Zarin massaged his head, which Kara now realized might be a ritual of his faith.

  “Your terms demean us, but they offer a path toward acceptance. Is there negotiating room for the fourth condition?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Records of each session must be provided to the patient. A full transcript. There must be no dispute of the language. I do not wish these sessions to be used against my people at a later date.”

  Kara polled her group. They nodded.

  “Agreed. Anything else, Robert?”

  “I wish to add a fifth point, Ambassador.”

  Shit. Was he about to sink the whole thing?

  “I should warn you, Robert. New conditions may require additional discussion.”

  He smiled. “I do not believe this will pose a problem. All of my faith will be barred from discussing God inside the factory, and no employees may question any of us about Him. I believe this will eliminate complaints about proselytizing and harassment.”

  Her heart beat faster. This might actually work. She chuckled.

  “Robert, I think you’d make a fine negotiator. I can’t speak for the Zwahili government, but I believe the DRC and UNF will be satisfied with your counters.”

  “Good. When all the necessary parties have signed off on it, I ask to see an amended version. In the meantime, I will return to my people and sell them on these terms.”

  “Of course. If we can bring this to a conclusion by the end of the day, workers will return to their jobs in the morning.”

  “I assume we will not be allowed to apply for jobs until the first two items are completed.”

  “Correct.”

  “Then we will begin Splinter collection today.”

  He stood, and the DRC team followed suit.

  “Thank you, Robert,” she said. “We made huge progress today.”

  Zarin laid his hands on the table as if to prop himself up. Water formed glass beads over his eyes.

  “Thank you for seeing us as humans. Many beyond Landulla will not agree with your decision. Many will be outraged. I appreciate your courage and your faith in my people.”

  “We wish you the best,” said Kendrick.

  When the room cleared, Kara fell into her chair, suddenly exhausted, and accepted the accolades of her peers. What happened did not guarantee a successful outcome – Zarin still needed his people to buy in – but it was a momentary victory based on a last-ditch idea Kara knew would scare the crap out of people. Moreover, Zarin was right: Outrage was sure to follow in many quarters.

  Kara had two months to decide whether to run for Interstellar Congress; if she did, today’s pact would not be featured in her brief campaign. Cando knew nothing about it; she’d have to catch him up before a public announcement.

  As expected, the Zwahili reps had no problem with Zarin’s amendments. They were stunned he agreed, given all the conditions.

  The two groups headed to an executive dining room for lunch. En route, Joseph sidled up beside Kara and wrapped his arm around her.

  “Do you remember the first day we met at my ranch?”

  “Of course.”

  “You asked strong questions. Your curiosity told me you were a woman of great independence. I have always admired you, Kara.”

  “We see life much the same, Joseph.”

  “Yes. We were born on high, but we do not look down our nose.”

  Kara laughed. “Gets us in trouble from time to time.”

  He choked up. “I-I am glad you are my friend, Kara. We will need many friends in the coming days and nights.”

  Joseph was right, of course. One little victory at a negotiating table did nothing to slow down the inevitable. Amayas Knight’s handwritten words hit her broadside:

  I see you standing on a bridge at the end of your days. I see fire rising from shadows. They are called Destroyers. They have come for you. Their purpose is unclear. This, Kara, is what I see.

  3

  Planet: Everdeen

  UNF star cruiser Lightfoot

  E XETER WOOLSEY PRAYED HE would never return to the Everdeen system, but he had no say in the matter. Central Command made crew assignments. The entire exchange wouldn’t require more than twenty minutes at Henniford Island training base. He heard excellent reports about their Hornet M2 program; if these young pilots were as good as claimed, they’d make a fine addition to his crew.

  Seconds after exiting worm, the comms officer announced:

  “Sir, Admiral Glennis for you.”

  The wormhole tracking system worked wonders.

  “Raise her.”

  A holo towered above the compact, semi-circular bridge. A woman with salt-pepper hair and a crackling smile appeared.

