OK, so this might be more delicate than I expected.

  Kara chose her words with care.

  “When you say ‘I’ in that context, are you referring to yourself?”

  “In one sense. I believe I am lifted by my counterparts and we are a single entity separated by imaginary walls.”

  “Whole universes, you mean.”

  “Universes, but not barriers.”

  “I must admit, Maxwell, I’m confused. That night at the ranch, you said I should not have come, and the note you left in my bedroom flat-out stated I should leave. Yet you allow me here. Why did you want me to leave?”

  “It was not my decision to make. Three of my counterparts – the ones who most believe in me – said you were a threat. They watched you through my eyes and said you were not of the Splinter. They thought your people would try to destroy our gift.”

  “But you see that’s not true. Right? We’re working with the Triad to protect the Alliance interests here.”

  “That is the politics of men who wish to fatten their coffers. I am talking about the Splinter. The greatest hope lies not in trade with other worlds.” He grabbed his chest. “It lies in here.”

  “Did you change the minds of your counterparts before you allowed me to visit?”

  “No. I can still think for myself. Though you are not of the Splinter, I can see you have been touched by it in a meaningful way.”

  “Yes, Maxwell. I suffered tragedy in my family. They also believed in the Splinter, but not as you do.”

  “I am deeply sorry for your loss. It is different for everyone. I have spoken to my uncles, my parents, and Grandfather Joseph, but they do not see the beauty.”

  “Your grandfather said young people like you approach it differently than his generation. Why do you think that is?”

  Here, he nodded with an angelic smile, as if she asked the question he was most prepared to answer.

  “Our minds are still open, Kara. We grew up in a new world after the fall of the Chancellors. My generation wants a new and better way forward for the Zwahili people. We do not want to revert to the old ways where tribal politics were a constant round-robin of wealthy warlords exchanging power.”

  “What do you want to see instead?”

  “A single nation of Zwahilis bonded in common cause and a belief in our connection to the God of all universes.” He laughed. “When we say this to anyone who does not believe, they mock us.”

  “How do you respond to them?”

  “We thank them for their time and walk away.”

  “What about the Alliance? Do you want to see the Kingdom play a major role in its success?”

  “Only if we are united. That cannot happen until all Zwahilis have a chance to see into the Splinter.”

  “Does anyone in the Kingdom possess one?”

  Maxwell sighed and bowed his head.

  “No. Most of us who were converted traveled to the Inventor’s home station, Artemis, or to other convocations. The Inventor has not visited the Kingdom in more than a year. When he returns, we will have the means to show the light to all Zwahilis.”

  Her stomach turned. She thought of the reports out of Pinchon implying Ya-Li did just that to the entire city.

  Twenty million people. Increased suicides. Work stoppages.

  “I can’t speak to his whereabouts, but I believe many people are eager to find the Inventor. But I’m not here to talk about that, Maxwell. I want to understand how this works. Will your roommates mind if I observe and ask questions?”

  “Watch and listen? Yes. Receive answers? I cannot speak for them. Be careful what you say. Not all of us are open to outsiders. Some of us own guns, but only for our self-defense.”

  Shit. Joseph assured Ham and Cando the group was unarmed. What was she going to do? Tell them to stow the guns while she was present, knowing what Chi-Qua carried hidden?

  “Perhaps you should collect the others,” Kara said.

  “I will do this. I will also have them bring in two chairs. We will increase the circle.”

  As soon as he stepped out, Chi-Qua flew into a rage but kept her voice down.

  “Kara, we need to get out of here. We have walked into the middle of crazytown. God of all universes? And they have guns? Maxwell seems nice enough, but I think this is a cult.”

  “Except a cult usually has a charismatic leader who controls the members. I think they’re under the spell of a cube with a quantum singularity at the center, not a person. If we leave now, we’re asking for trouble.”

  “I can handle trouble.”

