Yet nothing matched the crawler knife for an all-purpose sense of control. The curved, serrated blade was as beautifully designed as it was deadly. He filleted prim with the same ease he might shred a man’s innards. He carved large blocks of hausroot with the elegant precision required to remove a man’s head from his torso. As he prepared the meal, Ryllen stopped to admire the intricate serration. The crawler was a common knife here and on Hokkaido, but to Ryllen’s mind, much underrated. It could be a superb weapon given the right context. In the absence of lasers, flash pegs, and blast rifles, the Dakyang Peninsula of Huryo seemed ripe.

  For a moment, he contemplated a long life in this backward region, where feudal lords held sway. Wouldn’t the people rise up if given the proper motivation and supplied with the right weapons? If they extracted enough blood from the right people, and had the best man to lead them, couldn’t they reshape the peninsula?

  Imagine that. War on Huryo. The return of Colonel Jee.

  The idea flattered him, but it also stirred something buried deep.

  The memory pushed all others aside.

  He returned to Year Two of his fight against the Swarm. The worst year, but also the year of his ascendancy to the leader of his unit.

  The Twenty Talons brought reinforcements from eight planets to battle the Swarm assaults on the major cities. The Swarm intended to assert dominance without destroying the infrastructure. Rivers of blood did not bother the Chancellors; they had no stomach for rebuilding. Credits before lives.

  The Battle for Pingyoon was nasty, relentless, but also exhilarating.

  They sent battalions into the streets to fight in close combat.

  There were victories on both sides. Most lines held. As some fell, new zones of control rose. Sniper squads worked day and night.

  Street to street. Body armor resistant to projectiles of all manner.

  Hand to hand. A blade underneath the neck collar worked best.

  Corpses carpeted the streets. Thousands dead every day.

  Ryllen’s unit bonded with two others to launch an assault against a Chancellor command post. It was daring; all previous attempts failed.

  This one did not, though more than half the Talons lay in pieces before the fight was finished.

  They captured twenty officers and a sub-Admiral. It was a coup. It was a moment worthy of the best Talon propaganda. Enough to rally the locals to rise up and join the fight.

  The surviving unit commanders treated it like a victory. They wanted to keep the prisoners and force the sub-Admiral to record a message calling on Swarm leaders to leave the city, that it was unwinnable.

  Not Ryllen.

  “Twenty assholes out of what? A hundred million? They’ll keep coming. They’ll always be more than us. All we can do is kill them until they grow tired of us and move on. Then we follow them to the next planet and fight them there. No one defeats the Swarm.”

  He had history on his side. The Swarm fought war for the sake of war. Conquest was a byproduct. And its resources were limitless. This was not capitulation. On the contrary, he reminded them of the Talons’ objective: Fight to a draw whenever possible.

  “We are wasting time,” he said. “Talons who understand our mission, follow me.”

  Twelve Talons joined him in the prisoner bloc. Ryllen reached into a deep fold in his armor and revealed his best blade. Similar to the crawler but longer, with less of a glimmer. He marched straight to the sub-Admiral who, like the other Swarm officers, stood without helmets, their neck collars having been disabled.

  “This is the only message the Swarm understand.”

  He thrust the blade upward through the trachea as far as it would go. The sub-Admiral gurgled. His eyes embraced death.

  Other Talons unsheathed their blades.

  He removed three heads and allowed the blood of his victims to dry on the blade.

  Draws and minor victories followed. Against the limitless Swarm, this was no turning of the tide, but it was good enough for the units who coalesced under Ryllen. They called him Colonel though the Talon hierarchy did not promote him. They followed him in fights sanctioned and not.

  All because I drove a blade up a man’s trachea.

  He stared at the crawler inside the galley of the Hannah Lux. The oil was popping in one pan, awaiting the fish. His onion/potato hash needed to be mixed. Ryllen wasn’t going to disappoint the crew, but he also couldn’t shake the stirrings inside.

  This blade was so useful.

  He imagined standing on the balcony of the poitnois back in Lister, bracing one arm around the fat man in the gown while the crawler cut deep into the Scroll’s neck. The gown stained red; the village celebrated.

