence for a moment while everyone waited for the president to respond. "What is your assessment, then?" she asked Rock.

Rock looked around the room before responding. "You're going to have to ask Congress for a hell of a lot more than a few billion dollars if you want to retrieve the extra-terrestrial object before someone else does, Madam President."

# 3 China, Russia, US

People's Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 2

* * *

"Is the _Explorer_ responding yet?" asked Lun Chui of the People's Republic Space Command at the closed-door meeting just outside of their headquarters in Beijing.

The room was stale from the polluted air despite the filtering system that was running twenty-four-seven. The coal plants were cheap to start up, but China was suffering from one of the worst air pollution problems in recorded history.

Newly minted Mission Lead Hun Lee pulled at his collar before answering. "Not yet, Director. We have attempted several times to reboot the main computer, but we're only receiving passive data from it as it orbits the moon, and only when it's planet-side."

"That's still not acceptable. What will be done to regain control of it?" Director Chui asked, pacing the floor in the dim conference room. Hun knew Director Chui had just avoided being sacked as well, and his own boss resigned in disgrace once the mission had failed. Well, resigned was a nice way of saying quitting before getting fired, and the old man was under house arrest, though no one would use that word publicly. The only saving grace for his former boss was the fact that something appeared to be interfering with their mission and indeed could have been a factor in its failure.

"Has the signals section found a cause for the transmissions at the landing site?" Mission Technician Lin Fu asked from behind her glasses, perusing the report they all had in front of them.

"We have the source's frequencies and strength profile but not any rational or intent for the transmissions," Signals Technician Chon Chu said from across the table.

An aide walked into the room, handing a note to the space director, who read it quickly and moved to a secure phone against the near wall.

"Any ideas on regaining control or will the mission be terminated?" asked Lin, whispering from across the table.

Hun knew that the political politburo was fickle when it came to technological missions, and the Space Command was a fairly new organization with more scientists in it than bureaucrats, which was most uncommon in the government, even in the twenty-first century. In a country of well over one and a half billion people, the leadership sometimes preferred to simply start over when making sweeping staff changes. Lin was simply expressing a very valid self-concern.

"I'm not sure, Lin, but I think we're focusing on the wrong element here," Hun said, also in a hushed whisper, careful not to disturb the director.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Lin, leaning over.

"You should know better than most, Lin. We're not even sure what we encountered or from what country it belongs," Hun said.

Lin leaned back. "Perhaps we'll see some information on this soon. I've already informed the leadership that the signal strength coming from the structure is most likely too high to be from any source other than the Americans."

"What would they be doing with lunar base and how could it be kept a secret for so long?" Chon asked, obviously not buying the idea that the Americans were involved.

Hun never got a chance to respond, and neither did Lin. "New plans," said the director, hanging up the phone and returning to the table. "Hun, your group will be secondary advisors. We have been ordered to report to the Wenchang Command Center immediately. It appears the People's Army has identified the source of the radio signals, and maybe even the cause of your team's failure. A lift chopper will pick us up on field three. Gather your things and meet me in the lobby in ten minutes."

The insult was not acknowledged, the team mission members having been accustomed to such direct talk during their careers, and being relegated to "secondary advisors" was more than enough information to infer the future of their fate, and it wasn't promising.

"Damn," Lin said, picking up her papers and stuffing them into her portfolio that she pulled from the floor.

"No time for a change of clothes?" Chon asked, his eyes wide.

"Quiet, Chon. Be thankful you don't suffer the same fate as Wang," Hun said, referring to his old boss, leaving off the man's title as was customary when one was disgraced.

Minister of Space Command's Office

Kremlin, Moscow, Russia

In the near future, Day 2

* * *

"Vladimir, how have you been, old friend?" Dmitry asked, walking up and embracing his longtime comrade.

"Good, Dima, and you?" Vlad responded, returning the heartfelt greeting and grabbing the man by the shoulders, arms outstretched so he could get a good look at his onetime mentor.

"I've seen better days, Vlad." The smile disappeared as Dmitry motioned for Vlad to take a seat at a chair near the window and away from his desk.

"Chai?" Dmitry asked, looking to the door.

"No tea for me today. I've had my morning coffee and my doctor says to limit my caffeine," Vlad said, sitting in the chair near the window, which overlooked the Kremlin's grounds, and setting his briefcase on the floor where it leaned against the small table's leg.

"Elena, just one tea, please," Dmitry said to his assistant at the door.

"You're looking well despite the years," Vlad said, smiling, trying to lighten up the mood a bit and wondering what could be so urgent that the chief of the Roscosmos space program would summon him in person from his duties at the Vostochny Cosmodrome in the Far East.

"I should have been on the pension years ago," Dmitry did say, managing a small smile. "I'm sorry for the long trip, Vlad. We have work to do, and something has come up that will require your presence in Moscow this week."

"What happened now?" Vlad asked, leaning back and allowing Elena to set the tea on the table, observing Dmitry as he gave her a smile and took the cup, pausing to blow on it, taking a sip, and nodding in satisfaction.

"Elena may not know how to type quickly, but she makes a good chai," Dmitry said, setting his cup down. "The issue at hand involves the Chinese . . . this time, at least."

Vlad looked at Dmitry closely to see if this was some jest or not. "Not the Americans?"

"Oh no, that is old news, my friend. I would be polite and ask about the new space station, but we don't have the time for formalities, I'm afraid."

Vlad knew his boss was well informed of the Russian space station's every detail. He reviewed the daily reports to the old man personally, so the reference had to be polite. "That's fine, Dima, tell me why I'm here."

"The military in you shows again, direct and straight to the point," Dmitry said. "You are familiar with the Chinese lunar program?" Vlad nodded. "It made an interesting discovery two days ago at the landing site for its lunar rover before it was incapacitated."

_An odd word to use for a piece of equipment_ , Vlad thought. "What happened?"

"Something was triggered on the moon and it's broadcasting a signal, several, in fact." Dmitry watched Vlad's face for any sign of expression. "The signals have been determined to have originated from an unknown origin; however, the assessment is that the newly discovered object the Chinese stumbled upon is most likely extra-terrestrial in nature."

" _Blyad_!" Vladimir said, nearly spilling Dmitry's tea as he smacked the table with his knee.

"No need for profanity, Vlad," Dmitry said, half chuckling at his former student's outburst. "It took us nearly an entire day to accept the concept even though we had the data right in front of us."

Vladimir composed himself. "Based off of what data? You understand the significance of what you just told me, no?"

"Of course I do, and so does the Kremlin. The task now is to reach the transmitting object and secure it before anyone else does."

"So you're serious. No joking, Dima."

"Deadly serious, Vladimir," the man said, taking the time to use his full name to emphasis the point. "You'll be debriefed in"—Dmitry looked at his watch—"just over an hour from now. We'll have a car ready for us in twenty minutes. You arrived late this morning."

"Traffic to the center is difficult at this time of the day, especially from Domodedovo."

"Yes, sorry to make you fly commercial, but we didn't want to send any signs that we've caught on to what has happened."

"The Chinese don't know that we know?" Vlad asked.

"From what our source inside Beijing is telling us, they are clueless. The Americans, on the other hand, are a different story. They secured their scientific team in Houston and took their observation leader and flew him to Washington. We think they understand the data the same way we do."

"Understand it as in not from our planet?"

"Well, there is civilian confirmation of the signal, and its potential source, from at least ten countries, and that should double before the week is out. You haven't seen the detailed reports yet, but when you do, you'll understand."

"This sounds intense, Dima. Do we have a plan?" Vlad asked.

"A very simple one, Vlad. Get there first. All other considerations are secondary."

"You know what this means?"

"I do," Dmitry said, reaching for his tea. "It will get very ugly, very quickly. That is where you come in."

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 2

* * *

Marge Jones sat at her console looking at what data streams were still active ever since they were sequestered. Her team wasn't very happy, and being forced to stay in the control room wasn't making things any better. Jack was starting to smell ripe, and Lisa had to be restrained more than once. If Rock didn't get the detention lifted soon, she was sure something unpleasant would happen.

"It's a violation of our constitutional rights," Lisa began again, and Marge was sure it wouldn't be the last time.

"Keep your panties on," Tom said, looking tired if not upset.

"Easy for you to say, Tom. You don't have the same issues some of us do," Lisa shot back.

Jack stood up, stretching. "Come on now, Lisa, that's not fair to Tom or the rest of us. My wife and kids have no idea either. You're not the only one with family wondering what is going on."

"At least your kids are older," Lisa said, sitting back down.

"Not that much older, and you don't have a wife calling the main gate to make sure I haven't left. Ann is sure I'm messing around despite all the security," Jack said.

"That's her problem, and any trust issues between the two of you are your problems to solve. Not my fault she feels that way. John isn't questioning my actions."

"That's cause John is a guy," Tom said.

"Enough of that, Tom. I know you're an old timer, but the misogynic remarks aren't helping," Marge said.

"Well, if she'd just keep her panties on—"

"Tom!" Lisa stood up again.

Rock's phone rang, and Marge hushed all of them, running up the two short steps to pick up the receiver at Rock's console. "Hello. Uh, yes, we do. Yes, understood. When? . . . All right, thank you."

"News?" Jack perked up and Lisa paused.

The locks to the main doors were audibly moved, and then the doors were thrown open and secured by two of the FBI agents that had been standing guard in the hallway.

"We're free to go for now," Marge said. "We meet here at oh four hundred hours, though, so get some rest."

"That's barely twelve hours from now," Jack said, moving his arms around and gathering a few of his personal belongings from his console desk.

Marge looked just as tired as he felt. "I know. Rock will be here, and we have another mission to perform. No details were given other than we were free to go under the condition that we don't discuss the operation with anyone."

"Nothing new there," Tom said, also getting up rather stiffly from his chair. "Maybe this time they'll let us win."

The group gathered their belongings and headed to the parking lot. The hot, humid weather hit Marge hard, but she felt good breathing the non-conditioned air and letting the afternoon sun warm her skin.

"What the hell did Tom mean?" Jack asked, catching up to Marge in the parking lot.

"Who the hell knows what Tom means half the time," Marge said, looking at their cars in the lot and realizing there were only five of them, including Rock's. "Go home and get some rest, Jack. I got a feeling we're going to be busy very soon."

# 4 Race

CIA Charter Plane

Houston Air Space

In the near future, Day 4

* * *

Rock was watching Houston fly by underneath him as they banked and headed for the NASA strip southeast of the city. The previous two days had been difficult to say the least, and the press was starting to ask questions. He wondered just how long the discovery would stay a secret.

"You finish the daily brief?" Mr. Smith asked from across the aisle. Rock thought he would be cursed forever with this man.

"Yeah, I finished it an hour ago. Is it true about the Russians?"

"Oh, yeah. They are bringing our astronauts down from the space station on Friday, those bastards."

Rock closed his folder and then rubbed his eyes. "What did you expect? The briefing said they are aware, and it's obvious they won't work with us. Did we even try?"

"That's need to know, Crandon, but I'm sure the State Department reached out to them."

"I wish I had a better picture of what's happening behind the curtain, so to speak."

"Actually, you will if what my boss says is correct," Mr. Smith said without emotion showing on his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rock asked, not in the mood for games.

"It appears you made a good impression on the president yesterday afternoon. Word is you're going to be tapped to lead the upcoming project to secure the object."

"Just great. When was someone going to tell me about this?"

Now Rock's discomfort seemed to have an effect on Mr. Smith as the man leaned forward in his seat, trying to conceal a slight smile on his face. It was obvious the dislike was mutual between the two men. "Very soon. It'll be made official by tomorrow, or at least that would be my guess. She may be president, but you still have to be vetted for the SCI clearance and that takes time despite the urgency."

"Keep your damn secrets. I just don't see how we're supposed to make any progress when we scuttled our shuttle program and contracted out for heavy boost capacity to the Russians. We literally have no way of reaching low earth orbit, much less the freaking moon, for Christ's sake. What exactly did you bureaucrats think was going to happen?"

"That will change soon enough, and not all of us are in the same boat, Crandon. Try not to lump us all together."

_No, you get a special category all to yourself, Mr. Smith. All to yourself_ , __ Rock thought, holding his tongue and preparing to land as the flight attendant called over the small plane's PA system for the usual safety precautions to be taken.

The landing and subsequent trip to NASA headquarters was less than eventful, and within an hour Rock was reunited with his team in the large conference room in the main administrative building.

"Those twelve hours went too damn quickly," Jack said _. He is looking worse than he did the day before despite the half day off or so_ , Marge thought.

"Good to see you, too, Jack," Rock said, greeting his team and finding a seat before noticing Jeff Wheeler across the table. "You in on this, too, Jeff?"

"I'm afraid so. Seems your team is going to get much larger despite the security," Jeff said.

"You been briefed?" Rock asked.

"He has the necessary clearance, otherwise he wouldn't be here," Mr. Smith said, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for a couple of unknown aides to start passing out folders stamped TOP SECRET on them.

"Oh, you," Marge said, looking at Mr. Smith.

"No need to be testy, Dr. Jones," Mr. Smith said without looking up from his papers. "You may be famous soon one day."

"I don't see how, considering our little ET object is transmitting signals that would be difficult for a high school science teacher to miss," Marge said.

"Can we begin?" Rock asked, eager to get through one more meeting and hoping they wouldn't need to spend any more time with the DC suits.

"Of course," Mr. Smith said. "We have one and only one objective at this time."

"We know, reach the ET object and secure it for further analysis," Rock said. "The issue is we don't have a way to reach the moon right now. Nothing is even remotely on the drawing board that could fulfill that objective."

"That's why I've asked Chief of Engineering Jeff Wheeler to be here. You and your team are going to have to find a way to get there and do it in only three months," Mr. Smith said, shuffling his papers into some kind of unknown order that only the man could decipher.

"I've told you twice already, even if we worked around the clock, we'd need close to half a year to get anything worthy to attempt this mission. It's impossible."

"I didn't think you NASA types were so pessimistic," Mr. Smith said.

"Not pessimistic, realistic. Just the safety protocols alone will take several months."

"That's why there will be no safety protocols, Crandon. You just need to get us up there and do it fast. No other mission parameters."

Rock sighed, looking around the table. He saw no appetite from any of his team members to even join the discussion. In fact, it looked like Marge despised the man and Lisa had a look on her face indicating physical violence was being contemplated. Jack just looked tired, and Tom, as always, appeared to be bored with their conversation. Only Jeff was listening intently, apparently not accustomed to dealing with Mr. Smith on a regular basis.

"You understand the implications of what you're saying?" Rock asked.

"Completely. Remember, Crandon, you'll have nearly unlimited resources once congressional approval has been secured."

"That's not the part that worries me. Where do you think we're going to find suitable volunteers for a mission like this with a high risk and, if I may be blunt here, a likely chance of death?" Rock said, frustration rising in his voice.

"We have just the right people in mind," Mr. Smith said, displaying his unusual smile that reminded Rock of a hyena just before it was about to feed.

Russian Space Station _Gordust_ ( _Pride_ )

Low Earth Orbit

Day 4

* * *

"They said what?" astronaut Julie Monroe exclaimed, looking more than upset and sounding very pissed off.

"I'm very sorry, comrade Julie. That is the last communiqué we received from our commander. You'll have to be ready to depart the day after tomorrow," cosmonaut Yuri Temshenko said from overhead where he was floating above the intersection of the habitation modules of the space station.

"Stop already with the comrade thing. You're entirely too archaic for this century," Julie said, pushing off from the bulkhead and twirling ninety degrees by latching on to the handrail protruding from the base of her habitation module and then disappearing from view.

"Don't take it personally, Yuri. She's just upset about her experiment. It requires twice daily observations, and she's sure you're not going to spend the time to continue it. She spent two years preparing for it," Craig Alders said from his habitat tube.

"All forgiven, my friend. I would be angry, too, if your government kicked me off of your space station," Yuri replied, spinning upside down so he could see Craig with the same orientation.

"Except we don't have a space station."

"I'm sure it would have been a nice play station," Yuri said, and Craig wasn't sure if the man misspoke or was jesting again. Yuri had to be one of the funniest but less than serious astronauts Craig had ever encountered. It made him question not only the Russian cosmonaut vetting process but if the Russians even had a vetting process.

"So, will there be a special launch for the personnel change?" Craig asked.

"Undoubtedly," Yuri said. "We weren't supposed to be provisioned for another three weeks. From the rumors we've heard, there is something planned that requires extra space on board the _Gordust_. Speculation will only get you so far."

"So no one's saying earth-side, then?"

" _Nyet_. Not a word, sorry."

"Well, if you hear anything, let us know. I'll wrap up some of our documentation and secure our belongings, but we have a day and a half so no hurries."

"No, take your time. Enjoy the view for another day. Very pleasant from up here," Yuri said, moving over to a porthole and looking down at the earth, which was moving by at over seventeen thousand miles per hour.

Craig moved to a second porthole. "It's beautiful. I'll miss this place."

"I'm sure you will. But cheer up, you'll be back, I'm sure, or have your own station soon someday." Yuri clapped Craig on the back and smiled.

Craig took one last look at the blue-green planet below and pushed off back to his habitat to prepare for his return.

" _Chto eta bilo?_ " Olga Petrov asked, gliding up to Yuri and looking to make sure the Americans were out of earshot. Not that it mattered as long as they spoke Russian, but better to make sure. "Do they know?"

"Just that they are leaving. I just now told them, but not the reason for it. We have to make room for the new crew now, Olga. _Pravda_ , we don't really know anything either."

"We know more than they do," Olga said, moving to close the hatches on the habitat tubes Julie and Craig had used.

"What would we know, Olya?" Yuri said, using her diminutive.

"We are going to the moon, Yuri. I know we are, but I don't know why. Not yet."

"Perhaps, Olya, but I'd be careful not to think upon that too much. Not until we see what Roscosmos sends up," Yuri said.

Olga simply smiled.

# 5 Planning

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 6

* * *

Vladimir watched the large Energia IV lift off from the Vostochny Cosmodrome with its atmospheric reentry vehicle perched atop the medium-sized lifter. He knew the next two days included two more launches of the same type booster, all for the space station. He was satisfied after sixty seconds when the counter rolled past T 1:00 that the rocket would enter low earth orbit without incident. He turned from the observatory platform and headed back to the elevators to schedule the next tasks for his agency.

As he arrived several floors below the observatory deck, he nodded in satisfaction at their new quarters, which were much improved over the old Baikonur facilities in Kazakhstan. _That place was a dump_ , he thought to himself, and he wouldn't miss the many reminders of the comrades who had died there over the years. Back in the Soviet era, half of the incidents weren't even reported. Those had been hard times.

He had been thoroughly briefed and understood the mission as it related to his agency. The first launch would ensure the Americans were vacated from the _Gordust_ Space Station as well as providing provisions for the next two months. The second booster was to carry a special fuel module designed to change the entire orbit of the station. Something like this had never been attempted before, but the stakes were high enough that the Kremlin felt that all other assets, including his cosmonauts, were expendable.

For that reason, the remaining technicians would not travel to the station until the riskier orbit changing burn occurred. If there was a catastrophic failure on board the station, this would limit the loss of life to only two cosmonauts, instead of the planned six.

Then there was the fourth launch. The massive Energia X was even now being prepped to launch a lunar reconnaissance orbiter around the moon. This would at least insure that they could monitor the object if nothing else. Currently they didn't have a lunar lander that was capable of returning to the earth, much less lunar orbit. Dmitry had an entire team of engineers working overtime on that at a secret location outside of Moscow. If the Russians couldn't land there yet, they'd be sure anyone else that tried couldn't do so unobserved.

"You look worried, Vlad," Irina Koroleva said, standing to greet him.

"It's nothing, Irina, just the magnitude of what we're about to do," Vlad said, walking over to his chair in his office.

Irina followed him but didn't enter, instead preferring to lean against the doorjamb. "I take it the launch went well."

"You listened?" Vlad asked, wiggling his mouse and bringing his computer out of hibernation.

"Of course. The launch sounded like it went perfectly, as usual, so what's the problem, Vlad?"

Vlad wasn't in the mood to discuss particulars. During a lapse in judgement last year, he found himself in an affair with the attractive woman. It didn't last long, but her familiarity with him never ceased. Oh, she wouldn't call him Vlad in front of the rest of his staff, but at the start of the weekend, with most administrative staff at home and the technical staff overseeing the launch, he found himself alone again with the woman and it made him uncomfortable, to say the least.

"No problems, Irina. I'm just worried about the amount of launches we have planned in such a short period of time. Our staff has already been working around the clock and, though tired, it will only get worse before it gets better."

"Ah yes, but at least there will be a break after the heavy launch, no?"

" _Da_ , at least we can take a few days off then. I'm sure the crews will need it. Speaking of which, why don't you take some time off? I'm sure the paperwork will be here on Monday."

"Vlad, if I didn't know you, I'd say you wanted to get rid of me," Irina said, now approaching his desk and slowly sitting on the side edge.

"Nonsense," Vlad lied, noticing her long slender legs and really regretting last year's lapse in judgement. "I'm glad you're here. Perhaps you're right. We work hard, get everything in order, and be ready for a well-deserved rest after we launch the heavy."

"Sounds like a plan, Vladimir," Irina said, leaning forward so close he could smell her perfume. "We can celebrate then," she said, abruptly standing before he could protest and heading for the door. "It will be good for us," she said, giving Vlad one last look that portended trouble, and then leaving the man to his work.

_God help me_ , Vlad said, shaking his head. If this mission didn't kill him, Irina would.

Irina sat at her desk and finished documenting and filing the reports as required for the launches. She downloaded the data of all four launches, the one that was just executed as well as the other three planned, onto a small portable thumb drive which she then inserted into her RF device that she had been given long ago, sewn into a hidden pocket of her purse.

Vlad was happy to say good evening to her as she left the base, passing through security, which was much more lax than encountered when entering the base, and walked to her car. Most Russians used public transportation, but out here a vehicle was a necessity due to the base's isolation. It took her over twenty minutes to reach the small town where most of the base personnel lived. She parked her car in the garage and exited to the street, walking about three blocks before arriving at the large bar.

The place was fairly full from not only base personnel off duty at the moment, enjoying a rare respite after the first day's launch, but also from the miners and loggers of the two other localized industries that the bar served. She was late by about ten minutes, but she knew her handler always had someone there, anyway. Her instructions were always the same. Go to the bar, spend thirty minutes there, and then leave. She knew the data was encrypted and stored in a portable RF query device that detected an incoming signal, which, if matched properly to its password coding, prompted the device to release its data stream.

What she didn't know was the identity of her handler and who he or she represented. Irina felt only a tinge of guilt at what she was doing, but it often went away when she checked her Swiss bank account following each transaction. When she had enough, she was going to leave for good. Besides, how important could space secrets be, anyway? Not like she was transferring nuclear ballistic missile details.

She ordered her usual salad with hot tea and toasted bread. Looking around never helped; she first thought she'd be able to see someone every time she performed a transfer, but the bar always seemed to have different people in it no matter how attentive she was. Her affair with the program director was pure icing on the cake, allowing her access to his work space and facilitating the espionage she was doing. Too bad he ended the relationship, but it was obvious he didn't feel right about just kicking her to the curb, at least not just yet. The money was good, and she didn't care who had her data as long as she got paid. She'd get out of this Siberian hellhole for good, one way or the other.

She finished her meal, paid her bill, and then returned to her flat a few blocks away, sure that her device was queried and that the data was transferred even though she never saw her handler. Tomorrow she'd see confirmation in the form of an increased balance in her Swiss account. Irina smiled as she prepared to watch _Balkovsky's Ozera_ , a sort of Russian take off on Girls in the City.

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 6

* * *

The meeting was tedious at first until the presenter, a lady by the name of Mrs. Brown, started to discuss the SIGINT that the NSA had been working on. "So after the tenth pulse, there is a pause of exactly three seconds before some sort of high-speed data burst is recorded. The compressed signal is beyond the ability of our current receivers to decode properly, and even the first few thousand bytes that we have managed to decipher correctly are not intelligible to us at this time."

"So how does this account for the ability of the higher line of sight RF waves to reach earth from the backside of the moon?" Lisa asked.

"Yeah," Jack chimed in. "There is no atmosphere either to bend or reflect the lower band waves either. It doesn't add up."

"Unknown at this time," Mrs. Brown said, looking from the screen at her questioners.

"You're the SIGINT experts. You mean to tell us you can't trace the path the radio waves are taking to reach us?" Tom asked, stifling a yawn, which did little to placate the woman.

"We analyze the signal and its stream. I'd say you space experts should have a hypothesis proposed by now," she shot back.

"Who says we haven't?" Marge said.

Rock wasn't sure if his team was just probing her with necessary questions or if they were trying to push her buttons. Since she arrived, she wasn't greeted any more warmly than Mr. Smith was, and judging by his facial expression, he wasn't pleased either.

"Let's just move on, shall we?" Rock said, diffusing the tension with his remark. "Mrs. Brown, let's just say the path isn't important for right now. What is the actual significance of the data spurt after the count up?" This referring to the opposite of a countdown since the pulses went higher in number rather than lower.

"Since the two-point-seven-megabyte stream takes twelve nanoseconds and the entire transmission lasts approximately seven hundred thousand, one hundred and eleven nanoseconds, we've computed the data burst to contain about one hundred fifty nine gigabytes roughly.

"That's it?" Jack asked, surprised. "My kid's collection of movies takes up more digital storage space than that."

"Maybe the data isn't comprised of alien movies," Mr. Smith replied, a tone of sarcasm evident in his voice.

"Or the information is just enough to open another, larger data site," Jeff said, finally breaking his silence from across the table.

"So why is the mandate to reach the moon? Why not just analyze the signals or send up an orbiter to collect data?" Tom asked.

"I'll handle this one, Brown," Mr. Smith said, and Rock was pleased to see he wasn't the only one Smith addressed by surname only. "We have other information that relates to the discovery, and also the intentions of the Russians and Chinese have been clarified somewhat. Can you bring up section three on the PowerPoint?" Smith said to Brown.

Mrs. Brown leaned over the table, manipulating the laptop till a still-titled _Section Three: Photographic Data_ became visible on the wall's screen.

This perked Rock's team up considerably. "You have photographs?" Tom asked.

"Next slide," Smith said. "Yes, here you can see the actual object as photographed by the Chinese rover. Note the side ruler bar which is scaled in feet for reference." Rock noted the red and white bar that denoted scale overlaid on a grainy black and white photo of what appeared to be some sort of oblong cylinder protruding from the surface of the moon and reaching a height of well over five feet.

"Is that our scale or theirs?" Marge asked.

"Theirs, and we have no reason to doubt it," Smith said. "The interesting fact here is that your telemetry feed intercept on the mag detector." At this, Smith rummaged through a couple of pages till he found what he was looking for. "The mag detector went past the maximum range that the Chinese instrument could handle, so it's hard to say if there is something metallic there as small as half the size of a car or something much larger, as large as an oceangoing ship, for example."

"You're saying there is something metallic there, larger than the object we're looking at now, perhaps buried under the lunar surface?" Jeff asked.

"Yes, quite possibly," Brown jumped in, advancing the presentation to the next slide where a closer view of the object was visible as seen from the perspective of the rover.

"If I didn't know better, I think that looks like some kind of antenna mast. How many photos do you have?" Marge asked, half standing and leaning closer to the screen, her eyes squinting at the effort.

"We only have three, but we think the Chinese have a few dozen," Mr. Smith said.

"How'd you get the Chinese to share these?" Tom asked, looking over at Smith.

"They didn't. We . . . acquired them by other means," Smith said. Tom only arched an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.

"So we have Chinese photos of an unknown alien metallic object protruding from the lunar surface and perhaps part of it potentially buried below it. This thing disabled not only the Chinese rover but the orbiter as well. Does that about sum it up?" Director Lui said from where he sat next to Rock.

"That's about right," Mr. Smith said. "What you haven't learned yet is that the president will be going public with this information tomorrow evening. Too many science civvies have detected the transmissions and are discussing their significance. A couple of university types are even putting two and two together and linking the event with the Chinese mission."

"Yeah, I've seen the news. Going to be groundbreaking stuff, but won't that tip off the Chinese that we've been spying on their space program?" Jack said.

"They know, just not the extent that we've been surveilling them. The bigger problem right now is Russia—" Smith said, being interrupted by Tom.

"Damn! Told you them Ruskies would be involved."

"Now, Tom, don't go jumping to conclusions," Marge said, sitting back down and looking across the table at the old mechanical engineer.

"Actually, the man is right, to a degree. Brown, can you go to section five?" Smith said.

Mrs. Brown advanced the presentation, skipping over the title and stopping on a schematic of two rockets laid side by side along with a data bar on the right side indicating various technical specifications such as height, weight, thrust, payload in tons, propellant type, and capacity, amongst a myriad of other detailed data.

"The first rocket is an Energia IV, and our sources tell us the Russians are planning to launch three of them in a row starting today," Smith said, looking around the table for reactions. He needn't have searched too hard.

"What do you mean by 'in a row'?" Lisa asked.

"As in one today and the next two shortly thereafter," Smith said.

"How shortly?" Jack chimed in.

"We don't know . . . yet," Brown said, advancing to the next slide where an Energia IV was fully fueled and ready for takeoff.

"We should have something soon. Today's launch is to retrieve our astronauts from the Russian _Pride_ ," Smith finished.

Rock looked around and saw a bit of surprise on everyone's face except for Tom, who had a look of _I told you so_ written across it as clear as day. "So that's why the president has to go public," Rock said.

"That and what we already discussed," Smith said. "It was rather abrupt of them, and our people have been incommunicado since Sunday. The Russians are passing messages to them, so that tells us they know. Well, that and their current activity."

"I told you . . ." Tom said, grinning as if he had won some sort of contest.

"Do the Russians have that kind of lift capability?" Jeff asked.

"Well, they are currently booked for nearly a dozen launches over the rest of the year," Marge said. Everyone looked at her in bewilderment. "What? I watch the news, too, you know."

"That's not news, Marge," Jack said. "Not normal news, at any rate."

"She's correct," Smith said. "We're surprised they were able to swap out the payload in only five days."

"That's not too difficult to believe," Rock said. "They keep a crew module at the ready as part of their emergency procedures. Wouldn't be too difficult to swap the payload module."

"I didn't realize you knew so much about Russian space program procedures," Brown said, narrowing her eyes.

"Smith, didn't you share my file with your colleague?" Rock asked, looking at the man.

"Need to know," Smith said, "and she didn't need. Brown, Mr. Crandon spent several years as our NASA liaison with ESA and Ruscosmos as part of our joint space exploration venture a few years back."

Rock felt his boss Lui lean in closely before he spoke. "At least he used mister this time." Then just as quickly, he leaned back.

"Understood," Brown stated.

"So what's the plan?" Rock asked, eager to finish this meeting and get to work.

"You and your team find a way to get to the moon within three months. No limits on your resources." Smith nodded.

"That's impossible," Lui said. "It will take that long just to organize a plan and start allocating human resources, not to mention physical assets. My people will need more time."

"Sorry to hear you say that, _Director_ Lui," Smith said uncharacteristically. "You can tell the president yourself in person when she arrives tomorrow evening."

"Well now, that's just great," Tom said. Everyone sighed.

# 6 Opening Moves

Home

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 7

* * *

The reentry was successful, and Julie felt relieved there were no complications. Despite the thrill of being an astronaut, she was always a bit anxious when she had to use Russian equipment to reach space and back. The mere act of being an astronaut was far more dangerous than any actuary chart could illustrate.

She was upset that she only had two days to spend with her family. There were no explanations, only orders. Craig and she were to report to NASA headquarters for extended duty on Monday, and that was that. It was so odd.

Maybe not so odd at how quickly they were flown back from Hawaii. They had landed less than a thousand miles west of Honolulu and were picked up by a joint fleet of Russian and American naval ships and then quickly flew to Hawaii by helicopter and then flown directly to Houston and released with the medical exam having been performed on the plane.

She was in good shape, no muscle atrophy due to the rigorous exercise program they utilized while in space, but the sensation of being home only twelve hours after leaving the Russian space station remained surreal for her. This was definitely not being done by the book.

She had slept Friday night in her own bed, restless and constantly being reminded that gravity now had a hold on her, and she had woken early, disoriented and a bit frazzled. That soon disappeared when she had the chance to spend the day with her family.

Later that night, dinner was exceptional and not only because she could eat it with her family, but because it was solid and not that liquid goo she had been eating for nearly two months. Sure, they had a few solids like candy, granola bars, and dried fruit and meat, but nothing substantial. Nothing that would fill the belly like it did on earth. That part she did not miss about being in space.

"When do you want to put the kids in bed, hun?" her husband, Ed, asked, picking up a few plates and putting them in the sink.

Julie looked at Thomas and Olivia in the front room watching one of her childhood favorite shows, _Tom and Jerry_ , on _Nick at Night_ when the show was cut short and replaced by an empty podium with what looked to be the presidential seal. "That's odd," Julie said.

"What is it?" Ed asked, looking to the living room as well.

"Seems there is something urgent on the news, but I've never known them to cut into a children's program on cable before," Julie said, moving around the table and grabbing Olivia and setting her in her lap, hugging her tightly.

"Why do they do that?" Thomas asked, not too happy at the interruption.

"Something important?" Ed joined the family.

"I don't know," Julie said. There's no news announcer and no sound, just the presidential podium at the White House."

They didn't have long to wait. President Powers began her address and within ten minutes had explained the events that had occurred on the moon a week ago. She ended by stating that the United States of America, working closely with our British and Japanese allies, would be sending a team of specially selected and skilled astronauts to the moon to investigate. There was no press personnel, and when she finished, the screen paused for a minute before the children's show resumed as if nothing had happened.

"Daddy, what does that mean?" Olivia asked, wiggling in her mother's lap.

Ed looked at Julie, eyes wide, mouth moving but nothing coming out for a long moment. Finally he managed a few words. "I think it means Mommy's going to the moon."

"Now that's bitchin!" Thomas said, half jumping, half running around the room. Neither parent seemed to notice.

Rock sat in his recliner in his study, watching his wife's reaction. Sally had been with him for over three decades and was used to his long and unpredictable hours. All of their children were grown and out of the house.

"So that's what you've been up to?" she asked.

"Yeah, it will get worse before it gets better."

"So for all week you kept this to yourself?" she asked, a hint of hurt crossing her countenance.

"We've been through this a dozen times before, Sal. You know I can't discuss some matters," Rock said.

Sally looked at him in amazement. "We're talking about goddamn aliens here, pardon my blasphemy." Sally came from the Bible Belt, so she often apologized for her language. Rock was used to it. "Couldn't you have told me about this, at least?"

Rock sighed. "Probably, but with the DC trip and countless meetings, debriefs, and other crap, I haven't had the time."

"You should have found time for this," she said, turning back to the television and changing the channel to one of the major stations that were now discussing the president's address to the nation.

_So much for operational security now_ , __ Rock thought, _and the president is going to owe me big time for this one._ Rock wasn't sure how long Sally would hold this grudge. Better to get back to work and let her cool down. The news was too surreal, and despite knowing about it all week, he was sure many of his fellow Americans would be digesting this for a long time to come.

People's Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 9

* * *

Hun Lee didn't see this one coming. It was Monday evening, and earlier that weekend, the president of the United States just dropped a bombshell on the entire world. The reaction in his department today had been swift and brutal. Director Chui was taken from the Beijing offices under armed escort, and any pretenses of being discreet, or even secretive, were non-existent.

Several cabinet politburo members were dismissed from their positions, including the Minister of the Air and Space Bureau and the Minister of Scientific Affairs. The entire country was talking about the incident, despite the strong censorship of the internet and an ironclad grip over every media outlet. Most news, indeed facts, could be quashed by the state-controlled media, but this bombshell had a life of its own. It managed to worm its way into every part of Chinese culture and society.

Hun never bothered to leave his office, waiting for security to arrive and escort him to who knows where. He had telephoned his wife and told her he loved her. She returned the sentiment and then cried. That told Hun all he needed to know. He turned the volume up on his small flat-screen television mounted to the wall.

The entire State Council had met and issued a statement. It appeared after trying all day to suppress the information, they must have decided to roll with it instead. Better to control than conceal was an old Chinese expression, and the Communist party followed it well. The Chinese Lunar Mission _Explorer_ was simply maintaining radio silence while it investigated the phenomena, and much attention was paid to the fact that the Chinese were the ones to have made the historical discovery. The Americans' statement had even said as much. Lies were most effective when mixed with truths.

Hun found this line interesting as he half expected his government to resist for several days till something could be concocted. Saving face was something the West did not understand about his culture. Unusual that the Americans went public with something so groundbreaking, and Hun was ruminating what the motive could be.

Then he heard the commotion as well as the rhythmic, pulsating steps of high boots that could only signify the arrival of the state's security forces. His time had arrived.

"Commander Lee," a man in military uniform stated as he entered his office with two armed guards followed by another older man, also in uniform. Hun could see several more military staff through his window outside in the hallway, several of them bringing in electronic equipment.

"Yes, I'm Hun Lee," he said, standing and coming around to face the men in front of his desk. They could take a lot away from him, but he would go with his dignity in front of his staff, if nothing else. He looked through the doorway and could see the faces of several of his team members who had not left the office despite the work day having completed over an hour ago.

"This is General Wang," the younger officer said, pointing to the older man as he stepped forward and looked at Hun from head to toe.

"Sir," Hun said.

"I'll be taking over as director of the People's Republic Space Command. You and your team will take orders directly from me and my staff. Are we clear, Commander Hun?" The general was no nonsense, straight to the point, not surprising in a military professional.

"So I'll be staying?" Hun said, his facial expression giving away more than he knew.

"Of course. You've only recently been appointed to mission lead, and as its commander, you're in the best position to execute the next phase of our space operations."

Hun didn't like the way the man used the word _execute_ , but his surprise at not being sacked overwhelmed his good sense, and in a sloppy gesture better he had left undone, Hun Lee saluted the general. "Yes, sir, General Wang. Your first orders, sir."

Hun realized how he must look, but he didn't care anymore. He was sure the general wouldn't understand his confusion, and it didn't matter as the man's serious countenance started to display the faint outline of a smile. "Get us back to the moon. Major Wu will prepare a lunar rocket for our first mission, and then you and your team will take over once we have reached lunar orbit," Wang said, nodding to a man in uniform just behind him. The general then turned, exiting the office and asking one of his aides where the director's office was located.

When the room cleared, Hun walked back to his desk and sat down, placing his head in his hands and not caring what his staff thought of him for a moment. He breathed easier and then realized he had no idea how to accomplish what the general just demanded. Hun started to feel dizzy again.

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 9

* * *

Vlad set his phone down and sighed. The heavy launch would continue in a few hours despite the change in plans. Those damn Americans had no idea how to keep a secret. No wonder they had to be a republic. No sane government would have done what they did, the way they did it. What did they think they were going to accomplish? If it was worldwide chaos and pandemonium, then they pretty well were succeeding from what the news reports were indicating.

"Something bothering you, boss?" Aleksey said, entering Vlad's office without knocking.

"Have a seat, Alex. I take it we're prepared, then?"

"Of course. We'll have the heavy ready for launch this evening. We just missed the morning window, so we'll have to wait for twelve hours," Alex said while sitting and wiping his hands on his jumpsuit. "Small problem to take care of."

Vlad understood that a lunar launch had only two optimal windows within which to launch efficiently. One consisted of a direct launch, slinging around the curvature of the earth and straight toward the moon. The other one did the same thing, but only after circling the earth first, using the increased speed of any launch vehicle at its perigee for a boost assist. It took more time, but the escape velocity was higher and actually resulted in a quicker trip. They had missed that window and now faced the direct launch, which burned more fuel but was manageable by the Energia X rocket.

"Yes, I received the report and passed it on to Moscow this morning before the American announcement," Vlad said, looking across at his chief engineer and setting down his pen he had just picked up.

Alex chuckled. "That was a stunner. Didn't see that one coming. I take it the _Gordust_ reached its new orbit?"

"Yes. Didn't Yosef tell you?" Vlad asked.

"No. Yosef was working on securing the orbiter, and they were having problems with the exploding bolts. He feared they weren't going to fire reliably based on the way the orbiter was wired so we didn't get a chance to talk yet, but they finished not long ago."

Vlad smiled. Yosef would work all day and all night if he had to. He felt confident the orbiter would be ready to go in time as the report indicated. "Good, so he finished early. Still, that's cutting it close, only a few hours before launch. We'll have to fuel it soon, and I wouldn't have cleared that if you hadn't finished the preparations on the orbiter."

"And the _Gordust_?"

"Ah yes, the burn went perfectly Saturday. Three hours and the new altitude adjustment was achieved. It will be ready for the next phase," Vlad said, smiling at Alex.

Alex returned the smile and stopped his compulsive hand gestures against his jumpsuit. "Good thing we made those module pod support bars load bearing, eh, Vlad?"

"Indeed, though we could have never imagined an operation like the one we're about to perform. Orbit adjustments are one thing, cosmic travel is something entirely different."

"You think the Americans will see this one coming?" Alex asked.

"Not a chance, Alex, not a chance. I wouldn't have believed it either if I hadn't seen the authorization for it."

"Well, no matter what happens, we'll have six more heroes of the Russian Star," Alex said, referring to their government's highest award.

"Agreed, Alex," Vlad said. _Either in person or posthumously_ , __ Vlad thought privately.

"What is that American saying?" Alex asked. "They will shit their pants when they find out."

"I think it's piss their pants, Alex, though my English is rusty," Vlad said.

"I'll put my money on the pants shitting," Alex said, a smile crossing his face.

# 7 Nasa

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 10

* * *

"You gotta be shitting me!" Jack said, looking at the paperwork Mrs. Brown had given to their team.

"I told you so," Tom said, also flipping pages from the report.

Marge set her report down. "I don't see how they could do that. Could the station structure handle the stress?"

Tom was the mechanical engineer. "It would have to simply have a high tensile rating. With no weight involved, the structure only has to withstand the g-forces that would be applied, and a long, slow burn might do it, if it has the right strength."

"That explains the off load of our people," Rock said, looking at the details of the report and wondering just what, in the name of all that was sane, would make the Russians attempt to boost the station out of low earth orbit and journey across space to the moon. "Jeff, what do you make of this?"

Jeff Wheeler set his paper down from where he had been leaning over the table and sat down in his chair, taking a deep breath. "Sounds risky to me, Rock. We sure this is their actual plan?"

"Assume it is," Mrs. Brown said, frowning from the outburst and looking like a school teacher about to scold a misbehaving student. Rock hoped Jack would keep quiet.

"Why are we being given access to this data?" Rock asked the woman. Mr. Smith was otherwise occupied, and Mrs. Brown was temporarily in charge.

"Because you'll have to explain to the president what's possible, what's not possible, and what the likelihood is for each of the scenarios outlined in the brief," she said.

"Doesn't she have her own scientific and national security advisors?" Jack asked.

"She does, but their expertise is more along the lines of a broader interpretation of what is happening right now."

"It means they don't know shit," Tom said.

"Enough with the expletives. You guys are worse than college students, I swear," Lisa said, displeased with the profanity from her two colleagues.

"So she's coming for sure?" Rock asked Mrs. Brown, ignoring his team members for the present.

"She will be landing soon. The announcement last night delayed her," Brown said.

Rock understood the delay. After the Saturday evening statement, there was a series of unforeseen consequences to the announcement. Not that everyone was panicking. Many were excited at the news, and there was much hope and speculation about how humanity could benefit from the benevolent wisdom of a caring, kind, and intelligent alien race. Not everyone felt that way, however.

Some were saying the president's disclosure allowed roughly one million or so fanatical, or nearly fanatical, conspiracy theorists to spring into action. Personally Rock thought it was like throwing gasoline on the embers of a smoldering fire. The internet was ripe with anti-government theories, and many simply pointed to Roswell and said, "I told you so."

Monday was worse than anticipated. A quarter of the American population freaked, another quarter rejoiced, and half decided it was time for a holiday. Schools were closed, many because the students never showed up. Most factories were not operational as workers stayed home with their families to watch the nonstop coverage on various news shows. Emergency workers, the police, fire departments, and hospital staffs were about the only people to show for work that day. Those workers and the transportation agencies in most cities, if simply to take home those few that did show up for work and now were departing early in the afternoon. Everyone knew it was serious when trading on Wall Street was suspended. Nothing stopped the flow of money unless it was serious.

So Rock and his team watched the president address the nation again on Monday evening to calm those who were fearful and to declare an executive order preventing the rise of any prices for any reason. There had been a run on the stores all day long by the conspiracy wingers and those who saw no reason for panic found that they may not have gas or water if their fellow Americans horded all at once, so that created a proverbial _run on the bank_ with regards to supplies at the grocery and department stores. Most of the stores closed early, and there were only a few reports of looters in some inner city neighborhoods. The entire day had been less than productive.

"Is this the list of questions for us?" Lui said, holding up a packet with papers stapled together, three or four of them.

"Yes, read them all and use the reports from the last few days to prepare for the briefing tonight," Brown said.

The president finally arrived, and Rock and his team were waiting for the meeting to start. They were in the large auditorium where press releases were normally held, and the Secret Service was all over the place.

"This looks like a lot of people," Rock said to his boss, John Lui, while looking around the auditorium that was quickly filling with various agency personnel. Rock recognized the FBI and Secret Service agents easily enough. There were also a few military types in uniform from the various services. So far so good. His team members and even Jeff's engineering staff were easily recognizable to him since he knew them personally, and some of the academia could be spotted by their manner of dress. _It is just . . . different_ , Rock thought.

