“No, but I’ve suffered enough defeats to know when it’s time to consider the options. Professional soldiers learn this lesson. Others need to be taught it.”

  He removed his hand and looked away.

  “What does that mean, Cando?”

  “I warned you, Kara. Not as a man who wants to spend the rest of his life with you, but as a soldier. The risk was too great. You walked into a volatile situation where we could only provide scant protection. You placed your trust in a man you met two weeks ago and a boy who sketched you on a piece of paper.”

  “They worked hard to make sure I was comfortable.”

  “Kara, you’ve come so far since Hokkaido. That’s also part of your problem. You’re overconfident. You don’t have the experience or the understanding of human nature.”

  “You blame me for what happened?”

  “Blame? Never. But it could’ve been avoided. The next time you choose less qualified advice over mine, just remember how close you came to getting killed today. Either you love me and trust me, or you don’t.”

  He kissed her on the cheek and started for the door.

  “Cando, wait. Why are you acting this way?”

  The door slipped open.

  “Meena should be here soon. Rest, Kara.”

  He didn’t look back.

  Kara used the sudden silence to convince herself Cando was wrong. She made the correct decision. Someone had to see the Splinter’s effects in action. How could she have known it would turn so suddenly? No one else in the circle appeared to expect it. They knew about Adi’s counterpart, but Onyx was a scarred man living far across the divide. Ugly words, but no more. Then her perspective changed when she stumbled into a bit of paranoia.

  They must have known Adi was wearing a gun. Shouldn’t they have tried harder to stop him from allowing Onyx to speak? Shouldn’t they have known he might do something rash?

  Kara pulled back. She wasn’t going to blame the circle. Two of them were dead, and Maxwell’s fate was uncertain.

  She was still wrestling with her guilt when Chi-Qua visited. The new soldier greeted Kara with a victorious grin. Was it reserved for Kara, or also a product of Chi-Qua’s own satisfaction? She was a Talon who killed the enemy. Did she relish her first success?

  “You look sensational,” Chi-Qua said, leaning in for a gentle hug. “Light-years better than a few hours ago. How do you feel?”

  “Lucky.”

  “We were hanging on by the claw.” Chi-Qua sprinkled the Talons’ vernacular into her own since day one of training. “If Cando’s team hadn’t arrived, it would have been much worse. I was a split second from shooting the twins.”

  “One brother was killed anyway.”

  “He was stupid. If he’d thrown down his gun like I ordered, he’d be alive. Stupid never wins.”

  “I’m glad everyone knows it wasn’t you who fired first.”

  “If I had, you wouldn’t be lying here. Maxwell wouldn’t be in surgery, either. Only thing I regret is changing my mind.”

  “But not killing a man?”

  “No. I did my job. I knew the day would come sooner or later. Adi Chenga won’t be the last.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  “I’m a soldier, Kara. I signed on for this because I feel it in my blood. This is who I’m meant to be.”

  Her tone was stern, but Kara thought it was more about pride than detachment.

  “You remember the night we dressed as dolls and met Ham at Mal’s Drop? We each carried a snub-nose in our handbags.”

  Chi-Qua snickered.

  “We were stupid in the classical sense. If we had tried to use those, we probably would’ve gotten each other killed.”

  “That was less than three months ago, Chi.”

  “Yeah. Feels like years.”

  “If I was carrying a pistol today, I wouldn’t have the courage to use it. I’m glad you did.”

  “Which is why, when you’re healthy, you need to go through another round of basic weapons training.”

  “I already did that last month.”

  “And you’ll go again. I already spoke to Cando. He agrees. Kara, whether we go through with this deal on Euphrates or not, there’s going to come a time when you might not have someone like me at your side. You need to be ready. If you don’t go through basic again, you’ll freeze up next time. Remember, stupid never wins. I need you to be smart.”

  Did she hear that right? Chi-Qua talking like a big sister? Or perhaps a commanding officer?

  “I take your point.”

  “Good. I’ll let you rest. I have responsibilities. We’re making sure to keep a firm net around the Zwahilis until the crisis ends. Relax, Kara. You earned it. The ship is in good hands.”

