“Don’t get me started on the Aeternans. Hermann, I have legal orders to assume your role. I would prefer you made the transition simple.”

  He studied the image of Port Baghdad, his back turned to her.

  “Do you know what this job entails, Angela?”

  “Bookkeeping and discretion, I would think.”

  “It used to. Now, it’s an opportunity to enlarge my waist and ponder a comfortable retirement.”

  “A thankless job, in other words.”

  “A job I was guaranteed to maintain until those warships were delivered. Now you arrive less than two months before the grand finale. There is no logical reason to your orders.”

  “I serve the fleet and the Alliance. We all want the same outcome: Permanent homes for our people far from Earth.”

  “Ah. I see. The last Supreme Admiral of the Unification Guard deigns to take a meaningless post in its withering days, where she will gladly hand over two of the most powerful warships in the Collectorate to Zwahilis. Think of that. Zwahilis! Prior to Salvation, the Guard lost more soldiers quelling their tribal nonsense than any other tour in the Collectorate. Granted, the number was small. It always was. But the symbolism is jarring, don’t you think?”

  “I’m aware of the history, but I’m surprised you are, Hermann. Your family made its fortune in brontinium. I found no record of anyone in the Crise lineage having served the Guard for a century.”

  That got his attention. He swung about with fire in his eyes.

  “How dare you question our commitment to the Chancellory? Crise generations honored our caste through the might of industry. There were more than enough soldiers to silence the indigos.”

  “Until the Nephesian incident proved otherwise. You know it well, Hermann. Hiebim terrorists brought an end to brontinium production. Indigos undercut the profits for families like yours. Now, you’re aligned with these people, waiting around for the Alliance to hand you a nice chunk of land on one of their worlds. You’ve lost vision and desire. You’ve also lost your legal claim to this office.”

  Hermann straightened the framed photos of family on his desk and took his seat.

  “You military cudfruckers. All alike. You couldn’t contain a band of roaming desert savages on Hiebimini. You couldn’t shut down an alliance of Solomons and preserve Earth. You couldn’t wipe out a thousand children created in a lab and attacking our vital interests. And you, Angela, lost every Guard soldier you sent into a sneak attack against those same children. I think the Guard’s legend bears no resemblance to its reality.”

  She wanted to kill him. Would she have enough time before he signaled the guards? No. Too soon. And what was he, but an aging shell of a man?

  “The office is mine, Hermann. It’s done.”

  “We’ll see. I’ll have to confirm these orders. The transmission will take a day, maybe two, to complete the round. In the meantime, I’ll be generous. I’ll schedule your crew into temporary quarters. They’ll have a hot shower and access to the workers’ galley.”

  “This is unacceptable, Hermann. I …”

  He tapped his stream amp. Seconds later, the door slipped open. A Persian arrived with rifle nestled against his chest.

  “Dispatch the crew of Yasima to the transition lodge. This woman’s claim has yet to be verified. Leave, Angela.”

  “Of course, Hermann, but I hope you haven’t grown terribly attached to your retirement prize. You’ve just lost it.”

  She had to give him credit for winning the first round. She also thought he did a nice job concealing his terror. He knew the orders were valid; the Admiralty had final say in all Alliance assignments.

  He was playing for time and a graceful exit. Yet the most dangerous creature in the human race was a Chancellor cornered.

  She prepared for his next move.

  25

  T HE SECOND RED FLAG ROSE two days later, when Hermann Crise ordered Yasima’s crew moved to diplomatic suites. He offered Angela a spare office down the corridor from his own, which he claimed he would pack up before his flight arrived. That night, his team hosted hers in a “transition dinner and celebration,” the tidiest concession in the history of the Chancellory.

  Angela didn’t buy it, even when he transferred diplomatic access codes to her. In a single maneuver, she gained full control of the Chancellory’s accounting tables, the final stage production schedule for the warships, and observer privileges inside Charybdis and Hermes. Within an hour, she scheduled four meetings with representatives from Zwahili observers, Persian administrators, and the local workers union. They seemed eager to sit down with her.

