She kissed her husband.

  “I love you, sweetheart, but you didn’t grow up surrounded by arrogance. People like my parents never believed their secrets would catch up to them. My family operated with impunity for decades. The evidence of their crimes was there, if you knew where to look. They didn’t care. Amayas is more powerful than Perr and Li-Ann Syung ever hoped to be. Maybe that’s his blind spot.”

  “Perhaps, hon. But it makes no difference tonight. I have to tell the crew what’s happened.”

  “Of course. Let’s get it over with.”

  Cando called Yusef over to their room and opened a channel to the Scylla bridge. He waited until everyone was assembled, some from a deep sleep. Their shock turned to the same questions the Aleksanyans asked from the outset.

  “We have to wait for the autopsy,” he told Leto Ahmed. “Until then, there’s no obvious sign of foul play.”

  Force Carmel, the largest Talon, brought up the thorniest subject.

  “Leto and I thought something was off about that trip to the Inventor’s asteroid. Capt. Cortez gave us a pretty story afterward, but we’re sure he wasn’t exactly forthcoming.”

  “He was nervous,” Leto said. “If you ask me, he lied about what he learned down there, and he hated himself for it. I had my issues with Ham’s style, but we could count on him to tell us the truth. Something was up with him and Amayas Knight.”

  “That’s something we’ll need to pursue,” Cando said, “regardless of what the autopsy shows. But for now, let’s focus on what we’ve lost and where we go from here. First order of business: Paul, you’re no longer acting Captain. You have Scylla.”

  Paul Ochoba, who often avoided the big chair when he held the conn, did not appreciate the field promotion.

  “It shouldn’t have happened this way. I’ll do my level best.”

  “We know you will.”

  “What about his send-off?” Yusef asked. “The man deserves a proper farewell.”

  Kara squeezed her husband’s hand. They hadn’t discussed a funeral.

  “He’ll have one,” Cando said. “Think of what you’d like to do for him.” For the first time since they found the body, Cando’s voice cracked. “I-I’m sure we’ll do right by Ham. I don’t know when we’ll be able to claim the body.”

  “Leave the plans to us, Cando. You have enough on your plate.”

  The crew nodded in unison.

  Not long thereafter, the Aleksanyans sat on the edge of their bed and stared at the wall.

  “What time is it?” Kara asked.

  “I’d say we have three hours for a nap, a little breakfast, some café, and then tell the delegation about Ham. After that, we go to work. How, I don’t know.”

  “First things first. Sleep. All we have to do is pretend like nothing happened and we’ll fall fast asleep.”

  “Easier said than done, I think.”

  “Let’s give it a go.”

  Ten minutes later, with the lights off and her body crying out for sleep, Kara’s mind drifted to memory lane and the what-if of her recent life. Soon, they entered the rabbit hole of paranoia and entertained suspicion of Michael Cooper.

  Common sense told her to surrender to sleep. Logic said she’d best take a long shower and drink too much café. She’d have to be at her best from the get-go. She was Hokkaido’s Lead Ambassador.

  “Ham wouldn’t expect me to look for excuses,” she told Cando two hours later as they geared up for the new day.

  “Do you remember the last thing he said to us, hon?”

  “He said our instincts complement each other. He said we’ll be a ferocious team.”

  He leaned in for a long, slow kiss.

  “We already are. Let’s show Ham what we can do.”

  15

  Bessios

  The Origin

  T HE END OF ALL THINGS.” That’s what Felina said when Royal asked about Prelude. Then she dashed off to make breakfast. She didn’t seem overly worried, even carried a spring in her step. She whistled while she worked. Must not be urgent, Royal concluded. Or maybe she’s having a laugh.

  A hot shower and a shave sounded nice in the meantime.

  More like a revelation.

  Royal didn’t move beneath the steaming spray. Why bother with soap or shampoo, both of which were stocked on abundant racks? The water served its purpose. He felt a lifetime of filth wash away. The water swirled in a brown eddy before it disappeared down the pipe.