  “I’d bet their bullets kill just as well as your laser. Let’s play this carefully. He’s going to bring in the others. Allow him to introduce each one. If they want to shake hands, great. If not, smile and play along. The strategy hasn’t changed.”

  Maxwell returned with the other seven just as Kara spoke. They must have been waiting in a flat nearby.

  Like Maxwell, they were dressed in humble fashion. Simple dark shirts hanging over ragged denim. No shoes. No evidence of wealth. They ranged from upper-school age to young adult. Maxwell seemed to fit in the middle of the spectrum. They did not approach the women, but eyed them with curiosity. No smiles, but no outward gestures of animosity. Kara realized they were waiting for Maxwell to act.

  “Kara Syung and …” he hesitated. “Chi. Yes. I introduce you to my dearest friends in the Kingdom. Kemba Ofesee.” A short, stocky man, likely the oldest, nodded then slipped from the group. “Reginald Stand.” Appeared youngest. Definitely tallest. He waved. “Marcus Ofesee. Cousin to Kemba.” Those two bore no resemblance. He stepped forward and offered his hand to Kara only. “Jeremiah and Jackson March.” Twins. Their expressions remained blank. They did not advance. “Adi Chenga.” He took the twins’ lead and remained stoic. “And Ronald Uchiewa.” Last but far from least, Ronald was the only one to approach both women and shake their hand. Which ones packed guns, she couldn’t say.

  The twins carried chairs, which Maxwell asked to be added into the circle. The arrangement completed, Maxwell asked if anyone had questions of their guests before entering the circle.

  An awkward staring contest silenced the moment. The shortest but oldest, Kemba Ofesee, raised his hand and stepped forward.

  “If we show you what happens in our circle, who will you tell?”

  A logical question, one for which she was prepared.

  “I am here to learn. As Maxwell has likely told you, I am not of the Splinter, but it has affected my life in a profound way.”

  “Tell us how.”

  “A man I married was deeply committed to the Splinter, but he never told me. Recently, he died. He was murdered. I believe it was because of his connection to the Splinter.”

  This did not go over well. They whispered to each other. Did they think she was lying?

  Kemba made sense of the reaction.

  “He was murdered because he believed in something greater, as we do?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible.” She decided to take a chance and play to their gender bias. “I honored him and respected his choices. Now, I wish to understand his passing. I hope by sitting with you, I will gain insight into what the Splinter offers.”

  “What will you do with this insight?”

  “Respect your beliefs. I will make no judgments.” Only then did Kara realize she was speaking in the singular, as if Chi-Qua was not standing at her side. “We will not judge. Chi-Qua is my closest friend. We have the same goal.”

  “I see,” Kemba said. “And who will you tell?”

  “Only those closest to us.”

  “What if we say our circle is confidential and insist you say nothing of what you hear?”

  “Then I’ll respect your position, but I won’t promise to be silent. If I did, you’d know I was lying.”

  Kemba clasped his hands together in a gesture of satisfaction.

  “Thank you for your honesty, Kara Syung.”

  “Other questions?” Maxwell asked the group. When no one responded, he nodded. They took their seats and gathered up their notebooks and pens. Kara and Chi-Qua joined them.

  “Our circle can last many hours,” Maxwell told the guests. “We keep notes of all our interactions with our counterparts. We share our experiences and analyze what we have learned.”

  “We’re eager to take it all in and learn, Maxwell.”

  “You will do more than this,” said Reginald Stand, the youngest and tallest. “You will hear the voice of God.”

  “How?”

  “Our others will speak to you from across the divides. It will be as if we were never here.”

  21

  T HE CIRCLE BEGAN WITH HUMOR. Each member chose a funny anecdote from interactions with the counterparts. This lightened the mood and brought smiles to every face, which Kara thought boded well.

  Ronald, who offered the most receptive welcome, started off.

