“You speak of what prophecy?”

  “Yours. The one you told us when we arrived. The one that ends with us conquering nine universes for the immortals.”

  Corvaan frowned. “I told you this? I do not seem to remember.”

  “Whatever. You also said our next stop after tonight is the Fortress to see the First Citizens.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “That I know. The Fortress has unlocked for you. They are waiting.” His eyes looked past Royal. “As you see, eager are they to meet.”

  “Wha …?”

  Corvaan pointed, and the head collectors shrieked. Royal and Moon swung around.

  “Fuck me,” the Riders said in unison.

  The only non-human residents stood nine feet tall and string-bean thin. The two humanoids, whose skin was pallid, appeared to sway. Their legs and arms were much too small for a giant thorax. Their bald heads were oblong, with baleful eyes, nose, and chin slightly askew. Where was the mouth?

  “How did you …?” Royal caught himself. That wasn’t the right opening question. “Are you the First Citizens?”

  The humanoids stared at each other in puzzlement. One creature turned over its palms to reveal six fingers. It moved them with the elegance and speed of a pianist. Sounds cut through the air and morphed into words.

  “We are J’Hai. First brother.” The fingers turned inward toward the ‘speaker.’ Then they pointed to the companion. “Lost brother.”

  Royal saw no distortion between the J’Hai’s feet and the sand.

  “They’re holos,” he told Moon.

  “How? What’s projecting them?”

  “No telling what the Fortress can do.” To the J’Hai, Royal said: “Are you prepared to show us the way?”

  A tremor of sound translated to Engleshe.

  “We have waited a million years, though it seems far more. Now, we see you with new eyes. We always wondered what form you would choose, Creators.”

  Royal expected the Rider inside to step forward. This seemed like a prime opportunity. Yet he detected no internal change, so he decided to wing it.

  “Do you like our form?”

  They showed no reaction. The lack of a mouth did not help.

  “Your design amuses and intrigues. We will spend much time together to discuss your choices.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Moon said. “Like when?”

  “We invite you to enter our Fortress now. We have unlocked the entrance, though only you and the Creators may pass.”

  “You’ll show us how to defeat the Overseer?”

  Both J’Hai tilted their heads. Did they understand the question?

  “We will demonstrate many things.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Royal said. “We’ll hop a rifter.”

  “We look forward. Soon.”

  The holo vanished.

  “We’re in business, partner,” Moon said.

  “Took long enough. Time for some damn answers.”

  36

  Day 6, Tranteum Conference

  K ARA CHOSE A SIMPLE TWO-PIECE with muted colors, but not funereal. Cando chose a variant of the uniform he wore for a year onboard Scylla. He topped it with a beige jacket. They stood before a body-length mirror. She added earrings; he buttoned his collar.

  “It feels like the first day,” she said. “It also feels like we’ve been on the AJ for weeks.”

  “I know what you mean, hon. I’m not sure if this will work.”

  She studied his ensemble. For a man who spent much of his adult life running around in black body armor, Cando had developed a good fashion sense. His clothes fit his personality.

  “I think Rikard said it best,” Kara said. “We’ll know within the first hour if this conference has a chance.”

  “Agreed. If their hearts and minds aren’t in it, we won’t succeed.”

  Kara didn’t expect to stand here at all. A day earlier, the conference appeared certain to fail. Hundreds of delegates wanted to postpone it after news broke. Others used the events as a backdrop to say a forty-world union and galactic navy simply were not feasible, regardless of the Inventor’s claim of a two-year window before a Swarm invasion. Delegates like the Aleksanyans said the attack proved how important the conference was; even the enemy feared it. Yet their voices struggled to compete against a mounting chorus of opposition.

  Clear heads, led by Earth’s Vice-Premier, called everyone into a general assembly. Rather than lofty speeches, an open forum allowed delegates to vent concerns and ask probing questions. It often devolved into shouting matches and unruly debates. Many walked out, but most returned. After four hours, during which no one wavered from the official narrative concocted in Dunston’s office, the temperature cooled. The clear majority saw the urgency of the conference. The threat, they realized, had not lessened.