  After he toweled off, Royal stood before a mirror and examined a strange, new creature. Oily hair fell in soaked blond strands over his shoulders and onto his chest above the Green Sun tattoo which had not faded in eleven years. The beard was a scraggly mess better suited for nesting small animals.

  “Nah. This shit won’t fly. Let’s tighten things up.”

  The bathroom shelves provided every tool he needed. He started with long shears and worked his way to a manageable bit of fuzz, just right for a healthy barrage of cream and a straight razor with a wood handle. It was a beautiful blade. He hadn’t worked with one of these since he slashed a man’s throat in Pinchon. Which guy was that? The fourth, right? Asshole wouldn’t go down easy. Royal had described the episode to the Scroll while treading water.

  At that stage, he’d only been in the serial revenge business for a few months. He was learning how to stalk and kill with efficiency.

  The razor nicked him a few times, but Royal didn’t bother with the blood. Minor wounds closed within twenty, thirty seconds. What he missed the most lay on top of his scalp.

  He took his cue from Felina and whistled while he shaved. Afterward, he grabbed a hand mirror and checked his work.

  The red wolf lived!

  “There you are,” he said. “Welcome back, asshole.”

  He’d been out of commission too long. Royal once thought of having the Green Sun tattoo removed; it symbolized another part of his life, no point looking back, blah-blah. In this moment, however, he took pride in the sun which emitted fifty-seven red rays. The group and its cause might be gone, its members wiped from the face of Hokkaido. Yet it represented his rebirth.

  He stood naked on a carpet of hair and for an instant, felt guilty at making such a mess. Perhaps he ought to clean it up? There was bound to be a broom or a vacuum nearby.

  “Yeah, no.”

  Wardrobe selection proved challenging. A walk-in closet acted like a full-service clothier. It featured all manner of pants from formal to camouflage to jeans to leather. Shirts ran the gamut from button-less and puffy to collared and starched to psychedelic and sleeveless. Every personality blended with centuries of history, right down to the hats, belts, socks, and shoes. He studied the selection of walking canes with amusement until discovering a latch on one that released a blade at the end. Nice in a pinch, he thought.

  He settled on a combo of jeans and a muscle shirt then opened a case full of shiny things. He wasn’t much of a jewelry man, but all that’s gold … well, why not? It was a nice necklace with interlocking design, its links fashioned into the shape of pistols. He threw on three chains and studied the new creation in a body-length mirror.

  “Not bad.” He tucked in his shirt. “New life, new vibe.”

  He walked across the hall and peeked into Moon’s suite.

  “How you getting on, killer?”

  The silence was quickly replaced with the clinking of silverware on plates and a mouth-watering array of aromas wafting from the main room of transition house. Moon and Felina talked over each other.

  Moon was stuffing his mouth at a table for four; juice ran into his beard. His eyes lit up when he saw Royal. He wore a t-shirt and shorts but no shoes.

  “Great look, Royal. C’mon over. This food is amazing. Can you believe it?”

  Platters with eggs cooked three ways adorned the table with sausages and slabs of meat, tomatoes, cut fruit, pickled fish, herbed potatoes, muffins, crusty bread, and tall pitchers of juice. Felina ate a bowl of green pudding. She had thrown off her long red wig. She contained her short, brushed-back white hair inside a net. She had not changed out of the see-through nightgown.

  “Please, Royal,” she said. “Sit. I tried to think of everything. We have the three most common fruit juices in the known expanse: Tomato, orange, and mango. If they’re not your thing, no prob. The flex will have whatever you need.”

  “I grew up with mango. That’ll do the trick.”

  “Oh, and I can brew coffee in two shakes of a snap, if you …”

  “Coffee? Is that like café?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I forget. Primary is the only universe that calls it café.” She tapped a finger against her nose. “Maybe the change happened during the Schism. What do I know? I wasn’t even born then.”

  Royal took a seat. He couldn’t deny his mouth was watering. Moon sopped bread into runny egg yolk and ate like a starving man.

  “Have as much as you want, Royal. It never runs out.”

  “What? The food?”

  She nodded with the joy of a teen on her sweet sixteenth.

  “And it’s always incredible. Nothing in Bessios matches the food, and we have everything we’d ever want.”

