“How long before rejection becomes life-threatening?”

  “A few days. For now, we monitor. Your physiognomy varied from my usual patients. I’ve never performed this procedure on a Chancellor who underwent recursion therapy. The additional trauma may be slowing the healing process.”

  A few months after securing Aeterna’s freedom, Valentin chose the path of many ex-Guard vets: He secured a chemical treatment designed to reverse the effects of brontinium extract. For centuries, Chancellor children received the extract from infancy. It exploded their physical and intellectual growth. They became seven-foot goliaths by fourteen, when most joined the Unification Guard. Those who left the service had little need for enhancements, beyond ego fulfillment. Valentin finished the often-painful therapy a month before he left Aeterna behind. He was taller than most indigos, but his musculature diminished to less conspicuous proportions.

  Amayas stayed inside the private wing of Blanc’s remote island facility and hoped the doctor was right. At the least, Carib staff served extraordinary meals unique to this tropical island. Two days later, most of the bruising faded. He grew confident enough to take strolls on a sandy beach in a hidden cove.

  This also happened to be a favorite getaway for a pair of local boys. Valentin lounged on a rock one evening, the sun pink and red in the final hour before it set, when the boys arrived barefoot and shirtless.

  They stared with suspicion. Who was in the wrong? This was private property. Amayas allayed their fears with a smile and soft greeting.

  “Do you live close by?” He asked.

  They drew near. Amayas guessed they were about twelve.

  “Everyone ‘round these parts is a throw away, hereabout.”

  The boy, who said his name was Macon, carried the peculiar dialect Amayas heard from Blanc’s staff.

  “Ain’t but ten miles line to line,” said the other boy, Andy. “You hanging about for the doc?”

  “I am. You know Dr. Blanc?”

  “Everyone know Man Blanc from Siesma Tree to the Four Rock. He brung us into the world.”

  “I see. Do your parents work on his staff?”

  The boys snickered.

  “Nobody work for Man Blanc. They help when he calls.”

  “What? Everyone at his facility volunteers?”

  “Ohya,” Macon said. “His coin is no good on Salvador.”

  “Interesting. Why’s that?”

  “He helps everyone, no charge. Mother says it has always been.”

  The Kristof Blanc he knew spent twenty years in the Guard, most of it in Special Services Master Projects Division. He was one of the most famous Chancellors to turn nativist before the Fall of the Collectorate. When he was a child, Valentin’s parents spoke viciously of the man after he disappeared into the colonies. He was one of their leading competitors in biogenetic engineering, but they feared he would share his techniques with the indigos. They didn’t hide their disgust – or their desire for the Admiralty to hunt him down and kill him. Amayas wondered how Blanc proved so elusive. Now, that picture might have cleared a bit. If Blanc was so generous with the islanders, they likely shielded him from outside eyes.

  “What do you mean by ‘always,’ Macon? Dr. Blanc arrived here about ten years ago.”

  “First Man Blanc was here before. They say, thirty years.”

  “What? His father?”

  “Ohya.”

  A family business. Nativist Chancellors looking out for the locals. In one sense, Amayas thought it admirable. Perhaps these men looked at their work here as redemption for the sins of their caste, or even their own horrible deeds in service to the Guard. They found purpose; Valentin related. Yet he also suspected there had to be more. Was it possible for a Chancellor heart to become so unwound that it gave to others purely for charity’s sake?

  After Amayas healed, he intended to return to The Hold and continue his work. He learned so much in the first seven months.

  He found his new name when studying future subsets on the planet Cairns. A small town’s mayor, who served in the role for seventy years, died with a huge family at his bedside and a funeral that brought in people from neighboring regions. He was known only as “Mayor Knight,” as if his birth name was long forgotten. When a chorus sang an original song in the mayor’s honor, Valentin heard a different sound – the one he took as his own.

  When he reached the point where colonial travel became a necessity, Amayas sought out a solution to his facial recognition problem. His mastery of the mirrors led him toward this island on Everdeen. The region was known for certain practices – none savory – but Blanc’s particular talents drew little attention. The sex trade might have been the perfect distraction.