The other people in the room—well, he knew some had to be from the president's staff and, with the exception of Mrs. Brown and Mr. Smith, though not identifiable, he was sure there were both security and intel people in attendance as well.

Everyone took their seats as an aide announced the arrival of the president. Rock stood with his boss beside him a few rows up while his team members were in the row in front of him. President Powers took a seat at a table facing the auditorium audience along with several of her advisors and cabinet members. Rock was hoping she wouldn't call on him, and he was relieved when the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Montgomery, stood at the podium and began to talk.

The usual threat assessments and security facts were covered ad nauseam, and Rock fought from yawning, which he knew was more than unprofessional, wishing he could simply get back to work. Then a national security advisor to the Director of National Security gave another intel briefing about the various and usual mundane threats to our beloved United States. It wasn't until they reached the part about the Chinese efforts that Rock's ears were tickled.

"After the purging of several Space Command executives and intra-departmental directors and managers, the PLA has taken control over the program and initiated a massive effort to build a rocket large enough to launch nearly five hundred tons into lunar orbit," the advisor said.

Jack leaned back, turning around to whisper at Rock. "Did he just say the Chinese Army is in charge over there?" Rock nodded, only looking at Jack briefly in the process.

"In order to further our various objectives, we will be breaking into a series of compartmentalized groups, but under the direct command of the president through the Director of National Security."

The aide went on to separate their various assets into the ELINT group, Electronic Intelligence, SIGINT, Signals Intelligence, and HUMINT, Human Intelligence. Rock's group was placed, as predicted, in the SIGINT group. The briefing was adjourned, and the participants broke for their respective working locations. The press corps was kept at the guest building near the main entrance, and Rock was relieved that they were being kept at a good distance from their working locations. It was like a zoo out there, and the fact that the president activated the Reserves for all branches of service was a hot topic with her pundits.

Rock's team grabbed a few cups of coffee before heading to conference room three that faced south, away from the main gate. The view was rather peaceful, and only the occasional security patrol driving by interrupted the warm, sunny spring day.

"Richard, I'd like you to meet a couple of our team members," John Lui said as two people dressed in NASA jumpsuits and carrying notebooks stepped around the large table.

"Hey, Rock, good to see you again," Craig Alders said, presenting a hand to shake.

"Likewise, Craig," Rock said, shaking the man's hand vigorously, a big smile across their faces. "You're just back from the Russian station, no?" Rock asked.

"Last Friday they poked and prodded us for sixteen hours and then let us spend a weekend with the fams before shipping us back here," Craig said.

Rock stepped to the side, nodding at Craig's news, and greeted Craig's companion. "You must be Julie Monroe," Rock said, shaking her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Crandon. I've heard a lot about you," Julie said, returning the shake albeit a bit more formally than Craig.

"Have you two worked together?" Jack asked, stepping up to greet the two astronauts.

"No, Jack, Julie came onboard right after our rotation and has been working with Fred Greer the last two years," Rock answered, referring to the current mission leader for the space station ops.

"So why isn't he here?" Jack asked, finishing the handshaking and looking at Rock.

"Mr. Greer has other orders right now, Jack," Director Lui said, answering for Rock. "For now the Feds have requested that Richard handle the lunar ops from conception to execution."

"Hello, Julie, how have you been?" Lisa said, entering the room, a cup of coffee in her hand that she quickly sat on the table. The two women gave each other a quick hug, smiling.

"You guys acquainted?" Jack asked.

"Didn't you know? Julie and I were in the same prep class together and served in the same air wing back in oh twenty," Lisa said.

"They've had me busy, but good to know," Jack said.

Rock felt the situation a tad awkward as Julie and Lisa had competed for the same astronaut spot and Lisa fell short. If she was holding a grudge or felt slighted, she sure wasn't displaying it, and Jack's inattentiveness wasn't helping.

"People, could we take our seats, please?" Mrs. Brown said, motioning everyone to be seated.

"I'll be damned," Tom said. "Another meeting?"

"Just suck it up, old timer," Lisa said, giving Tom a wink. Rock wondered at this display of friendliness from Lisa since she wasn't very fond of Tom and his "antiquated thinking," as she liked to refer to the man's ramblings.

"It's just a quick focus session," Mrs. Brown said. "We'll be done in less than half an hour and you can return to your duties."

"Just not our families," Jack said under his breath.

"What was that, Mr. Connors?" Mrs. Brown asked.

"Nothing, dear, Jack was just getting seated," Tom said, being about the only man in the room who would dare "dear" Mrs. Brown.

Rock shook his head and sat down, dreading another session.

"Director Lui, would you like to make a quick introduction so all the team members are familiar with one another?" Mrs. Brown said.

"Maybe we should all wear name badges," Marge said, taking a seat near Rock.

"Did Marge just say what I thought she said?" Tom asked, his brows arched.

"Maybe there is a sense of humor buried under that façade," Jack responded.

"Gentlemen," John Lui began, standing, but before he could continue, the doors opened and several Secret Service agents entered the room.

A man in a black suit talked to Mrs. Brown and then left the room. "We will have a few visitors, so please remain seated and remember your manners," Mrs. Brown said, sounding far too natural for a spook.

President Powers, her aides, and the Director of National Security entered the room as well as several more Secret Service Agents and a lone military officer, a four star general. The president and staff seated themselves at the head of the conference table. _There are no other military or academia types, making this meeting much more intimate_ , Rock thought, wondering why he was so fortunate to always have the president attend his mission meetings.

"Please continue, Director Lui," Mrs. Brown said, seemingly un-phased by the president's presence.

"I was just making introductions, Madam President." President Powers nodded at Director Lui. "Julie Monroe and Craig Alders here have joined our team as of today. I don't think particulars need to be discussed, but at the highest levels we have been mandated to execute Operation Twenty-One in order to acquire or otherwise secure the unknown object on the far side of the moon."

"Where do they come up with these original mission names?" Jack asked.

"Better to call it Operation Been There, Done That," Tom said.

Director Lui ignored the jests, and Rock noticed Mrs. Brown's countenance had hardened considerably. "We've added Jeff Wheeler to represent electrical engineering, and if necessary, we'll add a few academic members once the nature of the object is understood more fully."

"What kind of academia?" Rock asked.

"Linguists, geologists, metalurgists, those kind," Lui said.

"Can you go around the table, please, Director Lui," Mrs. Brown asked in her best schoolmarm tone.

Lui seemed inconvenienced but addressed the group a tad more formally now. "So, Jeff Wheeler, electrical engineering. Tom there, mechanical. Julie and Craig, I already mentioned, are the ops arm representing our astronautic section, so any ideas you come up with as a team will most likely be putting their lives on the line. Make sure you take this into consideration." Lui paused for effect.

"You guys volunteer or get drafted?" Tom asked.

"We're voluntary," Craig said, and Julie nodded.

"Lisa Wilson here," Lui said, nodding toward Rock's team member, "represents our advanced systems analyst while Jack Connors is our signals expert." Both team members nodded.

"Finally, we have Marjorie Jones, our chief science officer and assistant mission lead, the number two in command behind mission lead, Richard Crandon." Rock nodded when his name was called. "And you all know Mrs. Brown, second liaison between NASA and the NSA," Lui finished.

"Thank you, Director Lui." Mrs. Brown resumed her role as the group facilitator rather quickly. "For Mr. Wheeler, Mr. Alders, and Mrs. Monroe, I'd like to add that the team liaison, Mr. Smith, is not available at the moment but is the representative of the executive branch at this time. Any requests for resources, materials, financing, or other related questions can be addressed through either one of us. Are there any questions?" No one spoke.

"All right, then, you've all heard the news as well as what some of the world's foreign powers are implementing. I understand you have the workings of a base plan?" Mrs. Brown asked.

All eyes turned to Rock. Director Lui may be his boss, but he was thoroughly entrenched in the day-to-day politics, being more an administrator than a scientist, so it was natural that everyone looked to him for their leadership.

Rock stood up since the president was attending. "Everyone. We've had enough time to brainstorm a bit, and with Jeff's help, we've come up with a rough idea on how to get to the moon in the shortest and safest"—with this, Rock looked over at Julie and Craig, giving them a nod—"amount of time necessary.

"The main issue is lift capability. We've let our space exploration program languish, and we found ourselves buying rides on board the Russian rockets in order to meet our orbital needs. Everyone knows the international space station has all but been decommissioned and only the Euro Union and the Jap-Kor alliance are keeping it operational. The last few years' attempt at détente with the Russians after the Ukraine War had us financing their newest station while we participated in manning it and conducting our scientific programs.

Well, I'm no politician, but the recent eviction we received last week has pretty much ended that line of cooperation between our two governments. I won't get into the ambassadorial parts of it, but our most urgent need is lift capability." Most eyes had moved to the president as Rock discussed the political aspects of what had been happening, but when there was no discernable change in the president's affect, everyone returned their gazes to Rock.

"Currently we contract out with Space Corp for smaller satellite lifts of less than fifty tons into low earth orbit." Rock used the actual term instead of the acronym as he knew for sure Mrs. Brown would interrupt him, asking him to clarify if he didn't. "The Sparrow rockets were designed for just this. What we need is our heavy lift capability again, and it would take months, if not years, to design, build, test, and commission a new class of rocket capable of reaching lunar orbit, with a sufficient payload to accomplish our mission."

"Again?" President Powers asked, managing to gather the attention of everyone in the room.

"Yes, Madam President. I'm referring to re-commissioning the _Saturn V_ from storage and building new ones based on their schematics for service," Rock said, sitting down.

The president's National Security Advisor, David Rose, said something to the president and then asked, "You're talking about technology that is well over half a century old. Isn't there something newer we could discuss?"

"Yeah, what kind of ride are you trying to give us, Rock?" Craig said, a smile across his face demonstrating support for his idea.

"Sir," Rock began, addressing the director, "the _Saturn V_ s were the only rockets ever produced that could even reach trans-lunar orbit. We have never had funding for more than that. I think the Apollo program at its peak took nearly a half percent of our GDP to fund it."

"But we've sent landers to Mars and spaceships to Jupiter, Saturn, and even Pluto," Director Rose complained. "How is it that we can't send a man to the moon without using antiquated equipment?"

The room was fairly silent, and while Rock liked his boss, he saw there would be no help from that quarter. "The rovers on mars, the probes into Jupiter, and even the flybys that we conducted on Neptune and Pluto consisted of very small payloads using much lighter rockets. We're talking about a half ton at the most, and for many of the missions much less—only a few hundred pounds at most."

"The bulk of the _Saturn V_ 's weight at launch was propellant," Lui added. "The actual payload was considerably smaller than the rocket's launch weight."

"Can't we just strap or tie several smaller rockets together in order to achieve a better payload?" Director Rose asked.

Tom jumped in. "It's possible but highly unlikely that we could contain either the thrust vectoring of the various rockets or prevent the oscillation from the differential between thrust burns."

"He's referring to the flutter when the rockets fire," Jeff added.

"I don't think they're familiar with that term either, Jeff," Marge added. "Flutter"—she continued addressing the president and director—"is what happens aerodynamically and is a dynamic instability of an elastic structure in a fluid flow caused by positive feedback between the body's deflection and the force exerted by the dynamic aero-flow, eventually leading to self-oscillation from simple harmonic motion and results eventually in structural failure."

"And I thought I was the mechanical engineer in the room," Tom said, shaking his head.

Before anyone could speak, Rock jumped in, hoping to keep Mrs. Brown at bay. "What my team is trying to say, Director Rose, is that we run the risk of the rocket destroying itself by vibrating excessively once it reaches a critical speed. It takes a coordinated effort in design as well as the trial and error process to prevent this from happening. It will take considerable time to engineer this into a workable solution."

There was a considerable amount of hushed discussion at the president's end of the table as several of her staff leaned in closely and it appeared to be more than argumentative from what little Rock heard.

"Absolutely not," Director Rose said, his voice rising.

There were strained looks from the President's aides as the discussion grew heated. Rock felt discarded and had enough of the executive team's antics, "What is the problem, Madam President?"

Everyone stopped talking when Powers raised her hand and leaned back in her chair, taking her time in answering Rock's question. "There seems to be some concern about your proposal in using the Saturn rocket's for a lunar journey."

"How so?" Rock asked, rather bluntly considering with whom he was speaking.

"They don't have the proper SCI clearances for this," Director Rose stated, also leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.

Rock knew that SCI stood for "Sensitive Compartmented Information" and was a highly secret and rare clearance to have. Mrs. Brown looked lost for a change and it gave Rock at least a modicum of satisfaction to see his handler confused for a change.

"If we give it up then you'll have no counter," the general said to President Powers.

"Give what up?" Rock asked, frustration mounting.

There was a long pause as Powers considered her next words carefully. "We already have an operational Saturn rocket."

Rock looked to Mrs. Brown who actually stood with her mouth open, speechless for a change. The other members of his team looked at each other than back to the president. No one spoke.

"Did you hear me, Mr. Crandon?" Powers asked.

Before he could answer Director Rose interrupted, "They don't have the proper-"

Powers held her hand up, silencing him in mid-sentence. "As of now, everyone in this room is cleared for Operation Atomic Hammer."

Rose sighed and Tom opened his trap yet again in an untimely manner, "Atomic hammer my ass."

"Quiet, Tom," Rock said, giving him a stern look and returning his gaze to the president. "Why do we have an operational Saturn?"

"For national security," Director Rose answered for the president.

Powers ignored the man, "We've had one equipped with a nuclear warhead that was capable of reaching lunar orbit. It was, shall we say... a deterrent for any potential weaponization of space by another sovereign nation."

"Bloody hell," Tom said.

"How many do we have?" Rock asked.

"Two," the general spoke up. "One operational and the prototype."

"I'll authorize both rockets to be moved from military command and transferred to NASA," Powers said, authority in her voice and the general and Rose did not look pleased.

"Maybe we should strap a few rockets together instead," Tom said sarcastically.

"That would be unwise and I don't think anyone would do something like that," Rock said, missing Tom's sarcasm.

"You'd be wrong then," Director Rose said, looking directly at Rock.

"Wrong?" Rock asked.

"Yes, because that is exactly what the Chinese are attempting to do this week," Director Rose finished.

# 8 First Move

People's Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 13

* * *

Hun Lee watched the countdown timer on the wall as it methodically moved toward that point of no return—zero. Major Wu, the commander of the Chinese Ballistic Missile Defense Forces, was placed in charge of launching a robotic probe into lunar orbit to dock with the now defunct orbiter there and assess the damage. Hun had vigorously protested the use of multiple ICBM rockets being welded together around their base lunar launch rocket. The Long Reach rocket had its two smaller assist rockets removed, and four larger ICBM military Dong Feng-45s were attached and their nuclear payloads removed.

Hun didn't know the exact number of ICBMs his country possessed, but reports were around one hundred of the medium-sized DF-31s and a score or more of the much larger DF-45s that were designed to reach anywhere in the world. Their thrust ratios were several times higher than most of the normal ICBMs, and the military engineers calculated that they would be sufficient to reach ILO or intra-lunar orbit.

"You think this will work, sir?" Chon Chu, his engineer, asked from their seats in the observatory. The mere fact that they were spectators was shame enough, but after the sacking that took place the week before, Hun was just thankful he and his team were still employed.

"I hope so, Chon," Hun said, a sigh escaping from his lips.

"Will he be able to control those robotic arms accurately enough?" Lin Fu, his mission technician, asked, motioning to the Japanese man in a white laboratory coat seated near a window in the observation room. The man had been brought in by Major Wu to use the robot that would be sent to rendezvous with the orbiter. Hun and his team would handle the docking and lunar trajectories once low earth orbit was achieved and before the final burn for lunar transit. Once docked, the robot would enter the orbiter's small command module, taking pictures and using two small arms to test equipment and see if the orbiter could be powered up again.

"I hope so, Lin," Hun repeated, his tone monotonous.

The clocks in the control room as well as the launch platform and any other related facilities were all set one hour in advance. Hun sighed again, realizing that if this launch succeeded, it would be played an hour later as if in real time to his fellow citizens. The state left nothing to chance when it came to propaganda and damage control.

Too much was riding on this. It had only been thirteen days since the incident, and even Hun was surprised at how quickly the four ICBMs were configured with the regular lunar rocket, Long Reach, to attempt another lunar launch. Hun watched and realized it was done too quickly.

"We have ignition, all engines, and . . . lift off," the calm voice of the military controller said, everyone watching the bright light of five powerful rocket engines igniting and powering the robot probe into the air. Smoke billowed out from under the engines, and the pride of the Chinese military soared into the sky, at least for a few seconds. The individual ICBM rockets were configured with the same propellant loads, but any NASA scientist could say that actual burn and specified burn were two different things.

The makeshift master gyroscope on top of the main Long Reach rocket noticed the different burn rates, especially from the DF-45 rocket designated as rocket one. The other three Dong Feng rockets were commanded via the control processor to maintain their burn rates while the computer spat out a command for rocket one to restrict the propellant flow and allow the Long Reach to continue its trajectory. Unfortunately the wiring of the gyroscope on rocket one failed and the command came back in a programming loop that was waiting for confirmation from the first rocket that the flow valve would restrict and reduce the amount of propellant being sent to its rear for conversion to thrust.

The command never registered, and the loop continued for what humans would consider an eternity if the computer lived in a world measured in seconds and not nanoseconds or milliseconds. Without valve restriction, the rocket burned its fuel load quicker than normal, becoming lighter than its fellow rockets, and started to achieve greater thrust. This tilted the entire Long Reach along its x-axis, and the main gyroscope and command computer attempted to compensate by sending out signals to the individual rockets, two through four.

The signals were received in less than three milliseconds, but the control valves were mechanical and, while they opened to maximum to compensate, the time necessary to accomplish the task took too long. In a spectacular fashion, the Long Reach tilted on its side and then cartwheeled wildly, spinning on its axis well over three hundred and sixty degrees. It stabilized at four hundred and fifty degrees with the cone of the rocket facing the ground. Within four seconds, the Long Reach hit the ground and the remaining fuel tanks first fractured and then exploded as over two thousand tons of kerosene and liquid oxygen ignited.

The control room was silent for a moment until the Japanese man in the corner spoke. "I take it you'll no longer be needing my services?"

Hun lowered his head in his hands and sighed.

General Wang watched the disaster on his large screen against the back wall and then picked up the red phone from where he sat in his command chair. The answer on the other end was immediate.

"Jaiying, initiate command Hard Steel," Wang said.

"Yes, sir," his major said from where she sat at her console in the People's Republic Army Headquarters outside of Beijing. Jaiying only had to press a transmit button once she activated it and lifted its plastic cover. It would send a preprogrammed signal for whatever she had queued in the priority message center. Operation Hard Steel was the default setting just in case something went wrong, and she wondered if their self-confidence was really that low. It didn't matter. The signal went out and the rest would be automated.

The space satellite had the red flag of the Chinese Republic painted on the side corner, the yellow stars hardly visible except the largest one in the far left upper corner. The satellite had been in geosynchronous orbit over the Chinese mainland and just a day before had used a burn of nearly all of its fuel to lower its orbit over the mainland. The fake, curved communications dish split open and jettisoned into two while side covers swung from their secure positions to open, much like the doors of the now defunct DeLorean cars would.

The satellite's optical sensor swung to the horizon of the earth, and the radar attached to the belly of the platform also pointed in the same direction. Several small corrections in attitude were made to stabilize the satellite that was starting to reach a very unstable orbit. Two small missiles were on either side of the doors, and with one final adjustment, the entire satellite was now orbiting on its side as all three of its primary equipment packages were searching for something.

Within minutes, and like clockwork, the optical sensors spotted the heat signature of a decaying plutonium radioisotope device powering the American spy satellite that swung from low earth orbit whizzing by at over twenty-seven thousand miles per hour. It would pass over the Chinese mainland in two minutes. Its own powerful optic camera, data receivers, and heat sensors were pointed at the earth below as if in anticipation of what was to come, oblivious to the Chinese military satellite that floated above it, waiting for the American satellite to pass underneath.

Optic sensors that relayed the event resulted in the computer activating the small radar unit and scanning in a tight beam the estimated path of the American satellite. Once it was detected on radar, all telemetry and trajectory information was fed into the main computer on board as well as a tight laser burst to the earth receivers below. This allowed the satellite to fire small thrusters just enough to change the angle of attack by a few degrees. It would be enough to make sure the intercepting missiles were in the same vicinity as the American satellite since the closure rate of speed for both would be phenomenal.

Before the US equipment could photograph, record, or monitor the Chinese launch facility at Wenchang, the Chinese military missiles ignited, first one and then, two seconds later, the other. Both were slender and not much larger than any air-to-air missiles. In space, it was not necessary to obliterate a target, which was often made of the lightest materials due to payload limitations, so the heat-seeking warheads were armed with high fragment, high velocity explosives.

The first rocket nearly hit the US satellite with a closing rate of nearly forty thousand miles per hour, detonating when its proximity detector recognized the setting for optimum damage. The shrapnel tore holes in the fragile satellite and ignited the small amount of liquid hydrogen onboard that it used for altitude adjustments. The small amount of debris that did survive was obliterated as the second missile detonated, the warhead proximity detector set to a tighter specification and the payload being higher in explosives.

The remains of the US satellite continued their orbit over the earth, but in several thousand micro pieces. The Chinese hulk, mission accomplished, realigned its small burn motors when it was pointed at the earth and ignited, beginning its last journey to burn up during reentry over the East China Sea. There would be no evidence for the Americans to find.

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 13

* * *

"They did what?" Mr. Smith practically yelled into the phone, gaining the attention of Rock's crew. They had been at it all week, and things had settled down once the president and her staff returned to Washington. Mr. Smith and Mrs. Brown seemed to be taking turns with Rock's group, and it was a betting matter between his team members of who would show up each morning.

They had no orders to work any quota of hours, but the unsaid rule was twelve to fourteen at the minimum. They pretty much took a minimal amount of time off in order to keep the families happy and to forestall burnout.

Monroe and Alders had been taken to the water tanks to practice low gravity exercises, and Rock heard that the two replacements for them, not scheduled to enter the rotation for another year, had been conscripted and were arriving this weekend to train in the water tanks as well. Rumor also had it that the prior pair of astronauts who had been on board the Russian space station were being called in as well, but he hadn't heard any particulars on that one.

"What's got his panties all twisted up?" Tom asked, leaning across the diagram board where a schematic for the _Saturn V_ was laid out.

"Whatever it is, he looks pissed," Lisa said, pulling her papers together in anticipation of breaking for lunch. Not that they went anywhere for lunch. It was usually served to them in the large room they had renovated into an open work space that could handle twice their numbers easily.

"I'll check with them. You guys get something to eat and meet back here in fifteen," Rock said.

"Hey, what's with that?" Lisa asked, a frown on her face.

"Take your time, Lisa, we just need to get the fuel specs down by this afternoon for the adjusted payload. You'll be busy tonight adjusting the equipment weights and updating their configuration after we get you the gross payload data," Rock said.

"Fine, I'll phone home and let them know we'll be missing another dinner together," Lisa said, her tone hurt.

Rock pulled her aside, and the rest moved off to allow them a private conversation. "I know this is hard on you. Hell, it's hard on all of us. But you're the best systems engineer we got, and I need you on this. You get the equipment data squared away, and I'll see what I can do about getting some of you a little time this weekend. I'll tell the spooks that a burned out engineer won't be worth a damn to me . . . or us and the program, all right?"

Lisa nodded, understanding. "Thanks, Richard, I am just stressing right now with the deadlines they are placing on the team, and I know I'm not the only one. You, Tom, and Marge may not have kids at home, but I know Jack has little ones and he's sucking it up, so I'll do the same."

"Sounds like some of that Air Force spirit," Rock said, smiling.

"Thanks for understanding. I'm sure the stress is high for you, too."

"I'll manage. Get some grub and let me find out what's tickled Mr. Smith's ass. I hate to think he could get any grumpier than he already is," Rock said.

Lisa smiled and then headed to the cafeteria, leaving Rock to approach Smith.

"Something I should know?" Rock asked, coming right up to Smith who was putting his cell phone away. The call he took was on the secure red line that was mandatory to use when calling Washington. No cell calls allowed.

"Let me get Mrs. Brown in here first and then we'll talk."

Rock stepped back to the schematic board where Tom was moving some papers and running numbers on his tablet. The two men knew that one of the cafeteria staffers would be bringing sandwiches and soup again as well as coffee and tea for Tom. Rock swore the Brit was addicted to it. It wasn't cigarettes that stained the man's teeth brown, that's for sure.

Mr. Smith came over and sat on a stool at the draft table, which was lit from beneath, but Tom turned the light off and rolled the schematic up out of the way in anticipation of lunch being served soon.

"Well?" Rock asked.

"It appears we lost one of our key satellites today. This stays between us, do you understand, Crandon?" Smith asked, his eyebrows arched but his face serious.

"Understood, and that goes for Tom, too,"

"Aye, I'll keep it quiet-like," Tom said. Mr. Smith had relaxed over the last two weeks, if ever so slightly, and seemed to be at least trusting Rock and his team if not completely giving them the keys to the kingdom, so to speak.

"We don't know for sure, but the bird was tasked with daily surveillance of the Wenchang Space Center, and not more than an hour ago, it went offline. We can't reach it, and it's not responding to commands either."

"The Chin—" Tom was interrupted by Rock.

"What were you going to say?" Mr. Smith asked.

"Never mind, Tom was about to say something he would regret. So who and how? Any ideas?" Rock asked.

Smith looked at Tom, who smiled and raised his brows, before addressing Rock. "Obviously the Chinese, though only the Russians could have that kind of capability. We still don't know how yet either. Either a satellite or anti-bird missile from the ground."

"That would be one hell of a hit from earth-side," Rock commented.

"You know you're inferring they had weapons in space, which violates the London Accord," Tom said.

"I know, but what else could it be?" Rock asked.

"So why you being so nice and sharing this with us, eh?" Tom asked Mr. Smith.

"Because if they are willing to risk an act of war on this space race, then they may very well aim for something more personal and relevant next time."

"Jesus Christ Almighty! Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Tom asked, genuinely shocked for a change.

Rock looked at Smith, who stared back without saying a word, but his facial expression told Rock all he needed to know. "So there's a chance that any launch we execute could be met with something similar? It doesn't matter who is doing it; the fact that it was done means the risk and the stakes just got that much higher. Am I right?" Rock asked, continuing his stare down with Mr. Smith.

"You are correct, Crandon. This means you and your team may have to either alter the payload to accommodate anti-missiles or some other configuration to allow any launch a direct path to the moon in order to avoid a similar fate," Smith said.

"You can't just launch a rocket to the moon like in the _Looney Tunes_ ," Tom said, leaning back as a food service worker entered with a rolling cart and set down a tray of sandwiches with two bowls of soup along with a pitcher of coffee and a cup of tea.

"I didn't know you'd be here, Mr. Smith. Shall I get you a cup of soup, too?" the woman with her identification badge clipped to her collar said. The name on the tag read Samantha Summers.

"No, Mrs. Summers, I'll just eat one of these sandwiches and I'll get a soda from one of the machines later," Smith said.

"All right," Samantha said in her southern drawl. "Let me know if you change your mind. I'll be here till six. You can just ring us on the phone, extension eight one three."

"Thanks," Smith said, grabbing a sandwich and taking a big bite.

Rock grabbed a bowl of soup, tomato, and opened a packet of saltines, adding them and stirring a bit as it was piping hot. "You know, Smith, if there are missiles up there, I'm not so sure there is much we could do. I mean, the heat signature and radar profile of any rocket we send up would be impossible to miss. I don't know what you expect of us."

"Well, it's early yet," Smith answered. "Let me see what they have at Langley and Meade, and I'll get back to you and your team, agreed?"

"Fine, let us know sooner rather than later, though. It's a pain in the ass to re-compute fuel figures and change payloads if you're going to move the goal posts on us midgame, know what I mean?"

Smith nodded and took his sandwich over to a desk on the far side of the room near the windows where he would make his phone calls privately.

"What are you looking at?" Rock asked Tom as he took his first sip of soup, grabbing a sandwich and napkin to boot.

"Bloody hell of a way to start a war," Tom said.

# 9 Russia

_Gordust_ Space Station

Low Earth Orbit

In the near future, Day 14

* * *

Yuri watched as all four of his fellow cosmonauts were on an EVA or extravehicular activity. The orbital booster burn went as planned and raised the orbit from three hundred kilometers to well over three thousand. There was no sensation other than watching the curvature of the earth become more pronounced with the altitude gain. The higher orbit meant the station circled slower, and due to the nature of the burn, the orbit was slightly eccentric, wobbling between 3,284 kilometers and 2,955 kilometers.

The current mission was to attach the four larger burn motors so that the station could escape earth's gravity well. Each motor was large enough that it required four cosmonauts to attach each one to a corner of the space station structure. The first launch brought supplies for six personnel for over a month and returned the Americans to earth. The second brought a full load of both liquid hydrogen and oxygen which was transferred to the main propellant tanks. Yuri marveled at how the entire payload was nothing but fuel, and a burn of all of the fuel brought to the station only lifted it about three thousand clicks.

Geosynchronous orbit was about fifty thousand clicks, and the station would need several burns in order to obtain that orbit. Of course, they may not need to go that high if the final trans-lunar burn was used to bring them back to a few dozen miles of earth, using the craft's increased speed at perigee as a slingshot and building delta v acceleration enough to transit to the moon. The entire exercise was a matter of mathematics, and math was absolute, not fuzzy. What was fuzzy was the exact start of the atmosphere of earth and how closely the engineers and mathematicians in Moscow decided they needed to get in order to obtain the critical delta v impulse that would allow for a successful mission. The station had no drag or friction in space, but that would change when the mission started.

Yuri knew that a miscalculation in either the burn or trajectory would result in the station auguring into the ground. Well, what remained after the atmospheric destruction, as temperatures soared past ten thousand degrees kelvin. The other option was that the station would "bounce" off the atmosphere, changing its trajectory to one of deep space. If the velocity was high enough to escape earth's gravity well, then the station would leave earth orbit and become a part of the solar system, orbiting the sun and most likely never returning to earth again.

It was against this background that the man watched his fate being prepared for him by his comrades outside. He and Olga were volunteers, of course, but there was never really any choice. Once Ruscosmos explained the situation, the stakes, and what the Chinese were doing, well, there were no other options. Yuri was going to the moon.

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 14

* * *

Vlad watched as Dmitry stepped off of the Hind M24 heavy lift chopper, holding his hat on his head and walking to the door of the landing pad.

"Vladimir," the old man said, entering the building, "good to see you again! Great job on those initial launches. Moscow is pleased."

"You sound like you did when you were commanding in the old days." Vlad shook the man's hand and grabbed his briefcase from an aide who looked pale, not willing at first to give up the man's personal folders but relenting once Dmitry nodded.

The men walked down the corridor, entering the main administrative building, stopping at the elevator. "Those were the good ole days, Vlad. Remember when we stacked the German front? I wonder what would have happened had the premier not backed down. That would have been a fight, no?" Dmitry said, a smile and a pat on Vlad's shoulder as they entered the lift.

Vlad hit _O_ , which stood for observatory, bypassing the other floors.

"We're not going to your office?" Dmitry asked.

"I have something to show you," Vlad said. "I've set up a small table on the observatory deck where we can have a small bite to eat."

"Ah, sounds good, my old friend," Dmitry said as they arrived, and Vlad motioned for his boss to exit. They walked over to the large window panes that overlooked the main launch pad about two kilometers away, and Vlad pulled a chair out for the man. "Ah . . . my aide, Tamil?" Dmitry asked, looking around.

"Irina, can you take Secretary Osnokov's aide to the service quarters and see to it that he gets something to eat?" Vlad asked.

Irina came from the side lounge area and motioned for the aide Tamil to follow her. Soon after they departed, the two men sat as the late afternoon sun shone through the broad window panes overlooking the complex two hundred feet below. "Do you have vodka, Vlad?" Dmitry asked, anticipation in his voice.

" _Koneshna_ , only the best for you." Vlad motioned, and the service staff brought bread, butter, sugar, lemon wedges, and glasses, including shot glasses and a large bottle of Stolichnaya vodka.

"I see you've spared no expense," Dmitry said, smiling as Vlad poured him a shot. The old man took his lemon wedge and dipped it into the shallow sugar bowl, coating it, and then raised his freshly poured shot glass. " _Do Sdarovya_ ," he said, and Vlad accepted the toast, both men emptying their glasses in one fluid motion, popping sugared lemon wedges into their mouths right after the drink.

There was a moment of silence as Vlad looked his boss over before he spoke. "Now, Dmitry, you've kept me waiting for two days now sitting here wondering what could possibly be so urgent to bring a cabinet member from Moscow all the way out here. When were you planning on telling me?"

Dmitry smiled and pulled his lemon wedge from his mouth, setting the rind down on a separate saucer plate. "You're just like your father, do you know that? Together, I thought we'd push NATO all the way into the Atlantic, but alas, those were the old days. Now we have détente and diplomacy and reconciliation and, of course, social media. We are like dinosaurs now, Vladimir, old and extinct. Do you think there is any use for us anymore?"

"What have you been drinking?" Vlad asked.

"Oh, come now, you wouldn't refuse an old man his last fond memories now, would you?"

"Of course not, but that is the past and now we are faced with a greater challenge, are we not?" Vlad asked.

"Yes, you are right. Enough about the old days. I come to oversee the security of our complex as well. There is evidence, circumstantial in my opinion, that the Chinese have weapons in space," Dmitry said, looking for a reaction from his old student.

"That would be a major violation of the London Accord. Is your evidence strong?" Vlad asked.

"Strong enough. I don't think at this point the Chinese care. It gets worse, Vlad. We believe they have used these weapons already."

" _Blyad_! Not possible. That would mean war. All our assets are in place, are they not? What did they hit?"

"Not us, they took out an American spysat. Our counter surveillance satellite picked up the debris field of the American unit on infrared. There wasn't anything to see in the visible spectrum."

" _Bozhe, moi!_ Do the Americans know?"

"I have no idea. I'm sure they know their spybird is gone, but they may not know how. Moscow is worried that they will attempt to link our forces to this act."

"Should they?"

"What do you mean?" Dmitry asked.

"Do we have weapons in space?" Vlad asked.

"You would know, you are the administrator of Ruscosmos launch services. Of course we don't."

"I'm not so sure, Dima. I've sent up plenty of equipment, satellites, and other space-bound equipment for our government and many other governments, but I am not privy to most payloads if they are sealed in capsules or self-contained. You know that. Perhaps I should not be asking this question?"

Dmitry reached for the bottle of vodka, pouring himself another and filling Vlad's glass as well. "If we do have something up there, I have not been cleared to know. Our emphasis has been on ground assets, and I do know we have more than a few of them that could do the same thing only from here, not from orbit. No need to go there, but you should be aware that we are moving to Readiness Code Two tomorrow."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, we mobilize the entire Far East Military District. Moscow thinks it's possible that if things go poorly for the Chinese, they may just decide to make a strike at our only space launch site right here at Vostochny."

"Damn! I said we never should have built such a strategic asset so close to the Chinese border," Vlad said, picking up his glass and drinking his vodka without waiting for his boss to join him.

Dmitry drank half of his and then repeated the process of sugarcoating the lemon wedge before pulling the rind out and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "There are a few in Moscow that share your sentiment, but this is no time for finger pointing. The premier has decided to send three divisions from the west to Amur specifically for the defense of the Cosmodrome. Two of them are armored divisions and the third is a mechanical infantry. They will beef up the twelve divisions already active here in the Far East."

"What good will that do against the forty Chinese divisions we are facing now?"

Dmitry laughed. "Do not worry, old friend, that is what our nuclear deterrent is for. We will keep them at bay."

"I'm not so sure. Also, I want to know why Moscow aborted the heavy lunar launch. We were ready to fuel when we received the call. I thought we needed a lunar reconnaissance orbiter as quickly as possible."

"I'm sorry, Vladimir," Dmitry said, using his more formal name but smiling at the younger man. "That was part of the news I shared with you today. We can't risk losing the orbiter until we are sure we can launch without incident. It would do no good to take the only functioning spacecraft we have only to have it shot out of the sky before it could accomplish its mission."

"My God, this is getting out of control," Vlad said.

"Perhaps. We simply need to take precautions first. The lunar heavy launch will take place in a week. We must give the Red Army forces time to prepare. The Defense Minister informed me that we will have something special prepared for their space weapons."

"I hope you know what you're doing in Moscow. This could turn out badly for more than just our country."

"Nonsense, Vladimir. We have the Americans to help us." Dmitry laughed. Seeing the confusion on Vlad's face, Dmitry explained, "We will share the data we have with them. They will know who took down their precious spy satellite and act accordingly. Soon the Chinese will have more on their plate than they can handle when the Americans learn about their attack."

"Like I said, old friend, this is getting out of control."

"You may be right, but in the meantime, would it be too much to eat dinner for tonight? We can worry about world domination another day."

Vlad smiled and then started to chuckle, waving over the service staff who were waiting anxiously near the elevator with two carts laden with food. Let the Chinese deal with the Americans, and they would reach the moon first. Things were looking better already, if not less dangerous. Vlad enjoyed his meal.

# 10 Payload

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 15

* * *

"The president has personally cleared your team for clearance level Red One. That is why you received the extra briefs this week," Mrs. Brown informed Rock and his team as they sat for their daily meeting before work began.

"So reassuring," Jack said.

"So the Russians held back on launching their lunar reconnaissance craft due to this Chinese threat? Are we understanding this report correctly?" Marge asked, leafing through several sheets of paper marked Top Secret across the top in red.

"Yes, it appears from our intel that the Chinese somehow managed to get some anti-satellite missiles into space sometime during the last two years, if our data is correct," Mrs. Brown answered.

"It hasn't been in the news," Jack said.

"What are we going to do about it?" Tom asked. "We should shoot two of their birds down for that. I can't believe the president won't respond."

"It's under advisement, and the politics of the current situation are not relevant to your group," Mrs. Brown declared. "I advise you all to focus on the task at hand and leave the diplomacy and . . . counter reaction response to the military."

"Damn, this could start World War Three," Jack said, releasing a sigh in response to the news.

"I agree with Mrs. Brown; we should focus on getting Julie and Craig up there safely and leave the posturing to the technocrats," Rock said, looking at each team member in turn.

"Fine," Marge said, setting her papers down and returning Rock's gaze. "How long till we receive a lunar landing pod from JPL?"

"They're still modifying it to fit two astronauts. Remember it was designed as a larger rover for the Mars mission next decade, so to suddenly be asked to expand the design to accommodate crewmembers places a lot of strain on the engineers," Rock said.

"I've looked at the life support systems, and they are adequate, if not robust," Lisa said from her perch on her stool at the drafting table. Usually they held their briefings at the conference room table next to the lab room, but Mrs. Brown was late and Rock's team started to work.

Tom pulled up the relevant schematic and flipped the table light on so it was clearly visible.

"So this is what you've been working on?" Mrs. Brown asked, looking over Jack's shoulder at the diagram.

Rock's entire team looked at her with a wide range of emotions etched on their faces. This was the first time the NSA spooks seemed to care what they were doing.

"Yes," Lisa said, pointing to the spacecraft drawing on the table. "This was where the rover would have been secured on top of the lander. It actually acted sort of like a cargo bay where the rover and its instruments would ride the lander to the planet's surface. In the past, we've used airbags, parachutes, and rockets to land our equipment there safely. The Adomite-300 was going to use rockets for the Mars landing, so now we simply added a crew bay here"—she glided her fingertip to the command module—"and then used shielding around the base and outer walls to prep it for a human presence."

"Sounds simple enough," Mrs. Brown said.

"That's just the beginning," Jack said. "The rockets were designed for the rover's payload, not the crew's command module, so we have to adjust the thrust of the rockets to account for the extra weight."

"Not to mention the extra fuel load," Marge chimed in.

"Which changes the weight of the lander, that has to factor in the fact that the original rover design was meant for a one-way trip. This lander has to be able to return to lunar orbit as well, so it has to have more than twice the fuel load in order to escape the gravity well of the moon," Rock added.

"Also, don't forget the fact that this is just the lander. You have to have an orbiter to re-dock with," Tom said. "This means extra weight on the overall payload manifest."

"Which has to be calculated in the launch profile," Jack finished.

Mrs. Brown almost looked pale. "Well, I'm glad we have your expertise to count on, and I'm sure you'll find the right solution." She didn't wait for an answer and left the room completely, which was rare for her.

Tom chuckled. "We didn't even have to use any techno-jargon."

"Thank God," Jack said, and even Lisa smiled.

"Which brings me to the question," Rock said, more serious now. "Will this configuration work?"

"It will," Lisa said. "There's only so much our carbon scrubbers can do, but with only two bodies and these extra oxygen tanks, we should be able to match the ten-day mission profile with an extra two days to spare."

"That's cutting it a tad close, isn't it?" Marge asked, looking at Lisa.

"We can't add more oxygen tanks, and the current carbon scrubber would have to be twice as large unless we make one from scratch. That's the next largest size, and it would impact the dynamic envelope of the lander considerably." Lisa nodded.

"Probably take it over the maximum range," Tom ventured.

"Well, the mission can always be cut short, if that's an issue," Jack said.

"Or our handlers figure our nauts can stick it out for nine days instead of four," Marge said.

"You can't be serious, can you, Marjorie?" Lisa asked.

Marge nodded before Tom spoke. "Damn right they can, them bastards."

"Hey, aren't we in charge of the mission? We say lift off and bring Craig and Julie back on time. How could they interfere?" Jack asked.

"Don't ask, son. They'll do it one way or the other if they have to. We're all expendable when it comes to something like this," Tom said, giving his stern-father look at Jack.

Everyone looked at Rock. "I don't know, folks. Let's not take any chances, though. Jack, being our signals guy, can you rig the orbiter so that it communicates directly with the lander?"

"It's already configured that way," Jack said. "It's used as a relay from earth." He looked confused.

"No, I get that already. I'm talking about receiving commands from moon-side and not just mission control. I want to ensure that Julie and Craig can send commands to the orbiter and receive trajectory data from its radar so that they can lift off on their own, without data or telemetry feeds from earth."

Jack whistled, and Marge responded, "Wow, that's intense, Rock. You're willing to do that? Right under their noses?"

"You're damn right I'm willing," Rock said, his face serious.

"Screw them spooks, Marge. You know they'll do it if they have to. I like Rock's idea," Tom said.

"It'll be risky . . ." Lisa added.

"Not at all, unless someone talks," Rock said. There were looks, but no one spoke. "Can you do it, Jack?"

"Yes, I'll have to add some wiring and maybe an extra transceiver on the lander, but it can be done."

Marge added, "Just tell them it's a redundant system. That would be the truth, too." NASA was known for its triple redundancy, so no one would really question an extra piece of equipment if it was coded in the weight manifest as vital.

"Good. I'll talk to both of them this afternoon when they finish in the tanks, and fill them in. Jack, you try to get some downtime with them. Say when they transition to physical training, and get them up to speed on the equipment. Lisa, it's minor, but you reconfigure the weight profile, and Tom, you make sure the damn thing works. Marge and I will run point on this with the NSA," Rock said.

"Spooks," Tom retorted.

"NSA," Rock said, giving Tom a look. "Okay, now let's get to work."

The group broke with each team member heading to a laptop or tablet somewhere in the room, but Rock was sure he heard Tom mutter "spooks" under his breath as the man left. It would be a long day.

People's Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 20

* * *

Hun and his team had walked the debris field of the Long Reach impact site looking for anything salvageable. It had been an exercise in futility. Liquid hydrogen and oxygen didn't just burn, it burned hot. Hun was no geologist, but he swore some of the rocks at the impact site had turned molten and reformed as a different type of stone.

His entire team as well as over a dozen military officers were flown from Beijing to Wenchang the day after the catastrophic launch attempt. He knew the exercise wouldn't result in anything positive, but the military had insisted on it and had given Hun nearly a hundred soldiers to poke and prod through the blackened area. That had been a week ago. Hun's team had been flown back to Beijing and was hard at work configuring a way to get one of the Long Reach rockets ready to carry a reconnaissance payload to the moon. The problem is they were always overweight for what the military wanted to send.

"Can't we strip the horizontal brackets and use just one cross joint?" Chang Fu, his mechanical engineer, asked from the video feed on Hun's second monitor. Chang was nearly a thousand kilometers from the command center, working on the actual orbiter which was to be called Liquid Eye. Hun thought the name unique but silly, if nothing else. They had to use a Skype-like secure video connection to discuss the details with their chief mechanic.

"Our calculations show that any lateral stresses above four-point-five G's will result in structural failure," Hun said, looking at his data tablet.

"So we keep lateral forces to a minimum," Lin said from where she sat next to Hun.

"That would be a minimum considering the torque and spin once it enters LEO," Chon said.

"How would you know, Chon? You're a signals technician, not a mech engineer," Lin asked him from across the table.

"I studied thermal dynamics and geometry before I took up advanced wave theory at Sun Tsu," Chon said, referring to the new university which included advanced sciences as well as military theory.

"Chon's probably correct. I was hoping our trajectory could be flattened a bit to compensate; otherwise, I'm running out of ideas here," Chang said.

"The problem is we can't add fuel to the Long Reach in order to flatten the trajectory," Hun said, frustrated at the dilemma.