  “Thank you for coming by, Chi.”

  “Oh, yeah. That reminds me. I made an important decision a while back. I think it’s time for the official change. I’ll tell the Captain and Cando.”

  “About?”

  “Chi-Qua is a little girl’s name. It’s weak for a woman and a Talon. From now on, I’m Chi Baek. No more, no less. Sleep well, Kara.”

  She didn’t look back to see Kara’s smile.

  Kara was proud of her but also reflected on the irony. Kara began calling her Chi when they were twelve because she too thought the name belonged to a young girl. And of course twelve-year-olds were so grown up. Few others followed suit, however. Kara suspected today’s events were the final straw. How many times did those men not acknowledge her by name?

  The story of our lives. People always looked to me first.

  Over her short recovery period, Kara received at least one visit from every member of the non-Zwahili crew. No one wanted to talk about the situation with the newest crew or the controversy planetside. Ham and Cando hinted at progress in negotiations, but neither seemed optimistic. Two days after surgery, Meena Yoo, born to Hokkaido of another universe, discharged Kara.

  “No jogging until I say so,” the Talon com-med told her.

  “Otherwise?”

  “The wound is healed but your body suffered enormous trauma. Give it a few days to regroup. If anything seems off, you know how to find me.”

  Kara did not develop anything beyond a superficial acquaintance with Meena. From the mission’s onset, she thought the common link to a planet called Hokkaido might bond them. However, like with Lin Sangoon and Hiro Parke, it never happened. They got along well, and Meena had a humorous bedside manner, but they’d yet to have a conversation with depth.

  Kara walked with a careful pace, passing crewmates along the way, each congratulating her recovery. When she reached C&C, Hiro and Paul sat alone monitoring surveillance data. She moved toward Ham’s office when Paul said:

  “They should be done any minute now. We’re hoping for news.”

  “Who’s in there?”

  “Captain, Cando, Yusef, and Francois.”

  “Adobo? Wait. Does he know what happened?”

  “Wasn’t possible to keep him in the dark so long. The Triad is in there but on holostream. Still some tempers flaring in Mumbassa City, but it’s calming down overall. Francois didn’t say anything when he entered, and I haven’t heard him yelling. I’d call that progress.”

  This is it.

  “What do you think they’ll decide?”

  “Me? I’m betting we still hold the chips.”

  Hiro sighed. “Ever the optimist, Paul. It’s your most aggravating quirk. Me? I think we’ll be out of the system and back to the first square within a day.”

  “Have you heard anything more about Maxwell Mogandi?”

  “He’s expected to recover,” Hiro said. “Just not as quickly as you.”

  She had yet to hear from Joseph, but she suspected Ham never followed through on her request.

  Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to wait long to find out. The Captain’s door slid open. Francois led the way, sporting a triumphant glow and a swagger. He said nothing to Kara before leaving C&C. Yusef and Cando followed. Ham did not. The door slipped shut.

  Cando said two words to Yusef and made a straight line for Kara. He planted a huge wet kiss.

  “You’re up and about. You look beautiful.”

  “Well? Are you going to tell me?”

  “About?”

  “What just happened in there?”

  “The deal is still on.”

  “Told you.” Paul pointed to Hiro.

  “You don’t look happy about it,” Kara said.

  “They want to safeguard their warships no matter what. It was our winning hand.”

  “But …?”

  “We move forward with a new set of conditions. Nobody will like them except the Zwahilis.”

  Kara wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  23

  Promise, Aeterna

  E XETER WOOLSEY LOOKED OUT upon his audience. He stood in the egress of a Scramjet and cast his eye on the capital city from its highest geographic point. An amphitheater with hundreds of Bouchet immortals greeted him in the foreground. Teens and young adults wore simple bodysuits to tight-cut pieces that highlighted their stunning musculature. Hundreds of facial tattoos complemented a wild diversity of hairstyles, most braided into dreadlocks and often rainbow-colored, while a few shunned hair altogether.