  But to simply resume with so much hanging over their heads? Delegates had betrayed them. Were other Swarm followers hiding among them? Could the Zwahilis and Bolivans be trusted? What about damage control back home? The truth of Amayas Knight’s identity would shatter trust among many on the Alliance worlds.

  Even among those who wished to plow forward, Kara saw cracks in their resolve. They bore a heavy weight from the first day; now they struggled to breathe.

  Two events turned the tide, neither of which Kara saw coming.

  Eight hours after Amayas destroyed the enemy warship, another reported in. A battle-weary Shin Wain broadcast from the C&C of Charybdis seconds after it jumped into the Tranteum system. He contacted Scylla and Hermes first.

  “My apologies for not responding to your inquiries, Captains. I have been occupied.”

  His tale stunned Capts. Ochoba and Sangoon and mandated waking up everyone critical to constructing the narrative, including Capt. Dunston. She planned to break the news shipwide before the start of Day 5’s morning sessions.

  Kara never met Shin Wain in person, though both were products of Haansu. He was an elusive and dark figure. She first heard of him as the alleged murderer who Ryllen Jee pursued with a vengeance. She had assumed he carried out the Inventor’s dirty work, despite Amayas’s plea to excuse Shin from blame. Kara put aside her assumptions while she listened to his story, which by now must have been major news on two planets.

  “My crew and I have had a trying day,” he said. “We have put down a terrorist plot and a palace coup. We’re drained, of course.”

  He summarized events as if they were the latest of many deadly missions, but Kara chalked up his tone to exhaustion and grief.

  “Amayas sent me to the Kingdom to investigate a potential uprising among advocates of the Risen Church. Much to my surprise, I walked into a trap. My contact was slaughtered. A hundred of these advocates used me as leverage to board Charybdis. They should have known better. My SVs were waiting.

  “Somehow I survived the gunfire, but Amayas knew I would. He knew everything, you see. He witnessed all the acts of causality and where they would take me. He told me none of it in advance, for he knew I would attempt to alter events. However, he sent a message to my SVs while I was on the ground being taken hostage. He told them what tasks they must perform.

  “It was always him, you see. He was both a master and prisoner of the future. After the Zwahilis were put down, we learned the truth from a handful of survivors. They had intended to use Charybdis to destroy the Federated Union in Mumbassa City. These men were fools to believe they could achieve such madness.

  “We turned over the bodies to the authorities. The survivors we left in their good graces, as well.”

  Joseph Mogandi listened in dismay. Kara watched him crumble before her eyes. She sensed his mind going to family.

  “How many survived?” He asked.

  “Seven,” Shin said. “They were told to surrender when the first bodies fell, but they continued to fight. They showed no concern with death. That changed when the final zealots dropped their weapons amid the corpses of their brothers and sisters. We had no trouble drawing out a confession.”

  “I do not understand,” Joseph said. “My government did not contact the delegation with this news.”

  “Nor will they, Ambassador Mogandi. They do not wish the public to know how close the fanatics came to achieving their goals.”

  “But they cannot hide the fate of all those Zwahilis.”

  Shin sighed with evident disinterest. Or maybe it was fatigue.

  “I cannot speak to your government’s methods.”

  “What of their names? Do you know who was involved?”

  Shin looked off-screen for a moment and nodded to someone on the crew.

  “I know only the man who they slaughtered. My contact. He was an acquaintance of yours. Francois Adobo. Yes?”

  Joseph closed his eyes and lowered his head. The two men had been tense rivals, but Joseph’s tears fell as if he’d lost a brother.

  “He is the only one? You are certain?”

  “Yes, Ambassador.”

  Shin maintained his lie for the large group viewing his report. Later, he contacted Joseph by private channel and relayed the rest.