Everyone sat quietly for nearly a minute. The Chinese were known for their patience, and unlike Americans, silence was something to be welcomed, not avoided.

Finally Chon tapped on his paper. "Why do we have to send the orbiter on only one rocket?"

Lin looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "What kind of question is that?"

"Well, the entire purpose is to put eyes on the Fleeting Locust landing site, right?" Chon asked, referring to the unique name the original robotic mission had for itself. Hun nodded, as did Lin. "Well, we are already saving weight by going the lithium route on the battery instead of nickel-cadmium, but the whole thing is still large and heavy due to the electrical demands of the equipment on the orbiter. So we send up the equipment first, inserting it into lunar orbit minus the battery module, and then we send the battery module along with a docking clamp and mate it to the equipment module. Don't you see? Equation solved."

"Wait, yes, that would not only work but it would allow us to use a much stronger battery as well as bigger and more capable equipment," Lin said, excitement in her voice.

Hun started to see the benefits of the idea, but instantly the complications reared their ugly head. "Can you configure docking clamps to each cargo section, Chang?" Chang nodded from the monitor. "I'll need to ask General Wang if we even have two Long Reach rockets available. I was under the impression that we had only one."

"Well, we would have had two if the colonel—" Chon was cut off by Hun.

"Shhh, don't speak of it. What is done is done. Maybe we would have had two Long Reaches, but let's look at the future, not the past." Hun remembered all too vividly his boss's fate, and he was fairly sure they were being monitored. Chon was young and rebellious, a bad sign for anyone living under this regime.

"How long would it take for you to construct a docking collar?" Lin asked.

Chang looked down at something and then back into the monitor. "Inventory shows we have two small collars ready. I just need to bring them out and size them. Perhaps make an adjustment after checking their tolerance levels. The main issue will be the actual maneuver. There will be just over a two-point-five-second delay in all command inputs for docking. We'd either have to adjust here or make sure the computer programming is up to the task."

"I can take care of the programming," Chon said. "That shouldn't be an issue as long as I can get a targeting grid on the docking lens."

"Sir?" Lin asked, everyone falling silent and looking at their lead.

"Go with it, Chang. You, too, Chon. Make the programming fixes, and I'll present our idea to the general directly."

Hun received nods from all his staff, including Chang, who nodded through the monitor before clicking it off. Hun knew the raw parts were available, but he had no idea what the Red Army had done to their engineering capacity once they took over. He moved to his desk where he phoned General Wang's aide and requested an appointment. He told the aide it was urgent, and the man informed him he'd have an answer within the hour. It took only seven minutes, and Hun was instructed to meet the general in the director's office in ten minutes. It appeared Hun was going to have one shot at this, and he planned to make it work.

# 11 Payback

White House Situation Room

Washington D.C.

In the near future, Day 20

* * *

"Those bastards!" the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said more than a little uncharacteristically for his position.

President Powers looked at him and at the others in the presidential situation room located in the basement under the West Wing of the White House. "We're sure the Chinese destroyed our satellite?" she asked.

"No, Madam President, not sure, but our HUMINT indicates that it is probable that an anti-satellite missile took out our bird," the military attaché said, putting his papers back into his portfolio.

"It was a military sat, too, Madam President," the Secretary of Defense said to her, leaning over and then returning to his stoic posture beside her.

"Well, that explains our chief's reaction," she said. "We have protocols in place for this, do we not?"

"We do, Madam President, you only need to give the word," her Director of National Security said, a smug tone in his voice.

"Chief, are you in agreement with the deployment of the X47B Hunter drone?" she asked.

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff smiled. "Hell yes, Madam President, and not only in agreement but ready as well."

The Secretary of Defense clarified, "We've fueled the Atlas V at Vandenburg and stand ready to launch the Hunter within sixty minutes on your orders."

Everyone looked anxiously at the president while she took her time with the decision. "Proceed to execute Mission Boomerang, then."

People started to move quickly, some picking up secure phone lines, others heading to their duty stations. "You heard the president," said the chief, "time for some good ole fashioned payback, the hoorah way."

No one laughed, but more than a few smiled. Only a handful understood the danger involved. "Shall I give the order?" the Secretary of Defense said, his tone hushed, literally unheard by those in the same room, such was their focus.

"Yes, Secretary Davis, bring us to DEFCON three."

"Jesus, Gloria," the vice president said to the president, whispering as he leaned over so he wouldn't be overheard. "We're halfway there."

"I know, John. That's why we're taking precautions."

"Removing the U.S. emblem from the drone isn't exactly reassuring," the vice president said. "If they have optical surveillance on their own satellites, they can easily see where the attack originated from. They're in geo orbit, Gloria, and that makes us exposed," Vice President John Lee said, his entire brow furrowed in anxiety.

The president looked him in the eye, assessing her point man's resolve. "Peace through strength, John. We're weaker if we do nothing."

"We're talking about launching our drone near geosynchronous orbit. That's like over twenty-five thousand miles away. I'm no scientist, but the Hunter will be observable that high up, to more than just one device."

"I know, I read the report, and you'll remember the response time? That's why it's rigged with a self-destruct device. Hopefully, by the time they register the strike, there will be no drone to observe," she said.

"Hopefully?" He arched his brows, bringing a hand to his forehead.

"Take some aspirin and trust me on this."

"We've been through a lot, Gloria, but if you're wrong on this, we'll be at DEFCON one by tomorrow morning."

President Powers sighed. "I'm afraid you're correct, so let's hope I'm right."

"Lord have mercy," he said.

Vandenburg Air Force Base

Southern California

In the near future, Day 20

* * *

The Atlas Vb had a maximum fuel load and an extra pair of side-mounted fuel tanks as it was carrying the X47B Hunter drone into space and not the usual suborbital launch it was accustomed to performing. The drone itself was specially modified with an extra fuel pack as well as an explosives detail that would trigger automatically once the missile was launched. The missile was specially built to burn in a vacuum with a solid propellant that left little to no visual light once ignited. The fuel burned a dull red and, while highly noticeable in the infrared, it had a very low detection threshold in the visual spectrum.

Once the sun was about to set, obscuring the casual spectator, the Atlas Vb leaped into the sky from its California Vandenburg Air Force base on a very unusual trajectory over the continental United States instead of over the Pacific Ocean as was usual for safety reasons. After seven minutes, the rocket depleted its fuel load over the Caribbean Ocean and started its long decent for its return, eventually landing in the South Atlantic near the equator. The X47B's motors took over upon separation, propelling the drone to nearly twenty-five thousand miles per hour, while its trajectory flattened to bring it looping around the African Continent.

The drone had small lateral thrusters that fired in order to swing the drone on a highly inclined vector. This new heading resulted in the craft passing over the Indian Ocean, moving up and out, away from the earth, in a very unusual launch profile. The radar on the drone's head lit up, searching the sky, immediately identifying three large satellites orbiting the earth in geosynchronous orbit within its targeting arc. Two satellites were immediately identified as friendly and discarded, but the third met the profile for the target programmed into its computer sensor. A Chinese multimodal satellite array.

The drone never stopped, making minute changes to its flight path as it burned the last of its fuel. Its speed started to slow immediately as the pull of the earth's gravity well beckoned the drone to return. The drone launched its only missile, which was three times the size of a normal air-to-air missile. Once the drone's radar indicated the weapon was over one hundred miles away, the explosive charges were set off and the X47B Hunter ceased to exist.

The missile, already carrying substantial delta-v, continued to accelerate, making the slightest of course corrections, much as its mother drone had done. It reached a top speed of nearly fifty thousand miles per hour and in less than twenty minutes had reached its target. The one hundred pounds of high explosive Semtex-D did not require oxygen as part of its chemical composition change.

The explosion was, contrary to its engine exhaust, highly visible as the explosives, missile, and satellite were transformed into microscopic space debris. Seventy percent of transcontinental communications in and through China were instantly interrupted. The second act of aggression in space had just been recorded in modern human history.

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 21

* * *

The Energia X was being prepped for fueling on the launch pad as Vlad and Dmitry watched from the observation deck. The launch of the heaviest rocket in Russian history was finally going to happen this week, and Vlad was glad to see the mission safely accomplished.

"So we're sure the lunar orbiter will be properly shielded?" Vlad asked Dmitry as the two men enjoyed a cup of tea as the sun began to set. The Russians liked to launch after dusk.

Dmitry knew that while Vlad was the program administrator, he was limited in knowing what some of the payloads actually did and how they were configured. Sure, he was given weight and size data and overall basic purposing of each manifest, but this did not mean he knew all the details. There had been no time to update the report and send it to him. He'd inform the man in person, having spent all week at the Cosmodrome staying in the VIP guest quarters on base.

"Yes, Vlad. The _Glaz_ in geo orbit is still picking up gamma, x-ray, and other high wavelength pulses from the alien device. We've constructed a combination of shielding around the orbiter as well as its instrument arrays. We aren't sure how close we can get to the device, but we'll have measurements in real time as the mission progresses."

Vlad knew the _Glaz_ was a scientific satellite collecting data over Europe, but now its multi-phased antenna array was pointed at the moon and monitoring the various waves emanating from its far side. "Good, we may actually be the first to observe the dynamic device."

Dmitry put his teacup down. "The Chinese actually have photographs of the device, so we'll be second." A frown appeared on the man's face.

"No, Dima, I meant dynamic, not static. Whatever is up there, it was inert when they arrived, but now it's active. Whatever it's doing, we'll be the first to know."

"Perhaps," Dmitry responded, a look of contemplation on his face. "There is no knowing what we will find up there. This is uncharted history, my old friend, and it feels good to be taking point on it."

Vlad smiled. His old boss and friend had become more sentimental and fond of the old Soviet days when the empire ruled supreme and their armed military might had the west cowering. Those days had long ago passed, and the Federation found itself struggling to keep pace with the US-China GDP race that had been going on for most of the last few decades.

"Dangerous moves we make. If they find out about our little game, there could be serious consequences," Vlad said.

"Maybe the designers of that device up there," Dmitry said, nodding toward the faint outline of the crescent moon as it rose in the eastern sky, "wanted to test our planet's resolve in such matters. We are all nuclear powers, armed to the teeth with global destruction. Maybe this is only our first test as a species, a way to see if we're worthy of say . . . greater enlightenment."

"Are we?" Vlad asked.

"We are, but I'm not sure about the Chinese or Americans." Dmitry chuckled and resumed drinking his tea.

"Speaking of which, have we any news from the spat between the two?"

"It appears the Americans have countered, but the actual details weren't even cleared at my level. It seems our security forces feel we have an intelligence leak somewhere, and they are compartmentalizing all sensitive data for now. What little I heard came from Oleg at Strategic Air Command. Bah! It is too late now for delicacies. Time to hit with the hammer before we become irrelevant."

"Speak for yourself, old timer. I plan on seeing the next century if our medical advances keep pace. Now what is with the leak? I thought we had our plans air tight," Vlad asked.

"We picked up some chatter from a top level state diplomat in France who seemed privy to our plans before we executed them."

"What plans?"

"The removal of the Americans from the Gordust," Dmitry said, reaching for a mint in his inner coat pocket and offering one to Vlad, who accepted.

" _Nyet_ , you can't be serious."

"I'm afraid I am. So here we are, none the wiser, and that is also part of the reason why we delayed the launch. We wanted to know who could pass this information along. We are being monitored."

"Of course we are," Vlad said, motioning for Irina to bring the tablets to his table. "We are always being monitored. What else is new?"

"Ah, Irina, is it?" Dmitry asked, noticing the shorter than normal skirt and the long, slender legs that she displayed.

"Yes, Secretary Osnokov," Irina said, placing the portable tablets in front of each man and dropping off a set of folders with a red security band around them. "Will there be anything else, Vladimir?" she asked, twirling a small strand of hair with her index finger and tucking it behind her ear, the motion bordering on flirtation.

Vlad noticed the slight raise of Dmitry's right brow, not visible to Irina as he gave Vlad a rather interesting look. "No, we'll monitor the launch from here. We have the radios and phones, so if we need anything, we'll ring you."

"Very well," she said, nodding to Vlad and smiling at Dmitry before departing.

"I see . . ." Dmitry said.

"Don't start, please. I've suffered enough. What can I say? I am a weak man."

"We all are, Vlad. We all are."

The men watched as the powerful rocket was fueled, and within an hour, the large digital countdown timer, over five meters tall near the launch pad, reached triple zeros, and the dark Siberian forest was illuminated with the bright glow of the rocket's exhaust. Data from the command center was wired directly to the men's tablets, showing thrust force, time after liftoff, flight trajectory, and relative speed.

Within a few minutes, the entire base was returned to its normal illumination of the large pale electrical lamps as the Energia X swung across the horizon and out of sight. The Russians were going to the moon.

# 12 Space Station

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 24

* * *

The news had been less than ideal. Rock sat at the conference table in the room next to their working lab, looking at the daily report Mr. Smith had given him that morning. The engineers in Pasadena and his own mission team were told to speed up the process for the first manned lunar mission in over half a century.

The Russians had launched what appeared to be a lunar reconnaissance satellite to the moon. It was even now supposed to be entering lunar orbit after the three day journey. This was a major setback for the Americans in the race to reach the alien object. For two days, they figuratively held their collective breaths, wondering if the HUMINT reports were wrong and that this mission actually had cosmonauts on board. The daily report indicated they did not—it was only a robotic probe designed to gather data on the device and its signals, including photographic details. That would be interesting.

"Well, at least they haven't reached it first," Jack said from across the table, drinking on his morning coffee.

"Damn Ruskies," Tom said. A frown appearing on his face as it usually did when referring to their adversary. "They are the only ones with astronauts in space. It won't take them long to get there. They've already done half the work and are way ahead of us on this."

"I'm not one to always agree with Tom," Marge said, and at this, Tom smiled, "but he's right. That's why we have to leap frog and go straight there with Craig and Julie. What do you think is holding the Russians back?"

Most of his team looked at him, though Rock noticed Lisa was intent on reviewing something in her report. "I'm not so sure I'd trust this data. What if this lunar recon bird that they sent up is actually a supply module? It could contain extra oxygen, fuel, even food supplies for their space station. You guys were on it last. How long can it sustain six cosmonauts?"

Julie and Craig had joined them this morning and were seated at the table along with Jeff Wheeler, their electrical engineer. Julie spoke first. "The station has four personnel pods, though they could support eight if they hot bunk it." This referred to the practice of two crewmembers sharing one bed or sleeping device. On the space station, the beds were more like vertical hammocks that secured the cosmonaut against a padded bulkhead wall during sleep.

"Yeah, and the science labs could hold a lot of material or equipment if they jettisoned their current scientific experiments," Craig added. Julie cringed at that, her displeasure more than visible.

"You had several going, didn't you, Julie?" Marge asked.

"Yes. Two of them involved animal subjects, mice and ants."

"You probably got plenty of them critters orbiting our planet by now, Jules," Tom said.

"Jesus, Tom, show some compassion," Marge said, giving Tom a glare, and she wasn't the only one. Lisa looked up from her papers to give Tom a similar disapproving look.

"What? I'm just saying. I know them, and they were sure to jettison anything that hindered their mission, right, Rock?" Tom looked at Rock, almost pleading for some support.

"Don't you take his side, Richard." Lisa gave Rock a stern look.

"I'm not taking anyone's side. Let's move on. I want to know if that station could handle, what"—Rock looked down and thumbed through his notes—"six cosmonauts in the space allocated?"

"Mr. Crandon," Craig began, "I think Julie will agree with me when I say that the Russian _Gordust_ is like a huge recreation vehicle compared to anything we've had or even seen. The construction required over thirty launches of their medium and heavy lift rockets, and the payloads were intense when it came to weight and volume. They put a lot of effort into creating a top notch station. Now I've never been to the Euro, ah, international space station, but I can tell you that the _Gordust_ is more than spacious, very strong structurally, and more than able to provide adequate life support for eight or more cosmonauts."

Julie nodded. "The décor is practical, nothing luxurious, but its functionality is beyond question. They can, and will, pull this off."

"So why haven't they just done it already, then?" Jack asked.

There was silence for a moment while they all contemplated the question. If the station could be boosted to the moon, what were they waiting for?

"Navigation," Lisa said. The looks around the table varied from confusion to understanding. "The RV has no steering wheel, get it?"

"Wait, that's right. They have a solid platform but no way of guiding it yet," Marge said.

Mrs. Brown starting writing furiously. "Do you have to do that?" Tom asked, annoyance in his voice.

Mr. Smith frowned. This was one of those rarer times when Rock's team was blessed with the presence of both security officials. Usually, Mr. Smith roved between the three teams at NASA headquarters while Mrs. Brown seemed to be assigned specially for the mission team.

Jeff and his engineers were on the near wing working the equipment while across the building the academia and scientists were analyzing the signals and data from the alien device. Rock had reason on more than one occasion to visit Jeff and his team down the hall, and he noticed a "suit," as Tom called them, assigned to the equipment team. It seemed all three groups had security personal assigned to them with Mr. Smith managing the effort.

"I'm just taking notes," Mrs. Brown said, never looking up from her writing.

"Is it true the president sees all your notes?" Jack asked.

"It's not important what information is passed on. What is important is that we find a way to get to the moon with a manned craft quicker than the Russians or the Chinese. Personally, I wouldn't share this information with you—need to know—but I've been overruled. So you have the latest intel on our adversaries, and you're tasked with using it to assist you in formulating and tweaking your plan, nothing more," Mr. Smith said.

Rock knew the president personally overrode the NSA's objections, but decided gloating or goading his handler would accomplish nothing. "All right, people, what does this mean for our mission? How does this affect the parameters of our launch?"

"Well, it gives us a bit more time," Marge said.

"And we know what they're waiting on," Jack added.

"So if Lisa's right, they would need some sort of navigation or control pod to add to their station." Rock looked at his team. "Their current station doesn't allow them forward viewing, so until that is fixed, they are stuck in orbit. Low or high, it doesn't matter."

"Why do they need to see anything?" Mrs. Brown paused her note-taking to ask. "Why not fly this thing sideways? Would it matter?"

"Yeah, why not use those side portholes to line up their lunar approach and insert into orbit using a fixed view finder that way? I'm sure they could bring one up from planet-side easily enough," Jack asked.

"Impossible," Jeff chimed in, his rare voice being heard among the group. "The entire station is structured along those two primary load bearing I-beams, right, Craig? Julie?" he asked the astronauts, pausing long enough to see them nod. "So any rockets capable of providing enough thrust to exit the earth's orbit would have to be larger than normal vectoring motors, and I'm pretty sure the only place to mount them would be along the x-axis, horizontally."

Craig jumped in. "Exactly. The shorter y-axis beams are only used for providing cross structure strength. They would not bear a load very well, and I'm not sure they could support a sustained rocket burn."

Mr. Smith looked annoyed. "What does this all mean in layman's terms?" _He always reverted to that phrase when confronted with what was commonly thought of as techno-babble_ , Rock thought.

"It means, Mr. Smith," Marge interjected, "that the Russian space station can only travel to the moon front first or rear first. Not sideways. They still need a steering wheel." Marge smiled to Lisa, and Rock was surprised to see the gesture returned. Were the two actually working together better? _That would be a most welcome development_ , Rock thought to himself.

"I still don't see why they need to see visually," Mrs. Brown said, resuming her note-taking while asking the question.

"Because the insertion window for lunar orbit is relatively narrow," Lisa said. "Less than one degree, if my calculations are correct."

"They are," Marge said, again uncharacteristically friendly to Lisa.

"So if they are out of alignment by even half a degree, then they could be flung past the moon and end up either sailing off into intra-solar space or worse, be directed inward toward the sun. With very limited fuel, there would be no escaping that gravity well," Lisa said.

"Either that, or end up auguring into the lunar surface," Jack said.

"Then it would be _adios_ , _muchachos_ , to borrow a line." Tom chuckled.

"Why not just put cameras on the front and be done with it?" Mrs. Brown asked, again pressing her questions seemingly in support of her report.

"Because they don't know what took out the Chinese equipment," Marge followed up. "Neither do we, so if their camera system goes down, they would be flying blind."

Tom leaned forward for emphasis. "They could fly that bad boy old school with just an HUD on the forward viewport like we did the Apollo missions. As long as they have the HUD calibrated, there is no need for cameras."

"And if the HUD goes down?" Mr. Smith asked.

"They use an overlay on the glass, measured from the pilot's seat. No electronics required," Tom answered.

"You getting all this?" Mr. Smith asked Mrs. Brown.

"I have it. I'll compile it and send it to headquarters within the hour," she responded.

"So what do you think the Russians are doing?" Jeff asked.

"Getting ready to place a steering wheel on their station," Rock answered.

_Gordust_ Space Station

Low Earth Orbit

In the near future, Day 25

* * *

Yuri watched as the remains of the mice were jettisoned along with several boxes of American instruments and equipment. One would have thought that Olga had some kind of compassion within her soul, but she was ready to jettison the mammals into space alive. Yuri had to insist as senior commander that she euthanize them first. Luckily they still had a fair amount of ether that the American female astronaut had used to knock the mice unconscious when handling them. Olga dumped most of the ether into an absorbent rag inside their cage and sealed it. The creatures fell asleep and passed within minutes. The ants weren't so lucky.

Better if the woman had taken them back to earth with her, but they had to keep up pretenses and maintain the façade that they were going to continue with her science projects until a return of an American crewmember. That also gave the diplomats earth-side some cover since they could maintain that by monitoring the American experiments, they were still technically abiding by the terms of the station's joint use agreement. Yuri was sure that wasn't going to fly anymore.

He moved over to the port window, watching as Gregori and Nikolai were attaching the space rocket to the long support beam. He was the only person certified to operate the long central robotic arm that was similar to what the old U.S. space shuttle had, except more than twice as long, and it had three times the strength in its hydraulic motors. The last couple of days, Yuri had used the arm to bring the personnel pods into the inner rails, making room for the large rockets.

This had brought another set of issues as the living pods were equipped with radiative fins to disperse heat. Despite the fact that space was neither hot nor cold, a common misunderstanding by most, their main issue was radiating heat away from the station, especially when they were on the sun's side of the earth. Pulling the pods closer to the station made it harder to radiate excess heat, and Yuri had already noticed a slight increase in the overall average internal temperature range. It increased by nearly half a degree Celsius. It would get worse by another quarter of a degree when the four cosmonauts were primarily inside the craft as their cumulative body heat added to the overall temperature of the station.

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were going to shed a tear for those rodents," Olga said, a note of condescension in her voice.

"It was the humane thing to do, Olya. Don't start with me today. We have work to do."

"I tested the internal radio system. You're cleared to use the open mike on the arm console instead of the handheld," she said.

"Good, _molodyets_ ," he said, smiling now. "I'll need both hands to manipulate the arm on the front side. It's bad enough to be working blind, but to have to use a hand for push to talk, that would be unacceptable," Yuri said, relieved that she had wired the frequency into his robotic console.

"Every nail has its hammer," Olga shot back, using an old Siberian saying from the early twentieth century, floating by Yuri and allowing him access to the robotic console. She would allow him to check it. " _Veri no proveri_ , trust but verify, was an even older Russian saying. Yuri would triple check the radio and make sure it was working properly, obeying his voice commands, before utilizing it with his comrades working right next to the arm.

_The Americans will never see this coming_ , Yuri thought, quickly dismissing the melancholy from the earlier activities. Time to look forward . . . literally. Yuri smiled.

# 13 Planning

People's Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 20

* * *

The connection dropped without warning, and Hun looked at several other monitors in the room. Most were still displaying properly, but a select few were showing only static.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Lin looked at her readout and then checked the back of the monitor. "No idea, sir, the connection terminated. Maybe at the source. Our systems look fine from here."

"Chon, you're our signals tech. Can you look into this?" Hun asked.

Chon nodded and then headed over to the communications room to check the servers and verify that all their local equipment was working properly. The link with their chief engineer, Chang, at the rocket construction site had been lost in midstream. Hun had a very bad feeling about this.

"Want me to ask the general's office?" Lin asked, looking at the doorway that led to the militarized part of the office complex.

"No, send a priority report coded 'unusual,' letting them know we have a disruption, but I want to keep this low key on our end."

Lin nodded and then walked over to her desk, sitting down and starting the unusual occurrence report that would be sent to the general's office. Hun would follow protocol, but he wasn't about to raise any eyebrows with the event and he had been hearing rumors. Not every soldier was so quiet when it came to clandestine operations, and bits and pieces were heard since they worked with each other in close proximity. Let the general figure it out. He had a job to do.

It took less than half an hour before Chon returned, and Lin had sent her report within ten minutes. "All servers appear to be working just fine," Chon said.

"I'll add this to the report as an addendum and update," Lin said, returning to her desk.

"So what now?" Chon asked.

"If we can reestablish communications, then we'll get confirmation that they've finished the lander and we're ready to launch," Hun said.

"What about the docking idea and two rockets?" Chon asked.

"I was saving that part for last, after Chong finished his report. The general shot that idea down and has decided to abort any plans for a lunar orbiter or reconnaissance mission. We're to prepare for a direct manned landing." Hun looked at Chon.

Lin walked back over, hearing the last line Hun said. "Can we do that?"

"We don't have a choice," Hun said, rubbing the stubble on his head. He remembered years ago when he had a full head of hair, but now, just stubble. It was better this way, kept out the grey strands.

"We have no astronauts," Lin replied, undeterred. "Who will they send?"

"My guess would be military types. Perhaps pilots or ship commanders?" Chon speculated.

Lin punched in some commands on her laptop. The written schematics Chang had transmitted were clearly readable, and the lone command chair indicated the general's new plan. Chang was taking orders directly from the military and working with Hun's group on the logistics after the fact. _Not a wise way to conduct business_ , thought Hun, _but it kept the military in charge_. "Looks like a mission of only one astronaut."

Chon looked pale. "That sounds more like suicide than a mission."

"Yes, but there will be no lack of volunteers, and the level of automation that's in this schematic clearly shows they won't need someone who is familiar with piloting anything, much less a spaceship," Lin said.

Hun knew she was right. "Yes, it looks like our Long Reach rocket just doesn't have the boost necessary to carry much more than a few tons to the moon. This entire schematic looks cramped. Less than three square meters of habitable space. That is claustrophobic for anyone, much less someone flying a quarter million miles to the moon. Did we get the entire file before the connection was lost?"

"Yes, sir," Lin said, moving her laptop so he could see it better, and Chon looked over her shoulder at the display. "The systems check out. They used my numbers for minimal life support as well as proper systems integration of all critical components. They even placed a couple of systems on double redundancy, but not all of them."

"Which ones did they leave out?" Chon asked, looking at Lin.

Lin grabbed her notes, leaving the laptop so all could still view the interior schematic of the lunar lander. "Every RF scanner sensor as well as the cooling system and the navigation computer."

"Is that wise?" Chon asked.

"Of course not," Hun said, "but they are following our recommendations, don't you see?"

"No, boss, how so?" Chon asked, a bit more informal with Hun than Lin since they had a much longer history together. Considering the culture, this was significant.

"We've submitted a detailed list of all critical systems in order to accomplish the mission. The scanners were at the bottom of the list; we can pick up those RF signals from here. The nav computer was higher up, but it had a caveat. If the module had a piloting facet to it, then the navigation computer was less critical. We can relay telemetry data directly to the craft using our ground-based radar as long as the communications systems were triple redundant."

"They made those double only," Lin said, looking at her notes to confirm what she already knew.

"What about the cooling system? That seems more than critical to me," Chon asked.

"You know, they don't have more than minimal radiation shielding either," Lin added.

Hun scratched the stubble on his chin now, the extremely short goatee matching the stubble on his head. "Let me think for a second." His two team members waited patiently, looking over the schematic and the data on the lander. There were several questions they wanted to ask Chang, but that would have to wait.

"What is this?" Hun asked, pointing to the top of the drawing on Lin's laptop.

Lin peered closer, squinting. "That looks like a return vehicle."

"The entire lander is supposed to return, isn't it?" Chon asked.

"Yes," Hun said. "This looks like a secondary return vehicle, except much smaller."

Now it was Chon's turn to look closer at the schematic. "Can you zoom in on that top array?" he asked Lin.

Lin moved the laptop and scrolled to the percent bar, enlarging the drawing by fifty percent, and then moved the screen to the top half of the lander.

"It does look like a return craft, and this would be what Chang was referring to before we lost him," Chon said, pointing to the top of the landing craft and then tracing a line that looked like a conduit from the top of the lander down to the side and finally ending just above the landing shield near a foot strut.

"Wait a second, I see what's going on here," Hun said, comprehension on his face. "The secondary lift vehicle is in case the lander is disabled. The pilot will be able to launch it into orbit with a small payload."

"You mean the device?" Lin looked at Hun, her face conveying a look of surprise.

"Yes, Lin," Hun said. "The exhaust from the secondary vehicle would render the first inoperable."

"That would make it a one-way trip," Chon said, wiping his brow with his shirt sleeve.

"The entire secondary vehicle is mechanical. Look here," Lin pointed out. "The systems are not integrated with the navigation computer. Instead they have only one flight profile, lunar orbit."

"What does it do when it reaches orbit? If it reaches orbit?" Chon asked.

"That part is unknown, but the military would have to have a plan to retrieve it before the Americans or Russians," Hun said, looking sideways at both his team members.

"Any news on what they're doing?" Lin asked.

"None," Hun said. "You know as well as I do the military won't share that kind of data with us."

"Yeah, but we hear things," Chon said, almost whispering now.

"Whispering won't help." Lin elbowed Chon. "If they are listening, then it won't matter."

"True, but I don't care about that. I do care that we succeed." Hun smiled. "Now let's get the last systems checks done so we can support whomever the general selects to pilot the craft. Oh, and let's see if we can't raise Chang by some other means. Did you try calling?"

"First thing I did while checking the servers," Chon said. "Telephone lines are down as well."

"They were?" Lin asked, her face contorting a bit as she thought something through.

"Yes, why?" Chon asked.

"Wenchang comms are satellite based only; they never had any cables laid to the island." Lin smiled.

Hun realized his systems technician was right. "Yes, that means we lost the communications satellite. Raising Chang will be difficult until the government routes communications through another device or mode."

"That's one way to slow our mission," Chon said.

"Right, this has to be from one of the two." Hun did not name the countries involved. It was obvious. "Lin, go down to the general's office and inquire about the communications." Hun waved her objections down. "I know we just sent the unusual occurrence report, but this is different. We need access to Chang and the lander in order to modify the systems and give us the best chance for success. Just do it, Lin, and report back when you're done. I'd go myself, but I have an idea I want to prepare for the general first and time is short."

"Understood. I'll go now," Lin said.

"Thank you, Lin," Hun said, watching her pull her papers together and then leave the room.

"You want me to run another systems check on the communication servers?" Chon asked.

"No, stay here with me. I have an idea, but I need your help. Like I said, we don't have much time." Hun placed a hand on Chon's shoulder and smiled. Chon nodded and then pulled up a chair. It would be a frantic day.

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 27

* * *

Marge sat with Rock and Jack at a smaller table near the window, watching the sun set. His team had been working well over sixteen hours a day, and burn out was evident. Rock wanted to call for a break if he could get Mr. Smith to agree. His team would be no good anymore if they started to make mistakes or worse, miscalculate due to sleep deprivation.

"So what's so important to call an emergency meeting?" Rock asked, drinking coffee again. It was a necessity now despite the evening hours. They would work well past midnight and then return in the morning before the sun came up.

"We have a hypothesis, but it's iffy and we have a problem," Marge said.

"Well, I'll take any one of your iffies any day," Rock said. "What news?"

"The alien signals have remained the same; they cover the entire RF spectrum as well as the usual gamma and x-rays. We approached the problem from the perspective of what could knock out a rover and lander," Marge said.

Rock nodded. "Go on."

"Electromagnetic pulse," Jack said, a smile crossing his face as he enjoyed the look of confusion on Rock's.

"EMP?" Rock asked. "Come on, we ruled that out on day two."

"Marge, do you mind?" Jack asked. Rock knew that Marge was more eloquent when it came to explaining things, especially those of a scientific nature, not to mention being more cultured in her word choices when compared to the signals engineer, so Rock took all this in stride.

"Richard," Marge began, and Rock knew he was going to get one of those type of speeches from his second in command. "We ruled out the radioactive pulse because it has a much longer range and we would have detected it here, planet-side. The electric pulse was ruled out because the shorter range would not have been able to reach the orbiter without us being able to detect it."

"So? What are you trying to say?" Rock asked, not seeing any progress.

"What if there was an EMP-type pulse that had the range of the radioactive pulse but the potency of the electric?" Marge asked.

"We're talking impossible here. Not within the laws of physics," Rock retorted, noticing the arrival of Tom who was bringing a pot of coffee.

"Mind if I join you?" Tom asked.

Rock was thinking this would be harder with Tom around, but relented. The man had fresh coffee. Who could object? "Pull up a seat, Tom," Rock said, motioning to one of the free chairs and handing out his cup for a refill.

"What's up, Doc?" Tom asked Marge, filling first Rock's cup and then his own. Marge wasn't drinking coffee, and Jack had placed his hand over his half full cup. Before sitting down, Tom reached into his large, voluminous white lab coat pocket. He fished around a bit and pulled out a handful of sugar packets and a couple of small cream containers. "Cream, sugar?"

"One of each, thanks," Rock said.

"Don't let me interrupt," Tom said.

Rock let it go and stifled a chuckle when Tom grinned at him. Marge seemed patient enough. "Go on, Marge, finish what you were saying," Rock said.

"I was venturing a hypothesis about the root cause of the Chinese equipment failure," Marge said, looking at Tom. Marge continued after Tom nodded. "If the EMP was a hybrid, then it could have blown the electronics out of their equipment. We didn't detect the pulse because it was of low enough intensity to not be detectable from earth but strong enough to reach the orbiter."

"So their orbiter is about what? Sixty or seventy miles above the surface?" Rock ventured.

"Sixty-eight point three parked in a frozen orbit," Marge said. "That's why it hasn't decayed yet."

Rock knew that there were only four orbits at various degrees that could sustain a satellite or orbiter so that it could stay in place almost indefinitely, and the Chinese had used the highest one. "So their rover approached the object when the orbiter cleared the horizon, using the highest orbit that would give them the maximum time for line of sight between rover and orbiter."

"Correct," Marge said.

"The rover touches or probes the device and it triggers some sort of EMP, disabling their equipment." Marge and Jack both nodded. "This EMP is propagated, using some sort of alien technology, enough so that it can reach the orbiter yet remain undetected from earth. Finally, you're saying that this entire hypothesis of yours basically violates what we know about physics and pretty much all wave technology. Do I have it correct?" Rock asked.

"That's pretty much it, Rock, but there's one more detail that affects the entire mission," Marge said.

"Pray tell, what would that be?" Rock asked.

"Show him, Jack," Marge said, motioning with her head.

Jack pulled out a large map of the lunar surface with concentric circles. "These are the estimated levels of radiation and electromagnetic energy emanating from the device based on our hypotheses. The levels near the device would be lethal to almost any shielding."

"My God!" Rock said, realizing the implication. "We'd be sending Craig and Julie to their deaths."

"Yup," Jack said, frowning at Rock.

There was a moment of silence before Tom spoke. "What are you going to do, Rock?"

"Time to change our plans. We've just wasted two weeks of planning. I think Mr. Smith should know about this now."

"Well, that's just great," Tom said, setting his coffee cup down. "And if the spook doesn't believe Marge?"

"Then we kill two of our own." Rock sighed.

# 14 Change of Plans

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 24

* * *

It took just over an hour to convene the emergency meeting. Mr. Smith was livid and insisted on notifying the executive branch immediately. Whatever was happening, Rock soon learned that the president and her staff had been alerted and gathered in the White House Situation Room. Rock and his team had been working on a solution for an hour straight, and luckily Marge and Jack had an idea already on the planning board when they broke the news to him.

The president was clearly visible on the large screen in the auditorium. To Rock's consternation, Mr. Smith had literally called all three teams together as well as the executive branch for this brief. He had hoped for a smaller group to discuss the potential issue in greater detail before just running with it. As a scientist, he was accustomed to testing any hypothesis first before acting on it, but time was running out and if Marge was correct, then they were barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. The entire last two weeks were a potential colossal waste of time. He only hoped they could salvage something from their work, and Marge had come up with a bold but feasible plan.

"So explain to me why we didn't know about this earlier?" President Powers asked, and Rock could not only see her frustration but hear it in her voice as well.

"This information was brought to our attention less than two hours ago," Mr. Smith said, looking at his watch to make sure it was indeed within the allocated time frame that he specified. _The man was thorough if nothing else_ , Rock thought.

"Who made the discovery?" the president asked.

"Well, it's not an actual discovery," Mr. Smith said while Mrs. Brown tapped away furiously on her tablet from where she stood next to Smith. "It's a hypothesis for now."

"So it could be wrong?" the president asked.

"Yes, but the NASA team seems convinced," Smith said.

Rock noted how the president was asking her questions directly, no staff or aide to facilitate for her, and he thought it peculiar that Smith would create some separation between his agency and Rock's. _This isn't boding well for my team_ , he thought.

"Let me hear from the NASA team, then," the president said.

Marge stood, but Rock motioned for her to sit back down. He would take point on the issue as team leader and not let Marge be a target in case things got ugly. Marge was one of the most brilliant minds Rock had ever had the pleasure to work with, but when it came to dealing with politics and . . . well, other women, Marge's skill set was more than a bit lacking.

"Madam President, I'll handle the details, if you don't mind?" Rock said, standing from the first row and walking next to Mr. Smith near the camera. President Powers nodded and Rock began.

"You've been briefed, and our data has been sent to you in the report. It's all there. I'm only going to spell out the implications. We have a high confidence level in our data, and if correct, it means the current mission profile is doomed to failure. There is no way for even our _Saturn V_ to be able to lift the payload required if it has to be that heavily shielded."

Mrs. Brown worked her magic, and a side screen came up on each monitor, showing payload data.

"It would require more than four times the lift capability of the _Saturn_ in order to reach the moon with the shielding weight requirements for success. Not only do we not have that ability right now, but even if we did, we could not successfully launch the equipment in four different loads. It needs to be integrated, and that is literally impossible with our current configuration, not to mention our lack of that many rockets," Rock said.

"But your team's calculations could be incorrect?" the president asked.

"The actual energy output of the EMP could be off—we have no reliable way to measure it near the source—but the hypothesis on the propagation profile and power estimates fit perfectly to explain the two phenomenon of the Chinese equipment failure and the inability of our scanners to detect any trace of an EMP pulse," Rock said. "We know for a fact the Chinese equipment is dead. That should at least indicate the use of caution on our part."

Rock looked toward Craig and Julie, who were seated near the first row. It would be their lives on the line, not anyone else's, and Rock intended to hammer that fact home if he had to, president or not.

The president leaned over and whispered something into the ear of the Director of National Security before resuming and looking right into the camera. "Could readings from a probe nearby confirm this hypothesis?"

"Well, yes, if it was sensing the pulse strength and was properly shielded itself, it could measure the EMP strength quite accurately, especially if it was in a different orbit from the Chinese. Given two separate readings, one an estimated range to simulate the pulse strength of the Chinese orbit, and then a ratio could be calculated and a fair approximation assessed for the wave's strength at the source of origin," Rock said, his tone one of confusion. "But we have scrapped the plans for a lunar reconnaissance craft and would have no way of confirming the hypothesis without this additional data."

Powers looked at her notes on the table where she sat, taking nearly a minute to leaf through them and refusing the assistance of one of her aides who was overeager to help. No one dared to bother her, and everyone had the good sense to remain quiet. Finding a specific piece of paper, she resumed her attention on Rock via the camera. "So you need the readings for the EMP using what measurement?"

"Waveform and frequency readings would be enough," Rock said.

There was another moment of silence, and the Director of National Security actually placed his hand over the president's mike while whispering something to her. She nodded and then cleared her throat. "Mr. Smith, clear Mr. Crandon's team for complete access to the latest data from Operation Eagle Eye."

"I thought my team had full clearance for all data related to the moon and alien device," Rock said, feeling a tinge of betrayal at the idea that he was misled as to the level of clearance he and his team held.

"Actually, you do," Mr. Smith said before the president could answer. "There is simply a time lag in the data while we clear it for dissemination."

"A lag!" Tom practically shouted from the first row, and Rock had to turn, holding his hands up and motioning for Tom to stay calm. "Damn spooks," Tom added under his breath.

Rock was relieved that the minor outburst by his team member was overlooked or ignored as the president spoke. "Mr. Crandon, you have full clearance, but we have certain protocols to follow when we distribute our information due to how it's obtained. This involves our HUMINT section and the actual people involved when it comes to gathering our intel. I'm sure you can appreciate the risks taken to the personnel that are providing this important data to us."

Rock understood why she was a successful politician. Her words seemed to hit home, and Rock was sure his team understood the sanctity of human life. Risking the lives of their astronauts was bad enough, but now he and his team had basically just been told that espionage was involved and someone else's life was at stake. "Understood, Madam President."

"Mr. Smith, give the information to Mr. Crandon and his team now. We'll wait while they make an initial assessment," the president said.

Mr. Smith nodded to Brown, and she transferred a file to his team's inboxes. Rock walked over to where Marge had her laptop open perched on her legs, and sat down next to her. The entire auditorium was silent as the engineers from Jeff Wheeler's team and the academia types fidgeted in their seats.

Marge opened the file and started to read the data to Jack, who was plugging it into his spreadsheet on his tablet. It took only minutes to update the concentric graphic showing various strength levels for the EMP. "Done," Marge said, looking to Rock.

"Send it to her," Rock said, referring to Mrs. Brown.

Marge attached the updated graphic and emailed it to Brown, who opened it and launched it on the side screen. The president and her staff looked to their sidebar to see it.

"Satisfied?" Rock asked.

"This looks pretty close to your estimates, is that correct?" the president asked.

"That is correct, Madam President, and the levels are, as we hypothesized previously, lethal," Rock finished, returning to stand next to Smith, relieved that the data confirmed their suspicions as well as the fact that they most likely saved the lives of their own astronauts, despite making their current mission profile impossible.

"Solution?" she asked.

Rock felt good enough at what they had conveyed to the president and her staff, so he looked at Marge, who gave a slight nod. "I'll have Doctor Jones explain."

Marge stood while Rock took his seat. "I won't ask where you obtained this data, but it verifies our concerns. This means that any landing directly near this lunar object will most likely fail without an inordinate amount of shielding to both the equipment and the crew." At this, Marge looked at both Julie and Craig before continuing. "We propose the following two changes to the mission profile. First, we insert the lunar command module into a polar orbit instead of an equatorial one. As long as the orbit is within ninety miles of the surface, the moon itself will act as a shield from the electromagnetic pulses."

Someone started talking off camera in the president's Situation Room, and President Powers raised a hand to pause Marge's report. After a few seconds, the president looked into the camera again. "My scientific advisor is asking how this . . . polar orbit, as you call it, will prevent the device from being in the"—another pause and more talking off screen—"line of sight of our spacecraft."

Marge nodded. "Yes, well, I was getting to that part." Rock knew she wasn't going to mention it, but she seemed annoyed at the interruption and was venting a bit. Marge continued. "As long as the polar orbit is within ninety miles, _as I was saying_ , the rotation of the moon is much slower than earth's, taking the same amount of time to rotate as it does to orbit. This would give our command module approximately four to six days of safety, being out of the line of sight of this alien object, before the moon could rotate enough to bring our command module within range of the object's EMP. Could you check your inbox, Mrs. Brown?" Marge asked the lady.

Mrs. Brown looked up and then back to her tablet. "I have three files here from you."

"Load the first file and put it up for the president, if you don't mind?" Marge asked.

Soon the sidebar showed an illustration of the moon with the line of sight angles from the object to the command module. The dashed lines indicated the cone where the EMP was present. "As you can see from this first illustration, the polar orbit will allow us to stay in lunar orbit and keep the command module functioning with minimal shielding. Now for the tricky part, and excuse the animation if it seems crude. We had to use an older program for it, and we had little time to polish it."

Marge nodded at Mrs. Brown, who launched the second file. "Normally when a lander detaches from the orbiter, it would follow the same path as the orbiting module and land down range." The animation showed a small object detaching from the orbiting command module and landing on the moon's surface farther north from where the lander unhooked.

"Load the third file, please." Marge indicated to Brown. "Now this third animation will show the lander slowing almost to a stop above the equatorial plane after detaching slightly above its south pole. Our calculations show the lander coming to a relative halt along the north-south y-axis at around forty to forty-two miles above the lunar surface. It would then execute a lateral burn, approaching the alien object from the retrograde side of the moon along the x-axis here." The animation showed the small lander icon moving along the moon's equator toward the large red X that indicated the location of the alien object.

"While approaching, the moon's gravity will be pulling the lander to a contact point roughly about here." She motioned to the side screen where a blue circle suddenly appeared and started to flash. "This location is about thirty miles from the target sight and is protected by a partial rim of an old meteor impact crater and this range of hills or mountains, thus protecting the lander from the pulse as well. From this blue circle landing site, our crew would approach the target in a shielded surface craft with protective suits enhanced to handle the increased radiation. Any questions?"

"Are they mad?" The words were clearly audible from the speakers broadcasting what was presumed to be the president's scientific advisor who was still off camera.

The president raised her hand to quiet him. "What makes you think this plan will work?"

