Another man walked up to Adam, pushing a wheelchair toward the Range Rover's rear passenger-side door.

  "For Mr. Harris," Adam explained. "We thought he might appreciate not having to walk."

  Harris eyed the wheelchair with obvious distaste, but the long flight and the transfer from vehicle to vehicle had clearly taken a toll. "Fine," he muttered. "But only because my ankle is screaming at me."

  The attendant helped Harris into the chair and then retrieved his crutches, laying them across the chair's arms for Harris to hold in place.

  Brennik emerged from the front seat. Straightening his jacket, he turned to Adam. "Get them situated," he said. "Room assignments, medical evaluation for Mr. Harris, whatever else they need."

  "Of course."

  Brennik turned back to them, his warm smile returning. "Welcome again, Mr. Marshall, Mr. Harris. I have other matters requiring my attention, but Adam will take excellent care of you. We'll speak more once you've had a chance to get settled."

  He extended his hand, and both Harris and Evan shook it again.

  "Thank you," Evan said. "For everything."

  "Thank me when we've accomplished something worth thanking us for." Brennik released his grip and turned away, walking toward a bank of elevators at the far end of the garage.

  Adam watched him go, obvious respect and admiration in his expression. Then he turned back to Evan and Harris.

  "So," he said, "how about a tour?"

  26

  Adam led them down a corridor that branched off from the main vehicle bay, the wheelchair's wheels humming softly against polished concrete. The walls were the same neutral gray as the garage, but at intervals, framed photographs—landscapes, cityscapes, mountain ranges, coastlines from around the world—appeared. Evan recognized a few of them. The Grand Canyon. The Swiss Alps. The Great Wall of China.

  "We have teams everywhere," Adam explained, noticing Evan's attention. "Those photos were taken by our people during operations. Kind of a tradition. Bring back something beautiful from wherever you've been."

  The corridor opened into a junction where multiple hallways intersected. Signs—MEDICAL, TRAINING, RESIDENTIAL, OPERATIONS—marked the different directions.

  "The whole complex connects to every building on the surface," Adam said. "The farmhouse, the barns, the camp."

  "Camp?" Harris asked from his wheelchair.

  "That's what we call it for the visitors who come for the apple-picking. Summer camp for kids, team-building retreats for corporate groups. In reality, it's our barracks. Forty beds, communal facilities, the works." Adam gestured down one of the corridors. "Most of our operational personnel rotate through there when they're between assignments. Keeps them close, keeps them sharp."

  They turned down the corridor marked TRAINING. The space opened up considerably, the ceiling rising to accommodate what lay ahead.

  A shooting range stretched along the left side of the corridor, separated from the main passage by thick glass panels. Evan counted twelve lanes, each equipped with electronic target systems more advanced than anything he'd seen at civilian ranges. Three people were currently practicing—two men and a woman, their shots muffled to a distant popping by the soundproofing.

  "Full capability down here," Adam said. "Pistol, rifle, shotgun. We've got a separate area for explosives training about half a mile out, accessed through a tunnel. Can't risk that kind of noise this close to the surface."

  Beyond the range, the corridor widened into a gymnasium that would have made any fitness center jealous. Free weights lined one wall, their chrome surfaces gleaming under the overhead lights. Cardio equipment occupied another section. A rack of kettlebells stood near a section of padded flooring marked with painted circles.

  "Hand-to-hand training area," Adam explained, nodding toward the mats opposite the gym equipment. "We teach our own martial art form here, a derivative of Krav Maga, Muay Thai, jiu-jitsu, and Kirish."

  "I've never heard of Kirish," Harris said.

  "It's an Oridian discipline," Adam replied. "Mr. Tal brought it to Earth with him. It's similar to aikido, only a bit more violent."

  "I want in on that."

  "Me, too," Evan agreed.

  Adam chuckled. "Then we'll get you in our next beginners class. I'm sure you'll progress quickly, at least at first. Mr. Harris, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until your injuries have healed."

