“No! You will not defile this flat.”

  Connor glanced about the room and realized what he missed upon entry. The bastard did not own a snuffer. Oh, well. He pulled extra hard on the cigar.

  “I’ll take that drink. Maybe something for the ash?”

  Thomas started toward Connor as if he might try to swipe the cigar. Connor leaned back in the couch and crossed his legs. He added a few extra puffs to accelerate the ash quotient. Thomas stopped short, handed his guest the liquor, and retreated to the kitchenette.

  Connor took a sip.

  Hmm. Hansen rum. Hot, spicy. A gut-wrencher. Nice.

  “My compliments,” he said as Thomas returned with an empty. “You have a fine palette for the classics. Not that you’re good for much else.”

  Thomas started for the door.

  “That’s it. You’re gone, Stallion. And I thought your brother was a smug sonofabitch.”

  “I’m happy right here, thanks. Have a seat, bruv. We got a few matters to settle.”

  Thomas flipped open his pom. Connor decided the perfect moment arrived to cut Thomas down to size.

  “Nexus.”

  His host paused for a beat.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nexus. Your employer of the past nine years. Contact anyone, and I’ll tell them who you are. Assassin, trafficker, fixer. You worked hard to whitewash your past. Nice job clearing a Shadow Gambit profile.” He pointed to the chair. “Sit your ass down, Thomas.”

  Connor predicted all his questions. But Connor wasn’t here to be interrogated. Damn sure not by this asshole.

  Thomas did as requested.

  “It’s simple,” Connor said. “I work for him, too. Only a few months, but with a key difference. I met the man in person. Sat in his gorgeous office and smoked a cigar almost as fine as this one. While I was there, he showed me the future. He enlightened me to the history of his business and offered me a job.

  “And then he told me about you. The sheer odds: Someone who used to live in my family’s building when we were kids. Now we work for the same man, born a hundred ninety light-years away. What do you think about that, Thomas?”

  Connor added to the ash quotient while Thomas recoiled in stunned silence. Did Connor see fear? Or just good old fashioned confusion? Either way, the bully’s veneer vanished, replaced by a man who suddenly seemed a tad world-weary.

  Nice.

  “You’re full of shit, Stallion.”

  The response struck Connor as lazy, the product of someone who never knew what it felt like to be boxed into a corner.

  Time to add the cherry on top.

  Connor retrieved his pom.

  “Like you, I own a phantom drill. You received yours by post from Pietra Ornhaus, who also works for Nexus. She sent it to you the morning of the MR-44 vote with instructions to penetrate the Harmony Spaceport’s security. Not long after, the SI Director’s ship exploded.”

  He could have stopped there. Thomas needed no more proof. But oh, the rest was so good.

  “You wanted to take credit, bruv, but Nexus was only testing you. Devonshire’s own people tried to kill her. She knew too much about Requiem and had to be removed. They botched it, but she won’t be a problem for us going forward. It’ll all be over soon.”

  “Us?”

  Yep, he’s clueless to the big picture. So typical of people who put their own obsessions first.

  “Nexus liked you for a while. He wanted to bring you into the inner circle, but you never overcame one crippling flaw.”

  “I don’t ...” Thomas finished the last of his drink and set down the glass with a shaky hand. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Stallion. Why are you actually here?”

  He’d never admit the truth unless Connor spelled it out. Even then, rot like Thomas Quinlan wasn’t likely to concede.

  “It was me and my brother,” Connor said. “You blamed us for everything that happened after the war. Your parents accepted two Chancellor rats into their home and rejected their only child. They knew he was an animal. Ain’t that right, Thomas?”

  Thomas flew out of his seat but stumbled as if dizzy. Or maybe he knew better than to come after a younger, bigger man.

  “Cudfrucking Stallions. Get out. Now.”

  “Or what? You’ll have your way with me? Take a good look, bruv. Not at my muscles, which are an amazing work of art. Nah. Right here.” Connor pointed to his own eyes. “See me. You know what I am. You used to be, too, until you lost your touch.”