"We aren't sure it will work. We've had less than a few hours to even design something this complex, but the nature of the mission, along with its urgency, mandates that something be done. This is our best attempt," Marge said, her tone sharpening a bit.

This didn't dissuade the scientific advisor as there was more of the commotion in the Situation Room. This time it was the president herself who covered her microphone, but the effort was half hardy and Rock heard the protests coming from her advisor.

"Are there any other plans being developed?" the president asked.

Rock stood and walked next to Marge, slightly touching her elbow so she knew he was there as he addressed the president. "There are no other plans being developed at NASA. If you or your advisor have a different idea, then by all means, inform us and we will consider them. If not, I suggest you allow my team and I to move forward on an official feasibility study after we've calculated fuel requirements and the necessary payloads this sort of mission would require."

There was a moment of pause as the president consulted with others off screen. Finally she addressed Rock for the final time. "You have forty-eight hours, Mr. Crandon. Use them wisely."

"We will, Madam President," Rock said.

# 15 Respites

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 28

* * *

" _Blyad_!" Vlad cursed, sitting in his chair and tossing the folder back on the table. Irina looked at him and then quickly left his office, returning to her desk.

"I told you the news would not be pleasant," Aleksey said, leaning back in his chair opposite Vlad's desk, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

"So our store of liquid hydrogen is also as low as the liquid oxygen?" Vlad asked.

Alex opened his eyes and looked out the door toward Irina. "I can see why you hired her."

"Not now, Alex. The fuel stores, are they indeed below fifteen percent?" Vlad asked, a sigh escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes.

"What? Oh, yes, the figures are correct. They came directly from Moscow this morning. I've asked our quartermaster for an update once we can expect a new shipment," Alex said, looking back from Irina's desk and giving his boss a large smile.

"So enough for one more launch." Vlad made a statement rather than a question.

"Correct, that is why I came to see you. With the extra personnel on board the Gordust, their provisioning will take a priority. I need to swap out the payload," Alex said.

"We sent up over a month's worth of supplies," Vlad said, the tone of frustration evident in his voice. "Why do we need more?"

"It may take a week or two to secure the propellant. Our heroes need to eat during the meantime, and there are six of them, not four as previously planned. We needed the extra hands for the shielding construct that we built. That uses a lot more energy, you know."

"I know that, Alex, but after six launches in such a short amount of time, I feel we are so close and now this. Instead of only two more launches, we may have to make three. This is unacceptable."

"Calm down, Vladimir. We'll still get to the surface first from what the news reports say, and this time I even believe them. We made it there first with the orbiter," Alex said, a touch of pride in his voice.

"Yes, I saw the pictures. We can all hold our heads up high for that one," Vlad said, a bit calmer now.

Alex leaned in closer, whispering, "I was surprised they showed them so quickly. I thought for sure the State would have kept them under wraps."

Vlad pondered his chief engineer's words for a moment before responding in his normal tone of voice. "No need for discretion now, Alex. The pictures show the world that we have succeeded where the Americans have failed. It's a moment of national pride, and rightly so. We have worked hard to earn this moment."

Alex leaned back. Habits were hard to change, but he made the effort speaking normally and matching his boss's tone. "Agreed, Vladimir, but we're taking chances that could allow the Americans, or even the Chinese, to glean something from what we're showing."

"Nonsense," Vlad responded. "It's just a better detailed photo of what was circulating around the internet from those grainy Chinese versions. I don't think anyone knows what the device does or how to access it, and the code is still unbroken by any expert."

The Russian orbiter had entered lunar orbit and taken high definition photos of the alien object, which was difficult to see from the overhead angle that it took. More definition on its shape and outline was determined by its sharp contrasting shadow laid across the lunar ground. The news, with the pictures, were broadcast on all Russian television channels the day before and had made a large global impact as most everyone on earth had looked at them in one form or another.

Vlad wasn't sure what the agenda was in releasing the images—Moscow always had one—but the impact was more than astonishing, and Vlad couldn't help but feel that he and his team members played a very important role in current events as they were transpiring relative to the alien object. Getting there with people to secure the object was going to be harder and a bit longer.

Alex looked again at Irina, shaking his head before turning his attention back to Vlad. "So any word from Minister Osnokov?"

"Not yet. It's still early. He left only two days ago, and no doubt this revelation had something to do with it. I'm not sure even he knew that the Americans had purchased every contract for propellant delivery in the next ninety days on all the global markets," Vlad said.

Alex whistled and sat up at that news. "So that is the hold up. It's a good thing we're producing at the levels we are now, otherwise there wouldn't be another launch till next month."

"Yes, Alex," Vlad said, looking intently at his main confidant on the facility. "That is why I ordered max levels for propellants as soon as I saw that hair-brained plan that Moscow cooked up."

"Hair-brained?" Alex looked dubious.

"You think it a good plan, Aleksey?"

"Not ideal, but it will work."

Vlad leaned back and eyed Aleksey seriously, looking for any sign of jest. "It should work, but it's still not the way to plan a lunar landing, especially for our first time."

"Agreed, Vlad, but time is important and we must arrive before the Americans."

"You're not worried about the Chinese?"

"Should I be? They barely have the lift capability to reach lunar orbit, much less send a heavy load to the surface and back. Their orbiter was on a one-way trip."

"Never underestimate the will of over a billion people, Aleksey, never."

People's Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 31

* * *

Hun waited for the communications to be restored again. The main communications satellite that his country had relied upon for the last decade was no more, so for priority communications, they resorted to pinging a signal off of one of the military's reconnaissance birds as it orbited the planet in low earth orbit. The tradeoff was for every thirty minutes that they could use the military sat, there were two hours when there was no other satellite within range.

"Inexcusable," Chon said, putting his smartphone away in one of his cargo pant pockets.

"The Russian photos?" Hun asked.

"Yes, they make me sick," Chon said, eyes downcast.

"I can't believe you pulled that up in here," Lin said in a hushed tone.

"What? Everyone's seen them. What's the big deal?" Chon asked defensively.

"Yeah, but not in the command center, Chon. Save it for your quarters," Lin said, giving Chon a sharp look.

"Quiet, both of you," Hun said, his tone both urgent and serious.

"Why? Won't the general be here when the coms are reestablished?" Chon asked.

"Who knows?" Hun answered. "He should know already that we will only have thirty minutes."

"Pride, as usual," Lin said, shrugging her shoulders.

Chon leaned forward. "So do you think Chang successfully implemented your plan, boss?"

Hun nodded. The Russian pictures were bad enough. They were being shown worldwide on the news, and almost every internet page seemed to have them. Most had prominent arrows pointing at the alien device and the now defunct Chinese rover. Instead of being hailed as successful explorers and discoverers of the alien artifact, the Western news outlets were talking non-stop about the demise of the Chinese equipment and the failure to retrieve it. Most of the news now speculated on who would get to the moon first, the Russians or the Americans.

"Here he comes," Lin said, motioning with her head toward the door as General Wang entered the room and took the main center seat facing the screen. Within seconds, the screen came alive with an image of the Wenchang control room. The face of a military officer peered back at them.

"All ready, Major Wu?" the general asked.

"Ready here, sir," Major Wu responded, stepping aside and allowing Chief Engineer Chang as well as the operations manager for Wenchang, Ki Fong, to appear on the screen.

"Mr. Fong, will we be ready for the dual launches next week?" General Wang asked. The word "dual" perked up all of Hun's team.

"Yes, General Wang. We have prepared the second Long Reach and it should be ready by your deadline." Fong nodded.

"Excellent." The general then turned to look at Hun before returning his attention to the main screen. "We'll go ahead with Director Lee's original plan for a dual launch and subsequent docking. Since Operation Liquid Eye has been cancelled, we will proceed with Operation Morning Glory instead. We have selected our astronaut, and he will be arriving at Wenchang shortly. See to it, Mr. Fong, that Colonel Hen Sing is welcomed properly."

Hun recognized the name immediately. Hen Sing was a virtual hero after piloting his fighter back to safety after having a run-in with an American P3-Orion nearly three decades earlier. Hun hadn't heard any news about Hen Sing for at least ten years. He thought the man had retired. If so, the military was activating him again as was evident from the fact that the general referred to him using his rank.

"We will see to it." Fong nodded.

"And the docking device?" General Wang asked.

Fong looked at Chong, who leaned forward. "General, sir. The docking devices have been placed on both the orbiter and the energy module so that they can be mated together. Also, the shielding has been upgraded per the specifications that were calculated by Director Lee's team."

All eyes turned toward Hun. This was unexpected since the general had turned his original request down. Hun was going to propose a robotic lander with the astronaut commanding it from orbit using shielded optics and sensors, but he hadn't had a chance to present his proposal to the general. It was also likely to be rebuffed as it required the construction of a robotic device. This news was better, so Hun decided not to mention the robotic proposal.

"Director Hun? Is your team ready for the mission?" the general asked.

"The one that we specked for, yes. If there were no major changes to the profile, equipment, or procedure, then we are ready now." Hun looked at the others.

"Very well," the general said. "We launch first thing next week. See to it that Colonel Sing is trained and familiar with the command module. You have just one week."

There would be no discussion and no objections. China would launch a state hero to the moon in one week's time and surprise the world.

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 34

* * *

Rock stretched his legs out while taking another sip of his beer and looking into the evening sky. The final preparations were made, and the mechanical work was continuing under the supervision of Jeff Wheeler and his group.

Sally had cooled down since the news broke and was serving drinks and setting their outside table with plates and utensils for him and his team. Rock had half expected a large group of FBI agents to show up at his house when he informed Mrs. Brown that he and his group were done for the weekend. Mrs. Brown objected at first and then took her cellphone out and walked into the hallway. Rock and his team used the time to exit the building, get in their cars, and leave. It took only twenty minutes to arrive at Rock's house where his wife, Sally, had prepared a large dinner and fired up the grill.

"I actually think they won't come for us," Jack said, taking a sip of his beer as he sat next to Rock and enjoyed the spring breeze coming from the nearby gulf.

Sally spoke while setting the large outside patio table without looking up. "They have an unmarked car outside our house. It's sitting down the street near the corner."

"God, I hate spooks," Tom said from where he stood near the grill, poking at the steak and burger patties with a spatula.

"If I had a dollar for every time he used that word, I wouldn't have to be here now," Marge said, pulling up a chair near the table and sitting to face Rock and Jack.

Lisa laughed and then looked at Rock. "Thank you, Richard, for doing this for us. I called Ed and he was in shock. You really made our day, or should I say weekend?"

"No problem, Lisa," Rock said, wiggling his legs and enjoying the freedom of being out from under a desk. "I know you and Jack have family, and the rest of us were getting just as braindead as you were. Besides, once the plan was set, we had everything done and just needed to wait on the engineering team to make the necessary equipment modifications. I don't see how running the numbers another dozen times over the weekend would help."

"You're damn right," Tom said, belching the carbonation of his beer out.

"You're disgusting, Tom," Marge said half-heartedly. "Drink your brew a bit slower, please."

"You bet, Doc," Tom responded. "I second the thanks, Rock. I may not have family here, but I sure as hell had my fill of spooks."

"No kidding," Lisa said in a rare agreement with Tom. "I don't think I could handle Mrs. Brown peering over my shoulder for one more day."

Marge laughed. "I thought I was the only one that felt that way."

"No, Mrs. Brown is bad enough, but that Mr. Smith gives me the creeps," Jack said, making a shivering motion with his body and gritting his teeth.

"Thanks for the invite, Mrs. C." Tom cut in as Sally stepped to the grill to turn the meat.

"My pleasure, Thomas. It's always good to see you all . . . when Rock allows it," Sally said, her tone one of disapproval.

"Sorry, boss. I was hoping we wouldn't be imposing," Jack said.

"No worries. Sally's still upset about the alien news is all," Rock responded.

"Not at the news," Sally retorted, "at _your_ lack of news."

Tom walked over to join the group, pulling up a chair around the table. "All is forgiven now. What matters is how long we can go without the feds looking for us."

Rock leaned forward, setting his bottle on the table. "I cleared this with John yesterday. There will be no interruptions this weekend, so make sure you all get plenty of rest and downtime. Next week we will be very busy."

"Will do, boss," Jack said. "Did you see the news this morning?"

"I try not to anymore. I find the myriad of speculation only confuses me more." Rock smiled.

"Exactly," Marge said. "The constant speculation will only cloud our minds, making us subjective on this subject. I prefer to keep my thoughts clear at the moment."

Tom took another long swill on his long neck before talking. "Fine, Jack, I'll bite. What's up?"

Jack ignored the looks from Rock and Marge. "Well, the Russian pics showed the top of the alien device along with the shadow. Analysts say it looks like a three-sided pyramid—"

"Not that old tripe again, please, Jack," Marge said, rolling her eyes.

"What? It could be true." Jack looked around at the group.

"Well, that would be just great," Tom said. "The damn aliens built the pyramids, and the conspiracy folks were right all the time."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Rock felt obliged to step in before Marge retorted again. "We should focus on what we know first and keep the speculation and news in the background for now."

"Spoken like a true scientist," Tom said.

"Do we know what's expected of Julie and Craig when they get there?" Lisa asked. "I mean, all we have are the pictures of this oblong metallic object. What if it's attached to something, or does the NSA expect them to just pull it up and put it on the rover?"

"Good question, Lisa," Rock answered. "I'm not sure what the feds are expecting, but we need to prepare for all contingencies. They will have a small tool kit to dig around the base of the structure. It looks tall, but it appears to be rather thin in nature. Besides, I think they need to focus on the scientific part of the mission first, and analyze the object's material and take readings around the area. I doubt something that small could house an energy source that could transmit signals as strongly as it's doing."

"You're probably right, Rock." Marge nodded, readying her plate for her food as Sally started to serve around the table. "We have all of next week to plan. In the meantime, I'm tired of microwave dinners."

"Me, too," Tom said, smiling at Sally.

"Aren't we all," Jack finished as the group enjoyed a rare home-cooked meal. It would be a pleasant weekend until the frenzy continued next week. Rock just hoped the Chinese and Russians would take a weekend off as well. _Probably not_ , he thought, _but damn this space race, anyway_. Better to get it right than wrong, and Rock had adopted an old NASA motto long ago: _failure is not an option_.

# 16 Russian Plans

_Gordust_ Space Station

Low Earth Orbit

In the near future, Day 35

* * *

The construction and modifications had been completed for several days now, and the cosmonauts were restless. First it was work, work, work, and then it was wait, wait, wait. _The only good news_ , Yuri thought to himself, _is my old friend Vladimir had ensured that the station has extra fuel for the lunar burn_. This was important because the fuel load was the primary calculation that the engineers in Moscow would use to plot a slingshot trajectory around the earth. A tighter ratio meant a higher angle of attack for the trajectory.

Unlike those American movies, in space, when one died, there was no scream. Sound did not carry in a vacuum, and Yuri and his comrades would die silently if their station broke up once it cleared the planet, or they would die with screams of pain and fear if they burned up in the atmosphere high above the planet. Either scenario was troubling, to say the least. The risks were higher as the angle of attack increased. The exact edge of the earth's atmosphere could vary and even stray hydrogen atoms could wreak havoc on any object moving at a high enough velocity, but Vladimir had ensured that the risk would be lower.

The entire front of the station had a new pod placed on the _Gordust_ 's strong frame, but sideways with a large reinforced window looking forward. Yuri floated in the module looking out the large viewport and marveled at its strength. Normally the viewports were much smaller, but the engineers in Moscow had determined that the station's crew needed a much wider field of vision, and the curved arch of this window was impressive.

"You spend a lot of time here, Yuri," Olga said, floating silently behind him. Yuri didn't bother to turn around. He would prefer the sight of the earth's curvature and the beautiful field of stars off to his right than to see her face again.

" _Y chto?_ " he asked.

"No need to be defensive," Olga said calmly despite the slight rebuff. "Nikolai wants to run another systems check."

"The man is bored. Tell him to stand down and prepare for the lander when it arrives."

"You mean if it arrives."

"Olga, it will be here. Vladimir will see to that."

"Your old friend isn't even part of the command crew in Moscow. I doubt they share with him your sense of optimism," Olga said, her voice remaining calm and even.

Now Yuri did turn to look at Olga, wanting to gauge her words better. "Nothing comes here unless it goes through Vostochny."

"Understood, Comrade Yuri. I was just making an observation."

"As was I," Yuri countered. "Tell Nikolai he and his men will be busy soon enough."

"I'll pass the message along," Olga said, starting to turn herself around to exit the command pod and return to the main section of the station. "Do you think we'll be successful?"

Yuri pondered for a moment before answering. " _Da_ , we will reach the moon, Olga. I have no doubt of that."

" _Ochen xorosho_ ," Olga said, a rare smile crossing her face as she pulled herself along the small handrails and propelled herself down the narrow corridor, leaving Yuri alone again in the command pod.

"But I have no idea if we'll return, Olga. No idea at all." Yuri turned to look out the large port window again, his words dying, unheard by anyone else.

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 35

* * *

The reports were looking promising, and Vlad felt optimism as he read the latest on the propellant procurement. Using extra cash and cannibalizing a few military assets would allow for the launches to continue, albeit with a delay. Moscow had decided that the food stores were sufficient, and in an emergency, they could launch a resupply module to the moon. The cosmonauts may end up hungry, but as long as they were hydrated and had oxygen to breath, then the mission profile stood as originally planned.

Usually Vlad was in charge of the space operations from ground-side to orbit. Once in orbit, the central space command for Ruscosmos, located just outside of Moscow, would take over. Ruscosmos ran the day-to-day operations for the _Gordust_ space station, and while Vlad was kept in the loop on provisioning and transit requirements, he seldom had much to do with regards to orbital procedures.

That was about to change. Vlad had received word from Dmitry that the lunar operation would include his small team at Vostochny via telecoms as Ruscosmos wanted to ensure the highest chance of success. Earlier that day, he had received the full mission profile documents that had been under guard in Moscow and he saw the exact plan instead of just the payload manifest which required a slight amount of speculation each time he put something into orbit.

Irina had given him the latest, and Vlad noticed that the next payload would carry the lander followed by the last payload consisting entirely of fuel for the lunar trip. The lander would arrive the next day, and he and his crew had three days to secure it to the Energia rocket before the scheduled launch date.

"Mr. Gorky is here to see you," Irina said, using the intercom system.

"Send him in, Irina," Vlad said, setting the report down.

Aleksey arrived looking fresher than normal since he and his crew had a few days' downtime due to the lack of propellant which meant no launches the last two weeks. "Well," Aleksey said, shaking hands with Vlad and sitting on one of the two chairs facing the desk.

"We're in, Aleksey," Vlad said, motioning to the report on his desk. "Moscow will be linking us in remotely during the lunar operation. Is your team ready?"

" _Da._ I have Yosef and his boys on standby even now, and our systems personnel will be prepped and ready by next Tuesday." Aleksey reached for the report and opened it to peruse the first few pages.

"Good. Moscow will handle the comms and signals as well as flight telemetry and system functions, but we'll be part of the equipment checks and deployments once the time arrives. Can you mount the lander in only three days?"

"We'll have it secured, don't you worry. It was nice to have a short break, but it makes me wonder what our adversaries have been up to in the meantime."

Vlad looked around and then leaned forward, lowering his voice. "If word is correct, then the Chinese and Americans are knee-deep into a pissing match."

"We've heard . . . well, we've heard things, but nothing that serious." Alex nodded.

"I'm not one for politics, but if Dmitry is correct, then our superiors have maneuvered us well. We stand a good chance of reaching the moon first," Vlad said louder, leaning back in his chair.

Alex dropped the report on the desk, not really looking at it. If it contained something important, Vlad would have just told him. "So you think this idea will work?"

"You tell me, Alex. You're an engineer."

"Well, theoretically you could pilot a brick to the moon and back provided you had enough delta v and fuel to escape the earth's gravity well. It's not like the _Gordust_ needs to be aerodynamic or anything."

"Agreed, and that's why I think this plan may actually succeed. It's audacious and cunning, bold but simple," Vlad said, looking at his chief engineer with a gleam in his eye. "Who could have imagined a low earth space station being converted to a lunar spaceship?"

Alex wasn't sure if his boss's question was rhetorical or not, so he answered anyway. "The _Gordust_ certainly will look like a pig soaring through space; that much is sure. It looked fine as a floating station, but despite the lack of aerodynamic requirements, I think it will just look plain ugly up there. That isn't a concern, however, as long as we make it there and secure the prize."

Vlad stretched his arms and yawned—not the most professional thing to do for the Director of Space Launch Operations, but he didn't care. He was more than tired and glad for the downtime, having finally caught up on some of his sleep in the meantime. "Well, hopefully this time next week, or soon thereafter, we'll be watching the _Gordust_ as it heads to the moon."

"That will be a good thing, boss," Alex said. "Did you see the latest pictures?"

"Ah, you mean the ones from the horizon angle?" Vlad asked.

"Yes, they were taken from farther away, but with the high resolution lens and the horizon angle, the alien device can be seen in an interesting perspective. Some of the newscasters are already commenting on the bulge in the lunar soil at the base. This will be very interesting once we're there," Alex said.

"The signal strengths are a bit higher than we anticipated, but the shielding on the orbiter is holding and all systems are still functioning. Our signal technicians are still trying to make sense of the data stream from the alien broadcast. Between the pictures and the data, things are looking interesting," Vlad said.

"I was wondering if we were making any headway with the signal. This is good to know that the orbiter isn't experiencing any of the same issues that the Chinese equipment did," Alex said.

Vlad nodded. "I agree, and speaking of equipment, Dmitry has asked us to review the manifest as well. That is part of the reason why I asked for you today. I hated to interrupt your downtime, but we need to assess it before the lander is mounted in order to secure any other equipment that they may need to investigate the device."

"I assume Moscow sent a list already along with the equipment?"

"Yes, it's in the report, but Irina has made copies with just the proposed equipment manifest as is. If you or Yosef can think of anything else that our cosmonauts may need, then we have to have it ready and secured in the lander in less than two days. The second launch will carry nothing but fuel pods for the trip, so this is our last chance," Vlad said.

"I'm sure they thought of everything already, but it doesn't surprise me that we have only two days to review this list and secure any necessary equipment. Typical for Moscow," Alex said, his face scrunched in a frown.

"Well, it would be easier to load and secure any extra equipment now, but if not, you still have the three days afterward for final preparations. It will just be more difficult to work on storing the equipment when it's one hundred meters in the air." Vlad nodded.

"Oh yeah, I don't envy the crewmember who will have to scramble around inside the lander once it's attached to the Energia. Best hope they don't need anything bigger than what they have listed already."

"No worries, Alex. I'm sure they will be successful with whatever we send to them. We just need to make sure we cover our bases so those bureaucrats in central don't have a goat to scape."

"What?" Alex asked, his face puzzled.

"Never mind. It's an English term I learned years ago. We don't want to be blamed for any potential failure, so make sure you and Yosef give this a good once over."

"Understood. We'll start on it right away," Alex said, standing and heading out the door, stopping for one moment and turning to face his boss.

"Yes, Alex?" Vlad asked, looking up.

"If we don't succeed? Has anyone discussed our options on this matter?"

"No." Vlad shook his head and lowered his eyes. "If we fail, the consequences would be too serious to contemplate given the nature of our mission."

"That serious, then?"

"More so. Let's not find out what fate awaits a failure."

Alex didn't speak again and looked down first before leaving the office. Vlad wasn't sure what his government would do if the entire mission failed, and he feared more for his boss and friend Dmitry. There would be no dacha, no pension, and no retirement for him if they did fail. _God help us_ , Vlad thought to himself, pulling open the report and starting to read it for the second time that day.

# 17 China Strikes First

People's Republic Space Command

Outside of Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 41

* * *

Hun watched the screen from the control room as two technicians strapped Hen Sing into his chair in the command module perched on top of the Long Reach. This would be the second launch in three days of the Long Reach rocket. The first one contained the power and fuel modules for the lander, and this one held the actual lander and other electronic equipment with upgraded shielding.

The secondary screens showed the plot trajectory of the first launch as it hurtled toward its rendezvous with the moon. It had traveled nearly two thirds of the way there, and several control and command technicians were updating the telemetry on its flight path hourly. Hun knew his team was being observed by the general's staff, as were his consoles and data streams. While he was given operational command over the mission, the entire team was compartmentalized to the extent that communications between them were impaired, if not completely interrupted.

"How do you feel, Colonel Sing?" Hun asked through his headset.

A thousand kilometers away, he could see the colonel tilt his head toward the internal camera, despite the helmet, and an almost imperceptible nod. "Fine, Director Lee, though the accommodations are rather tight in here."

Hun stifled a chuckle as he watched the two technicians finish strapping the colonel in his seat and crawl toward the exit hatch. There was almost no room for the three of them inside, and Hun knew that only someone like Sing could get away with some levity while the general's staff was monitoring their communications.

"You'll get accustomed to it soon enough. The flight profile is the same as the energy module, which precedes you by a couple of days. You'll receive updated information on your primary monitor in front of you. In the meantime, our health and wellness specialist will be monitoring your vitals and talking you through the launch. Let my team and I know if you have any issues during the flight."

Sing nodded. "Very thoughtful of you. After piloting the MiG-55, I'm sure I'll be fine handling the _Crimson Glory_."

"Very well, Colonel. Success and honor," Hun said.

"Success and honor," Sing replied in kind.

Hun watched as the door to the module was shut and sealed as red lights on one of the system consoles changed to green. Hun knew the MiG-55 required a flight pressure suit as it could pull over nine G's in supersonic flight, so the colonel would not be surprised at the thrust and inertia factors that were about to be thrown his way. At least in this regard, he felt the general had made a fine selection.

Hun took his headset off for a second as Lin sat next to him and leaned in to speak to him. "It would have been better if the colonel had the opportunity to spend some time in a simulator."

Chon looked up from his console next to Hun's and also pulled his headset off before speaking. "The lander and entire module are new. No time for programming a proper simulation of something this complex."

Hun nodded. "Yes, even if we had the time to program something, the entire simulation would have needed a good testing and the military wasn't going to allow a delay for that."

"The colonel is a brave man," Lin said, her voice conveying the sincerity of her statement.

"Yes, he is," Hun said, placing his headphones back on his head. "A brave man, indeed. Now let's get him there and back again safely."

Lin and Chon nodded, placing their headphones back on as well and turning to their consoles to prepare for the launch. Today would be their day.

Bridge of the USS Berkshire

Fifteen miles off the coast of Wenchang, China

In the near future, Day 41

* * *

"That makes three close calls in only two days, Captain," Lt Commander Jensen said to his superior as they stood outside the bridge facing north toward the Chinese island of Wenchang where the Chinese space base was located fifteen miles distant. The _Berkshire_ , a navy destroyer, was shadowing the American navy trawler _Orca_ , which was located just outside of Chinese territorial waters. Two Chinese frigates were in turn shadowing the _Berkshire_ between it and the _Orca_.

Captain Hansen lowered his binoculars and looked at his second in command. "Did we get the data feed from the _Orca_?"

"Yes, sir. All data has been encrypted and forwarded to Fort Meade per orders, sir. Now can we bug out before one of them actually fires on us?"

Hansen knew his second's fear of hostilities between the two superpowers was more than just an idle fancy. Ever since the alien communication had been broadcasted, every government on the planet had seemed to go into defensive mode, and the superpowers were taking it two steps further by elevating the game dangerously close to something ugly.

The flybys of the Chinese MiGs were more than provocative as they probed the resolve of America's naval forces. The _Orca_ had been nearly rammed twice by aggressive Chinese frigates, and Hansen couldn't blame them. If a Chinese carrier group set up shop off the coast of Canaveral in Florida, then he was sure the U.S. would be more than a little edgy. Add to this the U.S. spy trawler which was anything but inconspicuous floating dangerously close to the edge of Chinese territorial waters, and things were starting to get out of hand.

"That last one was not only closer but they ran four MiGs our way instead of the lone wolf," Hansen said, looking northward at the sky.

"They did, but the _Clinton_ kept them at bay." Jensen nodded.

"Yeah, pretty amazing what a half dozen F41 Stealth Sprites will do to a wing of MiGs."

"They did bug out pretty quickly when our flyboys arrived."

"Yeah, but next time they'll come in with an even dozen," Hansen said, looking at Jensen for a reaction.

"Then we'll have to send two," Jensen said, a grin crossing his face.

"Do you have the latest positioning report?" Hansen asked his second.

Jensen handed the waterproof clipboard to his captain. "Updated as of ten minutes ago."

"Jesus H. Christ!" Hansen said, looking at the chart. "What the hell does he think he's doing?"

"Awfully close, isn't he, sir?"

"This mark puts him less than two hundred meters from their waters," Hansen said, shaking his head. "He's going to start a war if he's not careful."

"Probably following orders," Jensen said, waiting for the clipboard back which was not forthcoming.

Hansen looked to the horizon and then back to the board again. He could clearly see the trawler, a smaller black dot near the horizon followed by two larger black objects. It was bad enough that his destroyer was only three miles from the border between international waters and Chinese territorial waters, but the _Orca_ was flirting with disaster. He was sure the U.S. carrier task force a couple hundred clicks farther south wasn't going to calm the situation down any more than this.

"You're probably right. The poor bastard is more than likely doing what he's been told to do."

"Just like us, eh, skipper?"

"Oh yeah, number two, just like us sorry bastards as well." Hansen sighed, giving the clipboard back to Jensen and raising the binoculars to observe the _Orca_. If one of those frigates was going to do something, he wanted to see it with his own eyes.

NASA Space Command

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 43

* * *

"Are we still reading go?" Rock asked Marge from his command console in Houston. It felt good to have a full crew in the control center.

"All systems showing go, coms are five by five, and we're awaiting the ball," Marge said, referring to the hand off of mission control from Canaveral Launch Command to their Houston Space Command.

"Is she still there?" Rock asked, rolling his eyes.

"Oh yeah, Rock, she's still there and giving you more than an eyeball." Marge motioned with her eyes.

President Powers had flown in on _Air Force One_ just two hours earlier and had taken up shop along with her staff and more Secret Service agents than Rock had seen in a long while, without saying a word to him or his staff.

The past two weeks had been busy as they readied the lunar lander and prepared the _Saturn V_ for liftoff. Mr. Smith had gone to the observation room to discuss the mission with the executive branch, leaving Mrs. Brown on the floor of the control room near Rock's console. _At least the woman had the sense to give me my space_ , Rock thought to himself.

Craig and Julie had finished their training and were flown to Canaveral two days earlier after being given a full day to spend with their families. Rock had watched on the closed circuit video feed as they were strapped into their chairs, and gave the thumbs up sign before the tower technicians vacated the capsule.

Rock was still in awe as he looked at the widescreen field monitor and saw the huge _Saturn V_ sitting gracefully on the launch pad, awaiting history. From the agitation Mr. Smith displayed, and the reports he had received from Mrs. Brown, it was obvious that the U.S. was a couple of days behind the Chinese and there was no news from the Russians other than the fact that they were still modifying their space station into something dramatically different.

_What would the ramifications be from a Chinese landing first?_ Rock pondered the rhetorical question and then discarded it from his mind. He had to focus if they were to succeed.

"You doing okay, boss?" Jack asked through one of the private console-to-console channels.

Rock looked down a couple of rows and off to the side where Jack was overseeing four consoles on signals data and communication servers. "I'm doing just fine, thank you. How 'bout you and your folks?"

Jack looked at his crew. "Doing well. A bit of nervousness as most my crew are used to handling data from robotic missions. Nothing with a life on the line, but they'll settle down. It's a three day flight to the moon, so that will give them some time to settle in and adjust. How you and Marge doing with the big eye of Sauron looking over you?"

Rock resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. He considered it a sign of weakness and would display, in his opinion at least, a lack of professionalism on his part if he was more concerned with the observers and not the mission. "We're making do. Not an ideal set-up, but it could be worse. Just make sure we don't miss anything once we get the ball. I don't feel particularly fond of walking knee-deep into it with the prez watching."

"You got it, boss. We'll keep things tight on this side."

"I know you will. Thanks for the thought," Rock said, flipping his com channel to mute and dialing up the tower frequency from Canaveral.

"We're T-minus sixty now," Marge said over the intercom.

"Damn chinks, we shoulda kept a nuke for them on top," Tom muttered into the mike.

Rock flipped his com over to private and hit Marge's push to talk on the private intercom. "Did Tom just say what I thought he said?"

Marge never bothered to look back. "Oh yeah. Look at the newsfeed in the lower right corner and you'll know why."

Rock looked at the bottom of his main screen and realized he didn't have the news screen feeding into one of his picture-in-pictures. He looked at one of the many side screens in front of him and saw the CNN newsfeed. It looked like video of the Chinese-manned space flight that was almost to the moon. He could see the red flag, emblem, and uniformed military spokesperson making some sort of statement. The speech was closed-captioned as they had the volume muted on all sub screens except the main tower one.

"He's watching the news?" Rock asked.

"What else would he be doing? His section won't have much to do till they reach orbit," Marge said, a slight nod in Tom's direction.

Despite the bigoted remark, no one seemed to notice, didn't care, or were simply used to Tom's antics. "T-minus twenty seconds," came the call.

"Lisa, are you seeing the pressure in the second stage?" Rock heard Marge asking Lisa over the mission intercom which was a separate frequency than the tower. The launch frequency was the one that everyone was listening to, so Rock's team was still speaking privately to a certain degree, if one could call two dozen participants private.

"Just now seeing it. It looks marginal at best. You want to notify the tower?" Lisa responded.

"Watch the gauge while I dial them up," Marge started to say, and then Rock heard Lisa cut in.

"Oh shit! We're losing second stage compression," Lisa exclaimed, her words frantic.

"Abort, abort, abort!" Marge started to call over the tower frequency, but the tower was on top of the issue and the two spoke over one another.

"T-minus eight, seven." Then a pause as the tower aborted the countdown. "Launch aborted. Status stand down at T-minus six," came the monotonous female voice.

Rock watched the screen as suddenly a large plume of white gas started to vent from the gasket seals between the first stage and second stage of the immense _Saturn V_. The walkway bridge was frantically being pushed into position to evacuate the astronauts. A large amount of liquid hydrogen suddenly started to gush out as the leak became worse, spraying the tarmac and coating the entire lower side of the rocket.

Technicians secured the bridgeway and then assisted the astronauts from their seats as they headed toward the express lift at the rear of the launch tower. Rock could see everyone struggling to move quickly as Julie and Craig were wearing suits with extra shielding that weighed nearly twice the current streamlined ones, and the technicians all had fire-resistant suits that covered them from head to toe.

Finally the crew and support staff left the tower in a low floor mini bus, racing out of site as the constant drone of the tower announcer spoke over the main public address system. Rock noticed a nod from Jack, and finally Rock broke with protocol and looked over his shoulder just in time to see the president leave with her staff. It appeared the U.S. would not make it to the moon anytime soon. Rock leaned forward and put his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

# 18 The Russian Strike

_Gordust_ Space Station

Low Earth Orbit

In the near future, Day 44

* * *

Yuri checked his straps for a third time, pulling hard on each one and making sure the buckles would hold. The G-forces for the slingshot maneuver had been increased from five to eight. The pressure suits would help, but they would not be helmeted in order to read the gauges easier and to react if necessary. Despite the computing power of today's machines, the need for a human presence always prevailed, and this would be no exception.

"Nikolai, _Gotov_?" Olga asked over the intercom system.

"Ready Nikolai," he responded.

Yuri listened in as Gregori, Viktor, and Ivan all reported their status as ready. The lander had arrived two days earlier, and after two days' worth of spacewalks, it was secured to the station and the fuel pods were attached as well. The newsfeed was sporadic depending on their orbital positioning, but they were watching with interest the Chinese video stream of their lone astronaut preparing to enter lunar orbit.

"Damn bold of them, eh, Yuri?" Olga said, punching in the last commands on her data console and securing her gloves and helmet to her chair.

"You mean the Chinese?"

"Of course. You can't think I mean the Americans, do you?"

" _Nyet._ Their little fiasco yesterday secures our lead today." Yuri checked the strap to his helmet to make sure it was also secure and it wouldn't float away or be slammed into the rear bulkhead once they ignited the rocket motors.

"You're forgetting the Chinese are almost there. What does Moscow think we will do once we arrive if the man has already claimed the prize?" Olga asked, a bitter tone in her voice.

Yuri finished his checks and then turned to his copilot. "If I know Moscow, we'll pull down his flag and plant our own. It's six against one with no chance for them to reinforce."

"That's just plain stupid, Yuri," Olga shot back. "I was serious when I asked. We can't undo history if their video feeds show them landing and claiming the device for themselves."

" _Da_ , I know. We'll just have to show up late to the party and see what we can do. This isn't over by a long shot." Yuri nodded.

Moscow Central Control addressed the _Gordust_ at that point, and Yuri prepped the station by initiating an x-axis burn to point the station at the oncoming earth horizon.

"Initiate burn in ten seconds," the command came in, and Yuri noted the half second delay as the signal was bounced off a satellite. The delay didn't matter as the computer was synched to the earth-based one atomically and the audio countdown was as much for show and a false sense of control as anything else. When the timer hit zero, the rocket motors would ignite, propelling the station on a downward vector coming within a hundred twenty kilometers of the planet's surface from their current altitude of over ten thousand kilometers.

"Three, two, one, ignition." The command came a tad late as Yuri felt himself pressed back into the command seat as all four rocket motors came to life, hurtling the _Gordust_ at over thirty thousand kilometers per hour toward the curvature of the earth.

The flight was one that didn't really require piloting. The trajectory was a ballistic one, and Olga was monitoring their flat path against not only the ground-based radar track but also the planned flight path, looking for the slightest deviation. Once noticed, she relayed that information to the navigation computer which would either adjust the thrust of the four motors accordingly or, if major enough, also add lateral thrust via twelve positioning thrusters that used compressed nitrogen ejected into space to give the station a push one way or the other. If done early enough, the slightest deviation would change or correct their trajectory by hundreds of kilometers once they slung themselves toward the moon.

The entire trip would take them just less than ninety minutes. Yuri smiled as he recognized the North American continent rapidly approaching them along the horizon. Moscow Central Control had also waited for the correct alignment of not only the moon but the correct trajectory to keep the _Gordust_ away from Asia at its lowest approach. Rumor was that the Chinese still had at least one, if not more, anti-satellite killers in orbit above its country. Moscow would take no chances, and for once Yuri agreed with them.

The flight in was uneventful until they reached perigee and the station began to vibrate violently. The small shield panels that were erected on the left side of the station weren't even remotely designed to be aerodynamic. The large station size combined with the literal wall of shielding panels managed to capture, ricochet, and otherwise collide with every hydrogen atom in their way, or so Yuri thought.

He knew it was going to be rough when Olga stopped her navigation monitoring and gave him a long look bordering on a stare.

"Are we still at optimum angle?" Yuri asked politely, attempting to distract Olga with one of her duties.

The question had its intended effect as Olga looked down at her console and punched a few more buttons to zoom in on their current path. " _Da, tochno_ ," she said, a nod of her head.

Yuri could hear a commotion from the living quarters pod despite it being over ten meters from their command module. Normally, procedure indicated that the corridor between the pods would be sealed shut with the pressure doors, but the entire crew felt that if the station suffered that kind of failure, it would be catastrophic and unrecoverable. They wore their suits in case of depressurization during the maneuver with only Yuri and Olga not securing their helmets during the flight.

"Gregori, you all right back there?" Yuri asked, having tuned their coms channel to the intra setting, leaving Moscow in the dark.

" _Da_ , no problem. We all good now," the lunar mission leader responded. Gregori would have control of his team members once they reached the moon, and Yuri was the station leader. Whatever it was, Yuri let it go. It wouldn't be the first time he had seen or heard of a national hero pissing his pants during something heroic. It only mattered if it was made public, so Yuri clicked the intra channel off, allowing Gregori to handle his own crew.

The shaking lasted only ten more minutes until the _Gordust_ started to gain altitude, and Yuri watched as Europe approached while the Americas had disappeared behind them. They would never really orbit above Asia as their trajectory led them up and out from the western edge of Spain.

"There she is," Yuri said, almost to himself.

" _Ochen krasivaya_ ," Olga responded, also speaking as if in a dream.

"Very beautiful, indeed," Yuri said, clicking the network server to life and allowing all internal data to be streamed to the geosynchronous satellite off to their right. The moon itself still seemed so far away—a large white ball with grey specks on it—but it was fully lit as if it faced the sun. _A full moon_ , Yuri thought, _how appropriate_.

"Hard to believe we'll be there in less than three days," Olga said, continuing to stare at the earth's sole natural satellite and quickly forgetting her fear from the tenuous touches of the planet's atmosphere.

"Hard to believe, indeed. It worked, Olga, it worked," Yuri stated, elated at their success.

Olga smiled and then looked at Yuri with glee. "We are making history, comrade."

Yuri nodded and returned the smile. The first, most likely, ever since they were put together in such close proximity six months ago. Russians had never made it to the moon's surface before. Now that would all change.

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 44

* * *

" _Suxha sin_ ," Alex said from his seat in the observation lounge as they watched the large monitor. "It actually worked."

Vlad watched intently as the radar track from the _Gordust_ showed the station, now more like a ship, clearing the earth's lower orbit and heading toward the moon. "Incredible. I was worried, but this is fantastic." He looked at Alex and smiled.

"You gave them more than enough propellant, Vladimir," Alex said, looking at his laptop and pulling up a small window on his browser tab.

Vlad looked at his tablet as well and tapped the fuel icon where the status bar showed nearly forty percent left in the fuel pods. The plan called for a minimum contingency of fifteen percent as a reserve and they only needed ten percent to escape the moon's gravity well, so that left nearly fifteen percent extra fuel for a very large safety margin.

"You know some suit in Moscow will call it a waste of resources," Vlad said, a slight frown on his otherwise happy face.

"Perhaps, but the crew will be more than satisfied. This gives them a few options with regards to their lunar operations."

"Yes. They can enter a lower orbit or perhaps transfer fuel to make more than one lunar landing. That wasn't in the original plan, but now that would be feasible," Vlad stated.

Alex nodded. "Especially if they go with a lower orbit."

Irina approached the men, bringing one of the secure radio phones the base used when communicating with Moscow. "Minister Osnokov on the line, sir."

"Thank you, Irina," Vlad said, taking the phone and nodding at Irina, who quickly turned and retreated to the support room with a half dozen other staff. "Hello?"

"Ah, Vladimir, you watched the flight, then?" Dmitry asked from Moscow.

" _Da_ , excellent results, sir. I congratulate you." Vlad adjusted the phone to his other hand so he could see the screen and speak with his boss comfortably.

"The praise is one for the entire team. Our superiors are most pleased, Vlad. I wanted to personally congratulate _you_ and your team on your outstanding efforts to lift all the necessary equipment and supplies into orbit. I made sure the politburo heard your name."

Vlad half smiled and wondered if that would be such a good thing or not at this stage of the game. He also wondered at all the optimism considering the fact that they were running three days behind the Chinese, despite being ahead of the Americans, who had apparently had their pants pulled down on them in front of a global audience.

"Sir, if I may ask, how is it that our mood can be so . . . celebratory considering our current positioning?" Vlad asked, more than a bit confused.

Vlad couldn't see his old mentor and current boss, but the elation in his voice was enough to perk Vlad's ears. "Let us worry about the Chinese. The Americans aren't the only ones with a dose of bad luck."

"Sir, what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Vlad asked, looking at Alex, who shrugged since he was listening to only half a conversation.

"In time, my good friend. Due to our security issues that we discussed last month, I can't discuss the details with you, but rest assured the race has yet to finish. We have much work to do, and as I said, the politburo is more than pleased with our handling of the program, Vlad. There'll be medals for everyone for this one. Trust me on this."

Vlad nodded though his superior could not see the gesture. "Understood, sir. We'll have to wait, then, and wish our real heroes well."

Dmitry comprehended immediately. "Yes, they will be very busy soon, and we expect nothing short of perfection on this. We'll have the video lines installed by the time they reach the moon."

"Yes, I know," Vlad responded. Vlad knew they had the ability to teleconference already, but Moscow had implemented a new security protocol that required the laying of special optic fiber wires that in the past had been considered blasé, to say the least. Wireless communicating, as well as cloud storage of data and information, had been all the rage for at least two decades now, but in a world of serious hacking, it was back to some old school technology, and Vlad's base was being connected to an older fiber optic system that connected directly to Moscow. It would be impossible to intercept.

"Good. Pass on our congratulations to your crew and let them know they have done well. We'll talk again tomorrow," Dmitry said.

"I will, Dmitry, and our congratulations to you and the mission team there as well."

Dmitry hung up the phone, severing the connection so only static came over the radio phone.

"Well, what was that all about?" Alex asked, his face screwed up into a tight ball, brow furrowed.

Vlad almost laughed. "I don't know, Alex, but it seems our competition may have the lead but they won't cross the finish line anytime soon."

"You're kidding?"

"No, I'm not. It appears our efforts may not have been in vain. We may indeed reach the moon's surface first." Vlad nodded and smiled at his chief engineer.

"Interesting. I wonder what could have happened to the Chinese cosmonaut?"

"I wonder as well, my friend," Vlad said.

# 19 Regroup

People's Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 44

* * *

"Pull the manual lever up and secure it before pressing the 'separate' button," Chong said from his console at Wencheng.

Hun watched as Sing recharged the lander's separation device manually, pushing the handle several times in quick succession and then locking it into place and hitting the button that would normally detach it and allow him to pilot it to the moon's surface. Sing pressed it several times and then recharged yet again before repeating the process without instruction from Chong.