  “Capt. Woolsey, welcome to our humble backwater.”

  “Thank you, Admiral. I was thrilled when I heard you received command of the Everdeen fleet.”

  Glennis was a former Major in the Unification Guard who led the Warner Alliance to critical victories in the Earth civil war. Exeter had not seen her since the Executive Officer Bootcamp a year ago.

  “It’s been more challenging than I expected, Captain.”

  “Understood. The Swarm incursion last month caught everyone off guard. There’s nothing like having a taste of the real thing.”

  “You’d know, Captain. So, adding to your Hornet complement?”

  “Yes, Admiral. Our final ten slots.”

  She nodded. “You’ll love what you see. The Caribs have a knack for flying, which I find shocking given their history. They have great dexterity and instinct.”

  “So I’ve heard. We’ll finally be able to run a full complement through the web scheme.”

  “Numbers make all the difference, Captain. Have you received a permanent system assignment?”

  “Not yet, Admiral. We’ve been tourists, by and large. Filling in gaps.”

  “Understood. We’ll reach critical mass on warships in a few weeks. I’d be on the outlook for an assignment.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Glennis shifted her eyes to the four officers sitting at Exeter’s flanks in a horseshoe configuration. Like Exeter, they were in their mid- to late-twenties, but none had their Captain’s wartime experience. Each hailed from a different home world.

  “How does the chair feel?”

  Exeter learned that question at the XO Bootcamp. It was old Guard-speak regarding confidence in one’s crew.

  “Firm, Admiral. It wasn’t built long ago, but I’m proud of it.”

  “Outstanding, Captain. Good health to you and your crew.”

  “Thank you, Admiral. Woolsey out.”

  He appreciated Glennis and her tact. She avoided any comments about Exeter’s status as youngest warship captain in the UNF. Those first days at Central Command among older veterans had their awkward moments, but Glennis reassured Exeter – the insecurity was all in his mind.

  “That was new,” said the comms officer, Mid-Star Lt. Lex Natoor of the planet Xavier’s Garden. “We usually don’t hear bleep from the System Admiral.”

  “They don’t need to deal with in-and-outers, Lex. Adm. Glennis is a good woman. She makes time for friends.”

  He saw something in Glennis that reminded him of Katherine Woolsey, the woman who rescued ten-year-old Exeter from The Trade on an island not far from Henniford.

  “Final approach, Captain,” said Nav Mid-Star Lt. Ushaia Ran, who hailed from Indonesia Prime. “Your transport is ready, sir.”

  “Thanks, Sha. This is it, my friends. We’re about to be whole. The youngest crew in the UNF.”

  “But the best, Captain,” Sha said, to which the others nodded.

  “And it’s not even close,” Exeter said. “Lex, you have the conn.”

  He didn’t make the claim to boost egos or morale. Based on math, the Lightfoot was well-named. The crew’s fresh faces belied an underlying truth: Exeter commanded two hundred sixty-five of the smartest, most disciplined warriors in the navy. They graded out highest at their respective boot camps in all phases from intellectual and psychological profiles to their combat and technological skills. Only thirty brought previous wartime experience. Their presence onboard Lightfoot was not a coincidence, though their Captain wasn’t at liberty to explain why.

  Yet.

  Lightfoot’s only other immortal, Col. Van Parish, met Exeter on Landing Deck 3 outside a troop transport. The Deck Chief saluted.

  “Got her shined up for you, Captain,” he said with a wry grin.

  “Love the extra polish,” Exeter joked. “You know, Van, one of these days somebody’s gonna make a shit landing. Make a real mess of the place. I hope you’ll keep your head about you.”

  “What can I say, Captain? I appreciate a tidy deck.”

  They had developed this running gag in anticipation of the accident-free run coming to an end. Few ships reported a perfect record, even during training sorties. Exeter and Van didn’t know each other until assigned to Lightfoot, but a few hours of downtime with a bottle of sanque and a good pipe changed that.