  At dinner, she parsed Hermann’s words with precision, studied his body language, and listened to the tenor of his staff.

  He was a changed man: Convivial, a generous listener, and a master of toasts. His staff? They spoke openly of the drudgery of the job. Mindless repetition of the simplest tasks pushed them closer to an exit but offered little incentive for waking up in the morning. They peppered Angela’s crew with questions about life in the fleet. Angela was proud of her team for sticking to the script. Aeterna never came up. After dinner, as the teams dispersed, Angela caught up to Hermann. He stood at a viewing platform over the construction floor. Moorings held Hermes in place high above.

  “I’m wondering when you’ll explain,” she said. “Why the dramatic reversal, Hermann?”

  “I am neither a traitor nor insubordinate, Angela. The orders were confirmed. If the Admiralty wishes me gone, they lack faith in my ability to deliver these ships. I’ve too much at stake to fight.”

  “Strange. You’re suspicious of my motives, but you capitulate with a smile and a glass of wine.”

  “You don’t trust me either. You think I’m deceiving you.”

  “Crossed my mind.”

  “My only regret is that I’ll not be around to see them off. I settled in here before the auxiliary lift was raised or the first plate installed on the superstructure. Arakaat employed thirty thousand indigos in the early phases. Less than three thousand remain. But enough of my nostalgia. It’s your burden now, Angela. Good luck to you.”

  He walked away without another word. The next day, he and his team of seven boarded a transport. Angela made sure one of her own watched them leave. Navigator Peter Montana confirmed the ship as having left orbit, en route to the Nexus point.

  Too easy.

  And yet, it was done.

  By the third day of her diplomatic posting, Angela found herself caught up in meetings and surrendered her paranoia. She soon learned that word of her past had leaked to Zwahili observers and the administrators. They raised fresh concerns about the timing of her arrival, setting her on the defensive.

  “Put the right words in my mouth, and I will say them,” she told a board of concerned Zwahilis and Persians. “Your suspicions are misplaced. The Admiralty felt my predecessor was not running a tight operation. He allowed the Scylla to be taken on his watch. If I may be blunt: This assignment is a significant demotion. I am a placeholder, which is embarrassing to admit.”

  Zwahili’s lead observer, David Bendi, offered the coldest stare before speaking up.

  “There are many among my people who still believe a Chancellor faction seized Scylla during her shakedown and slaughtered her crew. Your late arrival suggests you are scouting the facility in preparation for another assault on our warships.”

  “Mr. Bendi, Arakaat has sufficient security to protect your prizes. The ships will have escort vessels during shakedown, and their particle weapons will be activated at launch to dissuade any potential pirates. No amount of scouting will change those realities. And to your first point: Our intelligence concluded that a diverse faction of colonials interested in sabotaging the Alliance stole Scylla. We communicated this to the Zwahili Triad some time ago.”

  He didn’t blink.

  “I have received no such reports.”

  Yes, you did. He was trying too hard not to flinch.

  She turned to the Persian in charge.

  “Chairman Hussein, I have been nothing but transparent since my arrival. Arakaat security searched our belongings and our transport. These accusations go far beyond nonsense. If I may be blunt, I think the true problem is you got used to walking all over Hermann Crise. You don’t like my management style.”

  Aziz Hussein was often referred to as “the emperor of Arakaat.” He pushed out many competitors with promises of producing the fastest, most efficient construction of any of the Inventor’s “miracles.” He built the workers’ city in two months and finished Scylla three months ahead of production schedule, passing inspections at every turn. He held veto power over the entire administrative council and claimed to be a close friend to both Amayas Knight and Shin Wain.

