“Smart, Kara. Will this help you discover the flaw?”

  “I’m not sure. I barely understand the principles of wormhole travel, but I do know about redundant systems.”

  “Good. So, how can I help?”

  For a moment, they had carried on a civil, professional dialogue. She didn’t want to feel dirty, but Kara couldn’t escape a nagging suspicion that Ryllen was going to lose control at the worst possible moment and leave all their lives hanging on a string. She wanted to feel for him, to acknowledge all he experienced across the divide and hope six years of slaughter did not sweep his fragile psychosis over a cliff. And yet, every time he drew close, she saw Ban-Ho Taron. She saw Luyn Syung. She saw fifty KumTaan officers fall to the ground, electrocuted. So what, if he claimed to love a man?

  This was not the Ryllen Jee who bounded into her cabana ten days ago and pleaded for her help. The new version wore a mask. Was she the only one who saw through it?

  I don’t believe you, she thought. You’re lying to everyone. You’d rather kill me than help me.

  This was getting her nowhere. Kara silenced her paranoia and focused on the job.

  “You can help,” she said, “by finding the model for Scylla.” She pointed up and across. “Two platforms to the rear. His models have excellent detail. Something may click. Thank you.”

  Ryllen did not jump from his seat like an errand boy. Kara focused on the new design and pretended not to care if he moved. When he did step away, Ryllen climbed halfway up the ladder to the next platform then stopped.

  “I understand why you can’t forgive me,” he said. “But I need to remind you of something.”

  “Which is?”

  “The only reason I’m this man you hate is because you came into my life.”

  “That’s a stretch.”

  “I’ve tried to keep my distance, but I see how you look at me. Save your fear for the real enemy.”

  He continued up the ladder. Kara watched him ascend, a turbo pulse rifle clinging to his side like a symbiote.

  “I know who to fear,” she whispered.

  21

  H AM WAITED UNTIL THE SPEAKER system was destroyed before he laid out his plan. He saved the diciest portion for last and made sure Exeter was both sitting down and disarmed. The youngest of the Twenty Talons did not take the news well.

  “You’re giving me to them? You’re throwing me away?”

  “To save everyone else. That’s how they’ll need to see it. Yes.”

  “RJ won’t stand for this. My brothers and sisters won’t let you.”

  They sat alone in the galley, under dim lighting and the vague odor of rations gone bad.

  “They will have objections. Yes. But when they examine the entire scheme and take fair stock of our precarious situation, they will relent, as RJ did.”

  “You would never do this to me if I was mortal.”

  “There, you are wrong.” He reviewed the Tachtron reader which contained his notes for the negotiations. “If you were mortal, I’d sacrifice you. Simple math would prevail over questions of morality or ethics. But they don’t know what you are. I do not believe anyone topside made direct reference to your immortality after the enemy began monitoring our conversations. The speaker system they rigged did not extend to the sublevels. They know of the explosion but not your regeneration.”

  “Please don’t do this, Admiral. They can kill me for good.”

  “True. I can imagine many ways. Our window of opportunity for action will be small. Yes. However, you must understand their hearts and minds to see our path to victory. The Chancellors will not execute you at once. And this Captain Romilius enjoys theatrics. So much so, he will preside over a trial, pronounce sentence, and give his crew access to your demise. Afterward, they’ll space your body.”

  Exeter reverted to a terrified boy, his eyes pooling with tears. Ham couldn’t fathom the horror.

  “But … I can’t regenerate in space. And how will you …?”

  “Find your body? There are no guarantees we will. We don’t have the equipment to plant a tracker in your bloodstream. We’ll need visual pursuit. This is where timing will become essential.”

  “So, I could drift for hours? Or longer?”

  “RJ was dead beneath the ocean for upwards of four hours when we found him.”

  “You had a submarine. He told me about it. And the water … it’s different from the vacuum of space. Admiral, I’ll deteriorate faster. I’ve seen what space does to the dead. Please, don’t ask me to do this.”

