Cando wasn’t subtle. The hand-holding. The kisses. The glint in his eye. The tales of his future farm on Yaniff.

  Kara resisted none of it. He was unlike any elite Hokki male she grew up amid. No interest in wealth or power, his words unscripted, his personality unrestrained yet all gentleman. He bore a sharp contrast to Ya-Li’s uncertain temperament.

  Yet Kara thought the prospect of anything more than fondness was absurd, even dangerous. Their mission had scarcely begun, and already they saw how romantic emotions compromised the crew.

  “Someday,” she repeated. “We’ll talk after the war is over. Yes?”

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  They returned to their respective quarters on a quiet ship. Except for one Talon and one Hokki stationed in C&C, the day was done. Tomorrow might be their last before testing a full engine restart.

  In the meantime, there remained little evidence of past conflict on Scylla. The bodies of the fallen were gone, spaced at the end of the first day in a ceremony attended by their fellow Chancellors. They too no longer resided on the ship. The first batch of prisoners departed on day four, taken by Horn under close guard and deposited at a trading port on Boer, where they might contact their fleet and await pickup, which was at least a week out. It was an Alliance world, reducing the Chancellors’ opportunity for running afoul of locals. Two Chancellors stayed onboard through day six – Siobhan Morrow and an engineer who assisted Kara and Cando’s effort. He wasn’t a polite man, but he was earnest.

  Some argued against releasing any prisoners before Scylla was repaired, but the risk of sending them off earlier, on better terms, seemed the less dangerous option. Ham brought the choices before the entire crew rather than making a unilateral decision. He counted on the consensus view to bind the team going forward. Kara thought it a brilliant strategy, in part because it elevated Ham and further diminished Ryllen.

  The immortal kept busy with his duties, per the plan, but he said little to anyone, including the Talons. He offered no input on the group decisions after being roundly defeated in his desire to space the prisoners on day two. Kara passed him in the corridor twice; the ship was large, and he was assigned nowhere near engineering. However, the brief interludes disturbed Kara.

  Those gray eyes were more distant, as if they focused on another star system while something dark and mechanical transported him from level to level aboard Scylla. Was he “coming through it,” as Cando suggested, on his way to recovery? Or was this a slow burn before a climactic explosion?

  “It’s a big day tomorrow,” Cando said outside Kara’s quarters.

  “Bigger, at any rate. We don’t know if the diverter add-on will work. If it allows even a few grams of backslop through the filter, we’re looking at another five or six days to realign the valves.”

  “We have a good plan. It will succeed.”

  “I hope so. We aren’t qualified to modify starship engines.”

  “Yet, we’ve muddled our way through. It’s like you said on the first day: Certain design principles are universal. Figure out how to apply them across different tech, and you give yourself an outside chance.”

  “Having the parts in stock is always nice, too. We were lucky.”

  Cando had not let go of her hand since the galley.

  “Luck is a myth. But hard work and ingenuity? They point us toward good fortune. And you, Kara Syung, are the best fortune this crew could have had.”

  “Educated guesswork, Cando. That’s all I’ve brought.”

  “And we’re alive because of it. Trust me, everyone has noticed. I’ve heard them. Talons. Hokkis. You’ve grown quickly in many eyes. At first, they felt sorry for you. Now?”

  He choked on his words. She knew what Cando was holding inside, what he wanted to say every time they were alone.

  “Thank you, Cando. I needed that. So, five hours?”

  A flicker of disappointment and then:

  “Yes. Five hours. Let’s hope the port reticular valves have finished draining. I’ll see you then.”

  “Good night, Cando.”

  He kissed her hand and stepped away, but not without a snicker.

  “I’ve decided I want to grow crops on my farm.”

  “What?”

  “On Yaniff. I’ll start with a few rows of horseshoe beets.”

  “What’s a beet?”

  “It’s yellow. Very tender. The juice is like the sweetest sugar.”

  “I hope to try one someday. Good night, Cando.”

  Once inside, Kara almost allowed herself to swoon. Her heart sped up; her hand still felt his.