  They poured into the bowl to watch another immortal be “made,” many arriving out of thin air. Just before the ship landed, Rikhi Syed told Exeter to train his eye “on a frame without a door” at the rear-center of the amphitheater. Repurposed wormhole tech, he said.

  “It’s called Walker. Our newest innovation.”

  Beyond the bowl, domes and loaf-shaped structures absorbed the midday sun with a waxen sheen. Flocks of birds with long wingspans flew between the buildings and umbrella-shaped acacia trees. The birds cried out in a symphonic greeting. To one flank, he saw rows of fruit orchards. To the opposite, a distant waterfall crashed down a scarp into a thickly forested highland.

  “It’s not propaganda to call this paradise,” Rikhi added before instructing Exeter to hop off the ship.

  He landed on a spongy green carpet of knotted grass. He followed Rikhi to the stage, where Minister Michael Cooper awaited along with his wife and three others in blue/gray bodysuits.

  “Congratulations,” Michael said. “Damned if you didn’t make it. This is my wife, Lady Samantha Pynn.”

  Exeter expected to meet the diplomat and warrior described in his CVid training, but they did not properly define the beauty she radiated up close. Samantha was clearly a powerful woman, judging from her rock-hard figure. Yet he saw in her hypnotic hazel eyes a wisdom unique to the only mother on the planet. She offered a kind of love forbidden to the Bouchet immortals. He wondered why the children were not here.

  “We’re tickled you’re with us,” she said. “We were starting to think we’d never see another one like you.”

  “I’m honored, Lady Samantha,” he said, remembering Rikhi’s coaching. “I’ll do my best to make all Aeternans proud.”

  “That’s all we ask.”

  “Rikhi,” Michael said. “I’ll leave the rest to you while I speak to my peeps.” He pointed to the growing audience.

  “Absolutely, Minister.”

  Rikhi showed Exeter to the three other immortals who stood near a pair of handrails. Two women and a teen boy bowed.

  “Exeter, these Aeternans will play an important role in your life. The first is Maya Solis. She is your instructor. Next is Ollie Kant. He will be your slayer.”

  My what?

  “This is Rosa Marteen. After you are made, she will be your transition supervisor to assimilate you into city life.”

  Exeter caught Rikhi and Rosa in a devious grin. He wasn’t dim; they were lovers.

  “Follow their instructions without question,” Rikhi said. “The ceremony is brief. You’ll be eating your first home-cooked Promise meal within the hour. OK then. My job is done. It’s been an honor seeing you through transition.”

  They shook hands, and Rikhi left the stage.

  “Follow me,” said Maya Solis, whose knotted ponytail extended toward her waist and whose facial tattoo resembled an elk. She led Exeter to the center of the handrails and told him to take a firm grip on each. His heartbeat raced when he put the pieces together.

  Before she said another word, Michael launched into a casual interchange with immortals on the front row. Laughter erupted when he told an off-color joke.

  “Attention here,” Maya said. “They’ll be watching you soon enough. Exeter, it’s my job to explain what is about to happen. Most immortals are terrified, but I’m here to say you have nothing to worry about.

  “To be made, you must be killed before witnesses. When they see your regeneration, they will know you are one of us. They will pass the word, and you will be fully accepted into the community.

  “The slaying of a Bouchet immortal was first established eleven years ago, in the early months of the rise of the Salvation insurgency. At the time, Salvation was rescuing immortals from the colonies in order to build an army. General Valentin Bouchet, immortal son of our creators Emil and Frances Bouchet, decided this was an effective method to cull impostors and the ill-designed. It was known that Bouchet immortals would quickly regenerate from fatal wounds. Each time a new child was rescued, he stood before his peers as you are now and stared into the eyes of a laser pistol. He took a clean shot and was sent to the abyss.

  “A few never returned, but that allowed us to maintain purity. After we settled Aeterna and the hybrid monsters were destroyed in The Last Day’s War, Minister Cooper decided to continue the tradition. This planet was given to us. We cannot allow outsiders to pollute it. Now, I ask you to maintain a firm grip. Minister Cooper will introduce you and your slayer. You must not close your eyes.”

