“I think we can agree on that point, Admiral. However, don’t you believe the fear of Swarm agents communicating through the Splinters is a legitimate concern?”

  He shrugged. “Of course. We have not solved that problem, despite our best efforts. We’ve collected ninety percent of the Splinters, but many remain elusive. No doubt some of those individuals will see this interview and report the details to their Beta counterparts. But we’ve worked with the local governments to contain, resettle, and disarm these groups.”

  Cando thought of Kara, who planned to confront a nest of those radicals alongside her DRC team and Zwahili government reps. Was she having as lousy a day as he?

  “So,” Edina said, “to sum up, Admiral. You believe the threat of terrorism from Swarm diehards has been neutered?”

  “The only threat to Alpha lies beyond the divide.”

  “Very good. Do you have last words for my viewers? Anything they should know?”

  “For myself? No. For the UNF? Yes. I’ll say this. You can believe in us. We will give everything, including our lives, to protect you.”

  “Thank you, High Admiral.”

  She signaled to her producer to cut the cams.

  “I’ll do my sign-off and post-commentary later. So, Admiral? What did you think? Did I play fair?”

  “Hard to say, Ms. Playos. I think fair will be determined in the editing phase. Yes?”

  “You’re very astute, Admiral. I apologize if some of the questions were aggressive. I have a skeptical streak.”

  “I doubt you’d have a wide audience without it. Still, I want to see the final version before it’s released, per our agreement.”

  “Absolutely.”

  She played the sincerity card, but Cando had the distinct feeling he made a terrible mistake. If he faced backlash, he’d have to remind Kara who talked him into playing the transparency game.

  2

  Planet: Zwahili Kingdom

  Landulla Industrial Complex

  K ARA WAITED FOR A PIN TO DROP when she proposed an alternative solution to the Landulla workers strike. Ten reasonable humans – including five on her team who were well-versed in the art of compromise – sat in flabbergasted silence. OK, yes, her talking points represented a dramatic sea change in dealing with the Risen Church adherents. No one appeared keen to set precedent, and the potential liability if this deal went south terrified them.

  “We tried everything else,” she said, breaking the quiet. “This gives both sides an opportunity to move forward with dignity.”

  No one on her DRC team or the five Kingdom government officials tossed the proposal in the trash, which gave Kara the slightest hope. They looked at each other as if wondering who would make the first move. Joseph Mogandi, who joined the stalled talks that morning, offered Kara the wisened smile to which she’d become accustomed. Was he about to let her down gently?

  “This proposal will legitimize them,” Joseph said. “The Federated Union and the UNF have branded these groups as terrorists.”

  “Yes, Joseph. Those who claim support for the Swarm and preach the need to kill Disbelievers. But the Zarinites have not embraced violence. If they agree to these terms, we can enforce compliance without dispatching the UNF.”

  “What makes you believe Robert Zarin will accept the offer? He has refused every effort at compromise.”

  All eyes studied her with suspicion, as if hoping she’d produce a brilliant response but expecting her to accept reality. Outside the panel windows of the conference room, the giant Landulla factory sat idle, its assembly lines incapable of producing materiel needed to feed demand of the expanding UNF.

  “We’re giving his group more than they requested.”

  “True,” said Brasilia Major’s Rayna Margolis, Kara’s closest friend on her team. “But we are also asking them to break their link to the Church. Won’t they consider that a non-starter?”

  Kara faced the Zwahilis.

  “Robert Zarin strikes me as a man in search of dignity, but you know him far better than me or any off-worlder.”

  Prime Minister Winston Darsett, who insisted on lending his presence to every diplomatic intervention, sighed long and hard.

  “Robert is a proud man. He believes if we strip him of his right to work alongside his tribe, we have reduced him to less than human. There is something to be said for Ambassador Aleksanyan’s notion. My concern is for potential deception.”

  “Agreed,” Joseph said. “Zwahilis are born of a tribe and die to a tribe. Whatever else we may achieve, our core identity is tied to the allegiance founded by our birth. In any other circumstance, I would be confident in your solution. But these Church adherents have proven themselves to be different creatures.”

  Kara did not try to argue the point. Violence, or the imminent threat of it, had persisted for two years, starting with the failed plot to destroy the Federated Union. Different factions of Swarm loyalists, captivated by the message of their Beta counterparts and incensed by the Aston James Accords, upped the ante in declarations of war against their own people.

  Suicide bombers killed hundreds. Sleeper agents penetrated offices, government facilities, and UNF training camps. Public spaces which were once freely accessible went into lockdown. Weapons, already plentiful on the streets, entered most households.

  Yet full-on civil war did not materialize, and hard-liner calls to execute Swarm agents in preemptive strikes never gained steam. Instead, as Splinter retrieval picked up pace and the adherents found themselves isolated, the Union set up internment camps to resettle the adherents under heavy guard. UNF Special Intelligence assisted in the crackdown, which by some estimates captured more than ninety percent of adherents.

  Most followers of the Risen Church escaped into hiding. Robert Zarin’s group took refuge in the western mountains near the Landulla factory and not far from Kassaire, the secret facility where Zwahilis had constructed a revolutionary phasic drill and howler platform – one of Amayas Knight’s so-called tech “miracles.” Zarin was an engineer at Kassaire. Many of his followers were also highly skilled.