  An hour before the general assembly, Joseph stopped by Kara’s quarters. He did not stay long.

  “My beautiful grandson is dead.”

  He explained through tears what Shin related, including Maxwell assassinating Francois.

  “He used to be such a good boy,” Joseph said. “That monster was not Maxwell.”

  Joseph planned to return to the Kingdom at once, along with two representatives of the Federated Union.

  “We must learn what the government plans to do about this problem. They must not act with a violent impulse. We must save these young men and women who are being deceived by this evil church. And I must bury Maxwell.”

  Joseph shared the news with Kara because of her experience with Maxwell and his friends.

  “I thought he saw the light that day, Kara. He made progress. I never believed he would fall so far.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, Joseph …”

  “You have been a good friend, Kara. Continue to be. I know my departure will not help your efforts to save the conference, but I have spoken with my delegation. They are shaken, but they will stand beside those who believe we cannot break. The threat is more real than ever.”

  They hugged. Kara hoped it wasn’t for the last time.

  Shin’s report hurt more than the Zwahilis. He brought bad news to the Bolivan delegation, already reeling from the betrayal of five members, including their lead ambassador, Ola Osteen.

  Shin said a small group of fanatics, mostly mountain farmers and other workers with knives and rifles, stormed the Imperial Palace. They killed half the guard and took Queen Marta Leevo hostage.

  “Amayas informed my crew of these events after they took down the Zwahili terrorists. He told us to jump to Bolivar and work with the palace guard who were regrouping for an assault against the rabble. Like his earlier instructions, his vid was prerecorded. Again, he was a master of the future.

  “My SVs did most of the work. After they secured the palace and rescued Queen Leevo, they left the guard to clean up the mess. None of the fanatics survived, but a few carried a Tachtron reader with a memglass inserted. Instructions from their leader, who also happened to be the Queen’s Chief Advisor.”

  The Bolivan deputy ambassador broke down in sobs and raced from the room. Hours later, Kara heard talk of the entire delegation leaving ahead of the general assembly. She was shocked to see them enter with the other forty. Their presence triggered the first of the tide-turning events Kara never foresaw.

  The delegation’s new leader spoke hours into the fearsome debates.

  “We are here today at the behest of our beloved Queen. She has suffered greatly, and her injuries will not heal for weeks. Nevertheless, she sent a message to her people on the Aston James. She asks we remain and fight for Bolivar’s inclusion in the great union to come.

  “For too long, we were treated as the backwater of forty worlds. We will confront the danger at home while we work to achieve a greater future for our people. Prosperity on Bolivar will be our strongest weapon against the rise of a malignant ideology. We encourage the assembly to move ahead with the work.”

  Applause followed, an act of sympathy for the Bolivans but also support. The fear of infiltrators lessened. In a flash, Kara felt the momentum shift.

  Yet the earthquake that might have sealed resumption started with the largest man in the arena, and the most unexpected voice.

  Michael Cooper took the dais.

  He did not speak long or with the vulgar bravado for which he was known. Kara saw an extension of the shaken man who left the bridge after seeing Amayas Knight’s sacrifice.

  “The Aeternans have more to offer than you people know,” he said. “Truth be told, we owe a debt. If you vote to continue the conference, we’ll share all the technology you need to defend your worlds and grow your economies. I give you my word.”

  He stepped down from the dais and did not return to his delegation. Kara and Cando stared at each other in shock. Did that just happen?

  She looked across the arena to the immortals, whose jaws were agape. They appeared the most stunned.

  “If this is another one of his ploys,” Cando said.

  “He had a thousand witnesses, sweetie. I don’t think he’s lying.”

  “Why now? I thought he hated Amayas.”

  “I’m stumped. He spent four days antagonizing my committee.”

  Kara thought about asking Michael point-blank, but she doubted he’d provide a reason that wasn’t political. That night, long after the assembly voted to resume the conference, Kara doubted she would ever know.