  Royal reached for the platter of eggs.

  “How does that work, Felina? Endless food? Is it …?”

  He pointed straight up. Felina shrugged.

  “More or less. Well, more. So, I’ll show you how to use the flexmatter after breakfast. But yeah. It’s their tech. If we can see it in our minds, and it’s in their memory base … presto!”

  “Best eggs ever, you say? That’s a high bar.”

  “Best everything. Synthesized, but still the best.” She slapped at Moon’s hand as he reached for the sausages. “Slow down, already. I can whip up another platter.” She savored a spoonful of pudding. “My brothers were like Moon. Bottomless pits. That’s all I remember, though. Their faces, well … I think I lost them eight or nine lifetimes ago. Makes me sad.”

  Royal filled his plate with eggs, every meat, and the fish, which looked like half-ass versions of Kohlna strips.

  “Define ‘lifetime,’ Felina.”

  “Can’t say, really. It’s like a feeling, you know?”

  “No, I don’t. We usually measure it in years. You pop out of your mom, which in my case was fucked up because I was grown in a lab. Sooner or later, they kiss your ass goodbye and cremate your corpse. Birth. Death. Lifetime.”

  She wriggled her hands around as if performing a magic trick.

  “Yes, yes. Of course I know what a lifetime is. But in Bessios, it’s not that simple. Eat, Royal. You’re drooling.”

  He wiped his mouth. OK, so that was embarrassing.

  “Yeah, fine. I’ll eat. You talk. Deal?”

  Royal looked across the table. Moon had filled his plate for another full go-round. Royal couldn’t resist any longer.

  The eggs floated around his mouth like flavor-packed clouds. They might have been machine-processed, but they tasted like they’d been dropped from a chicken and cracked straightway in a pan.

  “So, around here, we don’t measure time,” Felina said. “At all. Makes sense when you think about it.”

  Royal spoke with his mouth full.

  “Why’s that?”

  “We live forever, we can’t leave Bessios, and there’s no rhyme or reason to day and night. They come whenever. Some of us call them cycles, but they aren’t tools for measurement.”

  “Whenever? Wait, I don’t …”

  He stabbed a fork at a sausage and held it up to his mouth. She wasn’t making sense, and he wanted to know why. But this sausage …

  “Get ready,” Moon said, his eyes as bright as a child watching a friend open his birthday present. “You’ll never be the same. Eat it.”

  “He’s right. It’s a life-changer. My first day here, I ate an entire string of sausages.”

  Royal chewed but didn’t want to swallow. Hot. Juicy. A sweet and sour tang with a blend of seasonings both foreign and familiar. He fell back in his chair and reflected on life. He once thought a Quomo-style seafood boil from a street vendor in Zozo was high living. But this?

  “So?” Moon asked.

  “Fuck me in the ass! This can’t be real. I mean … for all the rings. Are you shitting me now? A man don’t dream of something that good.” He set down his fork and stared at Moon. “I told you. This has gotta be a simulation.”

  Felina giggled. “A sim? Oh, Royal. You’re hysterical. Tell you what. You want a good sim? Give me a day or two, and I’ll show you uptown. Yutay’s the best. His mods have been running nonstop for three lifetimes. At least. Wherever you wanna go, Yutay has it. He’ll send Rider to the front of the line.”

  “Sounds fun,” Moon said. “Doesn’t it, Royal? You’re just hungry. Eat a few plates, and you’ll have a clear mind.”

  Royal alternated his glare between them and surrendered.

  Two plates and a gastronomic blur later, Royal pushed back his chair and made the only reasonable proclamation:

  “If that’s my last meal, I’m gonna die one happy asshole.”

  Moon wiped his lips with a napkin, threw back a glass of orange juice, and finished it off with a long, resounding burp. His cheeks turned red, but Felina enjoyed the moment. She dropped her spoon in the pudding and giggled.

  “Sorry about that,” Moon said with no sound of regret. “Mother and Father would have been mortified.”

  “Your parents must have been strict, Moon. In many parts of Bessios, burping after a meal is a compliment.”