  “Orville is the clumsiest man in his village. He followed his people’s tradition of bowing before Nanay’s parents to ask permission to marry. The parents surveyed him from across the fire. First, he fell to his knees. Then he placed both hands on the gravel. This is the part where he proclaims his love for Nanay and vows to support her until death. Except, he planted his right hand in dog shit.”

  That drew raucous laughter.

  “Did he pretend nothing was wrong?” Kemba asked.

  “No. Orville is a fancy boy, as I have said before. His parents raised him like an egg. When he realized his hand was coated in fresh dog shit, he cried. I felt awful for him, but if he had just paid attention!”

  “Idiot,” said Jackson, one of the twins. “Did the parents reject him?”

  “They said nothing. Everyone was terribly embarrassed. But then Orville had a moment of courage. He apologized for his behavior and said he was not crying because of the dog shit but because he spent months preparing for the ceremony. He said how much he adored Nanay, and now everyone would consider him a fool.”

  “Allow me to guess,” said Jeremiah, the other twin. “The parents thought he was endearing and granted permission.”

  “They did. Though they knew he was a fancy boy with few skills to provide for Nanay, they saw his love was genuine.”

  “Huh. These are the pre-industrial tribes living inside walled cities on Earth, right?”

  “They are.”

  “I wish one of my others lived as simple a life. Tomas, Rickon, and Benjamin live beyond my means.”

  “Do not complain, Jeremiah. We grow into each other regardless of circumstance. Orville will grow into a stronger man. His four others will show him the way.”

  Showing the way became a common refrain throughout the circle. Even the light-hearted notes at this early stage led to serious evaluation. No one here or in the other universes was discussed outside the realm of lessons learned or growth potential. They analyzed how the varied cultural and technological contexts might reflect upon their own life choices and Zwahili tradition in general. They also spoke of their counterparts like old acquaintances, rarely using last names. The “others,” as the circle called them most often, had become an extended family to these eight young men.

  “If Orville walked the streets of Mumbassa,” Randolph said, “we would mock him. You are not a real man, we would say.” To which, the circle nodded. “We would ignore the purity of his heart. I have seen this behavior within my own family. My second cousin Olembi is a quiet boy with a dim mind. He will struggle to his final breath, and most will turn their eyes away. I wish his family was of the Splinter so he might find strength in his others.”

  The circle carried on as if Kara and Chi-Qua were not there. They fell into a daily routine of commentary that combined honest retrospection with a soulful insight into the meaning of life. Kara found it enchanting. She never heard people talk this way, let alone the young. Then again, the elite of Haansu weren’t exactly keen on philosophy or reevaluating their social and cultural mores. For an instant, she wondered if maybe Ya-Li, in his madness, wanted Hokkis to experience these revelations.

  Most of their notes focused on societal observations as they recounted the daily routines of their counterparts. Humdrum material, if it were not drawn from other universes. Though the eight offered few clues, Kara listened well enough to conclude their “others” existed in a wide assortment of timelines. Two of Kemba’s counterparts lived on Earth before interstellar travel, including one who fancied himself a “social media influencer.” The other two lived on a version of the Kingdom, one in the early years of forced colonization and another rebuilding after global war. One was the son of a warlord and the other a simple mechanic.

  Their counterparts were young boys to old men, from industrialists and politicians to criminals and drug addicts. They were artists, engineers, soldiers, and quiet family men. Many were religious. Kara heard thirty unique names, each treated with respect no matter their lot in life.

  “I need your help,” Maxwell told the members when his next turn arose two hours into the circle. “Harold is at a crossroads, much like we are. If you remember last week, he told his mother of his desire to apprentice as a long-haul trader. This will take him off-world for months at a time. She says he is too young and has responsibilities for his five younger siblings. Last night, I was having a conversation with Harold. He believes his mother will never permit him to leave like his father did. Harold does not want to abandon his family, but he feels drawn to space.”

  “Wasn’t his father killed in space?” Kemba asked.