  “I called this meeting as a courtesy to our Zwahili partners,” he said. “I understand your fear. I have staked my reputation on this project. The truth is, the Chancellor envoy poses no threat. We judge her based on presumptions drawn from her past. Envoy Poussard, would you be open to a shadow escort during your movements throughout the facility, particularly when you inspect the ships? We had a similar arrangement with Envoy Crise.”

  She thought this might be proposed.

  “I would, if the escort is unarmed. I don’t wish my people to feel threatened. Also, please limit the escort to secure locations. I think the office complex and diplomatic quarters should be off-limits. Allow us to perform routine duties and leisure activities in comfort.”

  Hussein nodded then pivoted to the Zwahili.

  “Mr. Bendi, are you amenable to these conditions?”

  His sigh suggested he was resigned to receive no better offer.

  Later, Angela gathered her team in the office and relayed the committee’s decision. She asked them to activate the scramble program embedded in their stack. They tapped their stream amps and guaranteed themselves privacy from surveillance tech.

  “We have a plan,” she told them. “It will work when the timing suits. Give everyone out there a week to accept you. If anyone comes at you with verbal abuse, take it without rebuttal. We need them to discount us, which they will.”

  Angela dismissed everyone but Peter, who bit his fingernails.

  “I know you’re impatient to begin, but the delay presents an opportunity to improve our chances.”

  “Angela, I spent six days in the Fulcrum doing nothing but designing the grappler code. I can activate it today.”

  “If you’re wrong …

  “I’m not. This facility runs on a standard InTrac-4 secure loop. I know it through and through. I did nothing but build and maintain those loops during the war.”

  “I’m lucky to have you on my team. I’m also familiar with InTrac-4 countermeasures. They helped the Great Plains Metroplex hold off barbarian codes for most of the war. If it detects the first hint of your grappler, the system will lock down its core assets and move into hunter-seeker mode.”

  “I know the risks, but it won’t happen to me. I have a ninety-eight percent chance of extracting both NAR Codex sequences before the loop notices a problem.”

  She settled a mother’s soothing hand on his shoulder.

  “We can’t risk the two percent. Line-of-sight connectivity will fill the gap. Yes?”

  “Almost. 99.85 percent.”

  “I feel better already. I’ll request a tour in a few days. The first Carbedyne load and efficiency checks are slated to begin soon. Until then, keep your eyes low and your mouth zippered. It got you into a few too many scrapes aboard the fleet. Yes?”

  Peter sighed. Though he was Angela’s top asset, Peter stretched her patience. The same mind that offered her best chance at retrieving the Codex had tendencies to destabilize at the worst moments. His fits went back to his childhood. Some Chancellors called him a coward and a deserter. He fled battle in the waning months of the civil war. His captain reported him AWOL but dropped the charges soon after. Angela did not know the full story. She needed Peter to keep it together until mission’s end.

  The Carbedyne checks began nine days later, which was when Arakaat administration granted her tour request. She arrived with Peter via shuttle into the Charybdis landing bay. A Zwahili delegation, along with four Persians from the council and the head of the workers union, joined them. Angela didn’t mind the company. In a way, more eyes made the job easier: More witnesses to testify on her behalf, if needed.

  They followed the ship’s master builder, a heavy-set Persian with a booming voice and a prosthetic ear, through the bay.

  “As you can smell, we have just layered the final coat of armor sealant on the bulkhead,” he said. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s not toxic. We completed all system checks on the loaders early in the week. We’ll be running diagnostics on the cascade barrier in two days.”

  As they ventured deeper into the ship, Angela listened with minimal interest while others in the group murmured satisfaction and excitement at every detail. Most of them witnessed the ship grow from a meager frame to within weeks of being space-worthy. She envisioned the future. Specifically, she made mental notes of how she intended to stock this vessel in advance of the invasion of Aeterna. She’d walk every corridor as Captain Poussard, motivating her soldiers. She’d give the order to jump away from the Fourth Fleet, with the hope of a people riding behind her across the stars.

  They reached the Connector Bridge, the central transport passage around which the weapons array was configured. The observers asked many questions.