  She wasn’t stupid. She knew what this was. And yet …

  No. I am not going there.

  She hated herself for resisting. Wasn’t this a wondrous surprise amid all the tragedy in her life? Take away the armor and the turbo rifle, and Cando was the man she never expected to need. But that was just it: He came as a package with the armor, the rifle, and a life as a professional killer. Though he never told her stories from the war, she didn’t need to guess: He killed hundreds, perhaps thousands of people. War had not yet crushed his humanity, but the baggage must have weighed heavily.

  “This needs to stop,” she said. “‘Finish the job, Kara. Remember what’s at stake.’ That’s what Lang would have said. I think.”

  Listening to the hypothetical advice of a brother long dead made about as much sense as avoiding a chance for happiness with a man who cared for her. The difference? Only one couldn’t hurt her.

  She slipped into a comfortable knee-length bed slip and wondered how many of her precious five hours she’d waste making mental lists of tomorrow’s tasks before falling asleep. The effort was a failure before it began. The door pad turned blue and delivered a soft chime.

  Chi-Qua entered with a blast of energy, as if starting a new day.

  “I heard you come in,” she said.

  “Good to see you, too, Chi.”

  “You look exhausted. Were you going to …?”

  “Yes. I’m back at it in five hours.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Tomorrow’s the big day. I’ve been so busy training, the timetable slipped my mind.”

  “That’s OK. I can spare it. I’ll just be lying here wide awake anyway.”

  Kara sat on the bed. Chi-Qua did not take the hint; she paced in a wide circle.

  “I’ve been thinking, Kara. I’m close to making a decision.”

  “About?”

  “What I want to be.”

  “You mean, like a career decision?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK. Your timing is unexpected. We’re living on a stolen warship that may or may not ever take us anywhere. There’s no life for us back on Hokkaido. What is this decision?”

  “I started taking to it the first time they put me in the training armor. The entire experience on Horn after I recovered from the pincher drone was incredible. And then Yusef and Lin and Meena have been training us Hokkis the past few days and …”

  “And?”

  “I think I might have an aptitude for being a soldier.”

  She stopped pacing, as if this was the first time she allowed the words to pass her lips. Chi-Qua seemed as startled by the revelation as Kara was not.

  “I’ve been in a few meetings with Yusef,” Kara said. “He always has something nice to say about you. Actually, it’s the same thing. ‘Chi will make a fine soldier.’”

  “He does? That’s good to hear. The other Hokkis were more experienced, so I wasn’t sure how I stacked up.”

  “What? Green Sun? Their experience had nothing to do with soldiering. I’m happy you’re finding a place, Chi. I just hope you understand the implications. If this mission is a long one – or worse, if it fails – there’s going to be significant combat.”

  “I know. Honestly, I can’t wait. I didn’t have a chance to use my rifle when we took over Scylla. If I’m honest, I was disappointed.”

  Kara almost bit her tongue.

  “I hope you’re not drawn to this for the wrong reason, Chi. What I mean is, we left Hokkaido with nothing. I hope you’re not just latching onto the first exciting job you see. We did lead very comfortable lives.”

  Chi-Qua smiled.

  “I thought about that. Kara, you need to understand there’s a huge difference between us. You’re an engineer. I don’t have any particular set of skills. None useful out here. You found a place to belong. Mine has to be somewhere other than your side. For once.”

  Her best friend made perfect sense.

  Then Kara took a closer look and realized something else. Why didn’t she see it when Chi-Qua entered?

  “You’re glowing,” she said. “For all the rings, you’ve been with Yusef. Haven’t you?”

  Chi-Qua shaded her eyes, but not for long. This too did not shock Kara. She’d seen the side glances, heard the wistful tones, but expected Yusef would at least show a degree of patience.

  “The last two nights,” Chi-Qua said.

  “Be careful. You’ve never …”

  “Yes, I know. I had chances – especially at Vox. Why did I wait?”

  “Don’t rush this, Chi. He’s twenty years older.”