  “Yes. The ship broke apart upon re-entry. It was very old and not properly managed.”

  “I can understand his mother’s fear.”

  “The chances of another accident are slim. Harold says the trade routes are known to be safe. I want to tell Harold that his responsibility to his family must take priority over his personal dreams. However, that belief is more a reflection of our traditions, not his. That version of the Kingdom is driven by monetary pursuits and an independent spirit. The tribes long ago laid down their weapons and divisions.”

  Reginald, the youngest but tallest, said:

  “I wish we had that spirit here. I am tired of seeing us bound to the flags and anthems of our tribes. Our circle is a template of what should happen across the Kingdom.”

  Maxwell nodded. “I think we agree on that point, Reginald. Does this mean I should advise him to pursue the life of a trader?”

  “He cannot grow as a man if he resents the life he has been given. Life is about celebration and also tragedy. His father died, but this should not mean Harold’s life must be a tragedy as well.”

  Kemba’s cousin Marcus added:

  “To your point, Reginald, I agree. However, Harold will soon be a man, and his words and actions will inform the choices of his siblings. If they grow into honorable Zwahilis, will Harold not see his life as a success though he may never go to space?”

  Maxwell shook his head in obvious consternation.

  “Let us say Harold stays behind and helps raise his brothers and sisters. Even if he does everything right, their fate is not in his control. They will choose the quality of their lives. What if he does not approve of those choices? He will take the blame for their failures and resent them all the more.”

  Marcus massaged the tuft of hair on his chin.

  “I see your point. Does Harold believe in God?”

  “His only religion is space travel.”

  “He does not see a moral imperative to his family?”

  “No.”

  “Then he must leave. Perhaps he will find God in his travels.”

  “I should advise him to abandon his family?”

  “No. He must commit to sending all his pay back home except the minimum he needs to live upon. He must commit to communicating with them every time his job permits. He must deliver a message that shows his love and concern.”

  Amid many nods, Maxwell said, “I will propose this to Harold. I’ll tell him I do not speak alone in the matter.”

  Kara listened with fascination to many such moral conundrums, debated with sobering maturity. She did not agree with all their assessments, but found their contemplation to be measured with a heavy dose of wisdom. They drew upon the collected experiences of all their counterparts to bring the dialogue back to the circle’s central theme: Zwahilis would evolve into something greater if they knew the Splinter as the voice of God.

  After three hours, Maxwell – who appeared to share leadership alongside Kemba – called for a lunch break. The twins retreated to the kitchenette, as it was their turn to prepare a meal. The leaders approached their observers.

  “What do you think?” Maxwell asked.

  “It’s fascinating. Nothing like I imagined,” Kara said. “How many hours do you spend in the circle?”

  “All the time we are not eating, pissing, or sleeping.”

  Kemba chortled. “I could not sum it up more succinctly. And what of you?” He turned to Chi-Qua. “Did you wish to take a nap?”

  “I’m wide awake, thank you. Where I’m from, people don’t talk like this. Nobody discusses morality.”

  “You must be glad to be away from such a place.”

  Chi-Qua didn’t answer. Kara moved on from the insult.

  “One concern I have. You spend all this time immersed in the lives of your others, but what of your own lives? Do you plan to stay here and look through the Splinter indefinitely?”

  “We began this journey as eight some weeks ago,” Kemba said. “We are in the early stages. Maxwell and I have spoken of publishing our testimonials. After the Alliance is made public and we have access to lead more Zwahilis inside the Splinter, we will take a leading role to guide the younger generations on a new path to enlightenment.”

  The last word bothered Kara. Enlightenment implied many things. The Chancellors claimed enlightenment at the end of pre-history and began a crusade across Earth, eliminating all forms of religion and planting their flag as the superior caste. Didn’t millions of Hokkis use that word when they watched Huryo’s magical path through the Kye-Do rings at the height of Ascension? She wanted to believe Kemba meant the word in a profound, spiritual way.