  Ham put down his tablet and walked around the table. He took a seat next to Exeter.

  “Above all else, a Chancellor values leverage. Every social, political, and financial maneuver is based upon the certainty of leverage. Dayton Romilius holds every advantage. He will kill you onboard his ship or he will kill us all with a barrage of particle weapons. He is resigned to the notion that we have no evidence to the Inventor’s location. I have two things he wants but only one to give. You are the down payment. The other buys me and our team extra time. It is the only leverage I have.

  “Exeter, you killed sixteen hundred of his people. You are going to die for what you did. But in the process, you can be a hero. You will more than redeem yourself for defying your Colonel’s order.”

  Exeter wiped his tears. “How will you find me without a ship? Is Horn returning?”

  “Don’t concern yourself with the other details. Anything you know might compromise our position. For now, we’ll need to strip your armor. They’ll never allow you onboard like this. I sent Leto to your old room. Your clothes are still hanging from a rack.”

  “Isn’t there another way?”

  “Many, but none where we don’t die on Y-14. I have considered every permutation.”

  “When will it happen?”

  “Within the hour. Any other questions?”

  Ham didn’t want to disclose another detail to the poor lad, especially the irony that the woman he tried to save in the stasis tube gave him up to the Chancellors.

  “Can I meet with RJ before I leave?”

  “No. He’s of more use down below.”

  “I have to apologize. I never wanted anyone to die.”

  “He knows.”

  “I want to tell him how much I love him.”

  “You do that, and he’ll never allow you to leave this station. And not even immortals will survive what rains from above.”

  Ham was not without pity. He recognized the tragedy of Exeter’s life. Born as an experimental abomination, foisted off to a world where he’d never fit in, rescued by a madman who used then cast him aside, sentenced to fight and die repeatedly in war. And now? To be cast out again, perhaps for the final time.

  He deserved better.

  There was still a chance of success, albeit small.

  Ham waited until Leto returned with the clothes and helped strip Exeter. He told Leto beforehand not to allow Exeter access to his comm stack. Ryllen was completing important work below.

  “Trust me,” he told every Talon topside before Exeter arrived, “this is our best chance. I am the only one qualified to confront this particular enemy. To accept my orders is not to circumvent your Colonel. But he is emotionally compromised by what we must do. I know you see this. His place is best served down below. Everyone will have comm access to the operation once we begin. Questions?”

  They offered no pushback. Ham thought they conceded too easily, as if each assumed the Admiral had a trick up his sleeve and would never actually hand one of their own to a firing squad. Ham did not expect to survive the day if he lost Exeter for good. If the Chancellors didn’t seal his fate, an enraged and psychotic Ryllen would disregard any past allegiance.

  “You look harmless,” he told Exeter, now wearing the simple tunic of Artemis staff. “They like harmless. Puts them at ease.”

  “What now?”

  “I might have recommended a last meal, but I suspect the rations are spoiled. Yet another reason why this standoff cannot drag out. Leto, take him to the designated waiting room and pass along a message of comfort. Yes? Exeter, use the time to set your mind right.”

  “For what? To be executed and thrown into space?”

  “To come to terms with your crimes. You murdered scores of innocent people. You murdered the woman you called Mother. You’re not a victim. Acknowledging your own savagery will allow a certain measure of peace. I speak from experience.”

  He left Exeter behind and pushed forward to the next stage. Too many elements remained incomplete, but time did not care a wit.

  At C&C, he checked in with Paul Ochoba.

  “Good news?”

  “I’m trying, Admiral, but I don’t hold out much hope.”

  “Give me one positive.”

  Paul demonstrated the long-range ability of his comm stack, which allowed for narrow signals to be delivered up to six million kilometers.

  “After that, the band becomes corrupted. It’s detectable only if someone is actively searching for it.”

  “So, Horn must reemerge inside band range.”

  “Yes. But when it leaves the aperture, it will send out the automatic transponder beacon. They can’t shut down the beacon without shutting down Worm altogether.”