  She and Cando ran into Exeter and his friend Rosa at a restaurant where they grabbed a late dinner. The immortals accepted her invitation to join them. They did not hide their relief at Michael’s dramatic change of heart. As for the reason?

  “It must be related to Amayas,” Exeter said. “But it’s about more than what Amayas did out there.”

  Rosa nodded. “Rikhi Syed told me Amayas visited the Minister yesterday. He says Michael was not pleased.”

  “Does he know what they discussed?”

  “No. He said the Inventor wasn’t there long, but Michael was unresponsive for hours. He refused to attend the second session.”

  “There’s more,” Exeter added. “Amayas cornered me at lunch. He said the Minister would not be a problem. He said we should trust Michael. He never explained himself. Typical Amayas.”

  Kara phrased her words with care.

  “Some of us believe Amayas had a method of foreseeing what was going to happen. Exeter, during your years with him, did he ever talk about such things?”

  He reached for his glass of sanque.

  “I was a kid. I didn’t understand ninety percent of what Amayas was up to. He was obsessed. I know that much.” He sniffed. “He sent me to another universe because, in his words, I was already there.” He laughed. “So yeah, he foresaw things.”

  Kara squeezed his hand.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to take you back there.”

  “It’s OK. I’m good. You know, it’s strange. Two men left me for dead. Ham and Amayas. Now they’re gone, and here I am. Is the universe trying to say something?”

  “Hmm.” Cando swirled his drink. “I wouldn’t listen to the universe, Exeter. Your heart has all the answers you’ll need.”

  Exeter lit up for the first time since they sat down.

  “Caleb says the same thing. He’s a huge believer in following the heart. It’s why I love him.”

  “They’re a wonderful couple,” Rosa said. “He’s also a Colonel in the AN. Very well respected.”

  “I’d like to meet him someday. You know, Exeter, I’ve been thinking about what Michael said at the assembly. If Aeterna is truly going to open its doors to the rest of us, we’ll probably start talks on integrating military operations. So far, it’s worked well with the Hokkaido security rotation. The immortals are trained soldiers. We’ll need their help with the millions who sign up for the new navy.”

  Exeter threw back his sanque and grinned.

  “Absolutely. Aeternans have so much to offer.”

  “But not just to train recruits, you understand. We’ll need ready-made officers. Men and women we can trust. We’ll need Captains. I’m fond of anyone who wore the black and fought at my side.”

  All eyes upon him, Exeter choked up.

  “Yes, sir. It would be an honor.”

  “Save the sir for another day. I’m not your commanding officer. At least not yet.”

  They shared a toast, a little moment of celebration to conclude a day of unexpected turns.

  The next morning, Kara and Cando prepared to leave for breakfast with the Hokkaidan delegation. The conference was scheduled to resume an hour later, its first hour the most critical.

  Kara suspected someone would raise a motion to rebrand the gathering. After all, it no longer took place in the Tranteum system. To allay fears of remaining in a stationary location known to the fanatics and the Swarm, Capt. Dunston and Earth VP Rikard agreed: The Aston James would spend the duration inside the great wormhole network the Fulcrum, always on the move.

  The choice, Kara thought, carried a heavy dose of irony. For centuries, the Fulcrum was the sole connective tissue between the forty worlds. Existing long before humanity ventured into space, the Fulcrum required many hours of travel between the nearest planets and up to eighteen days between the most distant. If the new age of mobile worm travel now being discussed came to pass, the Fulcrum would become the horse and buggy of interstellar travel.

  “OK,” Cando said. “Here we go again.”

  They kissed. “Again,” Kara said.

  They got as far as their door. A visitor waited outside.

  “Chief Philbin,” Cando said. “We’re on our way to breakfast. I hope there’s no more bad news.”

  “Not at all,” the Security Chief said. “Just a small thing I thought you should know. We removed Amayas Knight’s personals from his quarters. As you instructed, we’re sending his comms equipment to Scylla. But we found something unusual in his baggage.”