  “That’s what makes it best. I’ll never look at Hokkis the same.”

  What else need be said? Chi-Qua had no more to offer, for the whole purpose of her visit had little to do with making a career decision. The revelation now dropped, she told Kara to sleep well.

  “Big day tomorrow,” Chi-Qua said on the way out the door.

  How it changed so quickly. Seventeen days earlier, they played dress-up, walking into Mal’s Drop disguised as dolls, the most danger they’d ever put themselves in. Lifelong best friends, amateur sleuths.

  Yet they did it as a team.

  Kara sensed their paths beginning to diverge. She feared for Chi-Qua but also understood. There was no future in clinging to the past.

  “We all need a place to be.”

  She tried to sleep but tossed and turned for the first hour, pondering what might go wrong with the final stage of the engine cleanup. The decision to remain on Scylla – a close vote among the crew – came after Kara’s initial assessment determined the engine could be restarted within ten standard days. The Latchkey drone which sabotaged the ship did no structural damage. She determined which valves could be rerouted to eliminate the disability Amayas Knight designed into the system.

  The plan made sense, but too many variables remained. Even if the engine restarted, would collateral damage be discovered in other systems when full power flowed through Scylla? Would the wormhole tech wake from a peaceful sleep and work as designed? What of the weapons array?

  “Worst case,” Cando told her on day five, “she whirrs and purrs then dies a quiet death. It’s not like she’s going to blow up on us.”

  The odds of a catastrophic failure were all but non-existent. Yet Kara’s paranoia kicked in; she convinced Ham to evacuate everyone but a core crew in C&C during startup. Her design adjustments appeared full-proof, but sabotage could not be ruled out.

  Though the Chancellors were gone, fears persisted that at least one left behind an unpleasant surprise. The Scylla crew left two traps behind on Artemis, both of which caused havoc. If that crew included Special Services agents – as Ham suspected but never proved – trouble might yet rear its ugly face. Starting on day two, the team searched and scanned every square foot of the ship in a careful grid pattern. Nothing, Ham insisted, could be ruled out.

  Those who voted against remaining on Scylla cited this risk as their top concern. But having two Worm-capable ships? More room, more flexibility, more options. That was Ham’s case. After an hour of often heated debate, his view prevailed, twelve to seven. Support would surely disappear if the restart failed or sabotage was proven.

  These matters remained front and center when she returned to engineering after a three-hour nap. Cando was chipper. Judging from his bright-eyed appearance, he must have fallen fast asleep last night. And to think: He would have invited her into his quarters if he thought Kara would say yes.

  He leaned in for a quick peck on her cheek.

  “Big day.”

  Kara sighed.

  “For all the rings, I wish people would stop saying that.”

  40

  H AM CORTEZ HAD MIXED EMOTIONS about today. He wanted Scylla to restart. The sheer might of this ship would be an enormous asset in tracking the Inventor and recruiting allies. What he couldn’t anticipate was how his crew would react to the next phase of this mission.

  He regretted allowing the crew to vote on their future six days ago. He did it hoping for unity; he got division. Why not make the decision himself after hearing Kara’s evidence? He was Admiral. He knew the Collectorate – or what was left of it – better than anyone on Scylla. Was he becoming soft? Did he fall into the trap of democracy, where emotion rather than reason cast far too many votes?

  He thought the case for restarting Scylla was strong on many counts. Every Talon plus Kara and Chi-Qua agreed, but the seven Green Sun agents objected. Perhaps the loss of Rain Pai and Joa Zaan followed by the desperate scramble beneath Y-14 and in Horn took the fight out of them. Maybe they were ready for a life of quiet exile on Huryo. None stated these reasons aloud, but he saw hesitation in their eyes. Had they joined a fight they never truly comprehended?

  “The question for the short term,” he told Cando, Yusef, and Kara hours after the vote, “is whether these seven are too small for the moment. Do we ask them to recommit or proceed without them?”

  Cando shifted uneasily. “A crew of twelve to manage Scylla and Horn? This will create logistical headaches.”

