“Fine. I’ll speak with some friends at the conference and begin preparations to move.”

  Ham extended his hand. The mere act of sealing a deal with this lunatic repulsed Ham, but he’d shaken enough hands with the vilest of Chancellors to prep for this moment.

  Now he’d have to return to his friends and lie. They deserved better, but Amayas was right: The truth would undermine the future, not save it. He’d have to concoct a cover story and hope Leto and Force agreed to play along.

  “One last question, Amayas, and then we’ll leave. When you look through those mirrors, how much of the future do you see?”

  “It depends where I focus my mind. I don’t jump randomly between planets and universes.”

  “No, no. I mean distance. How far ahead in time do you see?”

  “With certainty? Days. If I linger on individual lives, I can stretch it to a few weeks. Beyond that, I extrapolate.”

  “Do you enjoy that power?”

  “Sometimes. I benefited from it for years.”

  “Now, not so much.”

  Amayas looked away with a wistful grin.

  “To be honest, it’s like a drug. When the Jewel taught me how to use them many years ago, I fell in love with the experience. It took years to master, and even then, I was bested.”

  “Oh? By whom? Shin?”

  “No. Royal.”

  A wave of surprising grief passed through Ham and disappeared. He had said goodbye to Ryllen Jee on Huryo more than a year ago and heard scattered reports about the immortal until he perished with Bonju Taron’s son over Hokkaido.

  “I heard about Ryll … Royal’s adventures in tethering. I didn’t know about the mirrors. He could read them?”

  Amayas smiled like a proud father.

  “It was mind-boggling. He exceeded my ability in weeks. Royal could walk through the forest and read a million future subsets in minutes. I never understood how he filtered out the insignificant without a care. At first, I attributed his talent to his pathology. But I don’t know. He was special. I never told him how much I admired his skill.”

  Ham knew that look – the mentor who missed an opportunity.

  “Royal had an obsessive personality,” Ham said. “It destroyed him from within. I tried to guide him, but he was beyond guidance.”

  “Hmm. Reckless. Unstable. Psychotic. Bloodthirsty. And at times, incredibly charming.”

  “In my experience, all the best killers have a soft side. It gets them in the door.”

  “In the end, he tried to do the right thing, Ham.”

  “So Bonju tells me. I don’t know if I believe this crazy tale of kidnapping and executing the Swarm’s Empress, but I don’t doubt Royal had the balls to try.”

  Ham started toward the exit.

  “When we meet at Tranteum, we’ll act as if we haven’t seen each other since the last time you visited Scylla. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll transfer your comm protocols to me. Remember, Amayas. Beck and call. Tranteum will settle the future. Don’t fuck this up.”

  4

  City of Aquillas

  Planet: Bolivar

  Standard Day 165, SY 5367

  O LA OSTEEN SMILED FOR THE LOWEST as she whispered into her Queen’s ear. No matter how much Ola urged the monarch to avoid dawdling, Queen Marta Leevo took time outside the registration center to thank every volunteer in the winding queue. She acknowledged the mothers who stood abreast of their children, giving permission for their first-born to join the galactic service. Queen Marta even managed to encourage the tattooed men and women who came alone, chosen by lottery among the sanitation caste.

  “You do honor to our people,” the Queen told each volunteer, though she did not touch the tattooed. If she broke public tradition, scandal would undermine the royal court.

  Ola had advised her of protocol before they landed in this dry and dirty highlands town. The Queen seemed amused at her chief advisor’s concern but said all the right things.

  “I know my people, and they know me,” Marta said with a curt smile. “If I extend a hand to the lowest, they know better than to reciprocate. They understand their place.”

  But did Marta? Ola wasn’t sure. The Queen’s policies became more progressive when the Chancellors withdrew, and she spouted ideas of class equanimity after spending time with a Splinter. Her counterparts in other universes opened Marta’s eyes to unexpected horizons – just not the one Ola wanted her to see.

