The Splinter Alliance called it one of Amayas Knight’s “miracles.” Kara prayed they never needed to use it for more than leverage. They’d likely know the answer before Mission Day 31 concluded.

  Kara reached the command deck early for the 4/40 briefing but energized by a morning run and a high-protein breakfast. Many others lagged, as they started the day five standard hours early.

  “Apologies,” Capt. Cortez opened. “My contact provided a narrow window to arrive. Unfortunately, the Zwahili sun does not rise and set to our schedule, especially on the Eastern Plateau.”

  Ham wasted no time, tossing open a series of holos featuring mission specs and surveillance images from two planets.

  “First, to the ground team.” He pivoted to a pair of Talons: Meena Yoo and Leto Ahmed. “Leto, I want you to replace Meena. You will be the best number four alongside me, Kara, and Cando. Meena, you’ll take his slot in the surveillance team.”

  Leto, a scarred man with a bronze complexion and closely shaved skull, scratched at his bushy, graying beard.

  “Captain, please define ‘best number four.’”

  “Reasonable question, Leto. Our mission is delicate. We need to make our host feel comfortable. I talked with my contact at great length. He has lived among the Zwahili for thirty years and is fully assimilated into their culture. He said an even division of genders will create discomfort. Yes, I understand your objection. The Talons have no gender hierarchy. However, the Kingdom does. The tribal leaders do not repress women or their voices, but they are a stern patriarchy. They expect men to dominate roles of perceived power.”

  Leto smirked. “What about Yusef, Paul, Lin, Force, or Hiro?”

  “Simple. You hail from Mauritania. Your ancestors were African, though perhaps not in the Zwahili mold. But close enough. My contact believes our host will feel reassured having a member of the African quadrant present.”

  “I know nothing of them now, just as I knew nothing in my own damn universe. What am I to do? Behave like a distant cousin?”

  “Smile. Allow our host to lead. You represent our team as security officer, as Meena would have.”

  Leto sighed with obvious displeasure. Of the fifteen, Kara thought Leto struggled most to adapt. He completed every task with precision but also with minimal conversation. Cando once quipped that Leto was surly from the day they met, but she thought Cando was dodging. She never pursued the matter.

  “Who is your contact, Captain?” Leto said. “And what about our host? How do we know we can trust these men?”

  “Good questions. My contact was a soldier for the Unification Guard. I served in his unit for several months of my first tour. We developed a casual friendship before he disappeared. I later learned he abandoned the Guard. We called it ‘going native.’ These men were considered traitors to be killed on sight. Hemric found allies who hid him from trackers.

  “Fortunately for him, the Guard pursued nativists for a few weeks before losing interest. They saw no purpose in devoting extended resources to hunt down a man who wanted to live as an indigo. It was easier to destroy his family’s social standing back home. Years later, Hemric married into a farm family. I became aware of him when we researched the Alliance database. He is the master rancher for our host, and a close confidant. He works for the host gathering intel from competitors.”

  “In other words, he’s a spy.”

  “Yes. Like myself, well connected. Those of us who abandoned the Guard have maintained a loose network over the years, despite our great distances. Our host is the wealthiest ranch owner in the Eastern Plateau. His name is Joseph Mogandi. He is well-respected inside and outside the Alliance. Hemric calls him a man ‘with a generous heart and a stone conviction.’”

  “Loosely translated to mean, ‘a friend until he’s not.’”

  Leto’s acerbic response drew laughs, the loudest from Ham.

  “This is why you’re a fine addition, Leto. You cut to the heart of the wordplay. While you smile at Mr. Mogandi, listen for subtleties. I might miss something. What do you say we move on?”

  Ham led the teams through a variety of data points and strategic markers, outlining a series of scenarios that might trigger different levels of response. The surveillance team, which would maintain a geosynchronous orbit in stealth mode aboard Scramjet Horn, plus those remaining on Scylla, needed to be ready to act with a second’s notice. Ham utilized geographic surveys, high-res vids, and ground transmissions to lay out the scene.