"Is it possible to detach from outside the module?" Lin asked Chong through their newly established video connection.

"Not without the correct tool," Chong said.

"Someone's going to ask," Chon said from next to Lin.

"Who would have thought we'd have two failures in the same system?" Chong said, a slight tone of defensiveness in his voice.

Hun knew that as the chief mechanical engineer for this mission, the military would place a large amount of blame on Chong, and by extension his feet, despite the fact that they weren't responsible for the actual construction of the lunar lander. Both the automatic release and the manual lever had malfunctioned, and the explosive bolts didn't fire either. In that regard, Hun considered it more of a triple failure.

"Mission control, did you copy my last transmission?" Sing said, and Hun lifted his mike a bit higher to respond.

"That's affirmative, _Crimson Glory_ , we copy. Standby while we troubleshoot." Hun clicked his mike off and looked at Lin. "Is the signal strength still the same on all wavelengths?"

Lin looked at her computer from her desk in front of Hun's. "Yes, all readings have been the same with the peak readings occurring during perigee above the device. Those readings are at least eighty percent higher than we calculated."

"They don't exceed the shielding threshold, though they come close at their highest point," Chon added from his desk next to Lin's.

Hun thought about that for a moment. They couldn't blame the device nor its odd transmissions for the detachment failure, and a triple one at that. The entire docking operation had been a resounding success as Sing's craft, the _Crimson Glory_ , docked with the first module that had been launched two days prior containing the primary energy source and fuel pods. Sing's craft had been operating on only battery power, and Hun was sure the mission would be seriously criticized if something had happened during the three-day transit to shut down the power on the _Crimson Glory_.

Once coupled, the decaying plutonium reactor on the energy pod would provide more than enough power to not only recharge the command module but to also provide for a longer mission profile, if necessary. They would run out of food and water before they did power.

"Chong, look at the schematics again and find Sing a way to separate the lander," Hun said, adjusting his headphones.

"Good thing we doubled the shielding," Lin said.

Hun nodded and then opened his mike again to the _Crimson Glory_. "How you doing up there, Colonel Sing?"

Hun could see Sing's image starting to fill with static as the spaceship orbited within range of the alien device. Each orbit was taking just under two hours, and Hun and his crew literally held their breaths each time Sing was exposed to the device.

"I feel like I'm in a microwave getting cooked," Sing said, his smile just visible as he spoke, and the connection worsened.

"That may not be far from the truth. Our engineers are working on the problem, Colonel. Standby and we'll advise before the next orbit." Hun nodded again, and Sing started to prime the lever yet again. _The man will not give up, that much is for sure_ , Hun thought to himself.

"How much time do we have before the general intervenes?" Lin asked through the private channel that was perhaps not so private.

"Focus on the readings and let Chong do his job," Hun responded coolly, just in case they were being monitored. Hun knew that there were at least a dozen engineers with Chong at their space base, but Chong was his team member and chief engineer. He would have to figure it out . . . or not.

There was a slight commotion as the doors to their command center opened and General Wang walked in with some of his staff and two rather serious-looking soldiers armed to the teeth. Hun sighed and leaned forward in his chair, ready to stand when the general arrived.

"Director Lee, report," the general commanded, his voice a booming bass tone of authority.

"Flight and docking mission objectives accomplished to date. Currently troubleshooting the detachment issue with the lander, sir," Hun said, a tone of formality in his voice as he steadied himself after standing so abruptly.

"There will be no chance for _Morning Glory_ to fail, is that understood?" the general asked.

"Understood, sir. We'll find a way to separate the _Morning Glory_ from the _Crimson Glory_." __ Hun nodded, his arms now at his side.

"You have less than forty-eight hours. Show him." The general nodded, and one of his aids pulled out what looked to be a picture of a star field followed by another one with a blurred space station. The Russian station, if Hun remembered what the Russian _Pride_ looked like.

"What are these?" Hun asked.

"This is the Russian space station in route to the moon. They departed earth orbit this morning and will arrive in less than sixty-eight hours. It is imperative that Sing reach the moon's surface before they arrive."

Hun looked at the pictures he was given and saw both Lin and Chon looking his way, but they didn't approach. "We will find a way, sir."

Hun tried to return the pictures, but the general shook his head and his aide retreated his hand. "See to it that it happens, sooner rather than later. Keep the pictures as motivation." Wang left the room, and Hun could still hear the click-clapping of their hard-heeled boots against the polished floor. The next time Hun heard that, it could mean something far worse if they didn't fix this dilemma.

Tower Operations Launch Center

Cape Canaveral, Florida

In the near future, Day 45

* * *

Craig was more than upset, but Julie seemed to be taking it all in stride as they sat in the Canaveral debriefing room and listened to the analysis of their close call. The primary gasket seals between the first two rocket stages had failed. It was indicated that the rubber part suffered a serious deficiency during the curing process, and when exposed to the super cold liquid hydrogen, it became brittle and started to crack. The materials expert said it was fortunate that the failure was as catastrophic as it was, causing the crack and subsequent leak to become noticeable before the actual launch. Had it failed slower, then Craig and Julie's bodies may have never been discovered and their final resting place would be somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic.

"So what's the next phase?" President Powers asked via the teleconference system.

"We are prepping the second _Saturn V_ , the prototype one, and it should be ready in two to three days," Jeff Wheeler said, motioning to his monitor as a schematic of the project Gant chart appeared showing the progress on the rocket's preparation on everyone's screens as well as the main Houston control monitor.

"So this puts us last." It was a statement more than a question, and no one answered the president's rhetorical musing. "How long afterward till we can launch?"

Rock pulled his mike closer as Jeff looked his way. Once the rocket was ready, the launch procedure would fall on Rock's team. "We can be ready in twelve hours assuming there are no problems with mounting the lander on the new rocket and that the weather holds up."

"What is the forecast?" the president asked.

Jim Montgomery, NASA's chief meteorologist, spoke up from one of the back wall chairs around the large conference room overflowing with NASA employees. "The skies look clear for the entire week. I think we caught a break there."

"Madam President," Mr. Smith chimed in, "the real issue now is do we still launch at all? Perhaps Plan B is in order?"

Rock had no idea what Plan B was, but the president's dour expression didn't convey any favorability for it.

"No, I think we continue as planned and allow our astronauts the chance to at least reach lunar orbit. If nothing else, they can observe what's happening with the Chinese and Russians on the moon's surface." The president nodded.

"So our crewmembers will observe only?" Director Lui asked from his seat next to Rock, his tone one of disdain if not defeat.

"Perhaps," Powers said, looking intently at her monitor. "We don't understand why the Chinese are delaying their landing. We think maybe they have reached some sort of agreement with the Russians for a joint expedition to the surface, but we can't confirm this yet."

Rock stood almost instinctually before responding. "I've worked with the Russians and their space program, Madam President, and while I'm not a history expert, I would say that despite both countries being communist in the past, I don't see them working together when it comes to this particular matter."

"No, you're not a political expert, Mr. Crandon." Powers looked at Rock as directly as any monitor could convey. "We don't know what's going on up there with any degree of certainty, so we have to be prepared for all contingencies. I want the new _Saturn_ on the launch pad then in seventy-two hours ready to go, and both of our astronauts fully briefed and equipped for the mission."

Director Lui subtly grabbed Rock's arm and gave it a gentle pull, just enough to have Rock sit back down again. "We'll be ready, Madam President."

President Powers nodded, and then someone disconnected the video feed and the screen went dark. Several people started to file out of the room, and Rock's team gathered around Director Lui and their team leader.

"Well, that would just be peachy if true," Tom commented, pulling up a chair that was just vacated by one of the director's administrative assistants.

"You'll be okay?" Lui asked Rock.

"Yeah, we'll have a pow-wow first, and then back to the drawing board. Thanks for the support." Rock smiled.

Lui left the group and headed out the door, leaving Mr. Smith and Mrs. Brown in the corner of the room eying Rock and his group suspiciously.

"They seem intent on something," Marge said, motioning with her head at the two NSA employees.

"Forget about them," Rock said. "We need to make sure there are no other screw-ups. We got awfully lucky with this last launch."

"Don't you mean unlucky, boss?" Jack said.

"Yeah, very luckily unlucky," Rock said. Jack and Lisa chuckled while Tom scratched his head.

"I'm just glad Craig and Julie aren't here to hear us," Marge commented, a sour look on her face.

"Oh, come on now, Marge, you know we dodged a bullet, and sometimes a little humor is what we need to take the edge off," Tom said, looking at his junior leader intently.

"Well, you're both right," Rock stepped in, cutting off any retort by Marge, who never looked happy when engaged with Tom. "Either way we are late to the party and may not even get to dance. We can, however, still execute a flawless mission with the utmost safety and professionalism even if it's for last place in this screwed up race we find ourselves in. I'll need your best, so let's make sure we give this our A game, all right?"

Everyone nodded at Rock, and he took a deep breath. "Marge, have you and Jack had a chance to look at the data embedded in the RF signals yet?"

"Yeah, during some downtime we managed to get a sample of the feed and look it over, but nothing makes sense." Marge leaned back in her chair.

"So the goons gave you access, eh?" Tom asked.

"I thought you said they were spooks?" Jack responded.

"Well, now they're goons." Tom arched a brow at Jack.

"Would it be helpful to have access to the entire data feed?" Rock asked Marge.

"Of course," Marge responded, "but we had to pull teeth to get them to give us a sample. Top secret, compartmented and all that," Marge said.

Rock stood and motioned to Smith and Brown, getting their attention, and then sat back down again when they walked over. "Mr. Smith, can my team have access to the entire data stream from the alien device?" he asked.

Brown leaned over and whispered into Smith's ear before Mr. Smith responded. "Why do you want to analyze the alien signal?"

"That's part of our job. Send up the proper equipment for our astronauts to do their work. Being able to analyze what, if anything, the signal is intended for could help us to equip them properly," Rock said.

"Your team has already been given a sample of the signal and failed to decode it," Smith said, looking at Marge. "Isn't that right, Mrs. Jones?"

Rock held his hand up to silence Marge. "A sample won't cut it, Smith. We need to look at the entire data stream from start to finish, including any pre or post data info, so this would include the countdown as well."

Marge stayed silent, and Mr. Smith looked at Rock closely, if not actually scrutinizing him and his intent. Finally Smith responded. "What makes you think your team can do anything with this when we have over a hundred SIGINT analysts working the problem twenty-four-seven?"

"I don't think; I just want full access to whatever's up there if I'm responsible for the lives of two of our own. Besides, you said it yourself, you have a hundred experts looking at it right now. What harm is there in a couple of my folks reviewing it?"

"Over a hundred," Mrs. Brown interjected.

Smith took the time to look at each team member in turn, pausing long and hard to look at Tom.

"What? It won't be me. I want nothing to do with no signals from little green men." Tom shrugged his shoulders and held his hands palms up out to his side.

Smith paid him no more attention and turned to Rock. "Fine, I'll release the complete data stream on one of our secure laptops that you can check out from Mrs. Brown. When not working on it, the computer must be returned to us for safekeeping. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Rock said, nodding his head and watching as the two security handlers left the room.

"You know they're just in the hallway, not like they'd leave us alone for any great length of time," Jack said.

Marge looked at Rock, her face conveying surprise and a hint of a smile. "I can't believe they agreed to your request so easily. It took Jack and me nearly a week to even get them to give us a small sample."

"That's because they're afraid Rock will call his girlfriend if they object and she'd just give him what he wants," Tom said, his tone serious.

"You mean the president?" Lisa asked.

"Oh yeah, she has a crush on ole Rock here. Seen it from day one." Tom smiled now.

"I should have known," Lisa replied. "Sally would smack you good for saying that."

Tom held his hands up again, conveying the idea of surrender. Rock looked around at his team and then thought for a second before speaking. "Find out what our astronauts are going to face up there, Marge. I don't want to get caught again with my pants down."

The group nodded, and everyone started to get up and leave. Rock could just hear Tom's comment to Lisa as they left. "Now that's something I didn't want to visualize." Rock suppressed a smile as he heard stifled laughter coming from his team.

# 20 Difficult Decisions

People's Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

Hun didn't know if he would see Chang again. After two days with no results, Hun woke on the third day to the news that his chief engineer had been relieved of duty. Lin and Chon were both unusually somber and not very talkative. A military engineer had been assigned to work with Chang's replacement, a very old engineer by the name of Wu.

Wu spent most of his time pouring over the schematic of the lander Chang and his team had built. Hun checked in with the old man every two hours, and each time he had the same thing to report—still working on the problem.

The only good news was that there was no sign of General Wang. It didn't take long before rumor had it that the general had been called to the State Council to report. By early afternoon, the radar track of the Russian space station was being broadcast on one of the smaller monitors while the main monitor continued to display a somewhat clear, if not boring, image of astronaut Hen Sing as he meditated. On more than one occasion, the health and wellness technician broadcast a signal to Sing just to get a response even though his vital signs could be seen on one of the smaller accessory data terminals.

"Why does he do that?" Lin asked, looking at the smaller bank of screens across Hun's console. Hun had asked for Lin and Chon to pull up chairs at his workstation to discuss their latest update.

"Forget Sing and his sleeping, I'm surprised the military is allowing us to watch the Russian track," Chon said, looking at the main array of screens at the front of the room in mission control. "It's interesting that they are taking a retrograde orbit. Any idea why?"

Hun shook his head and looked at the monitor showing the Russian craft as it was approaching, prepared to enter lunar orbit in about twelve hours, circling in a retrograde path across the equatorial band of the moon from east to west instead of the standard west to east configuration that most spacecraft took when orbiting an object.

"It will make it more difficult to land with that orbit," Lin said, also watching the radar track update every few seconds.

"The Russians won't mind. They sent up enough fuel to descend to the surface and return more than one time, even in a more costly retrograde orbit." Hun sighed, remembering the latest news casts that were filtered into his country. It was technically illegal to be listening to Russian broadcasts and Hun didn't speak the language, but the English version from Vladivostok was clear enough, even if it wasn't meant for Chinese ears.

"You listened, too?" Chon whispered at Hun.

"Who doesn't, especially now?" Hun responded.

"That doesn't explain their choice of orbits," Lin said. "Why do something that is more difficult if it isn't necessary?"

Hun thought for a moment and again rubbed the stubble on his head. He immediately noticed the slight grins coming from his rapidly reducing mission crew. "What?"

"You should have kept some hair up there," Chon said. Lin wouldn't dare tell her boss something that direct, but Chon and Hun went way back.

"Yes, I often wonder if I rubbed all my hair away or if I cut it. It's been so long, I can't remember. No matter," Hun said, shifting subjects, "if the Russians are taking the hard way, you can be sure they have a pretty good reason. In the meantime, Lin, get a projected track on their craft and plot just how close it will be to our orbiter. I'd hate to have something happen up there now."

Lin immediately returned to her console, and Chon adjusted his seat for better comfort. It looked like he was going to stay awhile. "You don't really think they could get that close to our _Crimson Glory_ , do you?"

"No, of course not," Hun said. Space was vast, and there were only three objects in orbit above the moon at that time, unlike tens of thousands of objects whizzing around the earth. It was relatively sparse, and the likelihood of any near miss was on par with one's lottery chances. "I do, however, think the Russians may purposely route their orbiter near ours in order to take readings of our systems, or to even observe what we are doing."

"That would give them a very short window to observe. The rate of closure would be phenomenal between the two," Chon said.

"They only need a few milliseconds to have their scanners pick up whatever we are transmitting, as well as to take a thermal reading of the _Crimson Glory_ and the moon's surface near the object. They'll be able to tell if Sing is on the surface or still in orbit."

"You think they would do something to our craft?"

Hun raised an eye at his technician. "I don't know, but I wouldn't put it past them considering the stakes. Probably they won't once they realize we are stuck in orbit."

"They won't know that for sure, will they?"

"Not for sure. The dark side of the moon is never visible to our earth-based scanners, but every two hours their unmanned orbital reconnaissance probe is taking pictures and reading data feeds from every conceivable source as it passes the alien device. They would know if we had landed as it would take much longer than two hours to get there and return to orbit. No, Chon, I think they will speculate, quite accurately if I may add, that we have not been to the surface, and then they will act accordingly."

Lin returned then, looking excited. "The Army already plotted the Russian track, sir, but they left something off that I found interesting."

"Go ahead," Hun said, leaning forward now in his chair.

"If they vector in at about the same altitude as their orbiter, their trajectories will be opposite each other," Lin said, excitement in her voice as she looked to Chon and then back to her boss.

"What exactly do you mean?" Chon asked, not quite following.

"She means they will always have one of their two crafts on the far side of the moon," Hun explained for Lin, who simply nodded and smiled.

"Things are going to get uglier before they get better, aren't they, sir?" Chon said, defeat in his voice.

"I'm afraid so. There is no way to detach the lander without destroying the mating collar. Even if Sing could land and come back to the orbiter, he would have no way to return to earth." Hun and his team knew that the lander doubled as Sing's life support module and transport vehicle. The energy module could return to earth, but without its astronaut. Hun's team had come to that very conclusion after only a day's work of effort, but kept the fact secret.

"The old man is going to figure it out, isn't he?" Chon asked, looking over his shoulder at the empty monitor that was streaming a live feed from Wenchang.

"Yes. He may be slow, but he's thorough. I think he'll figure it out in the next work session or two," Hun said.

"Oh no . . ." Lin said, her face turning pale. "You don't think . . ." She left the rest of her sentence unspoken.

Hun sighed. "If I know the general, then I think Sing's medal will be awarded posthumously. He'll order it for sure."

_Gordust_ Space Station

Intrastellar Space

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

Yuri watched through the large view window as the _Gordust_ rocketed toward the moon. It was still mostly a full moon, and the features of the plains, darker grey blotches around areas of taller mounds, were incredibly beautiful. The star field was still pale as they were looking into the bright reflected sunlight from the lunar surface, making the pale starlight beyond nearly invisible.

"Can you see the Chinese spaceship?" Gregori asked from behind.

Yuri looked over his shoulder at the cosmonaut as he floated horizontally behind them, feet sticking back into the open corridor. "They're still too small, and even if we spot them, they'll be coming at us at a high rate of speed. We'd be lucky to see blur, if anything at all," Yuri answered.

"Don't be so pessimistic, Yuri," Olga said from her seat beside him as she dialed a few radio control knobs into new positions. "We can track them on radar and triangulate their location from their radio transmissions."

"Fine," Yuri said. "Get a read on them when you can and track their trajectory closely. I want to make sure we are a few clicks above them when we commence reentry burn. Let's keep them between us and the moon."

"Yes, will do, Commander," Olga answered, focusing her efforts on her new mission orders, though she had already started the work an hour earlier.

"Gregori, have you decided on which team members will go to the surface?" Yuri asked.

"That was decided before we launched, and nothing has changed. Ivan and I will pilot the lander to the device and retrieve the transmitter," Gregori replied.

"Who will transfer the fuel, then?" Yuri asked.

"Viktor will perform the EVA while Nikolai mans the control console. You and Olga will provide signals and communications support as agreed, _da?_ " the man said, floating a bit too close for Yuri's comfort, and Yuri returned his attention to the main window forward.

"Sounds exactly as we planned," Yuri said, his tone flat.

"Good. We'll turn in for six hours and then run through the checklists before we arrive in orbit. Let me know if Moscow sends any commands contrary to our mission profile. Wake me if you have to. Understood?"

" _Da_ , understood. Have a good rest. We'll take turns up here and be ready when you are," Yuri said, not looking back.

Gregori had been Spetsnaz and airborne special ops before joining Ruscosmos as a command and control leader. Yuri knew that Ivan would do the actual piloting since his background had been in the Russian Air Forces where he primarily piloted a MiG-49 for most his career.

Yuri had grunted in the affirmative and allowed the man to return to the crew pods for a short rest session. _An unusual name for sleep_ , he thought to himself. He and Olga would only leave the command pod to use the facilities and to get something to eat, and one of them had to man it at all times.

In the meantime, they would monitor communications for updates from Moscow and obtain whatever intel they could on the Chinese. At least the Americans weren't here. Yuri feared them more than the Communists.

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

"Irina, are you sure these reports came in this morning?" Vlad asked, perusing the latest printed reports from Moscow and noticing the dates were from yesterday evening.

"Yes, Vladimir," she said, walking over to his desk to look at them. "You know Moscow time is earlier than our time here."

Vlad looked up and noticed her smiling at him nervously. _Damn, she is beautiful_ , he thought to himself. No time for that now, such a distraction. He needed to focus. "All right, but not by more than twelve hours. Check our connection with the IT people and make sure we are receiving our feeds from Central Space Command in real time."

"I'll do that right now," Irina said, walking to the door and stopping to adjust one of her high-heeled shoes, looking back seductively at Vlad. _She isn't even trying to be discreet_ , Vlad thought as she finished and left their office complex. He could still hear her hard heels clicking on the marble floor in the hallway.

Something felt odd, a little off in the way Irina was interacting with him lately. On a hunch, Vlad picked up his phone and dialed the switchboard operator. "Get me Minister Osnokov," he said, and then patiently waited for the call to go through.

" _Allo?_ " the familiar-sounding voice came though the line.

"Dmitry, this is Vlad. Did I call at a bad time?"

" _Nyet_ , good to hear from you. I just arrived at the command center to oversee the lunar operation personally. I expect you'll be joining us in a few hours on the video connection. It will have to be a long day for you, my old friend," Dmitry said, his voice optimistic.

Vlad hated to even voice his suspicion, but he had to know. "The data from the _Gordust_ that was sent yesterday evening, what time did you authorize its release?"

Dmitry's tone changed a bit to one of confusion. "I don't know, Vladimir. I've authorized you and your team for complete access once a proper update is submitted. I'd have to check with my logistics manager, but I was sure it was before we left for the evening. I wanted to make sure you had it first thing this morning. Why do you ask?"

"I just received it this afternoon. I thought due to our conversation a few weeks ago that perhaps we were only authorized for certain information, need to know . . . that type of clearance," Vlad said.

"No, no, the FSB cleared you and your crew over a week ago. That was why we included you in the mission control operations instead of just using your services with the orbital insertions. The Kremlin felt it important enough to have a backup involved, and logically I recommended you and your staff." Vlad could hear Dmitry breathing heavier as he spoke.

"Well, these reports state that, with a high degree of probability, it appears the Chinese cosmonaut hasn't landed on the moon's surface yet. This would be important information, and I don't understand the reason for delaying its dissemination to us for several hours," Vlad stated.

"Correct, but you should have had it first thing this morning. I'll look into it—" Vlad heard a commotion coming from the other end of his line.

"What's going on there, Dmitry?" he asked.

"Hang on a second," Dmitry said.

Vlad could hear noises and then screaming followed by a series of loud popping sounds. "What is that?" Vlad asked.

"I think I hear gunshots," Dmitry said, not into the handset, his voice fainter.

Suddenly there was a loud booming sound followed by the static of a dead line. Vlad pressed down in quick succession on the handset clicker. Despite the advances in cellular technology, the telephones were the same as they were decades ago.

"Dmitry, can you hear me?" Vlad knew the line was dead, and this was confirmed when he heard the warning beeps coming from his handset indicating it had been off its hook for more than thirty seconds.

Vlad returned the phone and sat back down. He didn't even realize that during the frantic end of their conversation he had stood, leaning over the desk to reach the phone cradle easier.

It didn't take long before he heard a commotion coming from his own hallway. Vlad got up and walked out of his office, past Irina's desk, opening the door and looking down the long corridor that led to the main lobby. He got a quick glimpse of Aleksey as the man ran across the hallway toward the staff break room.

Vlad hurried down, finding the doors open and several of his staff watching a television monitor mounted on the wall. A few uneaten lunches were sitting on various tables as everyone's attention was fixated on the monitor.

Aleksey made eye contact with his boss and motioned him closer. "Vlad, you won't believe it," his chief engineer said, his face ashen, jaw dropped open slightly, and a glazed look over his eyes.

Vlad heard a cry stifled and saw Irina and another female technician holding each other. Tears were welling in their eyes. Vlad turned his attention to the newscast where a large, very familiar-looking building was half demolished. Large plumes of black smoke were streaming from it at several locations and combining into a large one that slowly billowed out from the building.

" _Bozhe moi!_ " Vlad said, bringing his hand to his mouth and watching the destruction as it was panned out in front of the screen. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes, Vladimir," Alex said. "Someone blew up the Ruscosmos control center."

Vlad could only watch the devastation, and this thoughts were on his old friend and mentor, Dmitry. "God help us," he mumbled.

# 21 BlackJack

White House

Washington D.C.

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

"Bring us to Defcon Two," President Powers ordered, sitting in her seat in the bunker of the White House command and control room.

Vice President John Lee looked at her with his brows raised. "You know the new protocols mean that one of us will have to leave, Gloria," he said.

"I know, John. I intend to stay here. You go airborne, fly to Houston, and oversee our space operations personally."

"That's your baby, Gloria. I can man the bunker, if you'd prefer, John said, ignoring the rest of her staff as they had a private conversation that wasn't so private.

President Powers looked him in the eye. Her face was serious, the scar creasing along the side of her head a reminder of the assassination attempt on her life not yet a year ago. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair intensely, and John Lee could see the leather fabric strain under the force. Finally she took a deep breath, and her words came out calm and measured. "My duty is here, to stop a world war. I trust you to keep me apprised of our progress. Can you do this for me?"

John stood up before addressing her. "Yes, Madam President," he said more formerly now, a show of respect for her despite them being friends for a very long time. "You'll handle the initial launch, then, today?"

"Yes, I'll take care of that over the secure teleconference line. Call me when you arrive."

Vice President John Lee grabbed his folders and nodded to the Director of National Security as he left the room toward the east lawn where the presidential marine helicopter would be standing by.

"David, are we ready for the launch?" Powers asked her Director of National Security.

"We are, Madam President. I wasn't going to pull them up onscreen quite yet till we finished with the debriefing, but we can if that's what you want," he said, looking at her.

"I think the NASA team should know. Bring them up and let's get this started."

David Rose nodded and motioned to one of the Air Force officers who was manning the communication's console. Within a minute, there was a split screen on the primary display showing the Cape Canaveral launch pad on the right side with a large view of the main control center in Houston on the other.

President Powers noticed Richard Crandon with Director Lui immediately, and nodded to them. "Director, Mission Leader . . . Are we ready for the launch this morning?"

Director Lui spoke. "Yes, Madam President. The tower control has the countdown at T-minus thirty-three minutes, so we're still a bit early. The _Saturn_ has just been fueled, and the astronauts are heading up the lift even now."

"Good, we'll go ahead and keep our connection open for now. I wanted to discuss a few things with your team before the launch, though I know they're busy," Powers said.

Rock smiled and then nodded. "Good morning, Madam President."

"Good morning, Mr. Crandon," she responded.

"We decided that due to the last failure, we would be securing our astronauts, Craig Alders and Julie Monroe, till the last minute just to be safe," Rock said.

"That doesn't exude confidence, Mr. Crandon. Are we worried about something?" she asked.

"We are always concerned, Madam President. This is just a safety precaution, nothing more, and no reason to read anything into it that's not there."

Fortunately the president couldn't see Rock's team, who had their mouths open, jaws dropped at the glib manner in which he had just addressed her.

"Mission Lead Crandon is basically indicating that we here at NASA are prepared for any eventuality, Madam President," Director Lui said, more diplomatically than Rock had just done.

"I understand, Director Lui. Have you and your people seen the news?"

"We have. It was rather disturbing considering the ramifications." He nodded.

"Well, we have reason to believe it may have been the Chinese. Even if it wasn't, the Russians are mobilizing their entire Far East Military District even as we speak," Powers said.

"News reports were that it was separatists from their southern regions near Turkey and Iran," Lui said.

Powers nodded and then looked at one of her notes before responding. "Yes, Chechin- or Kurdish-supporting separatists are what we have in our National Security Report." Rock could see the Director of National Security just to her side scowl at the revelation.

"Will this affect our mission?" Lui asked, the consummate professional, staying on topic.

"No, but you may want to take the latest current events into calculation when, and if, you do anything near the Chinese or Russians. Do you understand me?" Powers said, her tone serious.

"We will, and as usual, we'll report anything noteworthy to Mr. Smith who can relay this up the chain of command. Will you be observing the launch today, Madam President?" Lui asked.

"I will."

"I hope you know that Canaveral Tower has control until the _Saturn_ clears the launch tower, then we'll take over from there," Lui said, his tone matter of fact, all business-like.

"Understood, Director. See to your team. Washington out." The connection was severed and the screen went dark.

"Did she just say 'over and out'?" Tom asked from his nearby console.

Rock ignored his impudent mechanical engineer and focused on the task at hand. "Let's get ready, folks. World crisis or not, we're finally going to the moon today."

"You sure about that, boss?" Jack asked.

"As sure as I'm ever going to be. Now let's roll." The group broke up and returned to their consoles, awaiting the countdown.

Rock watched as Julie and Craig were strapped in again, the second time in three days, and he listened in as their chief physiologist talked to them in a therapeutic way. Rock could see their vital signs on one of his side screens as they monitored the health and welfare and even brainwave patterns of their astronauts.

"All systems check, integration complete," he heard Lisa stating over their com system. Rock tugged at the wired headset and wondered when, if ever, they would get the latest in Wi-Fi technology. He still had to "plug in" if he wanted to hear what was going on. There had to be a better way.

During the wait, several Secret Service agents filed into the room and a canine unit swept the area as well. Rock just looked at Mr. Smith, who mouthed the words "vice prez" to explain the activity. At least the president would be watching remotely, and that brought a small level of comfort as the team seemed to be unusually sensitive when they were being observed by the most powerful person on the planet.

Rock knew that the connection with the White House was active from the monitor light displayed on his console, but the reverse feed continued to be shut down. The president would watch them, but they would not see her. Again, probably for the best.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the countdown timer rolled to zero, and Rock watched as the bright light of the rocket was automatically dimmed by the high def camera as the first of four million pounds of propellant began to burn. _I'd hate to see that fuel bill_ , he thought to himself.

"Get ready, people," Rock said. Director Lui had left the center, and Rock could see his boss sitting calmly in the observation room high above the control center. He wasn't sure who everyone was in the room at this very moment, but it didn't matter. It was his time to command.

"Houston, this is Canaveral. _Apollo 21_ has cleared the tower. You have the ball. Confirm," came the announcement as the bottom of the rocket cleared the top of the launch tower.

Rock clicked his mike open, taking a deep breath. "Canaveral, this is Houston. Confirm, we have the ball. I repeat, Houston has the ball."

Rock noticed a slight nod from his boss from the corner of his eye before he put it out of his mind. The rocket continued to accelerate as it burned fifteen tons of propellant per second and accelerated at a constant velocity as it slowly started to disappear from sight.

"Commence roll," the guidance technician said from one of the twenty consoles in the control room.

Rock watched as the rocket started to roll slightly, its gyroscopes now allowing a command to adjust its angle ever so slightly so that it started to cross the Atlantic. The video feed of the interior of the capsule showed both astronauts strapped in, shaking mildly in their seats as over seven and a half million pounds of thrust propelled them skyward.

"Radar shows optimum track," Lisa said as she monitored her console. Being the integration specialist, she was now supervising eight other system controllers from her desk, feeding relevant data to Marge and Rock's consoles as well as comparing projected trajectory data versus actual.

"Jeff and his team did a fantastic job, didn't they?" Marge said via the private channel, interrupting the slow but steady stream of T-plus information as they counted toward the first stage of separation.

Rock clicked his push-to-talk button. "Yes, they did. The rover compartment looks a bit wide on top, but the entire module is quite the feat of engineering, considering the weight."

"I count almost three times the weight that the Apollo missions had when they took a rover with them," Marge said.

Rock knew she was referring to the _Apollo 15_ , _16_ , and _17_ missions where the astronauts took the mini dune-buggy-looking rover with them. This time their rover had to be bigger, more heavily shielded, and capable of traveling a much farther distance and back than anything that had ever been conceived before. They were counting on technology to give them an edge compared to the old rovers of the late sixties and early seventies.

"Good thing the _Saturn_ can handle the payload," Rock said, watching the rocket wobble a bit onscreen as the camera had to zoom in on it to keep it visible.

"It's mainly fuel. We've never attempted something like this before," Marge said. Rock thought she felt nervous, probably because this entire mission profile was her idea.

"Don't worry, Marge," Rock said, his voice calm as he tried to display a bit of confidence in her plan as well. "We've calced the hell out of this. It will work."

Marge nodded and cut her mike. After nearly three minutes, it was time for the first separation. Rock almost held his breath as the first stage broke away after burning its entire fuel load of over a half million gallons of kerosene fuel and liquid oxygen, its explosive bolts separating it from the rest of the rocket as it gently glided to the peak of its arch and then began its forty-two-mile trip back to the surface, eventually to land somewhere in the Atlantic.

The second stage took over, attempting to lift the craft into orbit, and Rock watched as the _Saturn_ continued on its trajectory for twice as long as the first stage. After a total of just over nine minutes, Rock watched as the craft approached the African continent and the second stage detached, allowing the third and final stage to ignite and propel the craft to orbital velocity.

"Looking good," Rock heard Jack say from his console, and it broadcasted on the public channel. One of Marge's technicians continued to calmly call out data milestones as the craft passed various speeds and distances. He noticed that Marge let out a large breath of air when the second stage separated and the third successfully ignited.

Rock decided to add a human touch to the monotone monologue coming from the data technician. "How you doing up there, Craig?" Rock asked, flipping his push-to-talk on the public channel that the astronauts were using as well.

Craig gave a thumbs-up on the monitor as his bulky gloved hand temporarily released its hold on the chair armrest. "Good."

"Julie, how are you feeling?" Rock asked.

"Feeling good, Houston. Quite a ride. Give our regards to your crew. This is a fine ship to pilot," she said.

"We feel the same down here, _Apollo_. Your telemetry is five by five, and we'll have you in orbit momentarily. Make us proud." Rock clicked his mike off and smiled as he got a thumbs-up from Julie as well.

The monotone voice called for final engine shutdown, and the third stage would not be reignited until they had orbited the planet one and a half times. Rock watched as Lisa took the radar readings from Spain and then, thirty minutes later, from India. The craft reached an orbital height of over one hundred miles, and Marge and her crew were calculating the burn ratios from low earth orbit to the moon.

Australia picked up the _Apollo 21_ craft and then finally Hawaii. Houston would be able to track them across the Western Hemisphere. There was a series of discussions on equipment and vector alignment between Marge and the _Apollo_ as they completed their first orbit of the planet in a single hour.

Rock's mike clicked open as Jack queued him on the private frequency. "Wasn't that long ago that most people thought the world was flat. Now we're circling it in a mere hour."

Rock smiled as he watched the radar track superimposed on a map of the world. "Right you are. Geologically speaking, it was a mere blink of an eye. Makes you wonder where we'll be in a few more centuries."

Tom had joined them in the intercom. "Nowhere at the rate Congress funds us. We're lucky we're even headed back to the moon now."

"Don't you have a system to monitor?" Jack chided Tom.

"I have less systems to monitor than you have frequencies," Tom retorted. Neither of his technicians looked up from their consoles, and any casual observer would be at a loss if they were listening in.

Rock let it go as time passed and the last stage crossed over the Indian Ocean. Marge's team had calculated the orbit at one-hundred-two-point-four miles overhead by the same margin. A perfect circular orbit, not that it surprised Rock since the _Apollo 16_ mission had achieved much the same decades earlier.

"Ignition in three, two, one, mark," the data technician said through her microphone as the third stage rocket reignited and the thrust vectors sent the craft up and away from low earth orbit pointed at the moon.

Rock watched as the rest of the propellant was consumed and the radar track updated to show the _Apollo_ spacecraft within a quarter of a degree of their plotted trajectory.

"Nicely done, everyone," Rock said over the public frequency. There was a round of applause when the data technician cut in and declared the ship on target.

" _Blackjack_ to Houston," Rock heard the intercom crackle with Craig's voice coming from the ship. "We are headed to the moon, Houston."

Marge looked at Rock and gave the go ahead nod. "Houston to _Blackjack_ , confirm transmission. _Blackjack_ inbound to the moon. All systems go, over and out," Marge said.

" _Blackjack_?" Rock asked, clicking on his team's private channel.

"It was Tom's idea, and Craig and Julie ran with it," Marge said.

"Yeah, like in _Apollo 21_ , Blackjack in Vegas," Tom said.

This mission should have been _Apollo 20_ , but since that mission was aborted, the superstitious but scientific NASA team always advanced the mission number in order not to jinx the operation. If _Apollo 20_ was a bust, then _Apollo 21_ would be their lucky number. It would be their Blackjack.

# 22 Gambit

People's Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

It had taken the general less than ten minutes to discuss the veteran engineer's recommendation and finally approve it. Hun had to explain it to Colonel Sing personally, and he was almost brought to tears at how the older man handled the news. It was, of course, offered as a voluntary course of action, but the colonel knew what it meant and, with great grace and honor, had accepted the new mission profile.

The general had taken a few moments to discuss the objectives with Colonel Hen Sing before returning control back to Hun. Engineer Wu had figured out the only solution short of simply returning empty-handed and never hesitated to offer it to Central Control.

"Bastard," Hun heard Chon whisper into his ear.

"Not now, Chon," Hun said, looking sideways at the hallway doors where the general had left not long ago. Hun was sure that General Wang would be watching from the upper control room overlooking the main consoles here in Beijing.

"He just ordered the man to his death," Chon persisted.

Hun waved him away and sat down in his chair, relieved to see that Chon had returned to his desk.

"Report when you are secure in the main lander," Hun heard Lin say over the main frequency.

"I'll take it from here," Hun ordered. Lin looked at her boss once and then clicked her mike off. Hun would take responsibility for the instructions that would seal the man's fate.

The new mission profile called for Colonel Sing to separate the lander by manually overriding the emergency explosive bolts, which would detach the lander and the command module from the energy/fuel pod. This would allow him to land on the moon's surface and return to orbit with the alien device.

He would not be able to re-dock with the first pod that contained the energy and fuel stores because the explosive bolts would destroy the docking collar. He would, however, be able to place the device in one of the smaller storage bins that he could access from the outside, and then the secondary module could be remotely piloted back to earth, leaving Sing and the control module orbiting the moon for eternity. Sing would live until his oxygen supply ran out four days later.

" _Crimson Glory_ , this is Beijing Control, do you copy?" Hun said, his voice calm but determined.

"Beijing Control, the _Crimson Glory_ copies. Do you have instructions for me?" Sing said.

"Affirmative. On my mark, you will engage the emergency protocol on the dual pod release mechanism. This has been wired now so that you can simply press the red 'detach' button on the right of your console. Are you ready?"

" _Crimson Glory_ ready and able." The old man's voice crackled as it proceeded around the side of the moon.

Hun waited for the countdown timer. They had several minutes to spare, and the timing had to be perfect if the craft was to land successfully near the target. It had the bare minimum fuel requirement in order to even reach the moon, so most of the trip in would be coasting with some short, strong burns of the motors to arrest the ship's velocity and keep it within maintainable maneuvering levels.

"Detach in ten seconds," Hun said. "Three, two, one, detach now."

The external cameras clearly caught the metallic fragments as twelve bolts exploded, separating the lander and command module from the energy pod. Hun had to hand it to the colonel, the man never hesitated.

Hun noticed Lin and Chon still working furiously at a plan to transfer fuel from the secondary module to the primary one. Hun knew it would be futile, but he couldn't bring himself to blame his crew for trying. The main issue was that the heavier lander and control module carried only enough fuel to make it to the moon. The fuel reserves were on the secondary module which, after docking and mating with the command module, could not be pumped or otherwise transferred to Sing's lander.

The lander doubled as not only the lunar transfer vehicle but also the earth to moon and return control module. It had to in order for the lighter lift Long Reach rocket to be able to reach the moon with that size payload. A separate command module and lunar lander was considered wasteful. There was no astronaut staying in lunar orbit; therefore, no command module was needed.

Both modules were still traveling together, but the lander was falling steadily behind as the inertia from the explosive bolts slowed its velocity by a half meter per second. The timing was designed for only a minute to pass before Hun ordered Sing to begin the retro-burn and slow the lander.

"Retro-burn initiated," Sing said, his voice calm and professional. Not what Hun expected from a man who just had his death warrant signed and sealed.

"Decrease burn in three, two, one, mark," Hun said. The control center room was completely silent except for the faint humming of cooling fans coming from the many electrical devices and computers hard at work.

"Burn decreased," Sing said, his hand on the piloting stick ready to take over in case the computer didn't make the necessary course corrections.

"Communications transfer in one minute," Lin said.

Hun watched as the Chinese lunar lander continued its butt-first approach to the moon's surface. The lander was about to be eclipsed by the moon itself, and they would only have another two minutes communications via the transceiver on the secondary module still orbiting the moon before it, too, went out of coms with Beijing control.

"Communications successfully transferred," Lin said right after the video feed blacked out and then picked back up again.

"Trajectory is going long," the voice of one of the center's mission controllers came across the intercom.

Hun watched as the trajectory showed the lander extending higher above its intended track. If this kept up, it would overshoot its target.

" _Crimson Glory_ , increase thrust by fifty percent," Hun ordered into the mike. "Chon, what's the computer doing?"

Chon looked confused for a second until he punched up some additional data. "The burn rate is set, but the fuel isn't burning as efficiently as it should."

"Communications black out in thirty seconds," Lin said, panic creeping into her voice.

The video feed started to deteriorate as the seconds passed. " _Glory_ , did you copy? Increase thrust by fifty percent," Hun repeated. "Chon, will he have enough fuel to return?"

"Yes, as long as he commences the burn now."

"Thrust increasing by fifteen percent," Sing's voice came across the channel, static starting to win the communications battle.

"Negative," Hun said, his voice now booming but calm. He had to make sure the man heard him. "Fifty percent burn for twenty seconds. Follow the readout on your navigation screen. I repeat, fifty percent burn for twenty seconds. Do it now, Colonel Sing, commence burn now."

"Communications blackout," Lin said, defeat in her voice.

"Did we get trajectory data on his track?" Hun asked.

"Coming now, sir," Chon said.

Hun watched as the data fed into his monitor with an overlay of his planned flight path. Sing did indeed increase thrust, but the vector still went long. Unless he heard the command, he would overshoot his landing site by a large margin. It would be a long wait till communications could be reestablished once the orbiter cleared the far side of the moon. Hun just hoped they wouldn't find Colonel Sing dead from the impact.

_Gordust_ Space Station

Near the moon

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

"Look at that signal strength," Olga said, her eyes never leaving the monitor from where she was strapped in at her console seat.

Yuri glanced over at her main monitor as his screen displayed radar and navigation data from where he was piloting the flying brick. "It matches what our orbiter relayed, but yes, it is quite high considering we are just now approaching the moon."

"How long do you think we're going to deal with this lack of communication?" Olga asked.

"Hard to tell," Yuri pondered, pulling up the short and cryptic text message they had received a few hours earlier. _Maintain course and speed._ Four words, and despite the clear orders, Gregori had been trying every few minutes to raise Moscow Control to no avail. It was as if they had turned a switch off.

"There it is. I have a track on the Chinese craft now. Our orbiter should be clearing the far side within the next fifteen minutes as well," Olga said. "Do we self-insert?"

"What other options do we have? We'll have to commence the orbital deceleration burn within the next hour." Yuri changed his screen to pull up the display showing the tracks of several objects orbiting the moon. Flying off into deep space would not be advisable. Orbital insertion around the moon was their only option short of simply circling it and returning to the earth.

"I've got someone on channel three," Gregori's voice came across the intercom system.

"Tune them in, Olga," Yuri said, continuing to monitor the moon's artificial satellites.

Olga tuned to channel three and activated the interior speaker so they could both hear the communications in their command module.

"This is Vostochny Control. Confirm acknowledgement of orders," an unfamiliar voice said.

"This is _Ruski Gordust_ confirming," Gregori replied. "Identify yourself."

"Isn't that what they just did?" Olga asked, her face conveying a look of confusion.

"He's ex Spetsnaz. He wants to know exactly with whom he is speaking," Yuri answered.

There was a pause, some static, and then a new voice, calm, authoritative, and assertive came across the frequency. " _Ruski Gordust_ , this is Director Vladimir Berdenko of the Ruscosmos space base Vostochny. Moscow Central Control is no longer active. Vostochny Control is now primary. Confirmation code alpha two, delta three, one four seven echo. Confirm orders and communications."

Another pause while Gregori presumably confirmed the authorization codes. The codes were only used when and if a secondary channel was used and any other entity other than Moscow Central Control was directing activities. Normally all communications were encrypted and sent on a central frequency that didn't require verification, but this new procedure for communicating was different and involved a completely different set of radio protocols.

"Vostonchny Control confirmed. Good to hear from you. We are at minus forty-eight for lunar orbital insertion, and Moscow has been dark," Gregori came back.

"Understood, _Gordust_. Proceed with primary mission protocols until orbital stabilization and then switch to protocol bravo three, acknowledge."

"Bravo three, acknowledged," Gregori said, clearing the channel.

Yuri wondered what bravo three entailed. All trans-space protocols were designated with the alpha prefix, while the lunar surface team protocols were bravo based. What exactly bravo three referred to was beyond him.

"Gregori, what is bravo three?" Yuri asked nonchalantly, wondering if the man would tell him. He hadn't been cleared for it and didn't understand why the secrecy, so he forced the gambit to see what he could glean from the lunar commander.

