The name rang a bell. Wasn’t this the teenager at the center of the Mumbassa incident? Shin didn’t have time to process it.

  Maxwell stepped off the stool as Francois approached with open hands. Shin did not know their history to appreciate the moment.

  “Francois, your grandfather has been looking f …”

  It was over in a blink.

  Maxwell raised a pistol and fired three slugs into Francois’s chest. The man died before he hit the floor.

  Shin wasn’t a stupid man, but he behaved stupidly. This much he recognized in the following seconds.

  Two shots cracked the air. He swiveled in time to see his SVs fall, their brains splattered against the door.

  Was this how it ended? Killed by the people he disliked the most?

  “I’m sorry you had to see this,” Janus said. “We felt it was the best way to bring you in.”

  Shin didn’t bother running, especially when he saw many black and brown figures – men and women – emerging from doors on either side of the ticket counter. They ranged from teenagers to young men like Janus. They slung rifles over their shoulders.

  All were bald.

  I walked into their nest like a blind man. Did you see this coming, Amayas? Did you see my fate?

  A Zwahili with a salt-pepper goatee and a ring in each ear moved to the forefront, greeting Janus with a smile.

  “Did I do well?” Janus asked.

  “An outstanding job,” the man said. “Many of us will have to kill friends in the coming war. You have set a fine example.”

  “Thank you.” Janus bowed. “I feel blessed by the Light.”

  “You always will be.”

  A shot rang out, cutting a hole through Janus’s skull. He fell into a table and collapsed along with a turned-up chair.

  The assassin took his place at the goateed man’s side. Maxwell stowed his gun inside his cloak. The man told Maxwell:

  “What would I ever do without you?” He turned his attention to Shin and pointed to Janus. “He was a government agent. An enemy who pretended to believe. Too bad.”

  “What now?” Shin asked because nothing else came to mind.

  “Shin Wain. Confidante to Amayas Knight. God’s Messenger. Captain of the warship Charybdis. I am so pleased to see you, as are we all. Now, about this warship …”

  * * *

  Planet: Bolivar

  Queen Marta Leevo regretted staying behind. Since the first day she wore the crown, Marta took the lead on all state matters of great importance. Now, she relied on a delegation of Bolivans to represent her at the Tranteum Conference. Was it cowardly of her to stay at home, in the relative quiet of the palace, rather than engage with humans far more educated and sophisticated?

  She had hoped to hear from Ola Osteen by now, but her Captain of the Guard said non-emergency comms were being discouraged.

  “Perhaps it’s for the best, Arno,” she told him while taking luncheon on the east balcony. “I’m too much of a pest. If I say the wrong thing, they’ll try to please me. I might ruin whatever progress they’re making. It’s for our people, you understand.”

  “You gave them your trust,” the Captain said. “They will serve Bolivan interests. I have no doubt.”

  The old man, nearing seventy, served her father in the same capacity. Arno tried his best, but time had slowed him. Marta dreaded the day she’d have to replace him.

  “Will there be anything else, Highness?”

  “Nothing, Arno. Thank you.”

  “Very good. I’ll send Shah to clear your table.”

  She’d only eaten half her meal and should have objected, but Marta did not want to embarrass Arno. He was a decent man. A brilliant father and grandfather despite his many duties. His wife’s death last year hit him hard, but he left his post only for a day, at the Queen’s insistence. He deserved a life of leisure with the ones he loved.

  Marta had half a mind to start the transition, but she relied on Ola’s opinion on matters of palace staff. How would she make a wise decision on her own?

  Am I so insecure?

  No wonder she stayed home during Tranteum.

  She heard a thump and a loud moan inside the suite. Had Arno fallen? The palace doctor said his inner-ear problem had become more pronounced in recent months.

  Marta pushed back her chair and started inside. If Arno injured himself, perhaps she could use it to help him see reality. If …

  Marta turned when she heard a shout from down below. Was it a woman’s cry? She looked over the balustrade and saw nothing unusual. Then she caught sight of a service door at the far end of the wing. It hung open.