  Any bravado left in Thomas disappeared. His cheeks fell as he backed away.

  “Why are you here, Connor?”

  There we go. Now he’ll understand.

  “Nexus gave you an order. He told you to kill Shireena Balance. You screwed up. Made an excuse. He ain’t big on excuses. Frankly, it’s too bad you failed. She’s not worthy of Trevor. Too late now. Nexus doesn’t want her touched. Says she’s valuable.”

  He paused for a quiet puff and to watch Thomas squirm.

  “Nexus might have forgiven your lapse. You just couldn’t let go of the past. He told you to leave my brother alone. You didn’t listen.”

  Does he know what’s about to happen here? I think so.

  Thomas did a poor job putting on a brave front.

  “Yes. Fine. I was jealous. I made a mistake.”

  “Which was?”

  “I tried to sabotage Trevor. It didn’t work, and I’ve been loyal ever since. Ask him. Ask Shireena. I’ve done good work on Shadow Gambit. I’m looking after the station’s health.”

  Now he’ll pretend to be repentant. Not bad.

  “It’s a perfect front. Hand me your pom. Now.”

  “What?”

  “Hand it over or I’ll take it. Your choice.”

  He knows.

  “You’ll have to kill me first.”

  “That’s an option. Thomas, we know what you’ve been doing with the phantom drill. You pom contains full access to every system and secret on Amity. You’re preparing to sell it to Black Star. You met with an agent. When the deal’s finished, you intend to set up my brother. Make it look like he was the seller. The Collectorate’s ultimate traitor. After all these years, you’d finally destroy Trevor.”

  Thomas started for the kitchenette. Connor wondered whether he hid an unregistered pistol, a potential irritant.

  Time to move this thing along.

  Connor dropped his cigar into the rum glass and followed his prey.

  “Did you think Nexus didn’t know?”

  “You’re mad, Connor. This is not true. I have been nothing but loyal to Trevor and ...”

  “It’s over. You were never alone, Thomas.”

  The host opened a drawer.

  “You don’t want to do this,” Thomas said.

  “A year ago? Probably not. I’m a different man. We grabbed Niles Acasta an hour ago. He filled in the gaps.”

  Thomas swung around, six-inch blade in hand.

  “Fair warning. Leave.”

  That’s it?

  “Just think, if Trevor hadn’t given you a promotion, you’d have a station-issued pistol. That’s some bad luck, old friend.”

  “We are not friends.”

  “True. But isn’t that how you speak to Trevor? He was generous. Gave you a job because he wanted to repay your parents for their kindness. Brought you into Central. Gave you a nice office.”

  Connor reached out his left hand, close enough for one swipe of the blade to prove painful.

  “Game’s over, Thomas. Hand me your pom.”

  How did it feel to come so close to ultimate victory, only to be cut down inches from the finish line? Shock? Terror? Fury? He’d have to contemplate those questions later. In the meantime, Connor made a command decision: He did not want to ruin his new suit. Quite a price stamp on a soldier’s pay.

  The rest was easy.

  Connor lunged at Thomas with a drop kick. The knife landed on the counter. Before Thomas could think about retrieving it, Connor let go of his last restraints. A left hook. A right. Then three more rights.

  Teeth and blood spewed from Thomas as he staggered toward the bedroom.

  “Just remember,” Connor said. “I asked. Twice.”

  He grabbed Thomas by the neck and shoulders and slung the man head-first into the cabinetry. Thomas jerked backward into a freefall, his forehead bloodied. He laid on the floor, moaning.

  Connor checked his suit. No signs of rips or bloodstains.

  Good, but not worth further risk. He removed the jacket and laid it on the kitchen table. Connor rolled up his sleeves and mentally sorted what remained on his verbal checklist.

  He stood over Thomas and relished the moment.

  “Filth like you are the reason we have to create a new order.”

  He kicked Thomas in the ribs. And again. He thought of stomping on the man’s throat, but the act might end things too quickly.

  Instead, Connor bent down on one knee and smiled at the rasping, bludgeoned loser. He reached into the pocket where Thomas stowed his pom and retrieved it.