  The Zarinites denounced violence and applied for jobs at Landulla. They refused to undergo the extensive security vetting, but Zarin appealed to his fellow tribesmen inside to support his people. They must be allowed to work in order to feed their families, he said. They are free men and women who will do no harm against the government or the People’s Collectorate, he insisted.

  “Allow us our faith in the spirit of the Zwahili creed,” he announced. “God will follow us in our hearts, but we will not speak of him in your presence. We make this solemn vow.”

  Weeks of persistent messaging galvanized the majority of the Landulla workforce, which also belonged to Zarin’s ancestral tribe, the Goji. They walked out en masse, blocking the gates and demanding access for the Zarinites. The strike had entered its ninth day. If it did not end soon, all production would move off-world.

  “The larger problem, as I see it,” said Prime Minister Darsett, “is the dangerous precedent we will set. As soon as we provide this language to Robert, we open the door to similar strategies among other adherents. They may use it as a pretext to resume violence.”

  “True,” Kara said. “It’s a risk. We’re trying to talk people off a ledge. They’re desperate. We’re desperate. And trust? There’s not much of it to go around. I believe these terms will restore enough to allow us to go forward.”

  Kendrick Naughton, a Chancellor who grew up on an Ark Carrier but fought against his family in the Earth civil war, raised his hand.

  “I was vilified by everyone I knew when I joined the Warner Alliance. They’ll never speak to me again. Though I’m at peace with my choices, I feel the deep cut of their rejection. They will always see me as less. I am concerned about the Ambassador’s proposal, but I see its value. The longer these groups are treated as less, with no attempt at compromise, the more resentful they will become. You might develop an endemic problem you cannot conquer.”

  Naughton did not speak often, but Kara valued his contributions. He was one of few among the DRC who had experienced life from drastically different perspectives.

  “Thank you, Kendrick,” she said. “Robert spelled out the path for us. He said, ‘Allow us our faith.’ If he rejects our terms, he’s a liar.”

  Joseph whispered to the Prime Minister, who nodded.

  “Unless I hear objections, I give the DRC permission to present these terms to Robert.”

  Technically, the government did not have the power to accept or reject the DRC’s efforts, but Kara’s team believed the situation too fragile to exclude them from direct talks. Until now.

  “I see no objections,” Kara said. “We’ll order security to escort Robert here. However, the DRC needs to present the proposal without you.”

  “But …” Darsett began.

  “In his eyes, you’re the ones who view him as less. My team speaks for the People’s Collectorate. He’ll know we wouldn’t present these terms without your tacit support. That will put him at ease.”

  “If he agrees,” Joseph said, “are we sure his followers will submit?”

  “Again, I take him at his word. From the first day, Robert said he speaks for all three hundred.”

  Joseph leaned back and crossed his arms.

  “You are the most confident woman I have known, other than my dear wife. Someday, Kara, your confidence will be misplaced. I hope this is not that day.” He turned to the Zwahilis. “Give her team time alone with him. If a deal is consummated, we will welcome Robert.”

  After the Zwahilis cleared the room, Kara and her team ventured to the panel windows and studied the scene. More than two thousand workers ringed the facility, most in silent protest. If the UNF insisted, it could fly in replacement workers or additional loader drones to restart production. Platoons would clear the masses. Yet no one wanted to take that course. The People’s Collectorate was young, its relationship with many worlds fragile. No sense inflaming the population on a planet of more than a hundred thousand Church adherents. The internment camps caused enough headaches.

  “Seventeen years I lived in a Carrier,” Kendrick said. “It might as well have been stationed in a dead star system.”

  “Why’s that?” Kara asked.

  “I never set foot on New Caledonia. No idea what life was like there. Never shared words with a native. Never felt the sun warm my skin. They should have let us see.”

  “Now that you have traveled planet-side, what do you think?”

  “It’s real. It’s dirty. It’s lived in. Perfectly imperfect.”

  “All forty worlds meet that definition. Well, maybe not Aeterna, but they’re a different breed.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve heard about their capital. Strange stories. It was created when the planet was terraformed? I’d like to see it someday.”

  “I have a few friends who can arrange a visit.”

  “DRC or a personal tour?”

  “Oh, I doubt they’ll have any need for the team. I …”

  The doors creaked open, and the team turned. Security entered first, their blast rifles held high. Robert Zarin, flown in by Scramjet and brought around through an isolated corridor, appeared in humble dress. His bald head shined under the lights.

  “Here we go,” Kara said.

  She took point and extended her hand to Zarin, who appeared taken aback. He was a broad-shouldered man and well-fed, nearing fifty but resembling someone ten years younger.

  “Welcome, Mr. Zarin,” Kara said. “I’m honored you’re here.”

  This time he accepted her hand.

  “I was not given a choice in the matter, Ambassador,” he said, looking around. “The government?”

  “We asked them to step out. My team wishes to make a proposal. Please, Mr. Zarin. Let’s be seated.”

  One guard remained at the door, weapon lowered. Zarin sat at the head of the table, the DRC team flanking him.