  Did the Scroll deserve the same fate as a sub-Admiral of an army of butchers who killed billions for the sheer sport of it? After all, the Scroll was an agent of the justice system, exacting penalties handed down by the court. He did his job, diminished the humanity of those who forfeited the right to life’s pleasures, and retired as a man of leisure. He paid backward rubes to adore him.

  A knife to the neck? Wasn’t it a bit much?

  Logic told Ryllen he should pass. The stirrings claimed otherwise. They spoke in the form of his mantras, which he recited inside himself as he plated lunch and served it to the crew.

  “I am a murderer. I take pleasure in killing human beings. I enjoy the sight of blood. I do not hesitate to kill children. I dream of new ways to slaughter …”

  Benn, Juri, and Mee nodded appreciation for Ryllen’s cooking.

  “Tender flesh,” Juri said. “Nice balance of seasoning. Touch more salt for the hash than I’d go for, but you a’ done it up right. Captain, I’d say we have a keeper.”

  “Agreed. I was worried when we took on an off-worlder, but I haven’t seen anything you can’t do. And this is what? Day two. Usually, when a prim is cut this thin, it dries too quickly in the pan. Mee, are you taking notes?”

  “I am, Captain. Royal has a knack. I’ll pay closer attention to my blade next time.”

  Ryllen enjoyed the moment.

  “I cut to what seemed natural. Prim is what Hokkis call a ‘loud fish.’ It has a strong aroma. Kohlna is tender and sweet by comparison. It works best with a thick cut, like steaks.”

  “Never ate Kohlna,” Juri said. “I hear they plate it at the best houses in Quanteel, but those establishments are a bit fresh for my lot.”

  “So, you’re from Hokkaido?” Mee asked. “What’s it like?”

  Ryllen didn’t answer when the Captain lifted a finger.

  “I’m sorry,” Ryllen said. “I gave away too much. I’m supposed to leave behind what I brought.”

  For the sake of Captain Noor, he wanted to uphold that ideal, though he already broke it the night before with Mee and allowed the memories of war and savagery to cloud his mind.

  He did not settle the internal conflict before the Lux docked at the village of Orek – twice the size of Lister and featuring a waterfront of painted buildings that did not appear on the verge of collapse. As the captain predicted, two buyers approached the boat and negotiated for the community. Their per-unit coinage was less than Lister but the purchase was three times as hefty. Good enough.

  As he positioned the conveyor into place to off-load the product, Ryllen scanned the vicinity for a poitnois but saw none. He thought better of the locals when Juri said this village escaped the control of a lord, but he was also disappointed. He wanted another look at the architecture. The last poitnois settled on stilts at least five meters above the water line with no visible means of entry or exit. Would a lord resort to clambering up and down a ladder? He saw no levitating vehicles.

  Later, after Captain Noor settled the transaction and the conveyor retracted, Mee answered Ryllen’s confusion.

  “Did I forget to tell you about the elevator?”

  “It’s an important detail, don’t you think?”

  “Doubted it would matter. They use manual cranks and pulleys. I’ve seen them in action, if you’d call it that. Very slow. Not helpful to someone trying to sneak his way in.”

  “Fair point, but I need to know everything. Make a list. Write it down. Not just the poitnois in D’haan, but the village, too. Draw a map. I can’t plan a strategy if I’m blind to the layout.”

  “No one can read my writing, but I’ll go slow. Don’t expect it until late. So, you think we can do this?”

  “Not what I said. Draw the map.”

  The crew gathered aft. The Captain handed out equal shares of coinage. He carried a wooden box with empty trax bars.

  “We’ll dock for an hour,” he said. “Mill about as you please. The dock agent said there’s a new fru’ho counter inside the market store. The saloon is relatively empty. Apparently, there was quite the party on the promenade last night. Keep track of your coinage and look out for grubbers. Royal, crimp the edges of your putan. It will increase the shade. Try not to make direct eye contact. This village is a far cry from Lister, but I’d rather not defend why I have an off-worlder on my crew. Juri, Mee, off with you. Royal, we have a stop in the depot to refuel the Lux. You’ll find the exchange agent to be a peculiar woman.”