  Connor read the inscription: ‘Leave no dream unfulfilled.’

  “A nice sentiment. I have a long list of mantras I say each day. It’s part of my Requiem training. I’ll add this one. Leave no dream unfulfilled. Perfect!”

  Connor tucked the pom into a jacket pocket and retrieved a fat red pill. He returned to Thomas and played his final cards for the gurgling ex-tormentor.

  “I was five,” he said. “It was three months after the war. Your parents were out. Trevor was off jogging somewhere because that’s how he coped. Me? I was taking a nap.

  “When I woke, I felt someone’s hand down my pants. You placed the other hand over my mouth and told me not to say a word. If I did, bad things would happen. I promised to keep my mouth shut. But you didn’t believe me. Two days later, Fritz disappeared and we never saw him again.”

  Saying it aloud felt good.

  Thomas would have refuted it, of course, but he was too occupied spitting up blood.

  “I never told Trevor or anyone. I blocked it out. Recently, I experienced an awakening. You might say my brain was polished. All kinds of memories came rushing back. You’re a sickness. Soon, you’ll be forgotten.”

  He leaned in and mimicked the tone Thomas used on the little brat all those years ago.

  “No one will ever know. Will they?”

  He held up the red pill.

  “It’s called CNZ-4. My team stores it in our superflex when we’re on the battlefield. It’s only to be used if we’re captured. We give the enemy nothing. Not even our bodies, bruv. It’s an acid specifically targeted to break down every component of the human body.”

  Thomas’s eyes, already locked in a death stare, ballooned. Had he heard of it? Not likely. It wasn’t standard UNF issue.

  “I won’t lie. This is going to hurt. It will literally rip you apart. But the pain won’t last long.”

  Thomas wriggled, trying to talk through his gasps. Connor sighed.

  “The alternative is to arrest, convict, and execute you for treason. Too much trouble! No one will ever know.”

  Connor wrenched Thomas’s mouth open and dropped the pill inside. He backed away, pulled up a kitchen chair, and became a spectator. He’d never seen it work on a live body.

  Purpose, order, execution. I am whole and true to myself. My purpose cannot be denied. I will show no mercy to my enemies. Leave no dream unfulfilled.

  Thomas screamed through his last, desperate gurgles. He flopped like a seal. Then, after a brief stillness, his body spasmed.

  The CNZ-4 ravaged the thorax. The chest cavity imploded. Steam rose as blood boiled away. The bodysuit fell limp. The pants flattened. After a minute, the acid attacked the head. Cheeks melted. Eyes sank. Hair charred to a crisp. The bones took longer to dissolve – the skull made a stubborn if futile last stand.

  Two minutes later, the acid eliminated the final organic components, even attacking bloodstains on the clothes.

  Then it went inert, as designed.

  Connor studied what remained and wondered whether he should celebrate. Wasn’t this but a small victory? A personal triumph, long overdue. A wish granted. Yet nothing more.

  “You’ll be the first to arrive on Amity,” Adm. Sike Nagano told Connor onboard the Hampton Wave. “There are a handful of enemies who will need to be dispatched. Otherwise, they may cause disruptions. We need to launch without resistance or confusion. Nexus believes you are well-positioned. So do I.”

  Connor remembered how he felt in that moment: Honored.

  Code Exodus featured ten spears scattered across the stars. Requiem’s leaders trusted Connor to lead the tip of one such spear.

  They’d be proud of his team’s quick work. Two of the five on Nagano’s list were gone. The others would be dead within twelve hours. Connor made contact with one of two Nexus agents onboard while eating dinner at the Riyadhi restaurant. The server was a pleasant man who understood the larger vision.

  The other – a quiet woman from Euphrates, Nexus’s home world – accosted him outside the boutique where Connor acquired new clothes. She said, “Niles Acasta is home,” and nodded. Then she went on her way.

  Wasn’t it grand? They sculpted the future, one enemy at a time. The rot was everywhere, could hide inside anyone. The plan itself would take time, patience, and commitment. All of which Connor had in abundance.