  "Just Harris, if you don't mind," the other man replied.

  "Of course."

  A man in workout clothes was currently running through forms on the mats, his movements precise and controlled. He nodded to Adam as they passed but didn't break his routine.

  "How many people work out of this facility?" Evan asked.

  "Varies. Anywhere from fifty to two hundred, depending on operational tempo. Right now we're on the lower end. A lot of our assets are deployed after the Texas operation. Consolidating what we took, establishing new safe houses, monitoring faction responses."

  They continued through the training section into another corridor. This one had a different feel. Quieter, more academic. "Education wing," Adam said.

  He stopped at a doorway and pushed it open, revealing a room that could have been lifted from any school. Desks arranged in rows. A whiteboard at the front.

  "Classrooms for our younger members," Adam explained. "The children born into the Guard don't just learn math and science. They learn about Oridian. About where we came from, why we exist, what we're fighting for."

  "You have children here?" Harris asked.

  "Some of our people have families. We're not a military unit that ships everyone off to boarding school. The Guard is a community. Kids grow up knowing the truth about the galaxy, about the factions, about everything. By the time they're adults, they can make an informed choice about whether to join our operations or live normal lives."

  "And if they choose normal lives?"

  "We don't force anyone into this. Almost all of them choose to stay." Adam's expression carried something that might have been pride. "It's hard to go back to pretending the world is simple once you know what's really out there."

  They moved on, passing more classrooms before arriving at what Adam called the library. The room was larger than Evan had expected. Two stories of shelving rose toward a high ceiling fitted with recessed lighting that cast an even glow across the reading tables scattered throughout the space. Rolling ladders provided access to the upper levels, and comfortable chairs were positioned in alcoves along the walls.

  "This is where you'll spend a lot of your time," Adam said to Evan. "Everything we know about Maker technology, Oridian history, and plenty of other stuff is all here."

  "I feel like I could spend a lifetime here and not get through everything," Evan said.

  "Luckily, you don't need to go through everything. But I expect it'll take you a year or two to get through the most important ones."

  "We don't have that long."

  "We'll get you up to speed on the essentials within a month. I promise."

  Adam led them past the stacks to a door at the back of the library. He knocked twice.

  "Come in."

  A woman sitting at a desk in the center of a combination office-workshop looked up from a stack of papers as they entered. She appeared to be in her early thirties despite the threads of gray showing at the temples of dark brown hair she wore cut severely short. It was a style that did nothing to soften the sharpness of her prominent nose, strong jaw, and high cheekbones. The lack of makeup as well, along with her simple gray sweater, dark pants, and work boots further emphasized her boyish look. Shelves filled with books, folders, and notebooks lined the walls around her.

  "Adam." She set down the pen she was holding. "These are the new arrivals?"

  "Yes. Evan Marshall and Jason Harris." Adam gestured to each of them in turn. "Gentlemen, this is Sasha Tal. Brennik's granddaughter and one of our foremost experts on all things Maker."

  Sasha extended her hand to Evan first, her grip firm and businesslike. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Marshall. It's not every day someone stumbles across a working effigy and figures out how to use it without any guidance."

  "Mostly luck," Evan said.

  "Luck gets you started. Skill keeps you alive." She released his hand and turned to Harris, offering the same firm handshake. "Mr. Harris. Welcome to the Guard."

  She turned back to Evan. "I understand you've been documenting what you've found aboard the Ascendant."

  "As much as I can. Johnson and I went over my notes on the flight up. He helped clarify some things for me, but..."

  "But there's a limit to what general knowledge can tell you about a specific ship." Sasha nodded. "The Makers were maddening in the way they constantly developed new symbolic shorthand. It's amazing you were able to operate the Ascendant at all. We'll need to go through everything you've recorded. Whatever you've learned, however fragmentary, could fill in gaps in our understanding of Maker engineering. And what I know can help fill in gaps in your understanding as well."