  “I guarantee Scylla is monitoring the entire system. If they see Horn, they won’t trust us. Paul, you know your comrades best. What is their most likely strategy?”

  “They’ll know better than to slip too close to Y-14. They’ll start with a long recon. The problem is, we always defined it in terrestrial terms. Three thousand K. Max. I can’t predict how conservative they’ll be. They’ve had more than an hour to discuss.”

  “What about a ping? It worked while Horn and Ram were in full slip. Can a ping be sent from normal space?”

  “I’ve never heard of it being tried.”

  The odds were as poor as Ham anticipated. Worse.

  “Then here’s what we do. I want you, Leto, and Force to rig your comm stacks for narrow bands. Send the same set of instructions to different sectors. Allow as much system spread as possible. We can boost them by piggybacking on the orbital relays. Scylla won’t detect them. Your comm architecture resembles nothing on this side. Beyond that, we rely on an oversized dose of luck.”

  “What about the crew down below?”

  He turned to Hoshi Negani, who had been listening intensely.

  “Did you search the inventory records, as I asked?”

  “I did, Admiral. I found what you wanted.”

  A job completed without argument or confusion. Progress.

  He rested his hands on the light table.

  “Do you know how to flip it here?”

  “Yes, Admiral. I practiced.”

  She entered the hologram above her plate, manipulated the graphic interface, and flicked the data to Ham’s position. He examined the inventory and was satisfied.

  “Good job, Hoshi. Take comfort in the small victories. You’ll be needed for something far more interesting. Until then, relax.”

  He gathered the necessary details and compiled them for Cando.

  “Yes, Admiral?”

  “Sit-rep.”

  “We’ve arrived at our new location, fifty meters from the lift.”

  “And June?”

  “Angry, which is normal under most circumstances. But she’s becoming increasingly incoherent. Her self-diagnostic shows limited internal trauma, but it’s possible the armor suffered greater damage than we first thought.”

  “I can’t offer any immediate hope on that front. Continue to monitor. But we’re moving forward. In the event our situation deteriorates topside, you might have an alternative. I’m sending you inventory data and a theory you’ll need to investigate. Immediately.”

  “Yes, sir. What about the Colonel and Kara Syung?”

  “I need to maintain an open line with her. I’ll have her transfer all ship’s data to a Tachtron, and both will rendezvous at your position. One other thing, Cando. I am giving you a field promotion to Major. You will oversee all operations in the sublevels.”

  “What? Above the Colonel?”

  “Let’s be direct, Cando. I’m no more an Admiral than RJ is a Colonel. But since we do have a chain of command, and I’ve been elevated to the highest position, I have the ultimate authority. And you, Cando, are most qualified to lead a mixed crew of Talons and Hokki civilians. This is not a betrayal of your Colonel. This will save lives.”

  “The Colonel will not take this well.”

  “He’ll have no choice. All Talons do what?”

  “Follow orders, sir.”

  Ham sent the data files and checked the time.

  “I’m not sure we’re ready,” he admitted to Paul and Hoshi. “But we’re not without hope, and that’s an improvement by itself.”

  He opened the channel to Scylla.

  There was something strangely exciting about returning to his roots. Ham got to be a Chancellor again.

  22

  T HE ENEMY SHUTTLE HOVERED above the Artemis docking port. It was a small vehicle, utilitarian, though its bow matched its mothership’s crocodile trope. Ham estimated it seated no more than ten. According to the deal, only four seats should be occupied.

  Reaching consensus on the terms of negotiations was never in doubt. Whether Dayton followed through was an open question. At the moment, he seemed uncertain though he had nothing to fear. Ham was not surprised.

  A good Chancellor considered every permutation, after all. Ham emphasized the reasons why a visit to Artemis was safe. Exeter would be transferred to Dayton’s custody before he entered the station. No armed member of Ham’s crew would be allowed within fifty meters of the negotiations, but Dayton could bring one armed soldier. If Horn returned during the discussions, it would be ordered out of the system. Should it make any provocative move on the station or Scylla, it would be vaporized. Ham used his only advantage to lure Dayton to the surface.