  After the Queen acknowledged each volunteer, Ola handed them a ch’lana. The palm-sized biscuit, made from guava, rice, and joolen flour then imprisoned inside a crystalline sugar mold, carried the royal seal. The volunteers studied the biscuit with awe and befuddlement. Should they eat it? Perhaps she meant it as a token of gratitude to be passed down like a family heirloom.

  “He is your oldest?” The Queen asked a frail woman in a brilliant floral robe. The woman, following conservative rites, did not look Marta in the eyes.

  “He is now, Highness,” the woman said. “My oldest was lost to me in the building of the dam.”

  The son appeared to be late twenties, a babe on a planet where the average life span exceeded a hundred thirty. He did not follow his mother’s lead; rather, he stared at the Queen with quiet, defiant eyes.

  “How dreadful,” Marta said. “He died in the San Pao disaster?”

  “He did, Highness. Texxo was the foreman.”

  “It’s been several years, but as I recall, the foreman was credited with saving many lives through his fast actions.”

  “Yes, Highness. My son was a hero.”

  “Indeed. And now, your next son will become a hero among the stars.” She faced the young man, whose bushy beard and rugged stature suggested a mountain farmer. “Your mother has shown remarkable courage in giving you permission to join this fight. I’m sure you will honor her sacrifice.”

  “I will, Highness, but Mother had no role in my decision. She is here today because of the old ways. No more.”

  Marta did not take her eyes off the young man. Yet to Ola’s pleasant surprise, the Queen did not show umbrage.

  “We have come to a time of great change. The independence of the young and the demands of the old are often in conflict. Yet here you stand, shoulder to shoulder. You did not forget the central tenet of a Bolivan: Family first and last.”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  The Queen moved on, oblivious to the transaction behind her. Ola lingered on the young farmer, just to make sure he was the right man. Her covert last met eight standard days ago, and the lighting was poor. These mountain farmers looked so much alike.

  There it is!

  The farmer swiped at his left brow with one finger.

  The sign.

  Ola took a ch’lana from the open case held by her assistant. With the deft touch of a magician, she retrieved a memglass from beneath her shirt sleeve and slipped it under the biscuit, which she placed in the man’s palm. He closed his fingers around it. When Ola swiped her brow, the farmer looked away.

  He was the second of three. Ola did not yet see the third, but the line extended around the street corner. He’d best be here. If he backed out at the last hour, she’d never forgive him.

  The Queen acknowledged a pair of volunteers from the sanitation caste but kept her hands to herself. Their tiny tattoo – IOIO – beneath the chin gave them away. Yet their menacing glares announced why Marta agreed to draw from the lowest caste. Trouble was in their blood – literally. Their families’ long criminal legacy and exclusion from genetic therapy options meant they were begging for a fight. If the new galactic navy required front-line killers, these men would happily lead the way.

  The debate had lasted for days among the Queen’s Council and centered on one question: Who would best represent Bolivar in an interstellar force to protect against a full Swarm invasion? Bolivar was the poorest, least populated of the former Collectorate planets. It had been an afterthought during the Chancellory’s reign and withered further until Amayas Knight made an offer the upper castes could not resist. They never took their role in the shadow Alliance for granted, following the Inventor’s instructions to the letter during those formative years. Now, with the public Alliance five standard months old and the Swarm attack on Hokkaido known across forty worlds, the Queen’s Council acted. Bolivar needed to demonstrate its value, or it might be forgotten once again.

  “Every caste will join the defense,” the Queen announced. “Though voluntary, we ask the first born of each household, not to exceed age fifty, and with at least two younger siblings, to consider service.”

  Her eldest son, Prince Ademar, stepped forward as proof of his mother’s pledge. Within days, the lines formed outside registration centers. More than five thousand men and women heeded the call.

  Ola made sure her acolytes met with their local coordinator and received Ola’s instructions before reporting. Today’s line in Aquillas marked her first chance to see them in the light of day.