  "I'm happy to share whatever I've got. Beyond what I can memorize, I wish I could bring the owner's manual back with me."

  "There's an owner's manual?" Adam asked.

  "On a transparent iPad like thing," Evan answered. "At least, I think it's what qualifies as an owner's manual."

  "We'll schedule time once you're settled." Sasha's attention shifted to something behind Evan, and her expression warmed slightly. "Garabon. Perfect timing."

  Evan turned to find an older man standing in the open doorway. He was maybe sixty, with a face that seemed carved from weathered stone. Deep lines bracketed his eyes and mouth. His nose had been broken at least once, and his skin carried the permanent tan of someone who'd spent decades under the hot sun. Long, gray, and thinning, his hair was pulled back in a short ponytail that seemed at odds with the rest of his severe appearance.

  "I heard voices I didn't recognize. I thought I would say hello." The man's voice was deep, carrying an accent Evan couldn't place. Something European, maybe. Or something that had started out European and been worn smooth by years of living elsewhere.

  "Evan Marshall, Jason Harris—this is Garabon Garibaldi. He'll be teaching you Oridian Standard."

  Garabon's eyes moved between the two of them. "A pleasure to meet both of you gentlemen," he said. "Please, call me Gee Gee."

  "Nice to meet you, Gee Gee," Harris said. "Good call on the name."

  Gee Gee laughed, his eyes settling back on Evan. "You're the one with the effigy."

  "That's right."

  "Then you're the one I'll be spending most of my time with." Gee Gee stepped into the room. "I've never taught an outsider Oridian before. This should be interesting."

  "How long will it take?" Evan asked. "To become fluent?"

  Gee Gee's mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "That depends entirely on you. Some students pick up the basics in weeks. Others struggle for years. The good news is that Oridian Standard was designed for ease of communication across different species and cultures. It's logical, consistent, built for clarity rather than poetry."

  "And the bad news?"

  "The bad news is that from what I understand, you need to be functional as quickly as possible." Gee Gee crossed his arms over his chest. "We'll work intensively. Multiple sessions per day when your schedule permits. Immersive methods as soon as possible. I'll speak to you in Standard, you'll respond in Standard. You'll also have to learn to think in Standard until it becomes as natural as English."

  "Sounds exhausting."

  "It's a piece of cake for me." Gee Gee laughed softly as he looked at Harris. "Will you be learning as well?"

  Harris shook his head. "I'm just along for the ride. My job is keeping this one alive, not chatting up aliens."

  "Fair enough." Gee Gee turned back to Evan. "We'll start tomorrow. Get some rest tonight. You'll need it."

  They said their goodbyes to Sasha and Gee Gee and continued the tour.

  The medical wing followed. White walls. Antiseptic smell. The quiet hum of equipment. They passed examination rooms, a small surgical suite visible through reinforced windows, and a recovery ward with half a dozen beds.

  Thankfully, it was currently empty of patients.

  And staff, from the looks of things.

  "This is just like a real hospital," Harris commented with obvious appreciation.

  "Full trauma capability," Adam said. "We can't afford to have our operatives going to a public hospital. Too much attention. Too many questions."

  Harris eyed the facilities with obvious appreciation. "Beats the hell out of the vet's office."

  "Sadie did a great job," Evan said.

  "She did, all things considered. And she's a great person. But this is the real deal."

  "It looks like Dr. Warnak is out at the moment," Adam said. "I'll finish the tour and show you to your rooms, then we can see about getting your ankle and arm some fresh attention. Does that sound good?"

  "Fine by me," Harris said. "I'm enjoying the excuse to just sit here."

  Their final stop was the operations center. The space beyond was similar to the Skytrace mansion, only much more impressive. Multiple workstations were arranged in tiered rows, each equipped with monitors displaying feeds from around the world. A large screen dominated one wall, showing a map of North America with various markers scattered across it.

  "Intelligence analysis, communications monitoring, mission planning," Adam said. "This is where we coordinate everything. We'll get you in here eventually, once you're up to speed on the basics."