  “Tell me about your island,” Amayas asked the boys. “When I’m healthy enough, I’d like to venture out. What’s worth seeing?”

  Andy shrugged. “Whachu like?”

  “Oh, I like good food. I like to swim. I don’t fish. How about entertainment? Anything I’ll enjoy in the closest town?”

  The boys glanced at each other like little demons.

  “Ohya, Mariatown!” Andy said. “Two miles down shore. Open all night. Big once for tourists, they say. Not so big with no Chancellors.”

  “Why would it have been big with Chancellors? They weren’t much known for sight-seeing.”

  Valentin knew the answer, but he wanted confirmation.

  “It weren’t for seeing,” Macon said, holding back a chuckle. “It was for having, if you take my words.”

  “I do.”

  “You a Chancellor?”

  “Not anymore.”

  The boys shared a quizzical stare.

  “How you stop being a Chancellor?”

  “Will you always be boys?”

  “No, but …”

  “You’ll grow into men. You’ll see the world differently. You might even decide to leave Everdeen.”

  The possibility drew a hearty laugh.

  “Wouldn’t you boys like to see what’s out there?”

  Andy threw up his hands.

  “Ohna. We got everything we need here.”

  Macon added: “Traders make sure we have plenty for all.”

  “Traders? You mean for the tourists who want to have, not see.”

  “Ohya.”

  “I thought the Chancellors hurt the trade when they left.”

  “Now they come from the cities. It is said they pay less but there is more.”

  “I see. A volume business.”

  Macon snapped his fingers.

  “Ohya. That’s the word they call it now.”

  “You think it’s right what the traders sell?”

  “Not our business. We fish. More customers for the trade means better for the family.”

  For more than a century, Caribs in the independent tropical enclaves of Everdeen thrived in sex slavery. It wasn’t unique in the Collectorate, but it was notorious. Their youngest “products” drew the biggest-paying clients. The Chancellors and their ruling Sanctums looked away while their Carriers parked in orbit. After they left, only a few Carib voices attempted reform. From what these boys suggested, nothing was progressing on that front.

  “I’d like to visit Mariatown,” Amayas said. “I have no interest in taking. Is there anywhere I might patronize? A fine meal, perhaps?”

  “Ohya. Any bistro on the strand,” Macon said. “Best fish on all Salvador. They buy from our families.”

  “If I stayed overnight, is there lodging not related to the trade?”

  The boys hesitated. Andy rubbed his chin.

  “What about the house on Boule C?” He asked Macon.

  “Ohya. Few customers, though. Might be right for him.”

  “What is your name?” Andy asked.

  “Amayas.”

  “Go to Boule C, No. 9. You will see old woman Harkey on the front porch. She is a mad cow. She pays another woman to manage the house. You will like her. She also was a Chancellor.”

  “Really? Another ex-Chancellor so close by? What are the odds?”

  “She has a boy, too. He stays inside. We only hear stories.”

  Soon thereafter, Andy and Macon ran off without a farewell. The sun dipped below the horizon. After dinner, Amayas approached Dr. Blanc with what he learned.

  “Why are you curious about the town, Amayas? You’re healing well. You’ll be off in your Scramjet in a few days.”

  “I live alone, Kristof. When I return, I’ll be alone again. A couple of days among the people will do me good.”

  “Hmm. The woman those boys referenced is Katherine Woolsey. She was Carrier-born to a prominent descendancy. She spent eight years on the Sanctum for this region, mostly causing trouble for our kind and the Caribs. She spoke against the trade. She developed a small but vocal following among locals. She was trying to rescue young slaves when the Carriers evacuated. Katherine and a boy she saved spent months in hiding during anti-Chancellor reprisals. They found refuge on Salvador. People tend to be more forgiving here.”

  “It’s a vile trade, Kristof.”