There was a long pause before the man spoke. "Yuri. The Chinese have made it to the surface before us. Alpha one approach stays the same, but we will be more . . . aggressive on the surface. Just get us into orbit. We detach after the first orbital confirmation."

Olga gave Yuri an interesting look. Obviously she didn't expect to hear that much information either. Yuri keyed his mike. "Copy and understood. Be advised that the readings we're receiving from the surface are stronger than our reconnaissance satellite has relayed. Recommend we send one of our passive recon probes first to ascertain more data points."

"Negative, Yuri," Gregori replied somewhat informally. "Protocol calls for an immediate detachment and landing."

Yuri didn't like the new procedures, but if that was what the mission called for, he'd do his duty. "Confirmed. Ready your team, then, Commander Antov, and I'll call mark at minus ten minutes."

"Affirmative," Gregori replied, seeming not to notice the formality from Yuri.

"What's going on earth-side?" Olga asked after Yuri had cut the com link.

"I have no idea, Olga," Yuri said, focusing now on their insertion in less than forty-five minutes. "Go to infrared and track all orbital bodies. See if you can get a reading from the surface when we come around, and make sure we can track Commander Antov in the _Ruski Zvesda_.

"Are you really going to allow them to detach before we confirm orbital trajectory?" she asked.

"You've seen the orders from over a month ago. Commander Antov is in charge of all lunar activity. We just fly this big pig," Yuri said, looking sideways at his copilot and allowing a smile to cross his face.

The _Gordust_ wasn't even remotely aerodynamic looking, but it didn't matter. Pig was as good as any description for the station, which had several modifications made to it. A hundred years earlier in the lexicon of U.S. Americana, it would have been called a jalopy. As long as it responded to his input commands, Yuri didn't care.

"Yes, but you're in charge until they do detach. Can't you delay for even one orbit so we can get an accurate fix on our trajectory?"

"I'm afraid not, Olga. _Kto ne riskuet, ne pyot champagnye._ He who takes no risks, drinks no champagne."

"I was afraid you'd say something like that," Olga responded without looking at Yuri. It would be a very intense trip.

# 23 The Moon

People's Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

"Coming around now, sir," Lin said, tracking the orbiter as it started back around the dark side of the moon. "Cameras activated, coms ready."

"Try to raise Colonel Sing," Hun ordered.

"Beijing Control to _Crimson Glory_ , do you copy?" Lin said, taking over the radio communications from the fairly inexperienced prior technician who stood next to Lin.

The reaction was immediate before they could even receive the video feed. " _Glory_ , do you read me?"

"He must have been transmitting earlier," Lin said, looking at her display.

Hun knew it would take two and a half seconds for their signal to reach the moon and get back to them, so Sing was already trying to raise them. "Get the visual onscreen as soon as you can," Hun said.

The moon was full as seen from the earth, so the far side was facing away from both the earth and the sun. They would have their cameras searching for the device as well as Sing on the thermal band using infrared.

"We read you loud and clear," Lin said, her eyes darting from console to screen and back. "Can you give us a report?"

Sing's voice sounded calm, and for some reason, there seemed to be almost no static despite the constant barrage of radio waves coming from the alien device. " _Crimson Glory_ went long. Location unknown. Equipment status unknown. Personal status inoperable. Broken legs, broken pelvis, and possibly broken spine, over."

The room once again was hushed as Lin looked to Hun for guidance. Hun nodded at her to say something. Lin opened her mike. "Report received. Standby, _Crimson Glory_."

"Get me his location." Hun barked the order.

Chon and three other technicians were pouring over the video feed and widening the search when the first five kilometer block came up with no heat signatures. The actual alien device glimmered a pale orange as it put off heat, but not anything intense, and it was still currently localized to the one location.

After what seemed like minutes but was only seconds, a technician nearly shouted, "I have him. Grid twelve, longitude delta."

"Delta twelve," Chon said, pulling the picture up and streaming it to the main console on the wall.

Hun looked at the _Crimson Glory_ in false infrared color. "My God," he exclaimed, looking at the lander from what appeared to be a side shot even though the camera from the main orbiter was farther overhead. It looked like it was lying almost completely on its side. Two of its four support legs were broken and strewn across the landscape along with smaller pieces of the craft.

"Thirty seconds," Lin said, referring to the amount of time they had to communicate with Sing. They were already bouncing the radio signal off of one of the older Indian communications satellites that they had contracted the use of after losing their primary one.

"Inform the colonel that we're working on the problem and will get back to him on the orbiter's far side," Hun said, referring to the fact that coms would be reestablished once the secondary module cleared the far side of the moon and was once again within the visual arc of the earth. There were two short periods on either side when this occurred for only a few moments each hour and a half. They would have to work quickly to save their mission. Colonel Sing had his death warrant signed once he separated the lander and destroyed the docking collar. Now the question was would his death be in vain?

General Wang watched the events as they unfolded from his military command and control room outside of Beijing. The space technicians thought he was in their building, but that was only true half the time. He had a complete surveillance system installed in the space control center and monitored their progress remotely.

He picked up the phone and asked for the premier. After a heated discussion, he hung up and looked at his chief aide, Major Jiayang. "Initiate Operation Steel Fist. Load the nuclear warhead immediately."

Major Jiayang began relaying orders via her command and control console to various military assets. If the Chinese couldn't obtain the alien device, then no one would.

General Wang hoped this wouldn't start a world war.

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

"Any luck so far?" Rock asked, poking his head in through the doorway where Marge and Jack worked together in a side room off of the main control room. The control room had less than half the normal contingent of operators for the mission as the main crew was off duty in preparation for the lunar arrival.

"Not yet," Jack said, peering at a string of code displayed on their small laptop.

"You'd think they would give us a larger view screen," Marge chimed in.

Rock nodded as he entered the room and pulled up a chair. "State security and all," he said.

"Something like that," Marge said without looking up again. "What's so odd is that from the data stream, all the NSA analysts, as well as the super computers they have working the problem, seem to be focused on a mathematical solution."

"What's wrong with that?" Rock asked.

"Well, nothing really, Rock, but so far we've had access to the data stream for a few weeks now and not even one part of the information has been decoded, deciphered, or translated. It makes me wonder if we're barking up the wrong tree, so to speak."

"Didn't your SETI principles state that the foundation for any communication with extraterrestrial life would most likely be based on mathematics as a form of universal communication?" Rock asked.

"They did, but I've gone over the data, and between the NSA, academia, and quantum super computers, they pretty much covered every mathematical formula of any import known to man." Marge looked at Rock.

"So Marge had an idea," Jack said, a grin across his face.

"Doesn't she always?" Rock smiled back at Jack.

"Go ahead, Marge, tell the man," Jack prompted her.

"Well, if it isn't a mathematical equation, then I am led to believe we have to look at three other areas. The first would be chemical compositions," Marge said, punching up a spreadsheet where she had started to track the variables relating to the data. "The next would be genetic information relative to all lifeforms, and the final one would be cosmic geography, so to speak."

"What the hell do you mean by cosmic geography?" Rock asked.

"It would be like a road map where the ETs left a way to track their location to save their home planet," Marge said.

"Aren't we getting a bit ahead of ourselves?" Rock asked, scratching the back of his head and leaning against the table with his elbow. "I mean, ETs? More like an artifact of some sort of ancient civilization, wouldn't it?"

"Who knows?" Jack said. "My money is on the roadmap, ET-phone-home kind of thinking."

Marge nodded her head. "I'd agree with Jack or go with a chemical blueprint along the lines of the periodic element chart. You know, hydrogen, helium, and so on. The building blocks of all complex matter. This would be just as viable as a mathematical blueprint."

"All three including the biological theory would be possible," Jack said.

"So what's the catch? I mean, what is the key to unlocking this code from the device?" Rock asked.

Marge and Jack looked at one another for a moment before Marge responded. "The primary issue would be how any information would be conveyed. The data itself could be clear and understandable to us, but not if the way it's presented is confusing, and that is where we are at right now. No one understands how to interpret the data in order to fit it into a structure or language that would make sense to us."

Rock leaned back, removing his elbow from the table and interlocking his fingers behind his head. "So would having a linguist on board be beneficial?"

"It could be," Marge replied, "but it doesn't mean there would be a break through if the language was, for example, mathematical instead of phonetic."

"I can ask Mr. Smith for one of those linguistic experts from the academia crew if either of you two feel it's worthwhile," Rock said.

"They already have a large group working on that end of things, looking for a way to linguistically decode a mathematical code, not to mention all the processing power they have working the problem," Jack replied.

"It seems our Mr. Smith has covered all their bases, then." Rock nodded.

"All but these," Jack said, nodding at Marge's theories and spreadsheet on the data input. "I'm not so sure they know how to think out of the box."

"Perhaps, but if anyone could apply logic to this, it would be you guys," Rock said, smiling at his team members.

"Nice of you to say, Richard," Marge responded formally. "I'd feel better if I knew which area to concentrate our efforts on. It's hard enough working just one theory, much less three, and add to that the fact that we don't know how the information is being conveyed, and we are as lost as the NSA."

"For now," Jack said, placing a hand on the laptop and tapping it lightly.

"I see your point," Rock replied, looking up at the ceiling and letting out a long sigh. "Well, keep at it in your spare time. We'll have another day and a half before we start getting busier, and I'll need you both at the top of your game for the lunar mission."

"If there will even be a mission," Jack said.

"I doubt we'll send them this far just to sit it out." Rock nodded.

"Perhaps, but if the Chinese or Russians get ahold of the device first, there won't be much to do on the surface except to inspect an empty box," Marge said.

"I take it that was metaphorical?" Rock smiled at Marge.

Marge smiled back and started to work on the data from the laptop again. Jack looked at his boss for a moment before pulling out a notepad and jotting down a few ideas. Rock took this as a sign that their conversation was over, but he sat for a minute longer and watched his team at work. Marge looked up at him once and smiled. Rock returned the smile and then got up and returned to the control room. He'd leave in another hour or two, just in time to have a late dinner with Sally before catching a few hours of sleep and then getting up before dawn and returning to do the same routine all over again.

_Crimson Glory_ Lander

Surface of the Moon

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

Hen Sing set his glove down beside him next to his helmet and took a deep breath. The entire area was now dark as he had powered down most of his equipment and turned off the exterior lights. It had taken a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but even on the far side of the moon, there was enough starlight shining on its surface for him to make out a few details.

He fingered the plastic cover for a moment and then flicked it open. The red button simply had the two Chinese characters on it for "interlock" and "override." Sing closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He had given his last reports on time despite the constant pain and waited for instructions.

He knew it was a one-way trip once he detached and landed. Well, one way in the sense that he had planned to return to the orbiter and place the alien device in one of its small equipment bays and then steer clear in his lander and watch the orbiter boost and return to earth without him. He figured he'd orbit the moon for decades before someone finally came to retrieve his body, and his coffin would lie in state, a hero to his country for his duty and sacrifice. What greater honor could he have hoped for?

Now he would die within kilometers of the prize, and it would all be in vain. Sing sighed again. Not just kilometers, but fifty-two of them, to be precise, now from the radar data fed to his console. He had really overshot his mark despite his best efforts.

He had recorded his final transmission to be sent to the orbiter once it passed overhead. He was finished, and a simple push of the interlocking override button would open the hatch on the lander, expelling his small atmosphere of nitrogen and oxygen onto the moon's surface and exposing him to the vacuum of space. His death would be quick and the pain would be over. He didn't want to focus on the humiliation of defeat and failure.

Just when he was about to press the button, he heard the faint call from mission control. It was Commander Hun Lee himself. "Do you copy, Colonel Sing?"

Sing moved his finger away from the override and keyed his mike. " _Crimson Glory_ here. Repeat your message."

"Can you monitor and report on the signal data from your lander? Is it functional?" Director Lee said, his voice full of static in the small cockpit of the lander.

"Affirmative, I can transmit the signal data to the orbiter for relay if you wish." Sing thought for a moment. Could it be that his life may just have a few more days of usefulness to his beloved country? Could he redeem himself in some small way? What was the mission team thinking to keep him alive if not?

"Commence transmit and repeat data stream flow every ninety minutes. Confirm."

"Confirming orders." The military part of Sing's mind took over. He pressed a series of buttons on his console to collect the data into several time packets, and then he pressed the transmit button on the communication's console to encrypt and beam the information to the orbiter overhead.

Sing sighed and then made one final reach for the medical box mounted on the side of the wall. He could reach both sides from his seat, so he didn't need to move. He could wiggle his toes, so he knew his spine was intact and perhaps hadn't broken his back, but his legs were another matter. He could deal with broken legs with a little help.

In one motion, he brought out the vial of morphine and opened a new syringe. There were only three more left, so he'd have to reuse them, not that he worried about living long enough for infection to take over. He filled the syringe and then plunged it into his exposed wrist. The drug started to work instantly, giving his entire body a tingle at first and then slowly dulling out the pain that was throbbing from his legs.

Next time, he'd plunge the bloody needle into his neck if the pain continued to be this intense.

# 24 Russian Pride

_Gordust_ Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

"Prepare for detaching," Yuri commanded into the intercom radio system. "Detach now!" he said, a bit loudly considering the small confines of his command module.

Olga nodded at him and then checked the screen to obtain visual that the lander had separated from the rear of the space station. _Well, space ship now_ , Yuri thought. The module viability display had gone from green to red, indicating the main station computer no longer was receiving data on the lander module.

"Detached, commencing systems check," Gregori said, excitement in his voice, and why not? He and Ivan would be the first cosmonauts, if not humans, to land on the moon.

" _Zvesda_ detached, delta v at minus one meter per minute," Nikolai said, monitoring the lander from his own control console at the rear of the craft. Yuri and Olga would control the _Gordust_ , Nikolai would be mission coordinator with support from Viktor, who had just returned from the refueling EVA and was changing his suit to the interior coveralls they usually wore. Ivan was piloting, and Gregori was in overall command of the lunar mission. _Everything in order as planned_ , Yuri thought.

Olga looked at him sideways, and then Yuri nodded to the main communications radio. Olga flipped the frequency from intra-module to interstellar. "Vostonchy, this is _Ruski Gordust_. Lunar detachment complete, orbital insertion in ten minutes. Do you copy?"

The radio signal time delayed by a few seconds before a technician's voice came over the speaker. "Copy, _Gordust_ , proceed per schedule."

The schedule packet had been uploaded thirty minutes earlier and was basically the same information Gregori had transmitted earth-side for approval. The lander would detach and land immediately without an orbital period to stabilize and plot a more accurate trajectory for the lander.

The landing was way riskier this way, but the lander had extra fuel onboard and could maneuver if necessary. In fact, Gregori was counting on this as part of their overall plan.

The radiation alarm activated with a loud _whooping_ sound throughout the entire station, and several small red lights in various pods activated and started to blink.

"Turn that alarm off," Yuri ordered, looking at Olga.

Olga reached over and deactivated the alarm. "Scared the hell out of me," she said, giving Yuri a rare smile. Her hand shook ever so slightly after pressing the button to turn it off, and she clenched it into a fist and brought it down to her side.

"Check the readings to be sure they are still within nominal levels," Yuri said, nodding and ignoring her display of anxiety.

" _Gordust_ , this is _Zvesda_. What was that alarm?" Gregori asked.

Yuri flipped the mike. " _Zvesd_ a this is _Gordust_. The radiation alarm was triggered. Checking readings now." He paused, his mike still open, and he looked to Olga, who was scanning the readout before she nodded. " _Zvesda_ , all readings nominal, proceed."

There was a very long pause before Commander Gregori responded. "Confirm the readings, _Gordust_."

Yuri saw Olga give him one of those looks, the look that said: _we screwed up_. Yuri keyed the mike again. " _Zvesda_ , this is _Gordust_ , readings are nominal, I repeat, nominal. We failed to update the alarm trigger level after adding the additional shielding. Disregard and proceed with the landing."

"Roger, _Gordust_ , _Zvesda_ proceeding." Gregori sounded more content now that he knew the _Gordust_ crew had simply failed to dial up the radiation threshold reading from the sensor. It had triggered the alarm at a low level that was normally used in cases of solar flares and usually intended to have the cosmonauts suit up to have a safer level of protection from cosmic radiation.

"Those readings are higher than we calculated, again by a factor of four," Olga said, looking at her monitor.

"Well, we are arriving closer to the alien transmitter than our orbiter. We'd expect the signal to be stronger," Yuri replied.

Olga nodded, her face, however, more serious. "Yes, but we are calculating a linear progression in signal strength, not an exponential one. Our readings should show the signal strength at twice the normal level, but it's twice that again."

Yuri thought for a moment and then he heard Nikolai's voice come over the command frequency. " _Zvesda_ , Commence braking."

"Commencing braking now," Gregori responded, only using the term _Gordust_ when communicating with Yuri or Olga.

Yuri nodded to Olga, and she brought up the rear camera screen to show the video of the lander as it had dropped behind the _Gordust_ by nearly three meters. The compressed oxygen on board was vented slightly from the lander toward the _Gordust_ , slowing the lander's relative velocity by a factor of ten.

"Initial braking complete," Gregori said.

"Velocity now delta v at minus ten meters per minute, point-one-six meters per second." Nikolai read out the rate of distance separation between the lander and the _Gordust_. This was very important as the two crafts needed a safe distance between them before the lander ignited its rocket motors to slow its decent and begin its landing on the moon. The slower speed would allow the force of the moon's gravity to pull the craft toward itself as the inertia from the orbital velocity diminished.

Yuri thought about calling an abort so they could extrapolate the signal data and update their reading estimates of the planet's surface, but he knew immediately that the lander commander wouldn't agree. He had too much of that Spetsnaz in him to play it cautiously. No, he would land, and to hell with safety protocols or discreet caution. The mission was priority number one. Still, Yuri thought they should give them the option, so instead of calling for an abort, he keyed his mike to relay the data Olga had given him.

" _Zvesda_ , this is _Gordust_ ," Yuri said.

"Go ahead, _Gordust_." Nikolai sounded annoyed.

"Be advised that the signal power readings here are two times our estimates, four times normal," Yuri said into his mike.

Olga gave him another one of those looks, indicating that Yuri should be more forceful with his information, but Yuri had dealt with the Spetsnaz's commando for several days and Gregori's reply was not a surprise.

"Understood, _Gordust_ ," Gregori said curtly. "Commencing with burn."

"Burn in ten seconds," Nikolai said, his monotone voice, devoid of emotions, sounding like a computer or disembodied soul.

Olga nodded at Yuri, indicating agreement. The _Gordust_ had tried. Time to get to work. "Yuri, we'll be entering orbit in five minutes. Any altitude adjustments?"

"Considering the signal strength, keep us on the higher side. I'd feel better having more distance between us and the device," Yuri responded.

Olga nodded. "At least we have an entire row of extra shielding."

Yuri looked out the side viewport at the stanchions holding the shielding panels out toward the moon. Each one looked like a solar panel, but they were made from lead and compressed carbon panels designed to prevent electromagnetic and atomic radiation from penetrating into the station's interior. They were mounted on the left side only, thus the reason for the _Gordust_ using a retrograde orbit of the moon. They needed to keep the panels between the ship and the surface.

The station also had shielding added to each pod, but weight was a consideration, so the engineers in Moscow came up with this hybrid idea. It made the _Gordust_ look even uglier, and definitely not like a spaceship, but it was extremely effective. The _Gordust_ would use its banked array set on top of the ship and mounted five meters overhead to visually and electronically monitor the progress of their lander.

"Commence burn," Nikolai said.

The lander's quad rocket motors, one at each corner of the craft, burned in unison, going through its localized supply of propellant. The effect was dramatic as the lander's relative velocity was suddenly arrested and the craft began to fall toward the moon's surface as its rate of speed decreased.

Gregori was reckless enough to even have Ivan calculate a surface-oriented burn to increase the rate of closure from the craft to the moon. Normally, any sane space program would never have a procedure to vector a burn toward a planetary body—gravity would fulfill that purpose—but the lander and _Gordust_ had extra fuel, and Gregori was using every advantage to get to the surface as quickly as possible.

"Crossing the terminator," Olga indicated as the _Gordust_ started to turn its trajectory into an orbital one and cross from the open sunlit area into the shadow and dark side of the moon.

"Vostochny Control, this is _Gordust_ , over," Yuri said.

" _Gordust_ , this is Vostochny Control, go ahead."

"We are commencing blackout operations. The lander has initiated braking burn maneuver and is on schedule for lunar contact," Yuri said, directing his communications into the long-range radio array.

"Copy, _Gordust_ , convey luck and success to _Zvesda_. See you on the other side," the technician's voice sounded confident enough.

"Ready port lateral burn in ten seconds," Olga said, referring to a small thruster burn toward the moon to keep the orbit at a higher inclination than what it was currently entering.

"Ready," Yuri responded, bringing up his own screen's video display of the _Zvesda_ , now a brightly glowing ball of flames as the rocket motors lit up his view screen.

Yuri heard Nikolai's voice again, calm and monotonous. "V level passing ninety-five kilometers."

Olga looked at Yuri. "He's really going in hot."

Yuri reviewed the flight radar data as it was overlaid onto the video feed of the lander. "It's well within his flight's planned profile, aggressive though it was."

Something that looked like a falling star streaked by to his right, passing the _Gordust_ so fast that Yuri wondered if he really saw what he thought he saw. "Did you see that, Olga?"

" _Da_ , Yuri, that was the _Glaza_ passing us," she said, referring to the reconnaissance orbiter passing their station in the opposite direction but twenty kilometers higher in altitude.

Yuri felt he should have remembered their orbiter, but so focused was he on the lander's progress as well as their own orbital insertion procedure that he had blocked that out from his mind. The craft became dark as the moon eclipsed the sun, and the glow of the instrument panel lit the interior of the cockpit brightly.

The moon began its pull on the ship, curving its flight path around itself, and the gentle push of the lateral rocket motors assisted the _Gordust_ in keeping it at a higher orbit. Radar data began to come back as they tracked the lander and looked for the Chinese ship as well.

"I've got the data packet from the _Glaza_. Downloading it to your screen now," Olga said, punching in the commands to place the info on Yuri's desktop.

Yuri opened the file and found the mapping program. "Where is it?" he said.

"What are you looking for?" Olga asked, bringing up the same file on her screen.

"The Chinese lander, is it on the surface or did we beat them to the target?"

"There is no heat signature near the alien device other than the device itself," Olga said. "I think the intel we received was faulty. It doesn't look like the Chinese landed."

" _Zvesda_ , this is _Gordus_ t, over," Yuri said into his mike.

" _Gordust_ , this is _Zvesda_ , go ahead," came Gregori's voice

" _Zvesda_ , be advised there is no sign of activity at the target. Repeat no sign of activity at the target. You are in the clear."

"Copy, _Gordust_ , _Zvesda_ is in the clear, ETA to target sixteen minutes."

"That doesn't make sense," Olga said. "The recon orbiter reported the Chinese lander had detached."

Yuri widened the map field and started to look around the area. First in the ten square kilometers field and then further until he saw a small red dot far to the west of the device as seen from their overhead viewpoint. "There he is. He is well off target, at least fifty kilometers or so. What do you think they are up to?"

"I have no idea, Yuri," Olga responded. "Maybe he has a rover or something to approach the target from a safe distance?"

"Perhaps. Did Moscow, er, I mean, Vostochny receive this data packet?"

As soon as they did, or maybe a few seconds later, Olga winked at Yuri, and Yuri thought the gesture was so foreign to her that he just stared for a moment. "You all right, Yuri?"

"Fine, I'm just not making sense of their actions. It doesn't matter. If they haven't approached the target, then we get there first and that is all that matters," Yuri said.

They traveled on in silence, watching the minutes go by as they quickly led the _Zvesda_ ship since their speed never decreased. They passed the longitude divide and began their journey back around the far side of the moon.

" _Gordust_ , this is _Zvesda_ , we have landed," Gregori's voice came through the system.

"Yuri, they are within five hundred meters of the target," Nikolai said from his rear command seat.

"Copy, Nikolai. _Gordust_ to _Zvesda_ , confirmation received. You have landed near target. Will relay data to Central Control. Job well done," Yuri said.

"Oh my God, look at the internal temperature reading of the _Zvesda_ ," Olga said, pointing to the main screen that they shared between them.

Yuri tapped the screen twice. "Thirty-four degrees Celsius and rising. That can't be correct. They are in the shade. The temperature should be falling, not rising."

" _Zvesda_ , shut down your heating element," Nikolai's voice came across the channel, no longer sounding calm.

The reply was filled with static and hard to hear, but Yuri could make out Gregori's voice, triumphant over the interference. " _Zvesda_ copy. Heating element shut down. Running a systems diagnostic now."

Yuri watched in fascination as the internal bio data from the lander displayed its readouts across their screens. The temperature stabilized for several minutes and then began to climb again, albeit at a slower rate than before.

Gregori's voice broke the silence. "All systems check. We are preparing to go EV."

"Negative, _Zvesda_ ," Yuri said into his mike, anxiety and dread in his voice. "Stay in the lander and prepare to lift off on my command."

There was a long period of silence before Gregori's response. " _Nyet_ , Yuri, we are going to the device now."

"Damn the man, isn't he reading their temperature readout?" Yuri asked rhetorically, clicking on the internal channel. "Nikolai, can Gregori and Ivan see their bio readouts?"

"Affirmative, speculate it's the radiative heating from _Zvesda's_ landing rockets," Nikolai responded.

"Negative, Nikolai, this is not possible in the shade of the moon. The ship should be getting cooler, not hotter. There is a problem with their internal heater. We need to get them out of there."

There was no time to respond. The _Gordust_ suddenly crossed the terminator and into the bright glow of the sun again after a mere forty minutes of crossing the dark side of the moon. They were quickly losing radio and telemetry data on the lander and their target.

"We'll have to wait till we come around again," Olga said, leaning over to switch the screen mode to lock so that their last reading would be saved and compared to the new one when they reacquired contact again in fifty minutes.

"Contact Vostochny," Yuri commanded Olga. "Inform them we have landed on target."

# 25 Nuclear

Bridge, USS Berkshire

Fifteen miles off the coast of China

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

Captain Hansen watched as the Chinese rocket disappeared from sight, flying over them in a southerly direction.

"Not exactly discreet, that launch, was it, sir?" his second in command, Lt. Commander Jensen, said, lowering his binoculars.

"No, it wasn't," Hansen said, also letting his binoculars rest on his chest and looking north at the spy trawler they were shadowing. "The _Orca_ didn't need to be this close to observe that launch."

"Why do you think they just launched one of their rockets right over our fleet?" Jensen asked.

"I don't know, but I got a bad feeling we're about to find out. Get the admiral on the phone; he'll need to know about this."

"What about Washington?"

"The _Orca_ is probably transmitting everything even now. They already know," Hansen said, looking north at the small ship as it bobbed up and down in the rough seas, still flanked by a pair of Chinese naval frigates.

"God help us," was all his second said, walking back to the bridge to relay the orders.

"Indeed," Hansen muttered under his breath.

White House

Washington D.C.

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

"Do you want the bad news or the really bad news?" Director Rose said, closing a folder in front of him and looking at the president from across the conference table.

"You're kidding?" President Powers said, leaning her head against her hand and gently rubbing the scar on the side of her forehead.

"I'm afraid not, Gloria. This is why we convened the emergency meeting," Director Rose said.

"I know, I'm just not sure we're going to get out of this unscathed by the time the dust settles. Go ahead, let me have it in order, then."

The rest of the executive staff leaned forward to listen intently to the Director of National Security as he put his glasses on and straightened the single page of paper on his desk. "As of 0400 hours this morning, we have tentative confirmation from our HUMINT asset in Russia that their cosmonaut team has successfully landed on target and not only on time, but earlier than anticipated."

Several sighs and even a groan from one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff were heard as everyone waited for the president to respond. "I take it this is the bad news?" Powers said, her tone even.

"Yes, it would appear that we are going to be a day late and a quarter of a million miles short. Sorry to break it to you, but we knew this was most likely going to happen considering our past failure," Rose said.

Powers finished rubbing her head and looked around the table before her eyes settled on Rose. "I'm dreading to find out what could be worse than this."

Her National Security Director took his glasses off and looked the president straight in the eye. "Around the same time, we have confirmation that the Chinese launched a nuclear warhead from their Wancheng space base using a southern polar orbit toward the moon. It will arrive in just over thirty-six hours."

The noise of various staff members felt overwhelming to her, and the president lifted her hand, waving it for silence. The room quickly came to a low hush as the initial shock of the news permeated throughout the executive staff.

"David," the president addressed her National Security Chief, "is the destination of the Chinese warhead the alien device?"

"We have no way to know as we have no HUMINT on the matter, but our SIGINT and ELINT indicate that this is a high probability." The man nodded, pulled out a handkerchief, and started to clean his glasses.

"How is this possible, only thirty-six hours?" the president's Chief of Staff asked.

"We don't know for sure. Has your team analyzed the track and trajectory of their latest launch?" Rose asked the lead science advisor sitting at the far end of the large table.

"Yes, the delta v," he started and then stopped, looking into several confused faces. "The speed of the rocket is much higher than any normal acceleration. This would indicate that there are no pilots on the payload, and they were able to sustain a much higher G-force escape velocity, thereby cutting the trip time to the moon by nearly half."

"But why a southern polar orbit?" the president's chief personal advisor asked.

"To keep the rocket as far from U.S. territory as possible, either to avoid detection or to ensure that it couldn't be shot down, or worse, mistaken for a nuclear missile launch against us." Rose nodded.

"Well, it wasn't to avoid detection. They flew the bird right over our Seventh Fleet in plain sight," the naval chief of staff said.

President Powers sighed and looked from her science advisor to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and then back to Rose. "Just give me the impact statement. What are we looking at?"

Director Rose put his glasses back on and looked down at his paper. "Temporal separation is just over fourteen hours."

"In layman's terms," one of the personal advisors asked from near his seat by the president.

"It means the warhead will arrive on target about fourteen hours after our astronauts arrive. May as well just bring them home."

"So the landing would be aborted?" the Chief of Staff asked.

"Yes," Rose said, looking at his president.

There was a long pause while Powers thought for a moment. "Notify NASA, keep the mission viable. Have them report once we reach the moon, and someone get Vice President Lee on the phone."

The room became a beehive of activity as everyone stood and left, leaving Rose and Powers alone, aside from the two Secret Service agents near the door.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Gloria?" Rose asked.

"I don't know, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let the Chinese run us off with an atomic bomb."

"Hydrogen, actually, or so our experts indicate in the report," Rose said.

Powers looked at him cross-eyed. "Bomb or no bomb, we're going. Just make sure NASA is informed and they know how much time they have when they arrive. Any luck getting through to Moscow?"

"No, we keep getting the usual response. The Russian president is dealing with their internal crisis and can't accept a call right now. I think they're using it as cover to buy themselves time while they retrieve the alien device."

"Perhaps," Powers said, letting out a long breath of air. "Call them again and let whoever answers know about the Chinese nuke."

"Are you sure we want to share that information?"

"Absolutely sure. If nothing else, it'll get their attention."

"I'm damn sure it will," Rose said, standing to leave. "It may do a few other things that may not be so pleasant for all of us."

"Just do it and see to it that NASA is notified."

"Yes, Madam President," Rose said as he was about to leave the room.

"One more thing while we're at it," Power said.

"Yes?"

"Order us to DEFCON One."

"Yes, Madam President, DEFCON One."

"God help us," muttered President Powers under her breath.

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 46

* * *

"A goddamn what?" Tom said, half standing from his chair in the conference room just off the main control center floor.

"An atomic bomb," Rock said.

"Hydrogen, actually," Mr. Smith corrected.

"Whatever," Tom said, clearly flustered.

"Well, how will this affect Craig and Julie?" Lisa asked, picking her pen back up and looking directly at Rock.

"We'll have to get them to the surface and back in less than twelve hours from what I'm reading," Rock said, referring to his notes from his private meeting with Mr. Smith and the vice president not more than thirty minutes prior.

"Can you still perform the complex landing?" Mr. Smith asked from where he stood near the door next to Mrs. Brown, not wanting to interfere with their discussion but definitely wishing to monitor it.

"Marge?" Rock asked.

"It's going to be awfully close, Rock. You sure you want to risk their lives on this?"

"Not my call, Marge. The president ordered the mission to continue, right?" He nodded to Mr. Smith, who returned the nod.

"Surely they would call it off if it risked their lives, wouldn't they?" Lisa asked. Jack nodded in agreement as well.

Rock looked at Mr. Smith, who just shrugged. "I don't know what the president is willing to risk, but I think Craig and Julie need to know what they're up against. We need to inform them."

"What's the difference if the Ruskis already landed?" Tom asked.

"Well, we'll have to make a determination on that once we circle the moon. First let's get into orbit and then make the call," Rock said.

"Richard, the orbital inclination won't take _Blackjack_ over the device. We'll be blind, literally, until and unless we land," Marge stated.

"Is it too late to change the orbit to a normal one?" Mr. Smith asked uncharacteristically.

Everyone looked at the man before Rock answered. "Yes, it's too late. We've already burned most of our maneuvering fuel to reach the lunar orbit once they reach the moon, but that's not the only issue. Tell him, Marge."

Marge looked back to Rock for a second before returning her gaze to their oversight leader. "If our calculations are correct, then any prolonged exposure to the emissions emanating from the device will have catastrophic if not fatal consequences to both crew and equipment. The reading levels are not linear and instead rise at a stepped exponential ratio, becoming strongest at the point of broadcast."

This was a bit much for Mrs. Brown, who lowered her tablet and returned the intense look they were receiving from the NASA team. "What do you mean and how does this affect the mission?" she said.

Jack leaned forward, returning the glare. "What Marge is saying is that anyone or anything that stays in close proximity to that thing up there is going to get fried. Do you understand that?"

"Yeah, do you?" Tom added.

"Calm down, you two." Rock motioned with his hands to get his team's attention.

This did not deter the NSA woman. "Then what was the purpose of the shielding? Why won't that protect the ship and crew?"

Rock looked to Marge, indicating she should continue. "The shielding does work and is essential, but it's not the entire story. The gamut of signals coming from the device include all spectrums, from the longest wavelengths to the shortest, and they include microwaves."

"As in microwave ovens?" Mrs. Brown asked.

"Yes," Jack jumped in, "but we call them microwaves only because they are considerably smaller compared to radio waves, but technically they are much larger than the smallest waves, light waves, x-rays, and gamma rays, for example."

"So? What does this have to do with frying things and people?" Mrs. Brown retorted, her voice sounding flustered as it was obvious she wasn't accustomed to not knowing things and this took her out of her comfort level.

"Well, we have a theory on all of these waves," Rock said, motioning and looking at Marge.

Jack leaned back, allowing Marge to continue. "We first discovered these signals' source when the neutrino detector lit up like a Christmas tree. If you don't know, physics describe neutrinos as literally having no mass and therefore capable of passing right through solid bodies, including entire planets."

"And?" Mr. Smith said, allowing for his companion to catch her breath.

"Our theory works when we take the entire spectrum of emission waves and piggyback them on a master neutrino wave. They are intermittently introduced into normal space as the neutrino wave propagates outward from the device," Marge said.

Smith looked at Brown. "Are you getting this?"

Brown looked down at her tablet and started typing away, answering without looking at Smith. "Don't wait for me, go on."

Smith looked back to Marge. "So why the shielding again?"

"The shielding," Marge began, "works to prevent the spectrum of waves from directly entering the protected or shielded space. Normal physics still work fine, as does the preventative properties of the shielding. However, once the waves are released from the propagated neutrino wave, they begin their journey from that specific point, even if it's _inside_ a space ship."

"Yeah," Jack said, "once they begin inside a special compartment, they bounce around, and the shielding on the craft actually keeps them inside the ship, preventing them from escaping. Preventing all waves from escaping dependent on the shielding type and efficiency."

Smith looked back to Brown to make sure she was getting all this before addressing Rock's group. "Why didn't you notify me earlier?"

"We just came up with this theory late last night and wanted to test it first," Rock said.

"You should have told us earlier," Smith pressed his point.

"Well, we're telling you now, Mr. Spook," Tom said, his tone one full of disdain.

Smith ignored the man. "What will it do to our ship?"

"In a polar orbit where our orbiter won't fly over the device directly, it will minimize the impact, but the lander, as it gets closer, will feel the effects of the piggyback propagation," Rock said.

"I thought the moon itself was supposed to block these dangerous waves," Brown said without looking up from her tablet.

"Well, the moon will block the direct propagation of the waves, but not the ones that are piggybacked," Marge said. "In fact, the larger the interior space, the worse the effects of any piggybacked waves after they drop into our dimensional space."

"So why didn't the Russians detect this with their orbiter? Do you think they were able to withhold this data from us?" Smith asked, his face conveying a scowl now matching Tom's at the mere mention of the Russians.

"No, they probably didn't know because their orbiter has no internal space or compartments that are worthy of note," Marge continued. "It's just equipment packed together, and at most, the internal computers and other electronic equipment may have run hotter than normal, but not enough to inform them of this theory. They would most likely interpret the data as a lack of efficiency in their electronic coolers and heat sinks."

Mr. Smith looked at Brown for a moment and then back to Rock's group before speaking his next words very carefully. "What does this mean for the Russians?"

Marge looked to Rock and gave a slight nod for him to continue. Rock took a deep breath and looked at Smith in the eye before answering. "It means the Russians are in serious danger if our theory is correct."

"And what do you think your chances are of being correct?" Smith asked.

Rock looked at Marge and nodded. "With Marge and Jack proffering the theory, I'd bet money that they are right."

Smith rubbed his chin and made one last response. "Then the Russians are in trouble."

"Big trouble," Rock said.

"About damn time," Tom finished.

# 26 Microwaves

_Gordust_ Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 47

* * *

"We're in trouble down there," Nikolai said via the intercom system as the _Gordust_ made its seventh orbit of the moon.

"Pulling up the infrared again," Olga said, flipping a switch and activating the FLIR, Forward Looking Infrared, camera mounted on a mast high above the ship.

Yuri looked and didn't need to ask for the last reading to be brought up and overlaid on their shared screen to know that his two comrades hadn't moved the last two orbits. "Olga, make sure this visual data is sent along with the radar signal and other data on our next communications window."

It was a meaningless order. Olga would do this the same as she had the last six orbits, but it made Yuri feel better to vocalize something after seeing their comrades unmoving on the surface. Gregori lay near the alien device, his infrared readings now cooling as he lost what remained of his body heat. Ivan had managed to get back to the lander and strap himself in, but hadn't moved since then.

"Thermal readouts are cooling for both cosmonauts," Nikolai said, his voice barely audible.

"Understood. Let's keep collecting data for Vostochny," Yuri commented, trying to get the man's attention and focus back onto something productive.

With the mike closed, Olga leaned over and whispered to Yuri, "What happened down there?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, though I'd say the thermal readings are playing a major role in all this. What are we at now?" Yuri asked, looking at their screen again.

Olga swiped away the infrared and brought up a schematic of the _Gordust_ , color-coded for heat readings. "We're up by over four degrees Celsius so far, from twenty-two to twenty-six."

Yuri nodded and reflectively grabbed his small towel and wiped his brow for the umpteenth time that day. "Are the radiation levels increasing?"

" _Nyet_ ," Olga said, looking at a separate readout on her personal console monitor. "Those have stabilized at elevated levels but within normal operating parameters."

"Viktor wants to EVA again and do a visual on the lower heat sinks and lateral radiative fins," Nikolai said over the system, breaking the command's crew private conversation.

"Negative, we know our cooling system is working properly. This has a different root cause. Run another scan of the receivers. Let's see if we're missing something," Yuri said.

The first few orbits had been promising despite their issues. Gregori and Ivan had prepped to make a moon walk, and indeed, the video showed them stepping down onto the moon's surface, the first Russians to perform that feat in history. They managed to send the video feed and pictures to Vostochny for confirmation, and things looked promising. Then came the failures.

The first system to go was the communications module on board the lander. The monitoring system showed the internal temperature of the lander increasing dramatically, and the cooling fans for the electrical equipment couldn't keep up. The microprocessors overheated and started to fail.

Nikolai was brilliant as he improvised and used a powerful lighting mechanism to pulse and send an equivalent of a Russian Morse code to the surface when communications were gone. Ivan had read the code and responded by pulsating the overhead navigation beacon in reply. The Morse message from the surface was that Gregori was attempting to use the cutting blade on their circular portable saw to cut the prongs holding the white stone in place atop the black obelisk-sized mount that it was sitting on. Yuri was amazed at the man's determination to secure the object and return to the lander for lift off.

Then the lighting on board _Zvesda_ failed and all communications were lost. The _Gordust_ could only orbit and watch on infrared as the men worked below them. Yuri had requested that they abort more than once, but each time Gregori had overruled him. As mission commander on the surface, he had that right. Yuri disagreed, knowing that they had a spare fuel pod at the rear of the _Gordust_ and could refuel the lander and return to the surface when they had a better handle on what was happening with their thermal readings, but paranoia ruled the surface mission leader and he was fixated on accomplishing the mission before the Chinese could get there.

That was two orbits ago. Since that time, there had been no movement, and this pass it was obvious that their bodies were cooling; however, Ivan's was doing so at a slower rate because he was in the closed lander which had now reached sixty degrees Celsius, at the low end of a baking oven. At that temperature, Yuri understood that no electronic equipment would operate without immense cooling systems in place, and the lander just didn't have that capability.

"How long are we going to stay here?" Olga asked without looking up, continuing to pull data from various collection systems and compile them into a single compressed file for transmission to earth once they cleared the dark side of the moon.

"Probably until Vostochny orders us to burn back," Yuri said. "I'd prefer to stay as long as possible until we can ascertain what is happening to our craft. Is the recon orbiter still nominal?"

"If you're referring to the temperature readouts, then yes, it has barely registered the elevated readings that we have," Olga said, reviewing the latest data from their reconnaissance satellite.

"Any sign of movement from our Chinese counterpart?"

Olga punched up the rear camera and brought the image up on their screen. "Nothing different. The man seems to be on vacation down there. Hasn't left his lander from what we can tell. No heat traces anywhere near their craft. They are having him sit tight for now."

"I wonder if they know something we don't," Yuri said.

"Like what?" Olga asked.

"Maybe they registered something that we missed when they attempted to land and they aborted, having their lander touchdown farther downrange."

"All right, but then what? Sit and do nothing?"

"Well, it looked like the craft suffered some type of structural failure. He may be stranded down there, unable to take off again," Yuri said.

"That would explain a lot. The FLIR did seem to show the craft on its side, or at least tilting heavily. It would appear that we aren't the only ones having problems here."

"Agreed. Get the latest data packet ready and let's see what they want us to do up here."

"Affirmative," Olga replied, readying their communications packet.

Vostochny Cosmodrome

Siberia, Russia

In the near future, Day 47

* * *

"Understood. Yes, fine. Have him call me in the morning, then, when he awakens. Yes, we'll be sure to do that. Thank you. Goodbye." Vlad hung up the phone and looked up at his team in their ad hoc control center room at the Vostochny space base.

"Well?" Alex asked from his seat near the window, taking a sip of coffee from his cup nearby.

"Minister Osnokov will be fine. He's still heavily sedated, but they will bring him in the morning so he can join us on our next command meeting," Vlad said, getting up and walking over to the large windows overlooking the base's main complex, the launch towers visible in the far distance.

Several large tanks were moving past the building, taking up positions at the edge of the base's perimeter. "I see that our military at least is still functioning," Alex said, watching as well from his perch near the glass windows.

"How long will they be here?" Irina asked, also looking out the windows at the large military presence that started a couple of days earlier.

"As long as it takes," Vlad answered, pulling himself away from the window and taking a seat facing their main display panel, pushing his own coffee cup away. "The _Gordust_ wants confirmation of their orders now that we've had no movement on the surface for over three hours. Moscow has set up a new command and control center at the Kremlin, and we'll be working with them for the foreseeable future. What I want to know right now is if there is any reason why we can't have the _Gordust_ continue to orbit?"

"I've said this before," Yosef said, looking around the table, "the cooling systems can handle the current load as long as it doesn't exceed fifty degrees inside." He twirled his cup around, moving it from side to side almost absentmindedly.

"What happens after that?" Irina asked, taking a bit of unusual interest in their operations, and Vlad gave her a sidelong glance.

"Well," Yosef continued, "the same thing that probably happened to _Zvesda_. Systems will start to fail based on how fragile or robust their individual components are and how effective their individual cooling systems function."

"We need to find a cause," Vlad said, also looking around the table at his team. "I can't speak for what Moscow had in mind with our cosmonauts on the surface, but it appears their mission resulted in catastrophic failure. If we're to avoid the same fate a second time, we need to know what we're dealing with."

"Will we have a second chance?" Alex asked. "From our latest report, the Chinese are already on the surface and the Americans are almost to the moon. We have no lander ready."

Vlad looked across the landscape at the launch tower where a newly erected Energia rocket stood ready for fueling. It only lacked a specific payload, and they had none. It wasn't like a fully functioning lunar lander could be built from scratch in only a few days, much less weeks. They had not planned on having their one and only lander stranded on the surface of the moon. "I don't know, Aleksey. Perhaps Moscow has a plan, but for now we celebrate our current successes," Vlad said.