  They circled back to the main junction and took an elevator up. The doors opened into what appeared to be a utility closet with shelves holding linens, towels, and cleaning supplies.

  "The farmhouse," Adam said, pushing open a door that led to a hallway. It was warm and inviting, with its hardwood floors, subtle floral-patterned wallpaper, and framed photographs of farm life going back decades. "The elevator connects to storage closets on both floors, away from prying eyes."

  Adam led them past the kitchen, the living room, and dining area to a hallway near the back of the house. He opened the first door to reveal a modest bedroom. A single bed, dresser, small desk, and a window overlooking the apple orchards.

  "This one's yours, Harris."

  Harris wheeled himself through the doorway. "Cozy. Reminds me of home." He glanced down at himself, at the rumpled shirt he'd been wearing since Nashville. "Though I don't have anything to put in the closet."."

  "We'll take care of that," Adam said. "Clothes, toiletries, whatever you need." He turned back toward the hallway. "Brella!"

  Footsteps approached from the kitchen. A moment later, a woman appeared. She was older, maybe late sixties, with silver hair pulled back in a practical bun and an apron tied around her waist.

  "This is Brella," Adam said. "She runs the household." He gestured toward Harris. "Would you mind taking Mr. Harris back down to the medical wing? I'll have Doc meet you there."

  "Of course." Brella moved behind the wheelchair, her manner efficient but warm. "Mr. Harris. Welcome."

  "Just Harris is fine."

  "Dr. Warnak's the best we have," Adam added, looking at Harris. "He'll make sure everything heals properly."

  Harris nodded. "Thanks for the help. All of it."

  "That's what we're here for."

  "Catch you later, Marsh," he threw back over his shoulder as Brella wheeled him out the door and down the hall toward the hidden elevator, his voice carrying as they went. "Brella. That's a pretty name. Is that Oridian?"

  "It is, actually."

  "Were you born there, or here?"

  "Here. My grandmother defected from Red Scar…"

  Their voices faded, and Adam turned to Evan. "Your room is upstairs. Follow me."

  They climbed a staircase to the second floor. Adam stopped at a door near the front of the house and pushed it open.

  The room was larger than Harris's, with a queen bed covered in a quilted comforter, a writing desk positioned near the window, an antique wardrobe, and a comfortable reading chair in one corner. The window overlooked the farm's entrance.

  "We'll get you some new clothes as well," Adam said. "If you want to settle in, we can talk more later."

  Evan set his backpack on the bed and glanced at his watch. One hour until the Ascendant reached its destination.

  "I don't have a lot of time," he said. "The ship arrives in about an hour. I need to be on it when it does." He moved to the window, looking out at the road just beyond the hanging sign. "Am I really safe here?"

  "Without the trackers, without a digital footprint, the others can't find you." Adam's voice carried conviction. "But we can head back down to the secured facility if it makes you more comfortable."

  Evan nodded, turning back to Adam. "It does."

  "Then let's go."

  Evan picked up the backpack. They left the room and went back to the storage room in the center of the house, entering it to reach the elevator.

  The doors opened, and they stepped inside.

  One hour until the Ascendant reached the barren world he had set a course for. The Null Guard might be able to protect him here, but once he transferred to the ship, he'd be right back to flying solo.

  And he had no idea what he might be flying into.

  27

  The transfer chamber materialized around Sarxon in a wash of green light. The paralysis that accompanied the transition faded quickly, her consciousness settling into her duplicate body with the ease of long practice. She stepped out of the shallow alcove, the green grid pulsing once behind her before fading to darkness.

  Two guards flanked the chamber's exit, their weapons held at rest but ready. Standard protocol. The transfer chamber was the most vulnerable point on any relic ship—the one place where an enemy could theoretically manifest if they somehow acquired the effigy. The guards weren't there to protect Sarxon. They were there to eliminate anyone else who might appear.