  “Agreed. But if so many are hesitant to expand our resources at a moment when we are in command, how will they respond to the greater challenges of this mission? The first stop was supposed to be simple. It was a disaster. We don’t know what other surprises await, but they are certain to block our way.”

  Yusef leaned forward over the conference table.

  “I must admit, the vote surprised me. After all we went through, I thought we’d see common purpose. Mosh was a disappointment. When we were on Horn, he talked a big game. Thought with a little training, he’d make a nice soldier in time.”

  “Shoan’s No vote stunned me,” Kara said. “He was strong and courageous before and after the attack. I assumed he would want us to have more of an advantage.”

  “I don’t want a divided crew,” the Admiral said. “We knew from the start this might become an issue. I thought Yusef’s speech about the Dameraat created a nice bridge. Unfortunately, it spoke to aspirations, which often run aground when they meet reality. You speak of Mosh and Shoan appearing to be strong. Survival instinct can turn anyone into a temporary hero. Revenge is also a powerful motivator. Not only have they survived but they’ve taken revenge for Rain and Joa. They might not have stomach for more.”

  Kara nodded. “You might be right. Hokkis enjoy revenge – to a point. Knives came out during the reprisals after the Chancellors retreated. As soon as the vengeful stripped their targets of social standing or made them disappear, they considered justice done. They moved on with life and pretended as if nothing ever happened. Their victims became invisible. I know because my Honorable Father and Mother did just that. These seven might be ready to move on.”

  “So, what do we propose?” Yusef asked. “Haul them into a room and ask?”

  Ham wagged a finger. “Not yet. They have essential duties to perform. We need those completed. I propose we wait until Scylla is restarted. Allow them to feel good about our new circumstance. Then, Yusef, we give them a choice. The mission or Huryo.”

  They agreed to his proposal. Ham did not lay out his other reason for waiting: He needed time to judge Ryllen’s stability. Was he fit to remain onboard Scylla? Ryllen argued for the spacing of every Chancellor, saying they posed a lingering threat while onboard. He insisted everyone on Scylla was complicit in the decisions that killed four of their crew and took away Exeter. These people wouldn’t be missed, he ranted. They had no home world. They were renegades.

  It was an embarrassing display of a man losing his faculties, though not a single Talon disrupted his speech. They might have disagreed, but they were not going to chastise their Colonel in front of the Hokkis.

  However, Kara cornered Ham after the meeting.

  “Expelling RJ from this crew is my last resort,” he told her. “RJ would have to pose a clear threat to everyone – including the Talons. They won’t go forward without him, and quite frankly, I doubt my command would last long.”

  “He terrifies me, Ham. There are only a few of us who knew him before he crossed the divide. We’ve seen the change. You and I agreed when this started: We can’t go forward without Ryllen. Well, now we can. He doesn’t have the same pull over this crew.”

  “Which is why we need to allow him space, Kara. Either he’ll step back from the abyss or he’ll demonstrate his madness for all to see.”

  “The second part worries me. He’s not exactly afraid to use that turbo rifle.”

  “Yes, there’s a risk. The Talons are interconnected through their comm stacks. I’ve asked Cando and Yusef to monitor his movements. We’ll keep him far from engineering or the prisoners. You can do your job without worry.”

  She wasn’t sold, a position Ham thought reasonable. Still, what was he to do?

  For one, cleanse the ship of prisoners. A day after the vote, Siobhan Morrow raised the issue when she met with Ham for the fifth time since the takeover.

  “You have leaks among your crew, Admiral,” she began. “I heard what one of your soldiers argued for. I trust you’re not seriously going to consider his demands?”

  He cursed in silence. Who the cud is talking to the prisoners?

  “No, Siobhan. You’ve been cooperative, and we’re thankful to the others for their input on running Scylla. Especially Pierre. He’s been a great help in engineering.”

  “I made it clear to every Chancellor: We’re paying our way home. Now, we need to talk about a timetable. When will you be ready to shuttle us out?”