  Exeter loved having another immortal onboard. It lessened the heartache. He hadn’t seen Caleb in four months, their paths keeping them light-years apart. Caleb Silver was XO to Capt. Paul Ochoba on Scylla and in line for his own warship, weeks away from its first shakedown cruise. Both awaited news from Aeterna that could change their lives, but Exeter didn’t have time to dwell on personal matters. Central Command put too much on his plate.

  Today’s arrival on Everdeen was the trickiest. It should have been a simple ceremony, like all the others. The latest UNF graduates saluting their first Captain, listening to a brief motivational speech, and boarding the transport knowing full well they might never see their home world again. The usual.

  Not this time.

  Exeter smelled it in the warm, humid air when he stepped onto the the Henniford Island spaceport. He left this planet behind sixteen years ago with Amayas and Katherine, but it all came back in a flash. Mixed in with the warm ocean breeze, Exeter smelled the stench that used to spread across this island chain like a flesh-eating virus.

  To worsen the experience, he saw a contingent of civilian representatives on hand to send off the young pilots. Parents and local government administrators, most likely. They wore bright, tissue-thin clothes that danced in the tropical breeze; their straw hats flopping. Two UNF guards held them behind a barrier.

  The base commandant, who hailed from Euphrates, approached Exeter and saluted.

  “Greetings, Capt. Woolsey.”

  “Cdr. Enfatta, it’s an honor.” He glanced at the ten pilots in their light blue uniforms with double red bars over their chest. “I hear I’m receiving the crème of your class.”

  “Nothing but the best for Lightfoot, Captain.”

  “I also see we have an audience.” He motioned to the crowd of about twenty. “I hope they don’t expect a meet and greet.”

  “Not as such. The regional governor and his wife are here. One of yours is one of theirs. Perhaps a brief acknowledgement?”

  “We’re on a bit of a time crunch. I’ll see what I can do. Which ones are they?”

  Enfatta pointed to the hefty man and his wife to one end of the line. He was full-on gray, while she appeared half his age and well in charge of her figure. The sight nauseated Exeter.

  “What say I meet my new warriors?”

  “Of course, Captain.” They approached the ten in blue. Enfatta barked: “Attention! Captain on deck.”

  The pilots held their salute until Exeter responded. He launched into a speech honed after much trial and error.

  “At ease,” he said. “On behalf of the crew of Lightfoot, welcome to the United Naval Forces. Two things you need to know before you set foot on my warship.

  “First: If you have an ego that says you’re going to save the universe, stow that shit in a place where nobody will ever find it, including you. All an ego will do is get you killed. You are one cog in the largest military machine ever created.

  “You will perform to the height of your ability as you have been trained. You will follow every order without question, evasion, or hesitation. You will behave with the highest professionalism and a sense of honor. You are no more important than the warrior at your side. If you decide these standards do not suit you, I will not hesitate to throw you out an airlock and never give it a second thought. I have walked on fields of corpses and seen brutality like you cannot imagine. Help me help you stay the fuck alive.

  “Second: I’m a nice guy when you get to know me. If we’re lucky, and the Swarm don’t invade anytime soon, you might catch me in a nice mood. Just remember: We are not friends. I am your commanding officer. We serve the forty worlds of the People’s Collectorate. We will protect them from the Swarm, or we will die trying. There is no other agenda.”

  Exeter nodded to Sgt. Odin, who accompanied him off the transport. The young, blond-haired woman in light green uniform took over, instructing the pilots to follow her onto the vessel.

  Enfatta chuckled. “Impressive, Captain. I don’t think you were the man they expected.”

  “Meaner? A little more vulgar?”

  “Among other things. Did you notice they’re a bit starry-eyed?”

  “I hope I cured them.”

  “Your reputation precedes you. I’m not sure what excites them more: An Aeternan for a Captain or a Talon.”

  “Huh. I have a standing order: Whoever asks me what it’s like to be immortal will eat my right hook.”