  They took different routes into the village. Juri and Mee saw nothing but the saloon in their future. In the opposite direction, Ryllen and Noor approached the most modern albeit thinnest shop along the promenade. The sign outside was striking:

  Trax or death.

  “That seems like an extreme choice,” Ryllen said.

  “It’s her sense of humor. Nobody sells trax bars two hundred kay north or south. She has her own little monopoly. If I don’t buy from her, I’d best make sure my reserves are well stocked. Harpin Town is too far away to take the chance.”

  “Does she gouge you?”

  “On the contrary, she keeps prices low enough to stifle competition. Plus, she owns every hectare of fargus wheat in the region. Can’t make trax without fargus.”

  “I didn’t think these village people were supposed to be so shrewd.”

  “They don’t need to be when they have people like her.”

  Noor threw back the door and shouted down a narrow aisle.

  “Fortune smiles on you, Cibe!”

  A tall woman in a purple wig looked up from her work counter, where sparks flew until she turned off the robotics. She lifted her goggles; she was likely someone’s great grandmother.

  “Captain Benn! I thought that was the Lux.”

  “I know where my priorities lie, Cibe. I trust you’re well stocked with fresh bars.”

  “When am I not, old friend? Come now. Drop your box so I can see the damage. And who’s this one?”

  Ryllen followed orders and acknowledged the woman with a fleeting glance, his eyes scattered elsewhere.

  “New to the Lux, but making his way quite well.”

  “Ah. Taking him through the gamut.”

  “He’s a fast study, this one. His name is Royal.”

  “Good to meet you, Royal. How about you slither on up aside your captain, and I’ll train you on the basics.”

  ‘Slither’ meant standing shoulder to shoulder, for there was no more room. Ryllen didn’t want to create undue suspicion and shaded his eyes. The light wasn’t the best in here. Maybe that would be enough to throw off an ancient Huryan.

  She unlatched the box and took out each rectangular bar, one at a time. She tapped them on the ends and listened for the echo.

  “This one here is wasted.” She pointed to the first bar. “Transfer duct is fried. But those two look solid. Easy refill. Let’s see about …”

  Cibe stopped. She didn’t look at Ryllen, but he recognized the revelation that seemed to flatten her wrinkles.

  “Damned if all,” she said, her voice softened. “Two in one day. Normally, I don’t go for signs and portents, but I do not feel at all well about this.”

  “Excuse me, Cibe? Two what?”

  She stared at the captain first then turned to Ryllen.

  “If you don’t mind,” she said before grabbing the putan off his head. “I haven’t seen one of your lot in five years. Now two off-worlders in a day? I do not feel at all well about this.”

  The jig was up. He was right about the Carbedyne contrails. Had to be. Wormhole travel.

  “Tell me. Who else was here?”

  32

  A GIANT,” THE WOMAN SAID. “For Huryo, so to speak. Brown skin, jade eyes. Strange uniform. No weapons, but I don’t expect he’d have a problem taking out this lot.”

  “Did he give a name? Say where he was from or how he got here?”

  “No. None of that. He was asking questions. A low voice for a giant man. That’s what struck me.”

  “What was he asking?”

  She squinted. “You seem nervous, Royal. Running from somebody, are you?”

  “No. But like you said, two off-worlders in a day is probably not heard of around here.”

  “That’s a fact. What’s also true? He was inquiring after faces who got no business in these parts. All I could think of was big men with brown skin and jade eyes. Until you walked in.”

  Captain Noor intervened.

  “Whatever the man’s purpose, it has nothing to do with Royal. He came to me very highly recommended from a contact in Quanteel. That’s all I’m at liberty to say.”

  “And who am I to doubt my favorite Benn?”

  Ryllen couldn’t let it drop.

  “Is he still in the village?”

  “No. Visited the saloon, I think. Spoke to a few what-nots on the promenade. Last I saw, he was headed inland by the marsh walk.”

  “He didn’t come by boat?”

  “No, no. He was definitely not a man of the sea.”