The landings on the moon were broadcast nationwide, indeed worldwide, and the video was repeated over and over on state channels as experts chimed in its historical significance. Only recently did the announcers explain that the lander was experiencing communication difficulties even though the entire mission command teams in both Moscow and Vostochny now knew the fate of their cosmonauts.

Yosef took a sip of his coffee and frowned. "Cold coffee doesn't sit well with me."

"I'll heat it up for you," Irina said, taking his cup and walking to the break room just off the main observation room where Vlad had dined with Dmitry weeks earlier.

"Should we run another scan of the cooling systems?" Alex asked.

"No, I told you, they are not the problem, and the _Gordust_ has also checked them twice. It isn't a lack of cooling, but rather something actively heating our craft," Yosef said.

Vlad got up and walked to the window, looking out again. After a few seconds, he sat down at the table, putting his chin in his hands after setting his elbows on the table. The men sat in silence for a moment, lost in contemplation of their current dilemma.

The silence was broken by a lone tone of an electronic bell indicating that Irina had finished heating Yosef's coffee. Her clacking of high heels could be heard as she approached and became visible as she entered the room, approaching Yosef from behind and gently placing the cup of reheated coffee in front of the man.

The cup steamed, and Vlad sat upright, looking at Yosef and then Alex in turn as both the other men stared at the cup of coffee.

It was Alex who broke the silence. "You've got to be kidding me," he said, eyes finally looking away from the coffee and directly at Vlad.

"You don't think it could be that simple, do you?" Vlad voiced his thought as he stood completely upright.

" _Bozhe moi._ God help us," Yosef said, taking his cup and feeling the heat.

Vlad looked at Irina. "Get our coms back up with the _Gordust_ and get the Kremlin on the line immediately."

"What? Why? Did something happen?" she asked, her face a look of confusion.

"We know what's causing the heating of the _Gordust_ and most likely the failure of the lander on the surface. We need to warn them immediately," Vlad said.

Yosef pushed his steaming coffee away from him in disgust, and no one drank more that day.

# 27 America Returns

_Apollo 21_

On approach to the Moon

In the near future, Day 47

* * *

"Roger, Houston, over and out," Julie Monroe said, switching off the communications channel and looking at Craig as the moon loomed in front of them, nearly fully lit and breathtakingly awesome to behold.

"Well, that's just freaking great," Craig complained, looking forward at his Heads-Up-Display, or HUD. "I guess it'll prevent me from having to get that surgery."

"What are you talking about?" Julie asked, continuing to look at her companion.

"Well, I'll just fry my nuts out here and become sterile, no need to get a vasectomy. It's not like we wanted more kids, but I'd prefer to have kept the family jewels intact a bit longer."

Julie chuckled, realizing that there wasn't anything mission related to worry about, though Craig's face refused to convey a smile or any other indication that he was joking or speaking lightheartedly about the subject. "That's just one issue, Craig. We still need to work out the ballistic trajectory once we loop across the South Pole. Besides, at least they had the courtesy to ask us if we wanted to continue with the mission profile or abort."

"Hardly a legitimate question, Julie," Craig shot back, finally looking at her and taking his eyes from the HUD where their navigation data was being projected. "What else were we supposed to say? No, sorry, we'll just loop around the moon and tuck our tails and run home? Just let the entire nation down?"

"They would have understood if we made that decision," Julie said, her voice calmer and softer. "I mean, it's not like every day that you find yourself being chased by a nuclear warhead."

"Oh yeah, and that's another thing. What good is this blasted piece of alien technology if it starts a bloody, global, thermonuclear war?" Craig asked.

Julie looked back at her radar scope and then up at her own HUD before responding. "That's above our paygrade. Let's just focus on the mission. Can you fly this thing to the surface or not?"

"I'll take us there just fine," Craig said. "You just make sure to get us in and out before that warhead arrives."

Julie clicked on the systems status screen and checked yet again the power levels for their lunar rover. "I hope this thing operates at its maximum speed."

"I'm not worried about our rover," Craig said, disdain never leaving his voice. "I'm worried that the warhead will be accelerating and our mission window will shrink with us learning about this too late."

"Yes, that would definitely rain on our parade," Julie said, satisfied that the rover would be operational when they landed. "Have you compensated for the adjusted flight profile?"

Craig looked his readings out and nodded. "Yeah, we can burn enough to land closer and lengthen our temporal window, though the radiation levels will be higher than I'd like. Probably roast my balls but good before we land.

Julie knew that Craig was referring to the exposed piloting position on the lander once they approached the site. The lander wasn't designed to have extensive shielding since it wasn't supposed to approach the alien device this closely. They saved the weight of the shielding and used it for more fuel and a more robust rover package. Now they were being asked to land much closer and risk a much higher rate of radiation until they could land and be somewhat shielded by the lip of the crater near the device.

"Well, it's not like I'm wanting this kind of exposure either, Craig," Julie commented. "It will, however, shorten our mission time and allow us to land and return with something of a safety margin."

"If you can ever have a safety margin when an impending atomic blast is imminent. Get the mini-sats ready for launch," Craig said.

"They're ready and on auto release once we reach the insertion point," Julie said.

"Good, I'm glad our engineers rigged something up to keep us in communications while on the far side," Craig said.

"Agreed. Are we ready for orbital insertion burn?" Julie asked, all back to business-like.

"We're ready. Run the systems check and inform Houston. Let's get this over with," Craig responded.

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 47

* * *

"We've received acknowledgement that all systems are a go for lunar orbital insertion," Lisa said from her console back in NASA's control center. "Also, the mini communications satellites have detached and commenced their insertion burns as well."

Rock nodded and watched the timer countdown from its display on the main screen. They would only have one shot at the proper insertion and then separation of the lander as they looped around the South Pole. Being off by even a fraction of a degree could translate to over a hundred miles off target once they came back around.

The news that both small communication satellites had also detached and successfully started their own orbital insertion burns was comforting for Rock. He had both Tom and Jeff working overtime to get the mini-birds ready as part of his mission support so that they could stay in touch with the landing team even while on the dark side of the moon.

Tom winked at Rock when he looked his way. Rock knew Tom was also pleased at the result.

Rock keyed his mike. "Are the insertion tracks on target, Tom?"

"Oh yeah, boss. We're five by five on my little birds. They'll be exactly where we promised them, don't you fret none," Tom said, a smile across his face.

Rock nodded yet again and switched over to the main communications channel with a slight glance to the observatory room perched behind him and one floor up. He couldn't see there well, but was sure that the vice president was watching them live even now. "Houston to _Blackjack_ , you are a go for deceleration burn in t-minus twenty seconds."

"Roger, Houston, _Blackjack_ is ready for burn, countdown in t-minus fifteen seconds." Rock recognized Craig's voice.

"Normal two-point-five second lag, Richard," Lisa said, coming across their semi-private communications channel.

"Copy that, Lisa, just keep the radar active and up to date. I want to know the minute anything looks funky," Rock said.

The team watched, and heard, as Craig counted down, finally hitting the ignition commands on their console and firing their braking motors to insert the _Apollo 21_ craft into a lunar orbit.

The radar track showed them looping and disappearing from sight as they crossed the North Pole and downward behind the moon.

"Acquiring audio signal now," Jack came across the main channel.

"Houston, this is _Blackjack_ , communications check, over," Julie's voice asked as it was bounced from their ship to earth via the portside communications satellite that was on the far west side of the moon. Just before it went behind the moon in a highly elliptic orbit, the other mini satellite would pop out from its orbit and be within the line of sight of earth and the far side of the moon at the same time. The orbital dance of the two satellites would play out like this for the next twelve hours before the gap in their orbital speeds became noticeable, and they would experience increasing periods of communication's blackouts.

"Read you loud and clear," Jack said. "Data feed also arriving intact." This last reference was to the digital feed of data from the _Apollo 21_ ship, which included radar determination of their altitude, speed, and other various onboard system statuses.

After twenty minutes the craft began to pass the equator and fly over the southern hemisphere of the moon. "Crossing equatorial plane now," Julie's voice said.

"Roger, _Blackjack_ , flight data is nominal, trajectory optimal, all systems go." Jack continued his readout every two minutes.

"This is where we see if our calculations are correct." Marge's voice came across Rock's headset on the private channel.

"I'm sure we'll do fine. How's the track on the Chinese missile?" Rock asked.

Marge looked at her console and then back to Rock's. "It's on target, and most importantly, the ETA has remained the same, t-minus ten hours, fifty-two minutes. I think we can dial that one in now."

"Roger that, keep an eye on it, though. You never know if it has a booster pack ready to give it a bit of a push as it gets closer," Rock said.

"Will do," Marge replied.

Nearly fifteen more minutes had passed and the _Apollo_ crew had gone through their checklist with Houston. Jack was the lead communications technician for the mission, but they had verified it through Lisa.

"Houston, this is _Blackjack_ , we are ready for detachment and zero v burn. Confirm the mark."

Rock nodded at Jack, taking the lead now for the most critical part of the mission. "Roger, _Blackjack_ , you are ready for detaching in t-minus one minute. Standby for landing burn."

The latest time went down to zero, and the landing craft detached. Jack jumped in to update the communication's status. "We have direct coms and video feed on you now, _Blackjack_."

"Roger, Houston, we have successfully detached. Commencing burn in three, two, one, burn." Craig's voice counted down.

The picture on the monitor showed the lander burn, its outward thruster first to lower it below the flight path of the orbiter so that when the powerful rocket motors initiated their burn and slowed the lander, the orbiter didn't plow into it. Instead the feed showed the orbiter suddenly seem to accelerate and fly right over the lander and quickly out of sight.

"We are on track. Radar confirms altitude at plus seventy-eight miles and dropping," Craig said.

"Keep them on radar," Rock said, flipping his coms channel to the mission team. Everyone had heard his orders, and Jack and Marge nodded.

The sidebar on the main screen showed the lander falling until it reached an altitude of forty-seven miles and the relative velocity had literally come to zero on the lateral scale, but the ship was falling quickly.

"Gyro burn now, Houston," Craig called out, indicating that their many positioning thrusters had turned the ship from a rear-first approach and tilted the bottom of the craft to a forty-five-degree angle facing to the west as the craft would use the very slight rotation of the moon to approach the alien device from the retrograde side, much the same as the Russian space ship station.

"Here's where you earn your pay, Tom," Rock said, flipping the team channel again. "Time to see if those vectored thrust motors work as you intended them."

Rock noticed that Lisa actually looked back over her shoulder at Tom's console, and he even caught Marge sneaking a glance out of the corner of her eye.

Rock saw Tom calmly hit his push-to-talk button. "No worries, Rock. We got twelve degrees of arc on the vertical thrust and just over six on the lateral ones. That old lady is right in the middle of her flight path; we won't hardly have to use the vectored thrust."

"We'll see. Keep their path on radar and monitor for any changes. We only get one shot at this," Rock said.

"Houston, this is _Blackjack_. That was one hell of a move—felt the G-forces but good up here. We are now on target for lateral approach. How do we look on your radar?" Craig asked, his voice sounding more than relieved.

The craft was now flying above the equator, and as it looped around the far right side, or east side, of the moon, the earth-based radar would receive a near perfect shot at the ship above the moon's surface and relay that data to the crew to compare with their own reading.

"Data inbound now, _Blackjack_. We show your altitude at twenty-five miles, minus two point seven," Jack said.

"Tom?" Rock asked across the main channel, forgetting to flip to the team one.

"I'm on it, Rock," Tom said, hitting a few buttons and punching on his keyboard like it was a square Lego stuck in a round hole. "Houston to _Blackjack_ , you should have vertical lift at plus twenty-eight percent."

"Yeah, we definitely feel that, Houston," Craig said. "Glide slope looking close to nominal, fuel burn within specified parameters."

Rock knew that the extra burn, even vectored, would burn up more fuel than what they had originally calculated, but NASA never went without intense safety margins and there was an extra thirty percent fuel load on board, even accounting for a maximum burn profile. They needed to land with enough fuel to liftoff again, so they monitored it closely.

"Take a deep breath, boss," Marge's voice whispered in his ear.

Rock noticed he had almost forgot to breathe as the radar track showed the _Apollo_ ship over two miles below their intended flight path. Tom had sent the computer signals to the _Apollo_ computer to make sure it would vector its thrust appropriately even though it had radar guidance computers performing the same task. Again, NASA didn't take chances.

"Gotcha, Marge, just worried they'll come in too hot, and well . . . Tom is old school, hardly broke a sweat."

Marge smiled and looked back to her console. "We're almost there, boss."

"Houston to _Blackjack_ , we've lost direct coms, switching to alternates," Jack said.

The video feed was lost as the small communication satellites were so small, they simply handled audio and small data feeds only. Video could be streamed and even truncated to lower the bandwidth requirements, but Jeff and Tom didn't like the idea of clogging the server with that much data and potentially losing contact between the two. Rock had agreed, and they compromised on a data stream as well as audio. There was no telling what that device could do to their signals once they got close to it.

"Houston, this is _Blackjack_ , commencing landing burn. We are on target, all systems check," Craig said.

"Roger, _Blackjack_ , you are a go for landing," Jack said.

Craig's voice came across the channel, and it was difficult to only listen and not be able to see the lander. "Plus eighty feet, plus sixty feet . . . plus forty feet, plus twenty feet." The sound of the rocket's increasing thrust was clearly heard now in the background as they increased their burn. "Plus fifteen feet, plus ten feet, eight, six, five, three, one, touchdown. I repeat, Houston, this is _Blackjack_ , successful touchdown on target."

Rock listened to the room as cheers erupted, and he half fancied he heard some noise from behind the supposedly soundproof observation glass above his head. America had returned to the moon.

# 28 Lunar Surface

_Crimson Glory_

Lunar Surface, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"Did you copy?" Hen Sing asked for the third time as he repeated his transmission.

There was a pause again before the static reply came back. "Affirmative, _Crimson Glory_ , copy unknown object overhead, landing at one hundred one degrees of your location."

Sing had watched something burning overhead and slightly to his south. He had landed somewhat farther north of the moon's equator, having overshot his landing zone by a fair margin. At first he thought it was a meteor until it started to slow and actually had a controlled descent, disappearing somewhere over the horizon.

" _Crimson Glory_ confirmed, over and out," Sing said, no longer wanting to be pandered to. He knew his time was up, and only his sense of duty kept him from just ending it there and now.

He glanced over at his oxygen readout where it was starting to approach the red line yet again. He had gone through three of his five oxygen containers and was about to be forced to open the fourth if he wanted to live for more than an hour or so.

Sing closed his eyes and focused on lowering his pulse and his breathing rate. He had never thought that his meditation skills could mean the difference in living or dying a few hours earlier or later. If that was all that fate would give to him, then he would take it.

People's Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 47

* * *

"Better to just tell the man," Hun argued with the general over the phone. "What's left now then if we're going to abort the entire mission?"

"Calm down, Director Lee." General Wang's voice came across calmly despite the current situation. "My experts inform me that the _Crimson Glory_ can still record data and upload it manually to the orbiter even after the detonation of the warhead. We need that data, coupled with the orbiter's, in order to be sure our mission is successful. Now it would be less than optimal if Colonel Sing did something to hamper the equipment on board the _Glory_. Make sure you download the auto commands on the orbiter's next pass so that they will record and upload the data even after his passing."

Hun wrapped his hand around the mouthpiece. "Son of a . . ." He looked at his team and then uncovered it again. "Fine, we'll have the commands uploaded and set on automatic. Do you want to tell Colonel Sing, or shall I?"

"I already ordered you to withhold this information until the detonation of the missile. Then you can inform him once we have confirmation of the alien device's destruction."

"Fine, anything else, sir?" Hun said a bit more impertinent than was wise when dealing with an autocratic government figure, especially one as powerful as General Wang.

"No. Now do your duty, Director," Wang said, hanging up the phone.

"Well?" Lin asked as Hun set the phone in its cradle.

"Proceed with the auto commands. Don't tell Sing; I'll do it in about ten hours," Hun said.

"So they are just going to let him die up there?" Chon said, his voice bitter.

"We knew that when he blew the explosive bolts and landed. What's done is done, now get to work." Hun was uncharacteristically blunt, but he didn't want anyone in his team to bring the general's wrath down on themselves.

His team went back to their consoles, and Hun looked around at the armed soldiers. He suddenly felt sick just letting Sing die without telling the man what was coming, unless . . . Could it be possible? He could try, though it would cost him his life if he was caught.

Hun thought about his family, his wife, his grown children. No, it wouldn't be worth it. Not for such a long shot. Then he sat as his desk and pulled up the state website link where they had announced Colonel Sing's heroic appointment. There standing next to him was his wife. They must have been in their late fifties. Who was that in the background? Clearly several children who at first Hun thought were simply bystanders admiring their hero, but no, those were his grandchildren and his daughters and sons. This was taken at his family estate.

Looking one last time at the picture, Hun closed the web link and stood up. Sing's family demanded a full accounting of their actions, and didn't the general just tell Hun to do his duty? Hun walked out of the control center, nodding at Chon to take over without saying a word. He would do his duty, even at the risk of his life.

_Gordust_ Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"Microwaves?" Yuri said, shaking his head in confusion. "That's impossible. We're shielded against them as well as gamma and x-rays. What Vostochny is saying isn't possible."

"I'm just relaying the message," Olga said. "Do you want to talk to them?"

"No, I go away for a code ten, and when I get back, everyone is turning the law of physics upside down," Yuri said, tightening the straps on his seat. A code ten was the polite term they used when they took a bathroom break.

Nikolai's voice came through the intercom, and Yuri made a note that next time, he'd pay the man a visit instead of hearing his constant droning over the com channel. "Clearing LOS in thirty seconds."

"Already?" Yuri asked, looking at Olga.

"You took a long time in there," Olga said. "We're about to lose line of sight again. They are only ninety-minute orbits."

" _Blyad_ , woman, I know our orbital rotation. I'm just vexed at Nikolai's constant stream of data. He sounds like a computer."

"The man just lost two of his closest comrades. This probably helps keep him focused," Olga said.

" _Gordust_ now dark, reacquisition in forty-eight minutes," Nikolai said in his monotone voice.

"Code ten, Olga?" Yuri asked.

Olga just shot him a glance and went back to aiming their radar and infrared back to their forward angles. "What's that?" Olga said, motioning to the main screen between them.

Yuri looked up and saw a heat signature about twenty-five kilometers from the alien device and _Zvesda_. "Is the Chinese lander still in the same position? It didn't take a bounce, did it?"

Olga switched the monitor to show the Chinese landing site on a grid about thirty kilometers farther west relative to the new contact. "Yes, it's still at its original site. This is a new lander and new signature. It's much stronger than the Chinese one."

Yuri looked and saw stronger reds and oranges coming from the new signal and instantly knew it to be American. "I think those Yankees have landed."

" _Da_ , it seems that Vostochny was correct about their arrival time but not about their LZ," Olga said. The crew had monitored reports that the _Apollo 21_ 's arrival was imminent, but Vostochny knew ahead of time their flight path and approximate landing zone or LZ. The former was correct while the latter wasn't. The news reports seemed to be accurate, though delayed just a bit as events unfolded.

"They landed a healthy distance from the target," Yuri said, continuing to look at their shared monitor. "They must have a rover for them to EVA in, otherwise that would be an impossible walk."

Olga nodded her head. "They may be stranded as well if their rover breaks down on them, and that's a high likelihood given the new signal data from _Zvesda_."

"Speaking of which, we need to vent the excess heat and figure out a way to mitigate the microwaves if the analysis from mission control is correct," Yuri said.

"Way ahead of you on that one," Olga said, keying her internal mike. "Nikolai, are you and Viktor ready for decompression?"

"Affirmative," Nikolai's voice responded. "We are fully suited, and all equipment and gear is secured back here. We really going to do this?"

" _Da_ ," Olga responded. "Prepare for emergency venting in two minutes."

"We're ready. All systems go for emergency venting," Nikolai said.

Olga looked at Yuri and nodded. "We'll see if opening the two main space locks will allow the station to cool off. I'm more worried about equipment failure from exposure to the vacuum of space at this point."

"Agreed, Olga, but the equipment was designed for emergency exposure just in case of a hull breach or leak of some kind," Yuri said, adjusting his helmet and using his own mike since they couldn't talk face to face inside the command pod.

"We're almost done with the station compression," Olga said, referring to the fact that their atmospheric pumps were working hard to compress the current atmosphere of nitrogen and oxygen from the station into several storage tanks so that the exposure to the vacuum of space would not violently destroy any part of the station. "I'd have preferred not to test those safety specifications."

"Agreed again, Olga," Yuri said. "I hope this works, otherwise we're going to have to abandon our mission and return to earth before the next orbital rotation. We can't risk losing any of our computer systems."

The two sat in silence until their own internal timer hit zero, and Olga punched the space interlocking bay door overrides. In silence, on their internal monitors, they watched as the doors to space opened while the internal locking doors remained opened, exposing the entire internal cabin of the _Gordust_ to the vacuum of space.

"Mission crew, five by five," Nikolai said over the intercom system.

"Copy, Nikolai, we show all systems still go, temperature at thirty-nine degrees and holding," Olga said, watching the digital readout now taking the place of the lunar surface on their shared screen.

"Come on, baby, drop . . ." Yuri said, absentmindedly opening his mike.

It seemed like an eternity before the temperature started to drop, first by tenths of a degree and then finally by full integers.

"It's working," Nikolai's voice said, a touch of static still present.

" _Da_ , this is fortunate," Olga said, her voice expressing obvious relief. "How long do we need to maintain vacuum, Yuri?"

"Let's get it below thirty degrees, and then we reseal and check for atmospheric pressure," Yuri said. "It may take a while as the heat is radiated away. It's not like there's an atmosphere to dispel it."

"I guess we stay a bit longer, eh?" Olga asked, a slight upturn to her lips visible through her helmeted faceplate.

"I think so, Olga," Yuri said. "Perhaps long enough to see what happens down there. Perhaps."

_Apollo 21_

Lunar Surface, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"Houston, this is _Blackjack_. Rover successfully deployed. Request authorization to commence lunar operations," Julie said, using her internal mike system as she stood outside the lander and took in the vast display of grey dust, illuminated by the intense overhead lights of the lander.

" _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. We copy rover readiness, and authorization to commence lunar operations approved," Jack's voice came across the main channel.

"Roger that, Houston, commencing first stage to target. Will update at waypoint one." Julie clicked her mike.

There was a pause before Richard Crandon's voice came across, less formally than usual. " _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. Congrats on being the first woman to walk on the moon, Julie. We're celebrating down here. Make us proud."

Julie smiled as she keyed her mike. "Roger that, Houston, will do. Give my regards to your team. Excellent job. The lander flew like a charm."

There was no reply as Julie stepped up and into the rover, seating herself and closing the access door. "You ready back there?" she said.

"Let's get this over with before our Chinese friend arrives," Craig said using their short range FM radio channel. Craig sat facing the rear in a seat directly behind the lone operator seat. The plan was for Julie to back him up to the device and he would use the robotic arms to manipulate the diamond tip of the alien device, taking it and storing it in a cargo compartment at his feet. The rover was heavily shielded in order to perform its mission so close to the device and the alien signal generator.

"Just hang on," Julie said, punching the master control lever forward and engaging the electric motors, which started to whine at the sudden demand. She then flipped two overhead switches, and a row of intense halogen lights lit up, illuminating the terrain ahead of her for well over a hundred yards. Headlights also came on as well as a rear light, so Craig could see out the back.

"Keep us on the ground," Craig said, referring to the moon's low gravity, only a sixth that of the earth's.

"I didn't backseat fly, so you don't backseat drive," Julie said, her tone serious but a huge smile coming across her face.

"Right," Craig said, his voice trailing off to silence as he also flipped a switch, killing most of the lights on the lander, and the rear of the rover was plunged into a deeper darkness.

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"Do we tell them, Gloria?" Vice President Lee asked via his secured radio phone from the Houston control center observation room perched a floor up with glass windows overlooking the mission center's main floor.

"Not yet," President Powers said. "We have a situation developing right now, and I don't want to complicate things further."

"They already know about the Chinese nuke. What's the issue in telling them about the dead Russians?" Lee said.

"The nuke was to light a fire under their asses and get them moving. Telling them what they may find there could only hinder them at this point. We'll have NASA inform them when they're ready for their final approach."

"Do we also update them on the nuke?"

"I don't know yet. It may be better if they think they have more time," Powers said, her voice somber. "I'm sure their team leader would call abort if they knew."

"So what? You give the order and override?" Lee said, his voice sounding incredulous.

"That's not how a democracy operates, John. We need to respect the process."

"And withholding this information respects the democratic process exactly how?" Lee asked.

"National security matter, John, and you know it. We'll let them know as soon as we can. In the meantime, we've had something come up."

"Please tell me it's something good, Gloria."

"We'll see, John. Just keep our crew up there on schedule. I'd like to see them return."

"I would like that as well," Vice President Lee finished, hanging up the phone.

# 29 Anticipation

People's Republic Space Command

Beijing, China

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

Hun's hand had almost trembled as he handed the lunar map to his uncle and watched him leave the complex. That was hours ago, and Hun had returned to the control center to monitor the progress of their sole astronaut. He kept checking his pager, and Lin looked at him suspiciously as he paced back and forth yet again near his console.

"You really need to be less obvious," Lin said, practically whispering to her boss as she walked over and stood near his console, papers in her hands.

"Obvious? What do you mean?" Hun asked, his voice sounding stressed as he stopped his pacing and stood facing his junior technician, the control room somewhat dim, primarily illuminated by console workstation lights, main screen monitors, and computer display equipment.

Lin leaned in even closer. "I have no idea what you did or are doing, but it's obvious you're up to something."

Hun took a deep breath and walked over to his chair to sit. _Perhaps sitting would be less obvious?_ he thought to himself. He took another breath and then looked at Lin, noticing that Chon was watching them closely from his nearby console. "I'm fine now, Lin. Just nervous about Colonel Sing is all."

Lin nodded and then looked at Hun's waist. The old fashioned pager started to vibrate, its small screen glowing an eerie green color. "You still use one of those?" Lin asked, her eyebrows arching.

Hun shrugged and pulled the old pager from where it was clipped to his belt. It was his uncle saying he had his lunch ready. The older man had worked in the space program for decades and had retired a long time ago but still had his access card to the common areas on the grounds of their facility. Hun looked at Lin, putting the pager back. "I'll be right back."

Hun left, walking past the guards and down the hallway till he came to the main lobby after opening a set of double doors and passing yet another security checkpoint. He greeted his uncle and motioned to one of the chairs by the window, and the two men seated themselves.

"Thank you, Uncle, I appreciate the thoughtfulness," Hun said, looking around the room and setting the lunch bag on the small table located between the two men.

His uncle nodded, his demeanor calm. "I took care of the errand you requested. I can't predict the outcome, but the task is done."

Hun looked around again and then leaned forward. "There were no complications?"

His uncle smiled, continuing to sit back in his chair, his posture relaxed. "You need to calm yourself, Hun. Take a deep breath and relax." Hun hesitated for a moment before leaning back as well, not exactly content to discuss this matter where they had to speak in a normal tone of voice to be heard. Hun took a deep breath. "Good," his uncle said. "I think there was a healthy dose of skepticism, but the message was conveyed and received. All is well now."

Hun took a moment to concentrate on his breathing, taking deeper, slower breaths as he had learned a long time ago in his meditation classes. "Thank you, Uncle, again. Should I know anything else?" Hun started to think that his uncle was right. If their conversation was being monitored, then whispering would only make it more suspect. Hun marveled at the older man's control and calm in the face of what they had just conspired to do and, indeed, actually did.

"Be sure to eat the soup before it becomes cold," his uncle said.

Hun smiled and placed his hand on the bag, feeling its warmth. His aunt knew how to cook, and he was at least going to enjoy his lunch today. "I will, Uncle, and thank you."

Blackjack Rover

Lunar Surface, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"Houston, this is _Blackjack_ , over." Julie keyed her mike as she crested the rim of the crater and looked down into the Mons Crater, thinking she could just see a faint metallic gleam in the distance. The darkness was intense, and she had turned her lights off momentarily so she could regain her visual acuity and see into the darkness.

" _Blackjack_ , this is Houston, go ahead."

" _Blackjack_ has reached waypoint one, ready to proceed," she said, flipping her FLIR device on and swinging the joystick around to pan the picture on her display.

"Signal strength shows elevated levels, but within operating parameters for your rover. Advise you do not EVA, repeat do not EVA from this point forward. Do you copy, _Blackjack?_ "

" _Blackjack_ copies. Will stay on board the rover," Julie said.

" _Blackjack_ , this is Houston, authorization to proceed granted. Be advised there may be company on the ground. Status unknown. You have two hours. Good luck," the simple reply came back.

"There, you just went past it," Craig said from his rear-facing seat as he monitored the FLIR on his own screen.

"Yeah, I see it now," Julie said, panning a bit more and zooming in on the faint false colors of the display. They glowed a pale blue and green, nothing hot enough to show oranges or reds. "It looks quiet down there. What do you think they mean by status unknown? Do you think they mean what I'm thinking?"

"That's their polite way of saying the Russians more than likely bit the big one down there. You good to go with that, Jules?"

Julie flipped her lights back on and watched as the FLIR colors faded. "Yeah, let's do this." She punched the accelerator lever forward, and the rover lurched forward, heading toward the alien device. There was no way to miss it. The signals were so clear and strong that DF or direction finding on it was child's play. It was transmitting like a beacon in the dark, and the _Apollo_ crew was riding the wave to its source.

_Gordust_ Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"There, I found them," Nikolai said over the intercom system. "Grid 9B."

Olga moved their own infrared camera to the west and zoomed out to make sure it would cover the entire surface area of grid 9B as Nikolai indicated. "Got it, target acquired."

"Is that the Americans?" Yuri asked, monitoring their progress across the dark side of the moon.

"I'm pretty sure it is," Olga said, watching intently. "They seem to really be moving. Thirty, forty kilometers an hour."

"That's typical for them. They like their vehicles fast," Yuri said.

"And their women faster," Nikolai added, laughing for the first time in over a day.

"You two are so predictable," Olga said, a frown on her face, easily visible now that they had resealed the ship and took their helmets and gloves off. "They'll be there within the hour. Do we contact them?"

"We've had no orders either way from Moscow, well, Vostochny. I doubt they'd approve, but we need to know. We'll lose contact in ten more minutes and won't reacquire till after they arrive, so it's now or never."

"Do it," Olga said.

Yuri keyed his mike. "Nikolai, Viktor, are you both on board?"

" _Da_ , Yuri," Nikolai said. "Those are our comrades down there. Make it happen."

"Viktor?" Yuri asked.

"I'm with Nikolai on this," the man said. "See what you can do."

Yuri looked at Olga, who nodded and then flipped several switches working the radio frequency scanner. It took nearly ten seconds to bring up the correct frequency. "They're transmitting in the clear?"

Olga nodded. "Yes, they are on this channel."

Yuri sighed and looked at the communications console to his left. He hoped he was doing the right thing. "Russian ship _Gordust_ to American lunar crew, do you copy?"

There was a pause for several seconds till Yuri repeated the call. " _Gordust_ to American lunar crew, do you copy?"

" _Apollo 21_ is a copy for _Gordust_. This is Commander Julie Monroe. Go with your message."

The tone of the American concerned Yuri, but what was he to expect? "This is Station Commander Yuri Temshenko, officially requesting aid for our surface crew, over."

"What kind of aid, Commander Temshenko? We have limited resources down here."

"Understood, _Apollo_. Any confirmation of our comrade's status would be helpful. We have been out of contact for nearly a day. Can you assist?"

"Roger, _Gordust_ , we'll use this frequency for communications. What's our window?"

"We have seven more minutes, and then we'll be in range forty-eight minutes after that."

"Roger, we are thirty minutes ETA to your crew, so we'll catch you on the flip side."

_Flip side?_ Yuri mouthed the words to Olga who just shrugged. "Ah, roger, _Apollo_ , thank you for the assistance. _Gordust_ out."

"I don't think she forgave us for kicking her off our station," Olga said.

"Well, whether she forgave or not, she sure as hell didn't forget. Let's hope she's more forgiving when she reaches our comrades," Yuri said.

"I hope so," Olga replied.

Yuri looked at Olga. "I'll guess we'll know for sure in about an hour." Olga nodded and watched as the American rover tore across the lunar landscape, closing in on target, on the device and more importantly, on their crewmembers.

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

Rock leaned back, looking at Marge closely. "You're sure about this?"

"Well, not sure, but when we discovered the repetition of the four signal codes, it came across to me that no astro-map would be so limited in its scope, so it had to be something else."

"Why not a mathematical formula?" Rock asked.

"We ran the alien code string by every formula we could find as well as partial ones, and nothing came up. That's exactly what the NSA had been doing for weeks," Marge said.

"So you plugged in the genetic code and it matched?" Rock asked.

"Not exactly," Marge began. "The entire code was not a match, however, half the human DNA string does fit the signal at nearly ninety-nine percent. I think they're trying to communicate with us biologically if not mathematically."

"So then why kill us? I mean, it looks pretty much like their signals were fatal to the Russian crew. Why kill those with whom you're trying to communicate?"

Marge shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "Maybe they want something different from us than our attempts to retrieve their diamond-looking transmitter."

Rock rubbed his chin and then his eyes; he had slept little the last twenty-four hours and would most likely repeat this for the next twenty-four. "I'll run this by Mr. Smith and see what he and his team thinks. Do you have anything else?"

"Well, for now, no, but I'll be working on it at my console. Just keep an eye on their systems, especially the computers. If anything fails, it will be those first, and that would pretty much doom them when that missile arrives."

"Yeah, I'll have to have a serious discussion with Mr. Smith about this one. They shouldn't be in this type of situation—"

Rock was interrupted by Jack, who stuck his head in the door. "They're almost to target."

"On our way," Rock said, gathering up his binder and giving Marge one last look. "See what you can do, Marge. We literally have only one hour."

# 30 Contact

Chinese Nuclear Missile GX101A

Approaching the Moon

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

The Chinese missile received its input command, and for the second time in as many hours, its rocket motor ignited and boosted its velocity relative to the system's planet and sole moon by twelve percent before shutting off and lighting up its radar system located in the nose cone. It acquired the alien signal and used it to home in on as a beacon sweeping with its radar, which was being used only to obtain a fix on the missile's current location relative to the moon.

In two hours, it would impact the moon's surface at or near the alien device, releasing over a hundred megatons equivalent of TNT and obliterating the alien device once and for all. Anything within a twenty-five mile blast radius would either be destroyed or suffer catastrophic failure.

Alien Device

Surface of the Moon, Mons Crater

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"Houston, this is _Blackjack_. Approaching target site now. Alien device and Russian lander visible, do you copy?" Julie said, pulling back on the accelerator and decreasing their velocity considerably.

" _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. Copy your transmission. You are a go for retrieval."

"Do you see these readings, Jules?" Craig said via their intercom channel.

"Yeah, they are very close to red lining. No wonder the Russians had problems down here. My God, there's one of them now," Julie said as she slowly pulled the rover near the alien device.

The prone figure of a heavily suited astronaut lying face down a mere meter or so from the black obelisk seemed surreal to Julie. The area was dark except for the light glow of the diamond-looking tip on the device and the powerful overhead lights of the rover. She could see what looked like a large electrical saw on the ground near the prone Russian. It was modified to be heavily shielded and looked bulky as well.

"I'm going to pull around now, Craig. Are you ready?"

"Go ahead, Jules, I'm ready," Craig responded.

Julie pushed the lever forward and then tilted the small T-bar to the right, turning the front wheels and executing a ninety-degree turn in front of the obelisk. She then jammed the lever to the rear and looked at her low tech mirrors as Craig started to release the robotic arms, one of which had a saw attachment mounted to it.

"Easy, Jules, ten more meters," Craig said, guiding the rover back toward the obelisk so he could work.

"Just tell me I'm not going to run over the Russian," Jules said, her voice serious.

"You're fine. He's a half meter to your left, my right. Just keep it coming, four more meters," Craig continued. "Two meters, one meter, that's good."

Craig swung the robotic arms and extended them to the side. They were less than two meters away, and the arms had a three and a half meter reach, plenty of room for him to work. "Inform Houston I'm beginning the procedure."

"Roger that, Craig," Julie said, keying her mike. " _Blackjack_ to Houston, we are commencing retrieval procedure now, over."

The procedure, planned in detail before they took off, required them to back the cutting saw mounted on the robotic arms so that they could cut off one of what looked like three prongs holding the large white diamond mounted device so they could return it to earth. The rover had a compartment designed to hold it.

"This looks like it will be a tight fit, if I get it loose," Craig said as Houston started to respond.

" _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. Be advised that your TOS will be twenty-two minutes, over."

"What the hell, I haven't even begun yet," Craig complained, hearing the announcement.

"I don't know," Julie began, "why they would limit our Time on Site? I'll ask and you start working now."

"Roger, initiating cutting now," Craig said.

Julie heard the electric motor for the saw wind up, though there was no sound coming from outside—the vacuum of space prevented that—but the intense sparks that were flying were clearly visible as she keyed her mike. "Houston, this is _Blackjack_. Explanation for limited TOS, over?"

There was a long pause before the response. " _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. ETA on inbound missile is now seventy-eight minutes. Do you copy?"

The sparks continued to fly, but Julie heard Craig's response on the main channel. "That's just fucking great."

"Ah, _Blackjack_ , be advised you're still on open coms channel," came the reply.

"Roger that, Houston, will advise on progress. Keep us updated. Over and out," Julie responded, switching the mike off and activating her internal com. "Well, that went over well at mission control."

"Sorry, Jules, I forgot the main channel remained open during hands-free operations. I needed to keep the thought to myself."

"No need to apologize. You simply voiced what I was thinking as well. How we coming along with the procedure?"

The sparks stopped, and Jules watched in the mirror as Craig adjusted his spotlight remotely. "Damn it, not a scratch. I can't see where we even impacted the prong."

"Are you sure? I saw an awful lot of sparks flying. Something had to be giving," Julie said.

"I'm positive. Hang on a sec," Craig said. "Well I'll be a monkey's uncle."

"What now?" Julie asked.

"The saw blade is all but useless. It's chipped and warped, all in less than two minutes of cutting. This damn thing isn't going anywhere."

"I'll let Houston know right away. Looks like this entire trip might be for naught," Julie said, reaching to key the main channel mike, but the receiver cackled first.

" _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. We don't think you'll be able to separate the transmitter from its mount, over."

There was a pause before Craig's voice came across the internal channel, somewhat muted. "No shit, Sherlock. Now they tell us?"

"Roger, Houston, be advised our retrieval procedure failed. This confirms your report, over," Julie said, muting their intra-coms channel and making sure only her voice went out over the main frequency.

" _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. We have an idea. Prepare to retransmit a digital signal inbound to you in thirty seconds, confirm."

"Confirm, Houston, we'll retransmit the inbound digi-sig upon arrival. What frequency do you want it on?" Julie asked.

"Set it to ninety-eight point three, the same as the device's midrange signal that they're using to transmit on."

"Craig, set up the transceiver to rebroadcast from the main digital channel to ninety-eight point three."

"I'm dialing it in now. What are they up to?"

"No idea, but we're going to find out."

The seconds ticked by slowly, and Julie tuned to the same frequency and listened in. It sounded like the same pulsating static, but she recognized the end pattern and realized that NASA was timing their retransmission to coincide between one of the endless loops of the alien signal.

"Retransmitting now," Craig said, and Julie heard their own pulsating signal as it blipped like a machine gun on automatic. The result was immediate.

"It stopped," Craig said over the intercom system.

Julie looked at the suite of detection devices and suddenly noticed the many detectors had dropped from near red-line levels to all green and all zero. There were no further alien signals being transmitted, including the harmful ones. "Did we break it?" she asked to no one in particular.

It took two and a half seconds for this to register and to have a response from Houston. " _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. We have signal interrupt. Please confirm, over."

Julie keyed her mike. "Houston, we have nothing down here. The alien signal just stopped, do you copy?"

"No wait," Craig said over the main channel. "I got a new illumination on the obelisk. I repeat, there is a circular illumination at the midpoint of the black obelisk. Are you guys copying me?"

" _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. We copy. Can you describe?"

"I got an idea," Craig said, moving one of the robotic arms toward the lit circle.

"I don't know about this, Craig. Maybe we should wait—"

Julie never finished her sentence. The ground behind the rover erupted in a cloud of dust as the lunar soil was violently ejected outward and momentarily obscured the rover's lights, dimming the entire area and temporarily blinding them from seeing anything.

"Jesus," Craig said, his voice alarmed.

"What the hell just happened?" Julie asked, now thinking that their seating arrangement was no longer ideal as she was facing away from the action, unable to see what was happening just behind their rover.

"I think I just rang their doorbell," Craig came back.

"Well, next time give me more warning. I nearly pissed my suit up here," Julie said, her voice conveying her annoyance.

The dust settled, and Julie couldn't see what was happening till Craig spoke. "Ah, Jules, you may want to notify Houston about this."

Julie could only see a dark area at the base of the obelisk through her limited view via her side mirror. She really could have used a rear camera. Why didn't they have one that would feed live and not just take pictures? "What is it?"

"Like I said," Craig's voice said, "I think I rang the doorbell. There is a stairwell back here. What do you want to do?"

Julie paused for a moment before keying her mike. "Houston, this is _Blackjack_. Be advised that there is a portal to the base of the obelisk. We are going EVA to investigate."

"Roger, _Blackjack_ , authorization for EVA granted. Be advised you have sixteen minutes TOS. Be safe. Houston out."

"Ah, what did you mean by we?" Craig asked.

"Let's see what's inside. Are you suited up?" Julie asked.

"Same as you, got everything except my gloves and helmet on," Craig said.

Julie knew it was easier to operate the rover and for Craig the robotic arms without gloves on, and of course, no one wanted to wear a helmet unless absolutely necessary. The rover was double compartmented so that either of them could exit the rover without exposing the other cabin to the vacuum of space. This is why they had to use the intercom system when communicating one with another.

"All right, I'll go first. You keep an eye on the opening and let me know if you see anything," Julie said, pulling her helmet on over her wireless headset and securing it and then reaching for her gloves.

Once suited, she hit the pressurization button, forcing her cabin to evacuate the mini atmosphere that she was breathing into a small storage tank. Once her internal cabin pressure dropped to zero, equaling the outside lack of pressure, she opened her side door and stepped out onto the lunar surface.

The rover was now coated in the grey lunar dust as it was still settling, and Julie walked to the rear, seeing Craig for the first time in a couple hours as he gave her a thumbs-up sign with his left arm, and using his right, he raised the robotic arm so she could walk underneath it. She saw what looked like a dark ramp that protruded a half foot above the lunar surface. The ramp-way was pitch black, much like the obelisk, and she couldn't see how far down it went.

"You actually going inside?" Craig asked, his voice now sounding perfectly clear as there was a lack of interference with their signal.

Julie looked up from the ramp to the large diamond shape that no longer glowed nor pulsated. It seemed inert now. She turned to look at Craig, who was finishing latching his gloves to his suit, his helmet already on. She stepped onto the ramp-way, not waiting for Craig to exit the rover. The ramp-way suddenly became illuminated from small white glowing orbs set just above it at ankle-level height. "Now that's just spooky."

There was a pause before Craig spoke, touching her on the shoulder. "Did you do that?"

"Jesus, Craig," she said, turning to look at him. With the vacuum of space, there was no sound transmitted as he exited the rover and approached her, startling her with his touch. "The lights came on when I stepped on the ramp."

"Sorry, Jules, I was watching my own step getting out and didn't see them go on. What now?"

Julie looked at her chronometer on the outside of her wrist showing it approaching the fourteen-minute mark. "I'm going in. We have little time. Are you coming with me or staying here?"

Craig stepped to her side to peer down the ramp-way and then looked around the area. "We should both go, but I can't bring myself to leave them like this." He appeared to nod ever so imperceptibly at the prone, unmoving figure of one of the Russian cosmonauts.

Julie tried to nod back, the bulkier helmet and suit not conveying body motion very well. "All right, you do what you must up here. If you don't hear from me in five, come get me."

"Right. Just stay in contact while you're down there," Craig said, walking and half hopping in the much lighter gravity over to the prone figure.

Julie turned back and took a deep breath, stepping completely onto the ramp-way. It felt more than solid enough. In fact, it felt as if it had one of those no-slip safety floors that she had seen around the NASA pool training area. She walked slowly at first, feeling the light effect of the reduced gravity and not wanting to propel her helmeted head into the ramp-way's ceiling.

"I'm reaching what looks like a door—" she began, and then gasped again, startled as the mass of black separated and revealed what looked to be a large chamber with a center console and illuminated depressions and icons all around the outer edge. "Definitely spooky now. A door just opened and I'm going in."

"Roger that, Jules, be careful," Craig said over the radio.

Julie Monroe stepped into the chamber, wondering if she would be stuck there, and turned to look at the doorframe to see if there were any symbols or icons she could recognize. She practically held her breath waiting to see if the doors would close. They didn't.

She turned back and scanned the room and then stepped toward the center console. She reached it in five steps and looked at the flat console top and the strange markings glowing on a panel facing her, a small, flat, clear glass slide sticking out above what looked to be a glowing green icon. She decided she would press the small glowing green depression and reached for it and then realized that just because it was green didn't mean it was safe. In fact, it could mean the opposite.