  “Mr. Mogandi owns nearly a thousand hectares within sight of Mumbassa City, the federated capital,” he said, manipulating the surveillance holos. “Ranch security is limited but for perimeter patrols. Drones oversee the river gorge and the federal park between the ranch and the city. Hemric says we’ll be safe so long as no one learns of our presence before Mr. Mogandi reaches out to deliver our message.”

  “Interesting,” Cando said. “Is he implying the trouble might come from inside Mogandi’s ranch?”

  “No, although Hemric offers no guarantees. He said certain factions of the Alliance are paranoid. If someone believed we were trying to shake Mogandi’s faith in the Alliance, they might seek outside help. He thinks the more likely problem will arise if our arrival is noticed beyond the ranch. The Worm aperture is loud. If the wind is blowing, the thunder can be heard at a great distance.”

  Ham pointed to a location south of the ranch.

  “I believe Horn should exit Worm here, inside the deepest portion of the gorge. We approach his ranch from the southwest. The land is flat, so I advise skirting low. You’re on nav, Yusef. Thoughts?”

  “Simple as they come. Soon as you four jump off, I’ll swing her about and retreat to the gorge. Nothing they have will detect us. Too low for air traffic. The stealth net will blind the drones. In and out? Seventy seconds at most.”

  “Good, but we should pace the arrival. Horn is not a dropship, and we are not a strike team. We represent concerned civilians who are worried about the future of the Alliance.”

  “Got it, Captain. Concerned, not desperate.”

  Ham turned both thumbs up.

  “Now, regarding our level of concern. Remember, this is foremost a fact-finding mission. If we can draw out a definitive lead on the Inventor, we do not press these other matters unless the host raises them. Allow him to open discussion about the warships. Then we can show him our evidence and use our leverage to strike a deal.”

  Ham turned to that evidence: A series of vids and surveillance images from the shipyards on Euphrates, ninety light-years away.

  The details were striking, the great factories on the southernmost continent teeming with activity. The two massive ships looked like twins, their design identical to Scylla in most ways. Internal comm logs and security cams from within the vast facility spread out across the command deck as thumbnails aligned in deep rows.

  Kara was impressed, but also uneasy about this treasure trove of intel. The crew did not have to infiltrate the shipyards to acquire it. Rather, Scylla unleashed a weapon in some ways as critical as the particle missiles.

  The Inventor called them Bluebirds, and he provided Scylla with fifty. Each Bluebird drone was no bigger than a man’s forearm but equipped with surveillance tech capable of penetrating every form of firewall, snaking through the innards of systems both primitive and state of the art, and translating all coding profiles to work seamlessly from the inside. A single Bluebird had a range of ten kilometers. However, a networked package could operate from low orbit, blinding satellites or manned platforms.

  On Mission Day 12, Scylla jumped out of Worm, seeded the Euphrates target region with twenty Bluebirds, and began receiving intel from a region spanning five thousand square kilometers.

  Ham and the Talons loved it. The package seemed to eliminate the need for scouts or spies. Yes, it helped them advance the mission without putting anyone in immediate danger. But Kara worried about the larger implication. Ships with ample supply of this tech could blanket entire planets. Could Bluebirds be modified to knock out comm systems and power grids, leaving whole worlds open to attack? If Amayas Knight wanted to create an economic and political alliance, why build ships with the tech to spy one day and flatten whole cities the next?

  And why, oh why, design them for only Zwahili Kingdom?

  It was the most dangerous question and the one they discussed at greatest length. It was also the reason Ham chose to stake their fortunes on a mission to the Kingdom.

  “This is a delicate gambit,” Ham confessed in a planning session. “The Zwahilis have the most to lose, and we have leverage they’ll appreciate. If we find the right people, we’ll strike the best deal.”

  Kara asked, “What if we end up with the wrong people?”

  “Best case: We play our last chips. Worst case: We run.”

  “Wasn’t that your Artemis strategy?”

  “It was, and I ran out of chips. This time, we have Scylla.”