  “Can perfection ever be achieved?” Nexus asked the first time Connor met him. “With humans? No. But the attempt is noble. What we can do, my friend, is seek higher purpose.”

  Nice.

  Connor examined what he accomplished and reached into his jacket. There, he found the necessary tools to eradicate the evidence and prepare the scene. He was a fast learner.

  18

  Abdelmani Ranch

  Planet: Euphrates

  SHAD ABDELMANI ROSE from his spot at the head of the table. He lifted his glass and proposed a toast. The fifteen family members, some of whom travelled in from Azillabhad for the occasion, raised their glasses in reply.

  “To family, and the neverending goal to seek higher purpose.”

  They saluted by clinking glasses. Shad continued.

  “My words are my art. I look across these gardens and the northern orchards, and I realize if not for my words, these wonders would not exist. Or others of equal deportment would own them. The Abdelmani clan was not always so fortunate.”

  Shad smiled at the gray-haired matriarch opposite him.

  “Most of you are too young, but Aunt Kora remembers the difficult years. The few who thrived under the old Chancellory did so because they collaborated. After the Fall, many of us pressed a new vision. We found allies, moved with furtive care, and set our goals to higher purpose. We saw the evolution of wormhole travel, the new Collectorate, and the Wave as vital tools to exercise our passion.

  “Today, each of you owns a priceless stake in the future. The coming years will challenge our passion. I dearly hope this land will avoid the barbarity of war, but I cannot guarantee it – even a man of my stature. I simply say: Remember who you are. As Abdelmanis, we hold a special place in the annals of all the Damascene people. This must not end with the coming conflict. To my family: Salute!”

  They responded with great cheer and refills of wine.

  Did they understand the true nature of the threat? Would they have felt reassured knowing what Requiem intended to build after the Black Star War?

  No. It was too complicated, and for most too frightening a prospect. Only Malik, who sat midway down the table, responded to his father’s speech with muted joy.

  On occasion, Shad regretted stealing his first-born’s life in pursuit of an interstellar revolution. Malik believed in Requiem, but he was also practical. He gave up women and the idea of bringing children into this universe. If and when the new order took hold, he might consider building a legacy.

  After they consumed the feast only a brilliant woman like Kora might oversee, Shad and Malik stood on the south gallery. Wine in hand, they admired the formal gardens which only came into full bloom in recent days. They missed last year’s colors. Too much on Shad’s agenda.

  “I miss it here,” Malik said. “I loved nothing more than digging in the soil. I helped plant those olive trees.”

  “You did? Hmmph. I was away.”

  “Most of the year back then.”

  “Conquering the universe fills the calendar, Son.”

  Malik chuckled then faded into a long sigh.

  “Some people sit around debating what to cook for dinner. You plan how to remake the human race.”

  “Mostly. You’re wrong on one point.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Shad wrapped an arm around Malik.

  “I plan how to remake the human race with you at my side.”

  Malik sipped his wine and pointed to the long stairs leading down into the gardens.

  “Shall we?”

  “Yes. I think a stroll would do us good.”

  Shad soon reacquainted himself with the authentic fragrance of fresh flowers, not the synthetic imitators common to space travel. Simple sounds like birds chirping filled him with nostalgia.

  Neither father nor son said much as they walked, touched, and smelled. A quarter mile from the estate house, Shad retrieved his pom and flipped it open.

  “I can’t put it off. I’ve been out of touch too long.”

  Shad had conceded to Kora’s insistence that the family silence their technology during their time together. He told Marne Sarkisian, the Dalliance pilot, to forward incoming transmissions to his pom. It vibrated often throughout the afternoon, but Shad held off.

  He and Malik might not return for months.

  “I’m surprised you held out this long,” Malik said. “You spend so much time on the pom and watching the holos, I expected to see you twitching, Father.”

  “The wine does wonders.”

  Shad glanced about, made sure they were alone, and raised holos from his comm.

  “Let’s start with the simplest.”

  He yanked open a text message from Connor Stallion. Two words:

  “It’s done.”