Her hand froze above it, her gloved, rubber-tipped finger hovering near it when suddenly the console lit up and the most detailed, most beautiful hologram she had ever seen was displayed above the flat console top. There, in exquisite detail, was the unmistakable shape of a double-sided helix twirling slowly in a circle pattern, the universal symbol for life itself, DNA.

"My God," Julie said.

# 31 Atomic Arrival

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"What did you send them?" Vice President Lee asked from the floor of Houston's control center.

Rock nodded and Marge spoke. "The alien signal now appears to be half the genetic code for Homo sapiens. We simply took the other strand, coded it to match their pulse rate and frequency, and shot it back at them."

An aide tried to give the vice president his secure radio phone, but the man waved it away. "That's it? All this time it was a biological message?"

Marge looked to Rock, and he knew he'd have to run interference since he authorized the return signal in the first place. "Not a message, Mr. Vice President, instead it was more of a query, a way to ascertain if we were of the same genetic coding or not." Seeing the confusion on the man's face, Rock explained, "It was more like a password on a computer system than anything else."

Lee looked at Rock and then reached for the phone. "Sorry, Gloria, just getting some details on what transpired down here. It seems our NASA team sent a radio reply back to the device."

There was a pause, a nod, and then, "Are you sure? NORAD has updated the track? All right, I'll inform them immediately and then we can debrief. All right, goodbye." Lee handed the receiver back to his aide. "Mr. Crandon, it appears that the Chinese rocket has accelerated. Impact will be fifteen minutes earlier than our previous estimate. Get your team out of there now."

"Jesus," Tom said from the other side of Rock's console.

"Jack," Rock said, practically screaming over the top of the murmurs from the NASA technicians and the vice president's aides. "Call abort immediately. Have Craig and Julie evac the area now."

Jack didn't hesitate as he called to their astronauts over a quarter million miles away.

"Will they have enough time, Marge?" Rock asked, following her to her console a few steps away as Marge sat and started to pound on her keyboard, entering new data and details into her Gant charted spreadsheet.

"Taking off fifteen minutes exactly?" Marge asked, looking at the vice president, who nodded. Marge made a last couple of clicks and then looked at Rock and shook her head.

"I repeat, immediate evac NOW!" Jack did scream, though it wouldn't help as the electronic signal was digitized and put back together at the correct decibel level, though perhaps the tone of his voice would convey the urgency of his message.

"How bad, Marge?" Rock asked.

"They're already a minute overdue, add reaction time, and they'll be at least two to four minutes down depending on how quickly they leave the area. Any chance that the yield on the nuke will be less than we factored for?" Again, a look to the vice president.

"Most likely we were being conservative in the first place," Lee said, his voice now getting harder to hear.

Everyone turned to Jack, who looked up from his console and took his headset off. "They've been notified and are evacuating the area now."

Silence engulfed the normally noisy control center.

Alien Device

Surface of the Moon, Mons Crater

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"What the hell do you mean we have to go now?" Julie asked, somewhat annoyed at Craig's relay of the NASA message.

"The nuke is going to show up early. We have been ordered to evac now. Come on, Jules, we have to get out of here."

Julie Monroe stood looking at the intricate dance the DNA strand made as it glowed and slowly twirled in the air, seemingly to float right in front of her, and felt a strange sadness at having only now discovered the alien technology, though there was no sign of alien life. She took only a split second to make her decision, but it felt like an eternity. Julie grabbed the flat, clear slide that was protruding from the center of the console and tugged on it, expecting resistance. It came out easily, and the holograph disappeared. She placed the clear slide into her Velcro-lined outer pocket and pressed to seal it securely.

She heard the faint static pulsing of the alien signal again as it reactivated. Julie turned and ran toward the doorway, bumping her head off the ceiling of the chamber as she forgot about the effect of lesser gravity.

Without much grace, she tumbled, bumped, and ricocheted off the walls of the ramp-way, exiting onto the dark lunar surface illuminated by the rover's powerful overhead lighting array and a bright pulsating light coming from the diamond-tipped obelisk, which was now active again.

"Get in, quick," Craig's voice came over the radio channel.

Julie squinted only slightly as the lights from the rover were much brighter than the chamber's illumination, and she noticed the robotic arms seemingly curled up in a prayer-like position over the suited forms of two humans lying in the large caged storage bin at the rear of the rover.

Reaching for the door, she opened it, stepping onto the lone step, and pulled herself inside. Before she could shut the door, the rover lurched once and then suddenly took off, crashing her suited form into the robotic arm console and nearly cracking her faceplate. The outer door swung violently from its hinge, and Julie struggled to right herself.

"Slow down, Craig, you nearly cracked my skull," Julie said over her voice-activated mike.

"No time, Jules, we may be too late as it is," Craig said, the rover suddenly veering to the west, barely missing the Russian lander.

"You're heading too far south; must go west," Julie said, trying to get back to the rear seat and failing miserably in the process.

"Must go southwest, Jules. I'm heading for the higher and closer lip of the Mons Crater. We need to get out of the area's LOS," Craig shot back, his voice back to the usual static that she remembered as the pulsating alien signal continued.

Julie noticed in the fading light that there were drag marks and footprints from the Russian lander back toward the alien device. Looking through the rear window viewport, she saw the figures of both cosmonauts. Had Craig really retrieved the other one from the lander?

The rover hit an outcropping, and Julie was hurled into the top of the rover. She heard a cracking sound, which could only mean it was her helmet. The rear compartment was still not pressurized and sound would not carry if it was the rover that had cracked.

Landing on her stomach and across the chair, she lifted herself with great effort and sat in the same spot Craig had used on their trip to the device. Quickly strapping the safety harness across her torso, she inserted the safety clips into their reinforced holders and felt the harness restrain her as the rover hit another outcropping. Julie unconsciously pressed her gloved hand across her breast pocket and felt the reassuring presence of the alien slide.

Reaching for the door just to her right, she pulled it shut, feeling the door secure as the sidebars locked it into place and the rubber seals compressed, hydraulically securing her rear compartment. She punched the white pressurization button and felt the air tanks releasing their nitrogen and oxygen.

"What did they tell you?" Julie asked, a sigh escaping from her as she watched the interior cabin status display go from red to green.

"What they always do. We are t-plus two minutes, thirty-five seconds from our new timetable courtesy of the Chinese.",

Julie flipped the com link in the console, activating the relay into her suit which had deactivated during the rush to evac the area, and she heard the update from Houston in midsentence.

"—nutes, advise you expedite. Concur with the course modification."

"Roger, Houston, this is _Blackjack_. Proceeding at maximum speed for Mons grid three one bravo. ETA update on the new visitor?"

"Negative, _Blackjack_ , ETA remains the same. Recommend higher rate of departure than what we are seeing on the telemetry feed."

Julie heard a click as Craig shut off the main channel for a second. "No shit, are they kidding me?"

Grasping the seriousness of the situation, Julie also muted the main channel and spoke, using her intra-com voice activation. "Craig, turn the control lever as far as it will go to the right and then push up at the same time," she said.

"What?" Craig asked, confusion evident in his voice.

"Just do it," Julie said, "far right and push up hard."

There was a pause, and then Julie felt the rover lurch forward as the sudden inertia tried to throw her from her seat and back into the console. Her safety harness kept her in place.

"Where did you learn that?" Craig asked, his voice sounding gleeful.

"You can thank Tom McClain for that one," Julie said, watching as the lunar soil was hurled into space behind the rover's large all-terrain wheels.

"You can't be serious. How would the old man know?"

"Well, he didn't know about this, but he pulled me aside and told me he rigged it for extra juice just in case we had to beat the Ruskis."

"Now that sounds like the man," Craig said. "Hold on, bump coming up."

Julie felt the straps again hold her from colliding with the roof as the rover actually became airborne. _Well, space-borne would be a more accurate description_ , she thought to herself, hearing the call from Houston again.

"Do you copy, _Blackjack_? Find cover now."

"What are they . . . ?" Julie let her voice trail off as she noticed what looked like a small falling meteor approaching the area from the far side of the crater.

The Chinese missile had all but spent its primary fuel stores as well as its small inert compressed gas of nitrogen that had given the rocket small course corrections as it approached the moon at a steeper than optimal angle for orbital insertion.

The missile didn't intend to orbit, and much like a billiards player who lined up a triple banked shot on a pool table, as soon as the ball was set in motion, it was like money in the bank. The moon's gravity pulled on the rocket, changing its trajectory and pulling it closer to the moon's surface as it approached from the equator, having had its latitude calculated hours earlier.

There would be no aerial fins to give it course corrections at the last minute. No, this missile was completely ballistic and its path predetermined a day earlier. The laws of physics applied gravity to the mass and speed of the nuclear-tipped rocket, bending its trajectory until it approached the site from the eastern horizon. Nosecone radar took over, sending queries to the moon's surface and receiving thousands of updates every second.

Finally a simple program in the computer's arming logic received the data it was looking for, a simple "greater than, less than" algorithm that indicated that the rocket was now less than one hundred meters above the surface of the moon. The near constant signal that the computer had been sending to the arming device now changed from negative to positive. The arming module accepted the command and activated the nuclear weapon ninety-nine-point-nine-eight meters above the surface.

Armageddon had arrived for the alien device.

Julie watched as a sudden ball of intense white lit up the area where they had just been not long before. The ball did not mushroom as one would expect, but instead, in the vacuum of space, ballooned out in a near perfect circular pattern until the wave hit the surface. One hundred tons of lunar soil, rocks, and material were suddenly and violently ejected from the impact site and hurled miles overhead in fierce, glowing streaks of light across the dark side of the moon.

Julie gasped. "Oh my God."

"I see it," Craig's voice came across her headset, and she half fancied he was willing the rover to go faster. "Almost there," he said, his voice now sounding more hopeful than confident.

"Too late," Julie said, watching the wall of intense light approaching them at an unbelievable rate of closure. She closed her eyes as the wall of light reached them, and prepared to die.

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"Try again," Rock ordered, looking directly at Jack.

" _Blackjack_ , this is Houston, over, do you copy?" Jack said.

There was no response, and the neutrino display, once a very secondary feature, was now on the top of the four sidebar displays, dancing away to the tune of the alien signal, though obviously a different one now.

"Ah, Richard, you may want to see this," Lisa said, looking at him from her console.

"What is it?" Rock asked.

"Video feed from the Russians," Lisa shot back.

"Put it on the main screen," Rock said, sitting down again in his chair.

The video feed came up on the main screen, dark and hard to see at first, but then clearing up, and the surface of the moon was apparent. A bright, white ball of light was clearly visible in the center, expanding.

"How are you intercepting this?" Mr. Smith asked from behind Rock's console.

Lisa turned from the screen to look at the man. "They're broadcasting this in the open. It's a PAL system, the kind the Europeans use for their television system, so we have to run it through a decoder and NTSC converter to get it to play on our monitors, but it's in the open."

"Where is the Russian ship now?" Vice President Lee asked, returning to the control room from the hallway where he was presumably discussing current events with the president.

"Coming across the terminator," Lisa said.

Rock saw the confusion on Lee's face. "She means it's just crossing now from the day side to the night side. We'll lose this feed soon as well, and it's taken at an angle of about sixty degrees."

The vice president nodded and looked back at the picture of the ball of light as it started to darken as it grew outward.

"One hell of a way to end a mission, eh, Rock?" Tom asked, shaking his head.

"Yeah, Tom, one hell of a way . . ." Rock's voice trailed off.

" _Blyad_ , they actually did it," Yuri said, watching the nuclear explosion with interest as they started yet another orbit around the moon.

"A bit early, too, Yuri," Olga said, also watching the feed. "I'm afraid that now we'll never know."

Yuri looked at his copilot. "About our crew or the Americans?"

"Both, Yuri. I doubt they had time to clear that blast radius. What were their superiors thinking, anyway?"

"Probably the same thing as ours, mission priority, crew expendable."

# 32 Russian Assist

_Apollo 21_ Rover

Surface of the Moon, Mons Crater

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

The blast arrived at the same time that the rover met the lip of the crater. Craig never bothered to slow down. He could see the blast wave approaching through the side mirrors that were only there to allow Julie to back the rover up. Now they served a different function. The rover sailed over the edge of the crater lip, seeming to glide in the lower gravity, but then it was violently flung into the ground as the explosive force of the nuclear blast reached them.

The rover hit hard on its nose, digging into the lunar surface and bouncing wildly before coming to an abrupt halt as it hit a rock outcropping. The rear-facing lights were blown out, and the rear of the rover was plunged into darkness. Only the top lights facing forward were still working.

Julie came to, looking up and seeing streaks of molten rock spewing across the night sky. Their rover was being pelted from above by small pebble-sized rocks that made the interior vibrate. The lights from the front of the rover cut through the haze, dust, and lunar soil.

"You all right back there, Jules?" Craig said, pushing the lever forward and causing the entire rover to vibrate, though it did not budge.

Julie lifted the shielding on her visor so she could see again and touched the top of the helmet, feeling for any major cracks. She'd have to de-glove to perform a more detailed check if she wanted to test her suit's ability to maintain pressure. "Yeah, I think we're alive."

"Well, those engineers sure as hell know how to build a rover. The shielding held and none of our electronics were blown by the EMP blast. We are, however, stuck. I can't move it."

"The shielding doesn't surprise me, though we were way too close to that blast for my comfort level," Julie said, looking at the rear dash and checking the systems display there. "Did you notice the alien signal has stopped? Our coms are all clear."

"I see that," Craig said.

"Try pulling the lever back into reverse. I can't see much back here, but it may help, and can we get Houston on the line?"

"Hang on a sec," Craig said, and the rover stopped vibrating, and then very slowly Julie felt it moving backward. "It's working, though I can't see a damn thing behind us. I'm just glad it stayed upright."

"Yeah, another engineering marvel. They kept the center of balance low in case we hit a bump, and the rover took off in this low gravity," Julie said, taking off her gloves and lifting off her helmet to inspect it, hearing the gentle sound of small moon rocks as they bounced off the top of the rover. The sound reminded her instantly of a soft rain.

Craig stopped the rover and then pulled out and around the outcropping gingerly and then veered hard right till the crater's edge was visible as a silhouette against the starry night sky. "My God, did we actually jump that, and what the hell is hitting us?"

Julie sat her helmet down and looked at the rim in awe. "That's got to be a good thirty feet high, though the slope isn't at a bad angle. I think the blast ejected a lot of lunar material and it's coming down now."

"Yeah, but still, that was one hell of a drop," Craig said.

"Well, that drop may have saved us. Let me see if I can get Houston on the line," Julie said.

"I doubt it. Check the high gain antenna mast. It's on the ground to your three o'clock," Craig offered.

Julie looked to her right and could just barely make out the four foot mast that had once sat on the top side of the rover. "Well, damn, can we use the LF transmitter?"

"We can, but I'm not sure it'll reach the minis," Craig said, referring to the dual small communication satellites that relayed incoming messages.

"All right, I'm on it. You get us back to the lander—we can use the transceiver there—but in the meantime, I'll try to get Houston on the low band," Julie said.

Craig started to drive the rover west with a slight northern bias, but at a much slower speed than their mad dash to safety just minutes earlier. The darkness of the rear was disconcerting to Julie as she tried to put it out of her mind.

Finally after several minutes, she heard the call from Houston. " _Blackjac_ k, this is Houston. Do you copy?"

" _Blackjack_ here, Houston. We copy. How do you read us?" Julie responded.

After an uncomfortable pause, Houston repeated, " _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. Do you read us, over?"

"We're here, Houston. Radio check, over?" Julie said.

A pause, and then, " _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. Over."

"Damn, they aren't receiving us," Julie said.

"I see that. Let me pick up some speed now that nothing seems to be broken—" Craig was cut off as he veered the rover hard right to avoid a basketball-sized rock that landed barely ten feet in front of the rover, impacting hard and sending a considerable amount of lunar soil into space.

"What happened?" Julie asked, unable to see forward.

"Damn rock almost hit us," Craig answered.

"Get back to the crater's edge," Julie commanded. "That may be the only thing saving us from the debris."

Craig veered right again, almost heading due east until they came up to the edge of the wall, and he pulled the rover north to sit parallel to its edge. The pelting was less but constant, and they could see streaks far to the west, indeed in all directions, glowing as they returned to the lunar surface.

"I sure as hell hope the lander is all right," Craig voiced his concern.

"Me, too," Julie said, looking out the glass side to the west and wondering if she should put her helmet and gloves back on. One faint streak, however, seemed to be traveling in the opposite direction. The lighting seemed more artificial, as if it was reflecting something instead of emanating. "Do you see that just above the horizon?"

"Yeah, I was just looking at it. What do you think?"

"Either an orbiter or . . ." Julie paused for a moment. "Isn't the _Gordust_ the only sat in retrograde orbit?"

"It is. Do you think that's it?" Craig asked.

"We're going to find out," Julie said, changing the frequency of her radio and enabling the low gain transmitter. " _Apollo_ to _Gordust_ , this is Commander Julie Monroe. Do you copy?" Julie let a full ten seconds go by before she repeated the greeting.

" _Apollo_ , this is Russian _Gordust_ , Yuri Temshenko commanding. Julie, is that you?"

Julie let all formalities drop when she heard Yuri's voice. "Yes, Yuri, this is Julie on the surface. How do you read us?"

"Loud and clear. Are you all right?" Yuri asked.

"Yes, Yuri, but our high gain antenna array is out of service. Can you relay a message for us?"

"I think so. Do you have a frequency?"

"Yes, Yuri, use ninety-nine point seven and see if you can raise Houston for us," Julie said.

"Switching now. Were you able to confirm the status of our crewmembers?" Yuri asked, concern in his voice.

Julie felt a pang of guilt at not mentioning or even thinking of their concerns, so focused was she on reestablishing communications with Houston. "I'm sorry, Yuri, be advised that your crewmembers are both deceased. We have, however, retrieved them, and they are with us."

The pause was obvious as Yuri chose his words carefully. "Roger, _Apollo_ , received and understood. Thanks for the assist. Be advised, however, that we just crossed the terminator and won't be in communication's range for another forty-two minutes."

"Yuri," Julie said, "use the broad range broadcast. We have communication satellites in orbit. They'll relay the signal as long as you use the frequency I gave you and transmit in the clear."

"Standby," Yuri said. After a full minute, his voice resumed over the mike. "Russian _Gordust_ to American Houston, do you read us?"

Julie almost shouted for joy at what she heard next. " _Gordust_ , this is Houston, we read you loud and clear. State the nature of your transmission." The voice was obviously Jack's, and he was calm, neutral, and professional.

"Houston, this is _Gordust_. We have someone that wants to talk to you. Go ahead, _Apollo_."

Julie keyed her mike, overriding the voice activation to make sure she transmitted. "Houston, this is _Blackjack_. Do you copy?"

The three second relay time, even at the speed of light, was obvious, but the reply wasn't. " _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. We read you loud and clear, and boy, are we glad to hear from you." Jack delayed in releasing his mike, and Julie smiled as shouts of joy, applause, and glee were easily conveyed through the radio.

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"Praise the maker," Tom said, leaning back as the room calmed down. "How in the hell did they survive that?"

"Who cares?" Lisa said, smiling and clapping. "They're alive!"

Rock breathed a long sigh and looked at the vice president, who just nodded, took his phone, and departed the room. "Let's get a sit-rep from them now," Rock ordered, and the room started to bustle with activity as systems data was received from the _Gordust_ , piggybacking on the same frequency, although at a much lower streaming feed.

Julie explained their situation and informed them of the status of the Russian cosmonauts, painfully aware that the crew of the _Gordust_ was listening to them. "Recommendations?" she asked.

Rock picked up his PTT mike and nodded to Jack, keying it at the same time. "Roger, Julie, copy your situation. Advise you return ASAP to the lander and prep for departure. We're showing the alien signal down right now, but radiation levels are up. Best if we commence with the last phase of our mission."

Julie understood the ramifications and had held back any information on the alien glass slide she had taken. She felt it again, and not for the last time, still in her suit's pocket. "Roger, Houston, we will return now. The ejecta from the blast seems to have ceased."

"Roger, _Blackjack_ , contact us from the lander. Houston to _Gordust_ , can we keep this channel open, and thanks for your assistance," Rock finished.

"Houston, this is _Gordust_. We will keep the channel active, just push to talk as long as we're in range."

"Roger, Houston out."

There was a sense of hope in the control center as Rock looked at Mr. Smith. "When can we tell her?"

Mr. Smith looked up from the tablet that Mrs. Brown had been using to take notes on the sudden and unexpected restoration of communications with their crew. "You can inform her about the Chinese astronaut when they reach the lander."

"Do you intend for us to rescue him?" Rock asked.

"Yes, he has a certain value for intelligence purposes," Mr. Smith said.

"Well, for once we're in agreement, just not for the right reasons," Rock said.

# 33 Rescue

_Apollo_ Lander

Surface of the Moon, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"For the love of God, can't we get a break?" Craig asked rhetorically as the rover pulled up to the lander.

Julie couldn't see up front, but she heard Craig clearly. "What now?"

Craig flipped a switch to activate the lights on the lander, illuminating the entire area in a three-hundred-sixty-degree circle. "Looks bad. Let's check it out."

Julie started to put her helmet and gloves on. The front compartment of the rover was cracked, and Craig didn't bother risking a blowout by pressurizing it, so he already had his suit on and simply stepped out.

"I'm right behind you," Julie said, getting a comforting latching sound on her helmet and then twisting both glove locks on and securing her suit, which pressurized immediately. She opened the door after depressurizing her rear cabin and followed Craig.

The scene was depressing. Several basketball-sized rocks had landed in the area, strewn out across the visible distance, and an unlikely strike had one of the rocks either hitting or ricocheting off the side of the lander, breaching one of the two main propellant tanks on the starboard side of the craft. What looked like water ice was all over the surface around the ruptured tank. Julie knew it was propellant.

"That's just great. Game over, man," Craig despaired, walking around the ruptured tank and looking at the lander, scratched in many places along its side.

"Is the interior breached?" Julie asked.

"I don't know. I'll need to get inside and pressurize it to see. I just don't see how we can perform a two stage burn to get back to our orbiter."

"Get inside, perform a systems check, and let me know. I'll raise Houston on the main freq. We good with that?" Julie asked.

"Yeah, we are now patched into the transceiver onboard _Blackjack_. You can transmit when ready," Craig said, moving toward the airlock underneath of the lander by the aluminum ladder.

" _Apollo_ to _Gordust_ , over," Julie said.

"Go ahead _Apollo_ ," Yuri's voice replied.

"We have reached our lander and will be using our own radio now. Thanks for the assist."

"Roger, _Apollo_ , we are about to hit the dayside terminator and swing around. We'll be out for an hour or so. Luck and speed."

"Copy," Julie replied, switching her wristband channel indicator to use the lander's system via an intercom system. "Houston, this is _Blackjack_ , over."

"Go ahead, _Blackjack_. This is Houston reading you on primary one, over."

"Houston, be advised that we have a catastrophic failure of fuel tank two due to ejecta damage, minimal damage to struts three and four, as well as a slight fracture of the outer hull on the starboard side. We are running a diagnostic now. Will report, over."

"Roger, _Blackjack_ , major failure on fuel tank two, minimal to struts three and four, minor fracture on outer shell, starboard side."

"That's affirmative, Houston."

"We have information for you as well, _Blackjack_. Be advised that seventeen miles due west we've located a signal from the Chinese lander, one astronaut sending out a Mayday. Can you assist?"

Julie heard the call, but it took her a minute to process the news. "Affirm, Houston, do you have coordinates on him?"

"Being sent to your display now on the data feed."

"Roger, wait one, Houston," Julie said, clicking her wrist pad from main to local. "Craig, did you monitor that last?"

"Yeah, I got it. He's probably dead as well. Been there for several days if our reporting was correct. You can't be serious about going, though, can you?"

"Well, you took the time to retrieve the Russians. Why not do the same for the Chinese? I know I'd want my body returned if at all possible."

"It's your call, Jules," Craig said.

"What's our status?"

"Bad, Jules. We have only fifty percent of total propellant load in tank one, and we'll need ninety percent to reach our orbiter. With the two-stage move, the calcs were cutting it too close, and this just screwed our pooch, but good. We aren't going anywhere."

"Better let Houston know," she said, keying the mike manually after switching on the main channel. "Houston, be advised we are at fifty percent fuel load at this time. All other systems are a go."

"Roger, _Blackjack_ , we're working it. Confirm receipt of coordinates."

"Coordinates received, _Blackjack_ , mobile en route. Will advise upon arrival, over and out."

"All right, Jules, I'm showing the bottom transfer pump intact and will try to transfer any propellant not frozen from the bottom of tank two over to tank one," Craig said.

"Sounds good. I'll advise when I arrive. Can you help me with the Russians first, though?"

"Sure, on my way," Craig said, appearing at the door to the lander and coming down to help Julie remove the Russian bodies. Julie got inside the rear compartment and removed the lock on the robotic arms and moved them up and out of the way. In quick order, they had both bodies moved to the base of the lander. "I'll take care of them. Go see to our Chinese astronaut and get back here as soon as you can."

"Keep the main channel open," Julie said, retrieving a spare ion battery module from one of the outer storage compartments on the lander and placing it in the same basket where the Russians had been. "A little insurance, just in case."

"Yeah, the power levels on the rover were showing close to fifty percent. You should have more than enough to go there and return," Craig said.

Julie walked to the front and got in the operating compartment, turning to make sure the two spare oxygen tanks were still there from their wild ride. "I'm just playing it safe. I'd hate to get out there and find that we had a short in the wiring or a gauge problem with the power levels."

"Agreed," Craig said. "Good luck."

Julie secured the door and checked the pressure. She decided not to risk the chance of the cracked glass breaking, reinforced though it was, and left her suit on. Strapping in, she moved the lever forward and turned the rover due west towards a dark peak line in the distance silhouetted and blocking out the stars. If the coordinates were correct the Chinese lander would be just on the other side of that ridge line.

The trip was uneventful and Julie only had to back the rover up once to go around a draw in the ridge line that threatened to tip it over. After cresting the ridge she could visually make out a faint pinprick of light far out onto one of the many flat and barren lunar plains that composed the majority of the moon's surface. It was farther than she thought and she was glad she had grabbed a spare battery module. With determination she pushed the vehicle lever forward and started towards the light.

_Crimson Glory_

Lunar Surface, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

The alarm chime rang for the last time as Hen Sing had muted the audible signal warning him of low oxygen levels, and he had used his last dose of morphine an hour earlier. He practically slept waiting for the return of the Chinese orbiter and the call from Beijing.

For some reason, he had turned off most of the unnecessary electrical equipment to conserve energy, but he had left the overhead visual locater beacon on. It served almost no purpose other than a visual identifier, and out here, there was almost nothing except the camera on the orbiter to identify his lander. The oversight saved his life.

His first indication that something was amiss was when the area outside his viewpoint slowly illuminated. Sing could not move to look out, and the angle at which he was looking afforded a view of only stars until a helmeted head appeared in the viewport, looking in with small portable lights on either side to the top shining in on him. The lights made Sing wince, and he squinted, hoping his eyes would adjust as he held an arm up against them.

The outside figure turned its head, and then the lights went out and the figure motioned to the door handle. Sing wasn't sure what the sudden appearance of the suited figure meant, but it was obvious it wanted inside. Sing checked his coms and called over the main communications channel, but there was no answer. The figure stood silently, framed in the viewport, waiting patiently.

Sing reached for his helmet, putting it on and latching the neck collar, and then grabbed for his gloves, putting each on in turn. Then the cramped quarters also saved his life as he reached for the depressurization switch that would make the inside of his lander equal to the pressure outside on the moon, zero. Had he been forced to reach or move more than an arm's length, he could not have activated it.

When the indicator showed clear reaching equilibrium with the vacuum of space, he gave the universal thumbs-up symbol to the suited figure and looked at the door handle. Slowly it moved, shimmying at first and then coming all the way up once the figure understood which way to move it to open the door. The door opened completely and, half illuminated from bright lights to its right, Sing could see the patch of the United States of America. The Americans had arrived.

"Craig, am I still patched in to _Apollo_ 's transceiver?"

"Yes, Jules, same as when you left. You are linked it; just push to talk," Craig said.

" _Blackjack_ mobile to Houston, do you copy?" Julie said, excitement in her voice.

" _Blackjack_ mobile, this is Houston. Go ahead, over."

"Houston, be advised that I've retrieved a Chinese astronaut from the targeted coordinates and am inbound to _Apollo_. Chinese astronaut is alive. Do you copy, Houston? He is alive."

There was a long pause as the information not only relayed for nearly three seconds with the speed of light delay but as Houston processed the information. Julie was sure they weren't expecting him to be alive and neither was she, but there he was. She had dragged him to the rear of the rover and put him inside the compartment, strapping him in and pointing to the button to pressurize it. She feared at first that he wouldn't understand, and his grimace of pain was more than enough information to demonstrate that not only his legs were broken but something else as well. She had waited long enough to see that he indeed did activate the pressurization, and she didn't wait to see if he would de-suit or not. She got in and started driving back, using the low gain antenna to contact _Apollo_ and relay her signal.

"Roger, Julie." Rock's voice came back steady. "Message understood and authorization to continue the extraction procedure is still authorized. Continue on mission."

Julie hit a bump and slowed down a bit as she imagined the pain that may have caused her passenger. "Houston, do you have solution on the fuel shortage?"

The question was a hard one to ask, and her actions were most likely all for naught. Save the Chinese astronaut so he could die with them? Wouldn't that be better than dying alone? She speculated, trying to rationalize her seemingly futile actions.

"Based on the data from _Apollo_ , you are at fifty-six percent fuel capacity. Ninety percent is necessary for return to _Apollo_ orbit and . . . sixty-five percent necessary to intercept Russian craft in retro orbit. Do you copy?"

Julie gasped. She had thought of the _Gordust_ as a last resort, but now the fuel figures showed that they would not be able to reach its orbit. They were stranded. "Copy, Houston, keep us posted. Over and out."

Julie clicked off the mike, not wanting to let the emotions in her voice be conveyed nor to make the mission team feel any worse on the ground. The work of retrieving the Chinese body, now alive, though it was thought that he would be dead by now, was busybody work to buy Houston time to run the figures and work out a solution.

She heard Craig call her on their low gain system so it would be a private chat. "You copy that, Jules?"

"Yeah, Craig, we're SOL, and time's running out."

"Is that guy really alive?"

"Oh yeah, he wasn't moving much till I dragged him out of his lander, but the pain definitely got his attention. He's got both legs broken, and maybe more. I'm surprised he had enough oxygen for this long, not to mention living with injuries." Talking about the poor condition of her passenger seemed to take her mind off of her own plight.

"So what's the plan, Jules?"

"I'll get back, and then we load our guest in the lander and wait."

"Wait for what?"

"For what we always wait for. For Houston to pull a rabbit out of its hat."

"Well, that better be one big fucking rabbit," Craig said, not hearing Julie's hysterical laughter.

# 34 The Rabbit

NASA Space Center

Houston, Texas

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"What are you talking about, Marge?" Rock asked, looking at his second in command with his eyes arched and his hands on his hips.

The entire mission team had all but huddled around Rock's main command module, crowding the space entirely and making Mr. Smith and Mrs. Brown look more than a little uncomfortable.

"Our handlers there need to get the Russian president on the line and make this happen." Marge shot them a look and put her own hands on her own hips, a stance displaying more than a bit of defiance.

"I'm not so sure we can do that," Mr. Smith said, returning the look. "They are still recovering from the bombing of their space command center."

"And you're asking them to abort their own mission," Mrs. Brown added.

"We are not going to leave our crew up there to die," Marge practically shouted, frustration in her voice. "You two need to make this happen."

Rock took a long look at the observation room high above them and could only make out a mass of dark shapes, Secret Service most likely. They needed a push now. Rock grabbed one of his technical manuals lying on his desk and hurled it at the observation window.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mr. Smith asked, stepping back and into Tom.

The response was immediate as figures moved, and four agents closed in on Rock's console.

"We're elevating the matter," Rock said looking at Mr. Smith and sighing when he finally saw the vice president enter the room.

_Gordust_ Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"Ah, copy, Vostonchny, please confirm the mission parameters one more time," Yuri said, rolling his recorders again. If they were going to order him to do this, then he damn well wanted it recorded, just in case.

Vostonchny completed its repetition and then signed out.

"What the hell was that about?" Olga asked.

"It seems we are now a search and rescue mission," Yuri said, keying the internal mike on.

"Search for what? We know where the Americans are," she said.

"All right, Olya, just rescue, then," Yuri cleared his throat. "Nikolai, prepare for orbital insertion burn in five minutes."

"Insertion?" Nikolai asked, obvious confusion in his voice.

"Yes, Olya, insertion. We are going to orbit closer."

" _Bozhe moi_ ," Olga said, her face surprised.

"My feelings exactly," Yuri said, clicking on the diagnostic system check and strapping his seat belt tighter.

_Apollo_ Lander

Lunar Surface, Marianas Plain

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

Julie had returned without incident to see that there was no sign of the Russian bodies. She got out after swapping one of the mini oxygen bottles attached to her waist from the rover and moved to the rear. She had purposely drove a few feet past the lander so that its intense overhead lighting array would illuminate the rear of the rover.

She saw the Chinese astronaut sitting, breathing heavily. His helmet and one glove was off. Craig came down the stairs of the lander and stood next to her.

"He's really alive. Such a shame, too."

Julie turned to see him better, but his face was in shadow and the visor didn't help. "You think I should have just left him?"

"No." His voice sounded artificial as it was bounced over the rover and back on the mini low gain array. "I think you should have never went there in the first place. Ah, what does it matter?"

Julie ignored the pessimism. "I see that you either managed to get an extra six percent transferred over or you understated our fuel load."

"I transferred what was still liquid at the bottom in the secondary reserve tank. It appears they keep another hull over the reserve just in case, so that wasn't frozen or ejected when the top of the tank was breached, not that six percent will make a difference."

"But you transferred it, anyway." Julie made a statement and not a question.

"I guess it's just the training they instill in you," Craig answered back. "What are we going to do with our friend there? Have you talked to him yet?"

"Of course not. I don't speak Chinese, and I have no idea what com frequency he's using."

"Let's get him inside the lander and see if we can talk to him, then," Craig said, motioning to the man inside the rover and then his own helmet. The man nodded and started to suit up again. "Best to tell the man to his face that he's still going to die."

" _Blackjack_ , this is Houston. Do you copy, over?"

"Houston, this is _Blackjack_. We are transferring our guest to the _Apollo_ lander, over," Julie said, switching her com mike control to voice activation so she would be hands-free to help Craig with the Chinese astronaut.

"Roger, _Blackjack_ , acknowledge your return with one Chinese foreign national. Standby, over."

"Standing by," Julie said, moving to the rover where Craig had opened the door after the man inside had depressurized his compartment. Seems he was coherent enough to understand the correct button to push.

The two of them grabbed the man by an arm, each lopping the large suited limbs over their own shoulders. Julie was still amazed at how light the man was. One sixth earth's gravity made for an easy move of the man over to the stairs of the lander where Craig went up first and then grabbed the man's outstretched hands, arms completely overhead, and Julie pushed on the man's butt, avoiding his legs, and in one fell swing, he was pulled inside the lander.

Julie started up the stairs when the call came in. "Julie, this is Richard Crandon, do you copy?"

"Roger, Rock, what brings you to the mike?" Julie asked.

"Julie, are Craig's ears on?"

"Rock, Craig here. I'm listening, go ahead."

"I've got Marjorie Jones here. She's going to explain a little idea we've worked out for you."

Julie just cleared the lip of the door and saw the Chinese man still suited on his back, his legs sprawled in unnatural angles, and Craig's face, now clearly visible in the enhanced lighting of the lander, had a look of utter shock on it.

"Let us have it, Houston," Julie said, pulling herself inside and securing the door.

_Gordust_ Space Station

Low Moon Orbit

In the near future, Day 48

* * *

"Burn successful, orbital adjustment to perigee in three minutes," Nikolai said, his voice tense.

"Keep an eye out on visual for the _Apollo_. It should be in front of us and down about twenty degrees," Yuri said, scanning his own FLIR and seeing nothing.

After what seemed like several minutes, Olga's voice excitedly shouted, "I've got them, forward and thirteen degrees and climbing."

" _Da_ , I see them now, though they're not climbing, we're still descending. Nikolai, ready the braking burn when we're less than five hundred meters."

"I'm ready, Commander, burn on your orders," Nikolai's voice came back.

"Ivan, we only have one shot at this or we auger into the surface. Are you at the air lock?" Yuri asked.

"Yes, Commander," Ivan's voice came back. "I'm fully prepped for EVA on your orders. I'll get them if you can get me within ten meters."

"I'll get you close enough to kiss them, just keep an eye on your timer. You'll have just under three minutes," Yuri said.

"Roger, Yuri, I'll be ready," Ivan said.

The _Apollo_ had long ago stopped its burn as it had taken off and shot into an orbit that was nearly half the orbit of the _Gordust_. The craft didn't have the fuel to go any higher, and the orbital delta speed was not enough to maintain the orbit. As soon as it looped to its zenith, the moon's gravity would reach up and grab the craft, bringing it down again until it impacted on the moon's other side.

"We're coming in too hot, Yuri. Start breaking at seven hundred meters," Olga said, monitoring the radar and showing the closing speed to be far outside the norm.

Yuri looked at her quickly and then back to the FLIR. "We've only got one shot at this Olga, maintain course and speed."

"You've said that already. I get it, but we're not going to do anyone any good if we all impact on the moon together or splat one another in orbit," Olga said, panic starting to creep into her voice.

"Commander, we are coming in fast. Your orders?" Nikolai said.

"Stay on target, just a little bit further . . ." Yuri's voice sounded distant.

Olga braced herself.

"Jesus H. Christ," Craig said, looking at his radar screen and the figures scrolling across the bottom. "He's going to hit us!"

Julie looked out the side window port at the quickly growing faint light that was approaching them from the rear. The _Apollo_ lander was tilted sideways still from its orbital burn, allowing her the viewing angle. "I hope he knows what he's doing."

"He's going to hit us is what he's doing," Craig said again.

"No way, space is vast. If anything, he'll be a hundred meters away and we'll have a hard time evacing and reaching the _Gordust_ ," Julie said, hopefulness sounding in her voice, or was that wishful thinking?

"Not according to my radar reading. He's right on target, and we're the target. Brace for impact," Craig said.

Impact would most likely mean death, so Julie ignored the command and watched as the _Gordust_ approached. This would be close. "Almost there."

"Passing zenith, starting our descent now," Craig said, vocalizing his readings from his dual radar displays. One on the _Gordust_ , the other pointed to the surface.

Julie continued to look out the viewport and then said, "I think you're right, Craig."

"What?"

"Brace for impact."

"Fire now!" Yuri shouted, again, not necessary over the intercom system, but human nature was, after all, human nature.

The ship shuddered as all four rockets fired on maximum. The burn was timed to be for exactly seventeen seconds, but they could be off a tad and Yuri had let the timer go all the way to the zero point before giving the command. Normally the rockets would be on automatic burn, but the calculations were only as good as the data inputted and Yuri sensed that the _Apollo_ had arrived a tad earlier than calculated, and Yuri had been correct.

The _Apollo_ had passed its high point, or zenith, and now started to descend ever so slowly at first, but gaining momentum with every passing second. The navigation computer onboard the _Gordust_ would not care and would simply initiate the burn as ordered. The radar data was no good either since the _Gordust_ could not "fix" the _Apollo_ 's height, and the rate of burn was an estimate when it took off. A close estimate, but an estimate nevertheless.

Olga cringed as the _Apollo_ suddenly loomed in their sight. Yuri hit the starboard thruster, which released six side vents of gas, pushing the _Gordust_ farther down as it approached and slowed. The last minute adjustment, minute that it was, saved all their lives. The _Gordust_ 's __ massive four motors finally cut out, and the ship stopped relative to the _Apollo_ with one of the _Apollo_ 's landing struts a mere two meters away from striking the window of their command pod on Olga's side.

"Ivan, go, go, go," Yuri said into his mike, taking a deep breath and looking to Olga.

Her face was pale as she returned the look. "That was too close, Yuri."

"I know," he answered.

There was a moment of silence before Ivan spoke. "Kiss them, my ass! You just about fucked them in the—" Yuri hit mute on the receiver for a second, not hearing the last of Ivan's transmission.

Ivan became visible, tether and all, as his EVA suit propelled him in front of the _Gordust_ and up to the _Apollo_. He hit the side easily and used a second tether to click the attached clamp onto one of the support rings that had been used to hoist it on top of the _Saturn_ a week ago.

Olga flipped the mute switch back on. "Ivan, see if their hatch is on the other side."

"I see them. They're coming," Ivan came back, pulling himself over and allowing the astronauts to use the line to cross over to the _Gordust_. One figure, bigger than the other two, moved to the bottom of the _Apollo_ and released a compartment, pulling on something. Two suited bodies with the badges of the Russian Republic floated out, both attached by a safety line to their utility belts. The larger American-badged figure gave the line to Ivan and then pulled himself across the void and out of sight behind Yuri and Olga's view.

"Let's bring our comrades home," Yuri said.

"Affirmative, Commander," Ivan said, starting back once the others had cleared.

"Prepare for new arrivals," Olga spoke.

"Airlock re-pressurizing now. Three new cosmonauts onboard," Nikolai said. "I've activated the equipment pod and Ivan is securing our comrades. ETA sixty seconds."

"Get him back on board and secure for burn. Let's go home," Yuri said.

# Epilogue

Debrief

* * *

White House

Washington D.C.

In the near future, Day 54

* * *

"So how's Colonel Sing, is it?" Rock asked from his seat in the presidential briefing room at the White House.

"We had him for an extra forty-eight hours due to . . . shall we say, health reasons," Mr. Smith said from across the table.

"And the Russians?" Marge asked. "How did you get them to agree with helping us?"

"I'll take this one," President Powers said, leaning forward. "They have their own intelligence-gathering apparatus and apparently a pretty good HUMINT section as well. They learned of Commander Monroe's securing of the alien data card and agreed to help us if we shared the data from it."

"But if the Russian's know, surely then the Chinese . . ." Mr. Smith left the rest of his sentence unspoken.

"Well, we turned Colonel Sing over to the Chinese Ambassador yesterday, and he should be on a flight to Beijing as we speak. What's important is that by bringing him back, we may have very well prevented World War Three," President Powers said.

"How's that?" Mr. Smith asked.

"Yeah," Tom spoke up and Rock cringed. "If the Ruskies know, then those commies probably know, or at least suspect as well."

"Calm down, both of you," Powers said, as if speaking to two unruly teenage sons. "The data on the card is literally a copy of the last signal that we picked up from the device before the Chinese destroyed it, so it's available to everyone. They just need time to decode it, and the card makes that easier for us."

"What's on the card?" Lisa asked.

Powers nodded to her Chief Medical Advisor. "The card has a blueprint of what looks to be an optimal genetic coding for Homo sapiens."

"Can we get that in English, sir?" Tom asked.

President Powers interrupted. "It means that perhaps within a year we'll be able to nearly perfect our genetic codes to banish illness, cure diseases, and do away with most of the things that plague mankind. We can thank Doctor Jones for that."

What President Powers didn't explain was that the initial assessment of the genetic coding contained two abnormalities as they related to the human genome; obesity and actinic keratosis, otherwise known as scaly skin. Two factors that were more than worrisome for the medical advisors on the president's staff.

Marge blushed and looked down at her notes, and Rock smiled at her before he spoke. "So how long are you going to quarantine Julie and Craig?"

President Powers held up her hand again, commanding silence. "Commander Monroe and Captain Alders will only be another day or so before we release them to their families for a well-deserved rest. Our medical professionals felt it prudent to keep them in the hospital for observation after the close brush with the nuclear radiation of the event and the close proximity of being near the transmitter of that alien device. They are doing well, and we anticipate they'll be home with their families very soon."

"And the reports of the alien signals? The ones we confirmed in Houston," Jack said.

"Your team was correct. Alien signals were detected from three locations. Mars, somewhere on or near Jupiter, and we are guessing Pluto, though it could be any one of a million objects in the Kuiper belt near the planet—"

"Planetoid, or TNO, Trans Neptunian Object," Tom corrected her.

The silence wasn't very long. "All right, Mr. McClain, the planetoid or TNO, then, we should have a fix on it soon enough," Powers said.

"So what does this mean for us?" Director Lui asked from his seat next to Rock.

"It means, Director Lui, that NASA's work is just beginning," President Powers said. "The space race has just begun."

Halley's Comet

Sol Solar System

In the near future . . .

* * *

The large comet had an interesting device attached to the head of the cone. The comet was a nondescript normal comet that circled the class G star with eight planets, several planetoids, and millions of asteroids, other comets, and floating rocks and debris, the third planet being a ball of green and blue, covered by over seven billion intelligent humanoid lifeforms.

The comet orbited this particular sun every seventy-six years, and found itself far from the system's sun not long after its aphelion, when the device attached to it detected the signal from the moon of the system's third planet. The device processed the signal and then opened a large double-sided door where a triangle-shaped, diamond-looking arrowhead object appeared the size of a small building. The arrowhead object started to glow, and then its tip pointed toward the center of the galaxy in which it was located, pointing at a binary star system tens of thousands of light years distant.

Once aligned, the object's white arrowhead body started to pulsate as the FTL, or faster than light, signal it emitted began its journey to its maker's home star system.

Humans had just rung the doorbell.

### Thank you for reading Lunar Discovery.

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