  Exeter glanced at the ethnic Damascene, who met him shoulder high. Enfatta studied the fist tattooed on Exeter’s right cheek.

  “It’s the question everyone wants to ask, but the answer is simple, isn’t it, Captain? You’re a man like any other.”

  “One extra gene. That’s it.”

  “The curiosity will diminish over time. There’s what now? Nine hundred Aeternans scattered throughout the UNF?”

  “Nine thirty, to be exact. Almost forty percent of my people.”

  “Remarkable. So much has changed. Before I introduce you to the dignitaries, Captain, I must ask a question. Three years ago, were you part of the Aeternan crew that attacked the Arakaat Shipyards?”

  Exeter hadn’t thought of that incident in ages.

  “I was, Commander. Were you … there?”

  “Head of Security. Needless to say, I struggled to find quality work afterward. Now here we are, our lives intersecting again. At least this time, we fight for common cause.” He glanced at the civilians. “Our guests are growing impatient. This will be brief, Captain.”

  “Briefer the better.”

  Enfatta introduced Exeter and started along the row opposite the governor and his wife. Capt. Woolsey shook each hand and promised to look after their Carib sons and daughters. He offered a firm hand, though each one he shook rattled the boxes Exeter tried to hide deep inside his memory. They were courteous. None asked the dreaded question about immortality. Yet their seeming lack of recognition angered him. Or did they not want to remember? He was much older, yes. But the slavers moved him across these islands for five years. He didn’t recall how many clients he was subjected to on Henniford.

  Exeter built a hefty dose of disgust by the time his eyes landed on the Governor up close. First, Enfatta introduced the man.

  “Gov. Joel Harkette,” he said, “and his common wife, Celine.”

  The wife didn’t seem older than the ‘front-door women’ who greeted clients and escorted them to the back rooms. In another context, Exeter might have given her the benefit of the doubt; she seemed more refined, perhaps a necessity of public life. She wasn’t old enough to be the mother of anyone on his crew.

  The Governor, on the other hand, did a poor job hiding his lechery. The eyes gave it away: Big and round, red capillaries crisscrossing like lightning in a passing storm, searching for the next target. Exeter saw the insatiable hunger on top of flabby bags.

  And there it was. The smell. Exeter never knew names, but he remembered three things about every client: The eyes, the tongue, and the sweat. Tropical Caribs exuded the same reek.

  He extended his hand to both Harkettes, but Exeter restrained his smile like he did the wave of nausea.

  “Harkette,” he told the Governor. “Your son must be Mate 1st Class Julian Harkette.”

  “He is, Captain. He is most excited to contribute to the UNF.”

  “I guarantee he’ll receive the same respect and opportunity as every member of my crew. I look forward to working with him.”

  In the awkward seconds that followed, Exeter had the escape route he desired. He glanced at Enfatta, who nodded.

  No. I’m not running.

  “Actually, Governor. I was wondering if I might have a word.”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  “It’s a private matter. A security issue.” He pointed away from the visitors. “If we could step over there.”

  Either Harkette was clueless or he put on a great front. He followed Exeter out of voice range. They turned their backs.

  “Governor, do you know me?”

  “I-I … I have word of your reputation, your adventures.”

  “Interesting. You see, I know you. We met before.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’d say about twenty years ago for me, fifteen for you.” Exeter put his hand on the man’s generous shoulder and leaned in. “You visited my room many times. You shared my bed.”

  Exeter felt Harkette turn into a block of granite.

  “No, no. I think you are mistaken. Captain, I …”

  “I would have been six or seven. You enjoyed fondling me for the first half hour or so. You had a nickname. You called me Excellency. I remember because every time you did, that’s when you decided to enter me.”

  Hackette tried to look away.

  “Don’t, Governor. If you draw attention, they’ll ask questions.”

  “W-what do you want of me?” He reached for a handkerchief.

  “Answer my first question honestly. Do you know me?”