  What now?

  She stepped through double doors with their billowing curtains and scanned the massive drawing room.

  There he was. Arno lay on the ground beside a tall entry door with ornate carvings.

  “Captain? Are you injured?”

  He said nothing. Was this it? Had he been felled by a bad heart or a stroke? After all these years, would Arno be denied retirement?

  Marta hoped it was nothing, but she rushed toward him as if she did not have a minute to lose.

  Arno lay on his side, his chest stained in blood.

  Marta froze. Outside the suite, a woman screamed for mercy. The Queen saw movement from the corner of her vision.

  The intruder wore a bushy beard and ragged clothes.

  Was it possible? Did she recognize this mountain farmer? Of course! She talked to him at a recruitment center days ago. Yes. His older brother died in the dam disaster. He said his mother had no role in his choice to join the navy. He rejected “the old ways.”

  “Who are you?” She asked then pointed to Arno. “Why would you do this horrible thing?”

  The farmer held up a foot-long blade, coated in blood.

  “Behold,” he said. “The Scorpion cleanses the Disbelievers.”

  26

  The Aston James

  C ANDO REFUSED TO SIT. Kara, Capt. Dunston, and Security Chief Philbin recounted the Inventor’s story and the plan they hatched with Amayas. Kara understood Cando’s anger. He returned from Scylla after Ham’s EV pod incinerated on approach to the sun. His emotions were raw.

  “That man is walking free on this ship,” he said in Dunston’s office. “You’re staking everyone’s lives on his so-called ability to lure a group of fanatics out of hiding. He allowed Ham to be murdered.”

  “We don’t take this decision lightly,” Dunston said. “But you’ve heard his evidence. If these people are plotting against us, he may be the only one they’ll trust.”

  “And if his plan goes south?”

  “We’ll lock down the ship,” Philbin said. “If necessary, we’ll evacuate to Scylla.”

  “According to him, that might be too late.”

  “He agreed to wear a medtracker. We’ll keep a discreet distance but close enough to act with swift and certain force.”

  Cando studied them like children who went rogue because their father wasn’t around to stop them. Hands to his hips, he said:

  “I want to be sure what I’m hearing. That man says a thousand people are in imminent danger, but you’re going to trust him to head off the problem in the spirit of keeping this conference humming along. Is that the size of it?”

  Kara waved off Dunston and Philbin.

  “Sweetheart, listen. All our options are risky. If we suspend the conference, we’ll have to explain why.”

  “The Captain can lie, hon. Create a cover story to buy time.”

  Kara nodded. They had considered it, but Amayas feared the conspirators might go to ground.

  “People will ask questions. Fear and paranoia will set in. If word gets out, there will be panic. The conference will be over. It took us months to bring all these people together.”

  “You sound like a politician, Kara. I’m amazed you agreed to this madness.”

  His words hurt, but she plowed on.

  “I’m trying to be practical. We don’t know if the threat is real. Amayas admitted he can’t be certain until they walk into his trap.”

  “What if he’s walking into theirs? Did anyone here consider it?”

  “Yes,” Kara said. “And we dismissed it.”

  “Why?”

  “He confirmed our evidence. He never tried to lie or evade. And in a crazy way, his story makes sense.”

  “How?”

  “Sweetheart, I believe Amayas has been playing a much bigger game than we gave him credit for. His ability to anticipate the future explains many of his actions. It explains how he was able to manipulate people on all those worlds.”

  “Manipulate. The operative word.”

  Dunston intervened between husband and wife.

  “Yes, Cando. He is what we call a Svengali. Such a man’s greatest fear is to be exposed. Amayas knows we will publicize his secrets, including his true identity, if he deviates from the plan. He has too much at stake.”

  Cando frowned at the Captain and Philbin.