  “I will never leave my people,” Ham said. “If I board Scylla, you will have no qualms about decimating the station.”

  He might do it anyway, but the Splinter was too powerful a seduction. Ham saw its effect on Mangum Island and later at Kara’s wedding, where death meant nothing to those “who were never here.”

  Ham waited outside the docking transition room, a bug in one ear and a tablet in his hands. He looked through the sealed door and felt a surge of pity for Exeter, who waited alone at the docking seal, clouds of vapor erupting from heavy breaths. He refused to wear a coat over his tunic. “What difference does it make?” He asked.

  Paul Ochoba spoke into the bug.

  “They’ve cleared the shuttle. He’s landing.”

  “Thank you. Kara, do you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “A progress update, please.”

  “It’s slow work. These systems are more intricate than I’ve seen before. I’m cross-checking one component at a time, looking for an anomaly. Working from a Tachtron is awkward.”

  “Was the model helpful?”

  “It will be if I can detect the flaw.”

  “How about the Talons? Lin, Meena? This tech is closer to theirs than ours.”

  “I asked. The answer was the same. They’re soldiers, not engineers. The AI manages for them. They said only Lucas had the background.”

  “That fits with our good fortune. Contact Paul if you discover anything. Thank you. Major Aleksanyan, receive.”

  “I’m here, Admiral.”

  “Was my theory correct?”

  “Still searching,” Cando said. “There’s a tremendous amount of wreckage to work around. Getting there. I sent Colonel Jee and two Hokkis for the suits. We’ll be ready if necessary.”

  “Assume the worst, Major. Thank you. Paul, receive.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “Are Leto and Force in position?”

  “They are.”

  “Good. They are not to make a move without my signal.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “Thank you. Good fortune to everyone. It’s time for the show. An old-fashioned pissing match between Chancellors.”

  The docking seal attached to the shuttle. A moment later, the interior pressurized and the inside door slid away. Exeter did not move or look back as a solitary, helmeted figure approached, brandishing a long gun. Exeter identified himself when asked.

  How audacious, Ham thought as he studied the armed man’s uniform. The bodysuit was red and tight-fitting, moving to the soldier’s musculature. He wasn’t shielded by armor but something as effective: The fabric worn for generations by soldiers of the Unification Guard. One difference? The soldier, while tall, did not display the massive, hulking enhancements that once made soldiers of the Guard the most feared beasts among humanity. The last great supplies of brontinium, which gave Chancellors their genetic advantage, were refined here – until an explosion down below.

  He doubted this creature would survive a direct confrontation with a Talon’s turbo pulse. Then again, he didn’t have to. He escorted Exeter onto the shuttle, where he would guard the prisoner back to Scylla.

  “It’s time.”

  Ham turned to Hoshi Negani, who waited at his side, rubbing her hands and working through her terror. Ham opened the door into the transition room and motioned to the table where two chairs faced off from opposite sides.

  “Tell me again,” Hoshi said. “Why am I here?”

  “To set our guest at ease. You’re just an ordinary indigo.”

  “Was that an insult?”

  “Yes. Be glad of it.”

  He set down the tablet. The bug erupted.

  “They’re inside. The shuttle is ready to break seal.”

  “Thank you.”

  He did not recognize the first visitor: A young man in a thick jacket, a long-nosed laser pistol in each hand, pointing down. He examined the stark room, swung about, and gave the all-clear. As the guard positioned himself behind the empty chair, Dayton Romilius swooped in with a flourish of his heavy, full-length cloak.

  He was taller and far more imperious than the drone cam’s side profile suggested. His bountiful hair, coiffed to the precision of a man who traveled with a stylist, reminded Ham of his years growing up in Paris Dome, where the competition for manufactured beauty trumped common sense. His attire was less about business than what might be expected in greeting visitors to a mountain home for a week of various and sundry debauchery.