  His slayer looked like a man-child of about eighteen. Ollie Kant’s tight braids were fire yellow, and a tall ocean wave crashed on his left cheek. His brows were thick and his jaws like steel. He held a long-barreled pistol in his right hand.

  Michael quieted the crowd. He introduced Exeter and told the assembled a few items of note, including how the newest Aeternan sacrificed his life to reach the system’s Nexus point. Their whoops and hollers stated emphatic approval.

  “Our population is now twenty-five hundred and fourteen,” Michael said. “He might be the last of us. Let’s just hope he’s not the worst of us.”

  Exeter didn’t think he was joking, but the crowd did. Their laughter roiled his stomach.

  “What do we say, people?”

  They responded in a unified shout:

  “Love to learn. Prepare to kill.”

  “Damn straight. OK, you’re up, Ollie.”

  The crowd continued: “Ol-lie! Ol-lie!”

  The boy took his aim. Exeter remembered the instructions he most wanted to ignore: You must not close your eyes. He knew what they’d all think if he did.

  A coward, he was not.

  Exeter stared into the teeth of death until a silver/white blast seared him between the eyes.

  He stumbles down the staircase, no bottom visible as it sinks deep into the abyss.

  Yet he hears them coming. The ones who always waited. The ones with moist, tainted hands.

  This time, they show more than their eyes. Their features are clear and immediate. Though these are memories, he is there with them now. They want him. They need him.

  Exeter feels a sudden defiance. Where has the fear gone?

  He stands on the spiral stairs and surveys everyone who used to dominate him. Lecherous. Arrogant. Disgusting.

  He smiles, grabs hold of the railing, and ascends. He walks with determination though he sees no peak, no way out.

  They don’t speak with lust in their tone. This is anger.

  They sense rejection.

  Do they see what he has become? Does it matter?

  Exeter knows.

  He climbs.

  He climbs.

  Exeter opened his eyes, stared up into a passing cloud, and felt a warm breeze. The slayer, Ollie Kant, stood over him.

  “Good one,” the boy said, raising his pistol to the crowd.

  As he helped Exeter sit up, attendees broke into standing cheers.

  Exeter rubbed his smooth forehead and felt no repercussions.

  “It’s official,” Ollie said. “You’re one of us.”

  “I’ve been made?”

  “I was running out of hope to be named a slayer. We might never do this again.”

  “How long?”

  “Nine minutes. A great regen.”

  Michael and Samantha waved Exeter to the front of the stage.

  “Any words for your new brothers and sisters?” Samantha said.

  “What should I say?”

  Michael laughed. “Start with hello. It gets easier after that shit.”

  The crowd quieted. Exeter knew no one but he felt a peculiar vibe. Though each had the iron physique of a hardened warrior, no one here was his enemy. Though they fashioned themselves as eclectic rebels, no one here wanted Exeter to be anything but himself. Though they would never betray him, he could not promise the same.

  “Hello,” he said with a halting voice. “My name is Exeter Woolsey. Today, I feel at home for the first time in my life.”

  Shouts of “Exeter” bounced through the crowd in reciprocal greeting. Michael raised a hand to produce silence.

  “When you head off, say his name to everyone you meet. By the time Exeter is walking our streets on his own, he’d better damn well not be a stranger. Back to your lives, people.”

  Just like that, it was over. The celebration died. Many left the amphitheater on foot, while others vanished through the frame called Walker.

  “I’m hungry,” Michael said. “You?”

  “It’s strange. Every time I regenerate, I think of food.”

  “Eh. Par for the course.”

  A multi-seat rifter arrived on stage. Soon, Michael and Samantha joined the others on stage to take Exeter on a tour of Promise.

  The city bustled with sounds, colors, and laughter. A wild collection of music blared from inside homes and in open-air shops. The quadrilateral houses, evenly distributed in a grid pattern across a square kilometer, were identical in shape only. Potted plants, small gardens, and the occasional flowering vine decorated the facades, as did graffiti-like art painted on the sides. He saw landscape murals, renderings of space battles, and faces commemorating those lost in The Last Day’s War. The five veterans gave running commentary, including the backstory to the art.