  “Mr. Zarin, we’re going to show you a four-point plan. The upshot is that it will allow you and your followers to apply for work at the factory. It doesn’t guarantee full employment. The hiring supervisors will have the final say. But we believe this will end the strike and allow your people the dignity they seek.”

  He nodded with hesitation.

  “I have heard similar words before.”

  “We know. And please understand, this proposal will not come without a cost to your people. If we’re to reach agreement, you must be willing to make concessions.”

  “We will not renounce our God.”

  Kara smiled. Previous negotiations failed on that one point.

  “We won’t ask you to. In fact, just the opposite.” She called up the holo from a plate. “We will acknowledge your faith as a legitimate religion. You will be free to worship the God of All Universes without imprisonment or denial of labor opportunity. The government will codify it.”

  He read the statement both the DRC team and government reps supported with unease. Zarin bowed his head in obvious disbelief. Was he praying? Kara wasn’t sure whether he’d break out in cheer or call their bluff.

  He did both, more or less.

  Zarin wiped away a tear but also viewed the team like a skeptic.

  “How is this possible? The government would never sanction …”

  “There are conditions, Robert.”

  “Of course. I should have known.”

  “Before I tell you what they are, answer me this: Does our concession meet your essential demand?”

  He raced both hands over his scalp.

  “It does. All we ever wanted was to hold onto our God.”

  “In the time you’ve communicated with your Splinter counterparts, have you learned about the nature of this God and what he expects of those who believe in him?”

  “We have.”

  “I need you to be clear on this point, Robert. Are these the mandates of God or the mandates of the Risen Church?”

  Again, he massaged his scalp.

  “Our God is loving and peaceful. He wishes to cleanse us of our many sins.”

  “What of those who do not believe in Him? Must they also be cleansed?”

  His eyes bulged.

  “Only the Church and the Swarm wish to cleanse the Disbelievers. We do not support their laws. You see how we do not wear the scorpion? It is a symbol of the Church, and only sanctified members may wear it. My people believe God’s message of peace and civility overrules manmade laws.”

  Kara shared a glance with her team. So far, so good. Now the moment they approached with trepidation. She advanced the holo.

  “In that spirit,” she told Zarin, “we intend to grant your group religious and economic freedom if you are willing to do the following four things. One: Publicly disavow the Holy Risen Church and the objectives of the Chancellory Swarm. Two: Turn over all Splinters in your possession within five days. Three: Undergo a series of treatments which will dull and eventually sever the connection to your counterparts. Four: Participate in six private sessions with Landulla counselors to verify your severance from the Beta universe and your commitment to support the initiatives of the Zwahili government and the People’s Collectorate.”

  No one expected him to accept the terms without a counter argument – assuming he didn’t stampede from the room. Indeed, Zarin stared at the wording like a lawyer might. No one said a word while he appeared to reread the holo several times.

  “The first two, we can do without further debate,” he said.

  “How many Splinters does the group possess?” Kendrick said.

  “Less than a hundred.” He turned to Kara. “You propose to cloud our minds with drugs?”

  “It’s a proven medication, Robert. It was tested on several of my own people. They were affected three years ago by an incident in my hometown. Only a few connected with Church adherents. Others suffered psychological breaks or fits of rage. Many symptoms.”

  “The drug cleared their minds? Or did it reduce them to mush?”

  “No. No. Nothing of the sort. They’re called neural inhibitors. They allowed patients to function normally without the voices in their head. If you’re uncertain, I can provide the clinical results, including vid testimony from patients.”

  He didn’t reject the possibility, which gave Kara hope.

  “What is the procedure?”

  “Three sets of injections over six weeks. They’ll be given in secret. The same goes for the followup sessions. As long as your people go about their daily business without conflict, no one in the public will learn about the sessions.”

  “You propose to drug my people and lead us into therapy, which is perhaps another word for indoctrination. How is this any different than our conversion through the Splinters?”

  She conceded the point.

  “In some respects, it’s not, Robert. The difference is we will not allow propaganda or proselytizing of any form to take place. Your people will be free to choose for themselves what they do next. All we offer is a chance to restore your place in Zwahili society and join your ancestral tribe in good standing. Your faith may set you apart, but as the strike proves, the Goji tribe will not treat you as an outsider.”

  He stared around the table.

  “Each of you agrees to this strategy?”

  Nods and affirmations followed.

  “You may be surprised, Mr. Zarin,” Kendrick said, “but you and I have a great deal in common. I understand what it means to want one’s good name restored. I might suggest you focus on the outcome rather than the process. One will take weeks; the other will span the rest of your life.”

  He faced Kara. “We are a small group. What of the many thousands in the camps? Will they have the chance to accept these terms?”

  Kara didn’t want to extrapolate the big picture.

  “I’m not sure, Robert. The others endorsed violence. They want the Swarm to remake our universe.”

  “But if they are severed from the influences …”

  “It’s a much harder sell. You have advocated for peace. They look for ways to escape and cause mayhem. If your group succeeds and becomes a template, perhaps volunteers might step forward. Otherwise, those Zwahilis would have to be drugged by force.”