  “We anticipate loading the missiles in sixteen days,” the master builder said. “Our weapons team has set the pitch for the Baersk energy modules. The next step will be to load them into the delivery system. The entire operation will take ten standard hours.”

  Zwahili representative David Bendi raised his hand.

  “Is there a danger during the transfer process?”

  “Minimal. Drone loaders will slip the missiles into their holding shells. Baersk modules are sensitive to extreme temperatures, but we will be well within the safety range. Nonetheless, we will evacuate the platform during the operation.”

  “How many missiles per ship?”

  “Full complement is three hundred and twenty. However, we will load only a single array of thirty-two prior to diagnostic tests and the shakedown cruise.”

  Chairman Aziz Hussein stepped in.

  “We will not risk a repeat of Scylla. She was stolen with a full complement.”

  “I do hope she is found and returned to proper hands soon,” the master builder said. “Now, let us move forward to Command and Control. The Carbedyne tests are soon to begin.”

  The ability of the local workers surprised Angela. From the time she boarded, Angela did not see an off-worlder prepping Charybdis. Indigos built the most advanced warship ever created, certainly deadlier than anything the Chancellors devised for interstellar combat. No doubt they worked heavily off the Inventor’s library of holomanuals, but they seemed easily adapted to working with a level of tech far beyond their own.

  Had the Chancellors written the Alliance charter, they never would have placed Amayas’s “miracles” into the hands of the locals. Yet he trusted in their ability to translate his designs into results. These people spent centuries allowed to grow their technology under the thumb of Chancellor guidelines, never reaching a critical mass that might challenge Chancellor control. Was it like this everywhere? Did the Fall unleash education and innovation on all the colonies? If so, it further justified her goal to claim Aeterna.

  When they reached Command and Control, three Persian engineers stood at their stations and bowed to their guests. Holos of the Charybdis engine array drifted behind them.

  The master builder introduced the engineers and explained the procedure. Angela smiled and nodded, having been silent from the moment she stepped off the shuttle.

  She nudged Peter, who played the moment cool. He licked his lips, the predetermined sign for “I’m ready.”

  Angela waited until she knew all eyes focused on the master builder then scratched at her right temple and tapped her amp in one swift, casual motion. The stream catalyzed, but she did not need to launch a holo for this to work. Instead, she looked inward to the comm band on her stack and waited for Peter to link in.

  The master builder gave the order.

  “Start the Carbedyne flush.”

  “Wait for it,” she warned Peter through the stack comm. “We’ll have maximum entry after the array is triggered.”

  Flooding the engine with Carbedyne required command access using the NAR Codex sequence. No doubt all three engineers entered the core system through a gene stamp doled out by administration. Angela anticipated admin being stingier with these two ships. Scylla, so the reports concluded, did not activate its built-in exclusion protocol before the shakedown.

  Holos highlighted the Carbedyne flush rate into the engine. Though this architecture deviated from a traditional engine, the principles did not. Once the mounting tubes filled, the engine could be activated. The master builder explained this for the uninitiated.

  “As you see,” he told the guests, pointing to a drone cam outside the hexagonal stern, “the eight lotus panels are inert at the moment. When they are activated, primary power will catalyze all critical systems. However, while Charybdis remains on docking mode, we are locked out of the propulsion and drive functions. Obviously, we don’t want to tear Charybdis from her moorings prematurely.”

  Nervous laughter followed, but everyone knew the procedure was safe. They did not know what was happening inside the mind of Peter Montana, with an open link into Angela’s stack.

  In her mind’s eye, she followed his grappler code, which began searching the ship’s core system as soon as the master builder gave the order to start the engine. Following the program simulation was like chasing a snake down a narrow tube. Peter knew what the Codex sequence looked like and where to find it. As long as he bypassed security countermeasures, he could snatch the sequence out from under the engineers’ genetic stamp with no lingering evidence of a barbarian code.