  “I understand, and the high ground is always the best place to be. Just promise we will not use those weapons.”

  “I won’t promise, Kara, because every possibility has to remain on the board. However, in my experience, I found a certain principle to remain true among humans. When a man with a gun is staring at a man with a much bigger gun, he tends to reconsider his options, surrender being the most likely.”

  As the final briefing drew to a close, Ham dismissed everyone except his ground team.

  “There’s a topic we’ve been circling around since the mission began, and now we have to confront it. We have eight members of this crew born in the Swarm universe. You have shown that travel across the divide is possible using the Splinter. There might be no secret more explosive or dangerous. Some will interpret this as meaning we should destroy the Splinters and confront the Inventor at once. Others will see unprecedented opportunity. But none will accept it whole cloth unless we can demonstrate it. We can’t. Therefore, I believe we must hold our tongues on this fact. Does anyone disagree?”

  “No,” Cando said. “I’ve spoken with my unit, and we’re unanimous. Barring an unforeseen turn, we take the truth to our graves. We’re here, and we intend to stay. When this mission is won, we intend to leave our armor behind and find quiet lives on this side of the divide.”

  “Kara? You’re good with this?”

  “I am, Captain, but I do worry about the others who know the truth. Ryllen, Ya-Li, Lan Chua, plus the Green Suns who returned to Hokkaido. And what about Exeter? We don’t know how much he told the Chancellors. We should be prepared if the secret gets ahead of us.”

  “Valid points. Fortunately, all those potential leaks are many star systems away. No one in the Kingdom will suspect.”

  There you go again, she thought. Confident Ham Cortez. But are you sure?

  One hour later, they gathered outside Scramjet Horn. The orbital surveillance team of Talons – including Chi-Qua on her first mission – donned their full body armor and carried the weapons used to slaughter guests at Kara’s wedding as well as Chancellor forces defending Scylla in this very landing bay. Cando and Leto holstered simple laser pistols on a belt and remarked how naked they felt by comparison. Cando said he couldn’t recall ever walking into harm’s way without his armor.

  “You’re a diplomat today,” Kara said. “If we need you to be a soldier, we’re in trouble.”

  He laughed. “Are you trying to make me feel worse?”

  “Not at all. You won’t let anything happen to us.”

  “Of course not.” He whispered in her ear. “I love you.”

  It was the last thing she expected. Kara couldn’t stifle the smile, but she had no words.

  Fortunately, Chi-Qua sidled over, brandishing her rifle with pride.

  “You prepared for this?”

  “Yes, Chi. We left Hokkaido for a reason. It’s time to do the work. How does it feel inside the armor?”

  “Honestly? Like something I’ve been waiting for my whole life. I feel like I’ve become another person. I’m prepared for anything.”

  “I’m happy for you, but I hope your first mission is quiet.”

  Chi-Qua did not take offense.

  “Me too. We need a win today, and I think it’s too soon for soldiers and rifles.”

  Five minutes later, they took their seats inside Horn. Yusef entered coordinates into the nav and catalyzed the wormhole drivers. Their trip to Zwahili Kingdom would take nineteen seconds. Kara and Cando held hands for the short jaunt.

  “I’m ready,” she told him. “How about you?”

  3

  The Chancellor Fourth Fleet

  TLS Cruiser Aurelius

  Tau Muti star system, near Nexus 98

  T HREE TIMES, THE FLEET ADMIRALTY refused Angela Poussard’s request for an audience. Apparently, they thought an icy shoulder the size of a glacier would silence her. After the fourth attempt, which was met with equal resistance, the Admiralty cut off her stream access to fleet command. Yet she rattled at least one nerve, for the flagship promised to send an emissary today to address her concerns in person.

  Angela didn’t know what to make of face-to-face attention but had an idea where this meeting was headed. She vented frustration upon her young aide, Siobhan Morrow, over a meal in the Aurelius galley.

  “Men use ‘no’ as an instrument of power. Moderates justify the word as reasonable caution against reckless impulse. Hardliners and misogynists use it as a firewall for their steel-plated egos.”