  “Good to know. When do we get to see the city?”

  “It’s still dark out. Catch up on some sleep so you’ll feel rested.”

  Moon crumbled the napkin between his hands.

  “Royal? What do you think we ought to do?”

  “For starters, you might listen to the Gatekeeper. She’s been doing this sort of thing for … I dunno … centuries?”

  “I’m not tired. I should be, but I’m not. I want to explore.”

  Royal didn’t notice any café cups, but Moon acted like someone who’d being gulping the brew for hours. If this food was packed with artificial stimulants, why didn’t Royal feel the same effect?

  “Check out the digs, if it’s all right with Felina.”

  “It’s your home,” she said. “You’re free to roam, but stay inside the house. You need time to find your bearings.”

  “Great.”

  “You should start with the pantry.” She pointed to a double-door next to the kitchen. “Look inside the cabinets.”

  “What will I find?” Moon asked.

  “Ever been inside a candy store?”

  “I think so, when I was little.”

  “It’s like that.”

  Moon responded with two thumbs way up, pushed back his chair, and raced to the double doors. Felina’s eyes followed him with a wistful twinkle. Her sigh suggested a mother’s satisfaction.

  Royal sat up straight and poured another glass of mango juice.

  “He’s acting like a kid.”

  “Is that bad, Royal?”

  “As long as I’ve known Moon, he’s been trying to convince everyone he’s a man. What did you put in his food?”

  “It’s OK, Royal. I see this all the time. Well, whenever a new pair arrives.” She dragged her chair around to Royal’s side. “He’s an Observant. They always accept their new life before the Destroyers. Some like you never really have, but you’ll come around, too.”

  “Huh. Like me. What does that mean?”

  “Destroyers are cynical. We saw the worst things up close. The Observants? They’re tired. They want peace.”

  “Hold up. You’re a Destroyer? A killer like me?”

  She smelled of raspberries and rose petals.

  “We’re not all killers, Royal. Sometimes, we’re the ones who charm others into doing the nasty bits. We make history, too, but nobody sees us. I had certain skills. I made men do whatever I wanted.”

  “How? You’re a kid yourself.”

  “Was I? Royal, this is how I choose to live. It was the most fun time of my life. You’ll learn. You’ll make decisions about your growth.”

  He sipped the juice.

  “What? Like aging?”

  “And other matters. Some in Bessios haven’t changed a wit since they arrived here twenty, thirty, even forty lifetimes ago. Most of us evolve. We customize until we find the person we can be forever. I think it’s amazing you two are behaving just like all the other pairs, even though you came with the Riders.”

  Moon shouted from inside the pantry.

  “Royal, you have to see all this stuff. It’s incredible!”

  He ignored the Hokki and looked into Felina’s eyes. The first time he saw her, Royal thought those eyes couldn’t lie. Up close, he saw a slight variation: They didn’t want to lie.

  “He’ll settle when the novelty wears off,” she said. “That’s what transition house is all about.”

  “Transition? Huh. See, Felina, it’s like this. If I’m supposed to make a transition, I want to know the what, why, and wherefore. And a few hundred other fucking answers. If I ask you a straight-up question, will you give me a straight-up answer?”

  “I’ll do my best. See, if you two weren’t Riders, you’d already know everything. After a pair enters First Gate, they have clarity.”

  “When I pushed Gingerbread, he’d say ‘too much information.’”

  Her tinny laugh sounded like the calling card of a bubblehead, but Royal wasn’t fooled.

  “What do you want to know, Royal?”

  “Facts. I don’t need any philosophical shit or moral debates or theories. I want facts. Who are the Riders? What’s their deal? Why Moon and me? What is Prelude?”

  She tapped her nose. Was she about to push this off on someone else? Was she no more helpful than an Overseer?

  “Moon should hear this, too,” she said.

  “Eh. He’s having fun. I’ll get him up to speed.”

  “OK.” She took a deep breath. “Just facts?”

  “Facts.”

  “OK. Here it is. The Riders are the last two surviving Creators. Their race built this place.”

  “Wait. This whole …?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Origin?”