  The captain sighed.

  “Likely dropped off by Scram or some other vessel back in the headlands and walked out to the village.”

  She nodded. “That was my assumption.”

  It made no sense. She could have been describing one of the Talons. Maybe Cando or Yusef. Yet why would they have held back?

  He asked the old woman: “So, he was looking for someone but he didn’t bother to give you a description?”

  “Not a hint, and I offered to help if he’d be specific. Sound like someone you know?”

  “No. No one.”

  “Fair enough. I’m no busybody, but here’s some advice, lad. Right now, you look guilty. Of what, I couldn’t say. But if you plan to walk around town, you might want to lighten your load.”

  She went back to her business and focused on the trax bars as if they never spoke of strangers. Ryllen couldn’t shake the revelation, nor did he want to. The possibilities stayed at the forefront of his attention, even as Cibe and Noor negotiated price and instructed him on the technical specifications of refueling bars with trax.

  “They’re looking for me,” he told the captain en route to the boat.

  “Who?”

  “I’m not sure. At first, it seemed obvious. But even then, I don’t understand their motive. They banished me. Most of them voted to space me. I …”

  “Enough,” Noor said. “Royal, I accepted you on the condition of knowing nothing about your past. Do not fill in blanks I might have to deny later. I want you to consider another possibility. Huryo has a long history as a rendezvous for intersystem smugglers. They thrived while the Chancellors looked away. After the Collectorate fell, their business faded. It’s possible this man represents a new generation of clients looking to set up shop here.

  “His question about off-worlders might have been non-specific because he wants to determine what areas have not been tainted by the competition. Smugglers used that tactic in the old days.”

  Ryllen wanted to counter with his wormhole evidence, but he couldn’t venture down that road without explaining far more than the captain was willing to hear.

  When they reached the boat, Noor said:

  “I’d like to nip into the market and buy fru’hos for the crew. You may come if you wish, but I think we’d best keep you at a distance from the counter.”

  “I’ll stay with the Lux.”

  “Good. Take some time to yourself. Perhaps read from my poetry collection. It might settle your nerves. Here.” He handed over the box of fresh trax bars. “Stow these as I taught you. Oh, and one other matter, Royal. I haven’t heard a word about Mee’s D’haan business. I trust you made him see reason last night?”

  He fought off the temptation to lie.

  “We reached an understanding, Captain.”

  “Good. If there are smugglers about, they’ll likely be hitting D’haan before long. No point stirring that nest more than need be. Yes?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  He had no interest in poetry, so Ryllen occupied all his thoughts on the crew of Scylla. Yes, he betrayed them. Yes, he could have gotten them all killed. Yes, he deceived them about the real reason he slaughtered Tarons, Syungs, and KumTaan. Yes, he deserved a death sentence. But he also helped save them beneath Y-14. He gave the crew purpose to push forward across the stars in search of Amayas Knight. Maybe, after all he sacrificed for the Talons against the Swarm; maybe, after all he did to support his Green Sun brothers and sisters in Pinchon; maybe, the crew had a change of heart.

  Was it possible they convinced Ham Cortez to give him another chance? Was it possible Lan Chua told them of his escape from a pond but did not have the Lux’s coordinates? Were they narrowing the search parameters without trying to draw too much attention?

  He debated the matter most of the day, long after the Lux returned to the prim migration currents and dropped the nets to start a new haul. The optimist (a hard creature to find) said Cando and Yusef would rally the Talons behind a practical argument: They needed another soldier with Ryllen’s skills. The pessimist (the default creature) said Ham Cortez would resist every plea for one simple reason:

  If Ryllen returned to Scylla, Ham would lose his captaincy.

  Not by vote, but by laser between the eyes.

  Ryllen might give him a day or two to feel comfortable before killing the man. That particular debate ended after his first day in the pond. No one who sentenced a friend to such torture deserved to live. Ham could have exiled Ryllen to a colony, far removed from the population. But the pond? Ham was a smart man. A Chancellor. He had to know what was coming. And to sentence an immortal? To know Ryllen might suffer for an eternity?