  “They’re cowards,” Siobhan said.

  “Trying to hide the truth: They have no idea what they’re doing.”

  “They would say they’re keeping us alive.”

  “Yes, they would, Siobhan, and they’d be correct inasmuch as we have food, water, and beds. What we don’t have are peace, purpose, and the hope of growing roots beneath our feet. They gall me with silence, even while sentiment turns my way.”

  “I spoke with Mark and Liston after we rejoined the fleet. Their people can move with an hour’s notice.”

  “Not until we’ve exhausted all options. I don’t expect much from this emissary, but if I can earn a promise to be heard in a public forum, I’ll prefer it to the alternative.”

  Angela wanted to avoid the old way of pushing opposition aside through assassination. Her failed mutiny onboard Horatio taught many lessons. Above all else, she vowed never to try reasoning with fanatics. Best to make quick work of the command staff with flash pegs through the brain. However, three years after the Horatio disaster, Angela faced the mirror opposite of fanatics. The leadership of the Fourth Fleet – ten vessels, nine thousand civilians, four thousand soldiers of the Guard – seemed incapable of committing to a future of any kind.

  Paralyzed fools, caught between the residue of mythic Chancellor glory and the nakedness of refugees wandering in the deep thick.

  “They’ve scattered us across ten systems by design,” Angela said. “The harder it is to unite what’s left of us under one flag, the more unlikely we’ll take decisive action.”

  Siobhan looked down at her food, embarrassed.

  “Scylla did not help. I wish I had acted sooner.”

  Siobhan relieved Dayton Romilius of his command when the warship was invaded above Y-14. She shot him in the head rather than allow the crew’s wholesale slaughter. Only through cooperation with the new owners – led by former Chancellor Hamilton Cortez – did Siobhan save herself and seventy others. When she delivered her report to the Admiralty, they responded with stern silence.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Siobhan. Dayton Romilius was unwell. A captain with a level head …”

  “Like you, Angela.”

  “A captain with a level head would have delivered Scylla to the fleet and galvanized support behind an invasion. Instead, he complicated our future. Still, I’ve taken steps to uncomplicate it, if these bastards would give me an ear. I’ve never known Chancellors to be so halting. Perhaps it’s the nature of the defeated.”

  “It’s also the rumors. They’re making everyone paranoid.”

  “What do you hear?”

  “Many things, but it always comes back to three basic questions. Have we withdrawn from the Inventor’s Alliance? If so, what happens to our supply lines? If we starve out here, will we have to return to Earth and plead for mercy? Angela, they promised us a new deal. Our wealth financed the Alliance. The lack of progress allowed a man like Dayton Romilius to recruit people like me. The patience for inaction runs thin.”

  Curious eyes turned toward them. Some were allies, having quietly voiced their support for Angela’s scheme. Others did not mask their suspicion of the woman. She still drew resentment for her decision as Supreme Admiral to stand down an Earth occupation force designed to wipe out a growing Solomon insurgency in 5357. At the time, she thought full-scale conflict on Earth would distract from the true fight against the Aeternans. Many accused her of setting the stage for the blended Earth government that followed, a precursor to civil war. Angela expected those Chancellors to come around to her side after she led them to a new home world.

  “If the fleet took a vote,” Siobhan said, “they’d stand behind you.”

  “And almost as many would prefer I disappear. We endured one civil war. What we need now is common purpose. That won’t happen without support from the Admiralty, be it the current crop of weak-kneed fools or the ones we replace them with.”

  Her mood changed when she spied a tall, thin man enter the galley dressed in a blue-gray uniform bearing the Admiralty’s crest. Angela gave him a moment to spot her then leaned in toward her aide.

  “Now the interesting bit. The emissary is here. Don’t turn around. I’d rather he not feel important.”

  “Is he senior staff, at least?”

  “Doubtful. He’s not Guard. Not with that willow frame.”

  “Then he’s no one important. Don’t take it out on him.”