  For now, a hand signal and a sheet of memglass would have to do. Ola summed up her message in one word: Patience.

  “When our numbers are in place, we will shout for all to hear,” she told the coverts.

  Today felt like a crucial step forward, but it was one of many.

  “Inspiring,” the Queen said after they reached the end of the line. As they walked toward their shuttle, she leaned in to her advisor. “So many more than expected have taken up the cause, Ola. The Splinter distribution made the difference, I believe.”

  “It helped, Highness, but your word still carries enormous weight after all these decades. Ademar’s decision as well.”

  “Perhaps. Yet I am concerned about the long-term stability of a town such as Aquillas. Have we asked them to sacrifice too much experience? I think our quotas may have been too generous.”

  “No, Highness. Remember what the Lord Mayor said earlier? He took pride in his community giving something of itself to build for a greater future. His own daughter, who runs their schools, will join the fight. Like others, she’ll one day return with fresh ideas and innovation.”

  The Queen crossed her hands over her chest.

  “Yes. An investment. That’s how we’ll think of it.”

  “Our people yearn for respect among off-worlders, Highness. The Chancellory treated Bolivar as the backwater of the Collectorate. The Inventor opened a crucial door. Now circumstance allows us to sit at the table with the richest planets. It’s overdue.”

  “Take care with your words, Ola. Bolivans seek to improve their lives, but we’re not a people with vaulting ambition. We must temper our expectations, or we will lose our collective identity.”

  “Understood, Highness.”

  Ola used to appreciate the Queen’s circumspection. Of late, however, the hesitant message grew tiresome. Every time Marta threatened to lead her people two steps forward, she retreated by one. Ola served the court long enough to understand why: A new-look Bolivar might end the monarchy. Under the Collectorate, the Queen wielded narrow power, with most laws mandated through Chancellor Sanctums. When those bureaucratic creatures fled, all legislative control fell to the monarchy. Everyone heard the whispers across Bolivar: Was the Queen a relic to be discarded?

  To which Ola would have shouted an emphatic, “Yes, please!”

  Yet Ola wanted to live to old age, so she kept her mouth shut.

  For now.

  The Queen stopped at her transport’s egress and looked out onto the town, which had aged with neglect. Cargo rifters shared space on the dusty streets with horse-pulled carts. Vendors who brought their wares into Aquillas from the nearby mountain farms haggled with their customers to sell melons, tubers, and legumes. It was a simple life and an ancient one, but time was running out on Aquillas. This town used to thrive before the Chancellors built a dam two kilometers downstream. The river commerce alone used to make Aquillas a regional hotbed.

  Now?

  Ola knew what the Queen did not want to admit: The long line in this town was not a product of Marta’s call or distribution of Splinters. These people came here out of desperation. They did not know what galactic service paid, except it would be more than anything available in this region.

  “Bolivans are humble,” Marta said. “We must not change.”

  Ola followed the Queen onto the transport without comment.

  Don’t worry, Marta. God will keep us humble.

  After they buckled in, the Queen reviewed her itinerary on a tablet. She sighed after seeing the next two stops.

  “Textile towns.”

  “Ex-textile,” Ola corrected her.

  “Our scouts say their recruitment lines are longer. It’s quite sad, actually. We did try to help them. I thought the cash reserves we provided would turn their fortunes.”

  “Poor management, Highness. It happens.”

  “Once we reestablish interstellar trade deals, we’ll be able to renovate and restart those mills.”

  “You’ll have a long line of bidders for those contracts, Highness. Mills like those won’t have the resources to compete.”

  The Queen set aside her tablet.

  “You might be right, Ola. You’re often far ahead of me on these matters. We must press our case for expedited deals. The Tranteum Conference will be crucial to meet our goals.”

  This wasn’t the time for Ola to tell her Queen the truth, so she took a different tack.

  “Remember your own words about vaulting ambition, Highness? Consider them now. Tranteum will be focused primarily on military and political concerns. Commercial trade is a secondary issue. The major parties agreed it cannot be a point of emphasis until we’ve solved the Swarm problem.”