  “True, but our caste did far worse over the centuries. Don’t judge the Caribs until you know the history. The Chancellors owned almost everything of value on this planet. The Caribs took what they could.”

  Two days later, with only two post-operative bruises visible, Amayas strolled through Mariatown with a small bag slung over his shoulder. It felt ancient, like a fishing village of pre-historical Earth. Yet it was also clean, alive, and full of color. People rocked in chairs and smoked from long, rolled leaf. Open-air music featuring drums and bells lent a certain revelry. Dogs of many breeds ran wild through the streets.

  The wooden house at Boule C, No. 9 was deep and narrow, two stories tall. Ferns hung from chains on the porch. Amayas found old woman Harkey – the so-called “mad cow” – rocking and knitting. Before he knocked on the front door, she pointed at Amayas with bloodshot eyes and a delirium in her voice.

  “You tell your wife: She is not to make the payment to those hoynas on the council. They are trying to steal from us. Ohna.”

  She picked up her knitting and resumed.

  Amayas tried again to knock, but the inner door opened before he had the chance. A blonde woman with haggard features, hair in a ponytail, and wearing an airy blouse stared up at Amayas. She allowed a secret smile to escape.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been told you might have a room. I wish to stay for a night.”

  “I offer a room and a meal. Nothing more. You understand?”

  “I have no interest in the trade.”

  “Good. I will not have it in my house.”

  Harkey must have been listening, for she yelled out:

  “My house! Tell your husband, it is my house!”

  “Yes, Moola. Your house.”

  She allowed Amayas inside.

  “I apologize. She’s having a difficult time.”

  “Seems to think I’m your husband.”

  “You’re the only Chancellor to grace this house outside of Man Blanc. He gave her medicine some months ago. It hasn’t helped. I do what I can for Moola. She’s been fair to me and my son.”

  “You have a boy? How wonderful.”

  She studied him. “Your bruises are strange. Might I ask?”

  “Man Blanc. He helped me. I must be honest. He explained your situation. I know your name is Katherine Woolsey. I am Amayas Knight. You might say I am also a reformed Chancellor.”

  She asked him to join her in the front parlor.

  “What are your intentions, Amayas?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are no Chancellors around here anymore. The reprisals killed most of us who missed the evacuation. I live because I have protection and I am quiet. Man Blanc serves the indigos, so they shield him. Why would you venture into Mariatown?”

  “For a diversion while my injuries heal. And as I said, I am not a client for the trade. It disgusts me.”

  “Are you a nativist? Are you running?”

  “No. I took a different path after the Chancellory fell.”

  “I don’t hear much off-world news. Is the Collectorate truly finished? Many Caribs believe the Chancellors will regroup and return.”

  “I think the Aeternans put an end to that notion.”

  “Who?”

  He mused at just how out of touch she was.

  “A planet of immortal children. You remember Salvation. Yes?”

  “The terrorists who attacked the Carriers.”

  “Eventually, they took the planet we called Hiebimini. They defeated a Chancellor invasion and rebranded themselves as Aeternans.”

  She dropped her face into her hands.

  “How did I not know this? I’ve missed so much.”

  “For good reason, I understand. Man Blanc told me how you stood up to the trade and rescued a child from slavery. That sort of courage among a Chancellor is rare, let alone having a conscience.”

  “I did what I could. It wasn’t much.”

  “You saved one boy. More than anyone else would have done.”

  She rose from her chair and straightened her blouse.

  “Enough for now. I’ll show you to your room. We dine in two hours, if that suits you?”

  “I’ll follow your routine.”

  The second-floor bedroom was simple but clean and sufficient for his needs. He had a private bath, which was helpful for applying the injections Dr. Blanc required. The room overlooked a tiny, fenced-in garden to the rear. A fruit tree in a giant pot, rambling weeds, vines, and rusted furniture made for an odd collection. He quickly lost interest – until a tiny smoke signal rose from a corner adjacent to the house.