  “Wait. You know he’s Valentin Bouchet?”

  “He told us,” Dunston said. “That secret alone will destroy him. He handed us leverage without condition.”

  Cando stepped away and took a deep breath.

  “There’s no way I can talk you out of this?”

  Dunston shook her head.

  “I take full responsibility.”

  “At the very least, we need to recall Charybdis or pull Hermes off Hokkaido security rotation.”

  “A reasonable safeguard, but I have no authority.”

  “I’ll speak to Paul. Scylla’s Captain has authority to redeploy the warships to meet an imminent threat.”

  “Hmm,” Dunston said. “That sounds like an Admiral’s role.”

  “Ham tugged the concession out of Amayas, but he refused to accept the official title.”

  “I’ve heard it will likely fall to you by the end of this conference.”

  “We’re not in position to make any predictions, Captain.”

  Philbin glanced at his hand-comm.

  “The morning sessions are well under way. Perhaps you two should join yours.”

  “He’s right,” Kara told her husband. “They’ll understand us being late, but if we miss them altogether …”

  “Sure. Let’s maintain appearances while Amayas saves us all.”

  Kara didn’t appreciate the sarcasm, but Cando wasn’t wrong.

  * * *

  Exeter Woolsey added salt to his synthetic beef stew and dived into his lunch. The food was ordinary but quick, the product of kiosk eating. Most delegates packed restaurants and avoided cantinas for lunch. Exeter appreciated being surrounded by empty tables, especially after the slog of a contentious morning session.

  Four days in, and he couldn’t let go of the Chancellors’ insipid remarks about him. Their respect for Cando and Yusef did not extend to Exeter. He knew why, but Joakim Barter, head of the rogue fleet, went public when he objected to several points Exeter made about training combat soldiers.

  “Col. Woolsey’s bias is on full display whenever he rejects Guard principles of ground engagement,” Barter said from the outer ring.

  Barter mentioned Exeter’s brief imprisonment in the fleet but did not reference Angela Poussard or how she set up Exeter to act like a Trojan horse on Aeterna. Barter teed up the reason for the resentment.

  “He was rightfully imprisoned, and should have remained so. I don’t accept combat advice from a man who killed sixteen hundred Chancellors with a railgun.”

  Exeter couldn’t refute the accusation about what happened at Artemis Station, but he did want to jump out of his seat and go one-on-one with the old asshole. Instead, he listened to Yusef’s calming voice and his own note to self. Aeternans must remain poised.

  He couldn’t remember who got the meeting back on track, only that his mind was a fog for the final half-hour.

  I’m a better soldier than you ever were.

  Rosa said she’d meet him here for lunch, but he asked for private time to sort through his anger.

  How many weeks did they expect the conference to last?

  Exeter cleaned most of his platter while he hid with his thoughts and focused on a new way to approach the second session. He didn’t notice when the chair opposite the two-person table slid back. The guest did not ask permission to sit with him.

  Exeter dropped his fork.

  “The fuck do you want?”

  Amayas opened both hands in a gesture for civility.

  “A few minutes and an explanation, Exeter.”

  “I was clear, Amayas. You’re not welcome in my life. Ever.”

  “An edict I will honor after today.”

  Exeter grabbed his platter.

  “What part of not welcome don’t you understand?”

  Amayas gripped the platter and tugged.

  “Please, Exeter. Five minutes, and we’re done forever.”

  “I’m not giving you thirty seconds.”

  Exeter pushed back his chair, but Amayas held firm.

  “I’d hate to tell Michael about the conspirators who spy on him.”

  Exeter froze.

  What did he say? No, he’s fishing. He’s …

  “There are six, including Rosa, who I knew as a child, and Rafael Kane, who was my close friend and executive officer. Your group worries about Michael. You’ve discussed the possibility of a coup.”

  “How …?”

  Exeter returned to his seat and looked around.