  Marta took Ola by the hand.

  “That’s why I have you, Ola. I know you will find like minds on this issue. Speaking of which, are you and the delegation excited?”

  “Thrilled beyond words. Late tomorrow, we’ll be on a starship eighty-two light-years away.”

  “Excellent. I’d go myself, of course, but space travel terrifies me. I’m a silly woman. After what happened to my brothers … well …”

  “You belong with your people. We’ll serve Bolivar proudly.”

  Ola never tried to talk Marta into attending the most important interstellar conference in human history. She considered the Queen’s decision a stroke of luck. Without Marta at Tranteum, the diplomatic team would be as unfettered as Ola needed.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Highness, I must attend to myself.”

  Ola entered the privy at the cabin’s rear and splashed ice-cold water onto her face.

  “Are you there, Issa?”

  She asked the question deep inside her mind and soon felt a prickly sensation. Her mind’s eye focused on a new presence, which emerged through a lit tunnel.

  “I’ve waited with a patient heart,” a woman replied.

  “It’s coming together, Issa. Every move they make serves our best interest.”

  The bald woman across the divide wore a dark gray tunic. Her oval brown eyes mirrored Ola’s sister Onya. They screamed serenity.

  “Your believers are committed, Ola?”

  “They’re at peace with what must be done, though they do carry an understandable burden.”

  “If any should hesitate, Ola, remind them: The God of All Universes will carry the greatest burden, and He will act on their behalf once they show fealty toward Him.”

  That was the most important lesson Issa taught her in the years since they connected through the Splinter. Humans carried too much weight; God made it His mission to relieve their suffering. In exchange, He demanded devotion and a cleansing of Disbelievers.

  Ola wasn’t the only Bolivan who discovered this truth, either following the Inventor’s selective induction into the shadow Alliance or after he deposited ten thousand Splinters planetwide. They found personal sanctuary with their counterparts on a planet of the same name and whose dedication to God was generations in the making.

  “Issa, I have no doubt in the rightness of our cause, but I can’t be certain our plan will succeed. Disbelievers will outnumber us by many.”

  Issa sat at a long dinner table eating with other bald men and women. Ola saw three small children at the far end. All carried the tattoo of the scorpion under their right ear. Issa spoke.

  “Before the Crusade purged our Bolivar of the Disbelievers and I became a priestess, we were outnumbered three hundred to one. The Holy Risen Church proved the power of God can defeat all enemies, no matter their size. Fight on, Ola. Never despair. Our God belongs to all universes. When it is time, He will shine His light upon the Converted, and you will proclaim His glory with righteous fire and damnation upon the Disbelievers.”

  Ola tapped her face dry and felt reinvigorated.

  “God bless, Issa. May the light shine upon you.”

  Ola returned to her naïve Queen’s side and made silent plans. She knew where to deliver the righteous fire. She needed only to answer two questions: When and how?

  She’d figure those out after she arrived at Tranteum.

  5

  The Origin

  R OYAL HAD THE CRAZY IDEA to kill a mountain lion with his bare hands. The creature had been stalking them for days, waiting to strike. They’d see his eyes glow at night, like the protostars drifting across the great tunnel in the sky. It prowled their campsite’s perimeter, circling and growling.

  “It’s gonna strike when we’re both asleep,” Royal told Moon, who wanted nothing to do with a bare-knuckle slugfest.

  “Which is why we rotate naps, Royal. It’s bound to grow tired of us after a while.”

  “Yeah, no. How about this theory? It knows we’re both immortal.”

  Moon pushed hair out of his face while he shoved a stick through the fire, launching a shower of embers.

  “How? And what difference would it make?”

  “The how is easy. It saw you fall over the cliff a few days back and bust your head wide open. It watched you spring to life not a minute later. The animals in this place got a strong instinct for shit that don’t die. I sense it.”