  A boy stood against the fence, pulling on a long, thin cylinder of brown rolled leaf, which dangled from the corner of his lips. He puffed continuously, smoke rising in thick clouds that obscured his features. He smoked with disinterest, his eyes locked in a forever gaze, as if it was an automated procedure. Amayas thought he looked big enough to be ten or eleven, though the eyes suggested much longer life. Neither Man Blanc nor Katherine noted his most distinctive feature: He was a blond child of Anglo-European descent.

  He was a Chancellor.

  This was the boy she saved from slavery?

  By dinnertime, his questions expanded.

  He sat with Katherine and Moola Harkey. The boy did not appear, nor did Katherine set a place for him. They ate in relative silence. Moola savaged her meal and quickly filled the plate with seconds. She made a reference to Katherine’s husband taking so long to return home from the hunt, but said nothing more.

  “This is outstanding,” he told Katherine. “I will remember Salvador for its food.”

  “I’ve had to learn. Moola taught me how to cook … well, before.”

  The old woman seemed oblivious to the conversation.

  “Do you see yourself staying here for the long run?”

  “I don’t know where I’d go.”

  “There’s always Earth. I hear the repatriation is coming along. I’m sure you and your son would be allowed to stake a claim.”

  “Two hundred light-years away. I’ve never lived beyond Everdeen’s orbit. I might not have the best circumstance, but leaving here is no guarantee I’ll find better.”

  “Yes. It can be difficult to leave home behind. It’s often …”

  The back door opened. The blond-haired boy entered without a word and made a line for the stove. He took a plate and stacked it high with the evening’s fare. He grabbed a bottle with green beverage and turned to leave.

  “Exeter,” Katherine said. “We have a guest.”

  The quiet boy pivoted toward the table but never raised his eyes to meet Amayas.

  “Hello.” He turned to Katherine. “May I go now?”

  “Yes, Son. Enjoy your dinner.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  The boy disappeared into a room beneath the stairs and closed the door behind him.

  “Please excuse him, Amayas. He doesn’t eat with strangers. He won’t even sit many meals with Moola and myself.”

  “Why?”

  “He was a slave for five years. He was never allowed to eat with anyone. What you just saw is considerable progress. He acknowledged you. If I’m able to sit down with him for two hours just to go over his lessons, I consider it a triumph. All he knew of relations with humans was vile and demented. He’s a good boy, Amayas. He wants to love and give love, but it’s hard for him.”

  “I saw him out back earlier, smoking. He seemed empty.”

  “Slavers start their children on leaf and liquor early. It makes them more pliable for the clients. I’ve weaned him off the liquor, but I allow him leaf. It calms him. Sometimes, Exeter acts out and he doesn’t know why. He screams in his sleep. He’ll be tortured the rest of his life.”

  Moola banged the table.

  “Evil motherfuckers. Ohya.”

  She returned to the front porch without another word. Katherine set down her fork and pushed away her half-eaten dinner.

  “You can imagine, we don’t have many paying guests.”

  “I admire you, Katherine. You’re giving the boy a chance, and I suspect you’ve lost everything in the process.”

  “More or less. I was planning to walk away from the whole filthy business until I found Exeter. I was touring a hospital. He’d been there three days recovering from wounds that probably should have killed him, or so the doctors said. He was badly beaten and stabbed by a client. Normally, the slavers don’t bother with medical aid, but Exeter was one of their best products. The Chancellors paid heavily for him, especially the ones who didn’t care for indigos.”

  “But one of their own caste? That seems out of bounds, even for their sorry lot.”

  “They knew he wasn’t purebred Chancellor. The owners purchased him through a special arrangement.”

  “What do you mean? Who sold him?”

  “I didn’t believe it at first. They said Exeter was part of an Earth project. That he was designed, not born. His adopted parents used him as a sexual treat for barbarians.”

  Amayas suspected as much, but Katherine confirmed it. Wounds that should have killed him. The boy was not just a project. He was a Bouchet immortal.

  Amayas never had the chance to kill his parents, but this here would have been motive enough. He helped Katherine clear the table and set his mind to work.