  “No one told me, Exeter. I made myself aware. I’ve been watching and predicting. There are things you must know before your group makes a dreadful error.”

  “What? No, this can’t be right.” In a flash, the truth rose to the occasion. “You’re working with Michael now. He suspects us, and you’re trying to trick me into a confession.”

  Amayas let go of the platter.

  “How silly. Exeter, I don’t have time to explain the mechanics. Suffice to say, I know many things before they come to pass.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Oh, please. You lived with me for years. You knew the sorts of things I experimented with. You participated in my Splinter trials.”

  Exeter balled his fists under the table.

  “That worked out great for me, didn’t it?”

  Amayas nodded. “Certain acts are unforgiveable, but sending you across the divide served a greater purpose. It helped make this future possible. Exeter, do you remember where I was the two days before I sent you to Beta universe?”

  “No, and I don’t give a fuck.”

  “I never showed you and Katherine the place where it all began. It’s where I learned how to see across the divide and beyond the present. I suspect my secret will not last much longer. All you need to know is this: At the time, I saw a grand vision of the future and how your presence would shape it. You already existed in Beta universe. I had no choice but to send you.”

  As much as Exeter wanted to cold-cock Amayas like he did back in Promise, he resisted. Amayas wasn’t lying – or, at the very least, believed what he said.

  Years in this man’s orbit taught Exeter the signs.

  “Why tell me this now?”

  “Because I want you and your cohort to stand down. You won’t have to worry about Michael.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’ve sat in the committee room with Michael every day. His obstinance is growing. He appears on a course to create a rift between Aeterna and the human race.”

  Exeter didn’t argue. It was a fair assessment.

  “You don’t think that’s something to be worried about?”

  “Oh, it is. But here’s the beauty: It won’t last.”

  “Wait, what? How do you kn …?”

  He realized the stupidity of asking the question of a man who claimed to know the future.

  “Michael will come around. He will give them whatever they ask. I need you to trust him.”

  “Sure. Like I trusted you?”

  “Fair enough.” His eyes probed deep into Exeter, who felt a cold shiver. “Exeter, I loved you and Katherine, though I never showed it. I despise what I did to you, but I love the man you’ve become. A proud and honorable soldier. You are going to rise to great heights someday. All I ask is that you rise the correct way. Allow Michael distance and time. He will surprise you.”

  “Why should I take your word for anything, Amayas?”

  The Inventor pushed back his chair and stood.

  “History says you shouldn’t. The future says you will. You’ll know what to do, Exeter. Goodbye.”

  Exeter felt a sickly turn in his gut. Bad lunch or …

  A part of him wanted to tell Amayas to wait. Yet Exeter did nothing of the sort.

  * * *

  Michael spent too long during his lunch break haggling with Rikhi Syed over semantics. He asked for a policy paper on the dangers of quantum singularity bombs and why they were unfit for replication outside the Aeternan system. Rikhi did not understand the technology like Michael, so he struggled to blend scientific and political language.

  “I don’t want those greedy pissants reading between the lines,” he insisted while marking up Rikhi’s text. “I told you twice. I’m planting seeds here.”

  “Understood, Minister.” Rikhi pulled the holo in and highlighted a passage. “They should be so terrified of the tech, no one will make an offer. Which means …”

  “I won’t have to tell these assholes to take a hike.”

  “Very clever, Minister. But we must walk a fine line. We don’t want them so horrified they’ll propose an interstellar ban on QSBs.”

  Michael hadn’t thought of that angle. He pulled on his pipe and pointed to the offending language through a cloud of smoke.

  “Good point. Let’s modify this section about the stability of the core components. Tell them we never had a problem loading the discharge mount during production.”

  Rikhi nodded. “Excellent. Some might see a four percent error as proof of unpredictable volatility.”

  “That’s the gist, but stay away from twenty-dollar words on the rewrite. Most of these people are dimwitted bureaucrats. Simple, clean language, Rikhi.”