Mind on the job, Jones.
I cruise into the arboretum, watching the crowd. The foliage here has been gathered from across the Milky Way: gentle water trickling over heartcrystal falls from Ishtarr, whisperwhills from Syldra, fronds and flowers of every color from every world. But the rainbow of colors only reminds me of my dream, the crystal splintering around me, that shadow seeping through the cracks like black blood. Hoping against hope, I dial Adams’s uniglass again, cursing softly beneath my breath as I get his service.
“Hello, you’ve reached the private number of Seph Adams. I’m—”
CLICK.
Do I just leave a message?
How do I know he’ll even get it?
Can I honestly hang the fate of the galaxy on an answering machine?
“Well, aren’t you just a strapping slice of humanity.”
I glance sidelong at the voice. A Chellerian looms beside me, a drink in each of his four hands. His suit is a deep cerulean to offset the lighter sky blue of his skin. His shark’s-tooth smile could be adequately described as “dazzling.”
“Helloooo,” he says, drawling the word as if it tasted like hot chocolate. “And what’s your name, legionnaire?”
“I’m not a legionnaire. I’m a pirate. And kinda busy, no offense.”
“None taken, Captain,” he purrs, looking me over. “And do forgive me if I’m bothering you. I was just wondering whether those dimples of yours are standard Legion issue.”
“Nope,” I reply, scanning the crowd. “You need a specialist license and three years of training before you’re qualified to use them.”
“Aren’t you the little sasspot,” he smirks, twirling the stem of one glass.
“You should meet my sister,” I murmur.
“I’d love to. If that’s your preference. I thought Terrans had an aversion to that sort of thing.” He pouts, considering the glass of sparkling green liquid in his third hand. “Tell me, would it be forward if I offered you a drink? I seem to have rather a lot of them and I’m not even sure what this one is.”
“Listen, friend, I don’t want to …”
My voice fades out as I look at him a little closer. His voice is familiar. His face even more so. His suit looks like it cost the GDP of a small moon.
“I know you… .”
“Not as well as I’d like.” He offers the glass. “But we can remed—”
“You’re a newscaster,” I realize. “You work for GNN.”
“Guilty as charged,” he smiles, waving to the press credentials beside his cravat, then to the small legion of assistants and crew behind him. “Lyrann Balkarri, at your pleasure. Hopefully.”
“You were reporting about the skirmish in the Colaris sector.”
“Hardly a skirmish, darling,” he pouts. “That little mess could end with Chelleria and Rigel at war again. Although I’m flattered you saw the feed. Our ratings were in the tank after Archon Caersan’s temper tantrum.”
I look him over more carefully. I can see the matte black button of a mic stud on his lapel. The gleam of a minicam in his top button.
“Wait … you’re not recording this, are you?”
His grin grows a little wider. “Never without consent, darling.”
“What are you doing on Aurora Station?”
“Well, aside from basking in the inestimable joy of those dimples, I’m reporting on the summit.” Lyrann takes a sip from a glass of frothing red, makes a face, and hands it to a flunky. “Luddia, darling, flush that out an airlock, will you? And have the chap who served it to me flogged.”
“Esteemed representatives.”
A hush comes over the crowd. I turn at the voice, heart in my throat. A massive holo is being projected in the air above the arboretum, the figure of a towering man with cybernetic arms and a full dress uniform decorated with a dozen medals and the star of the Aurora Legion.
“Admiral Adams,” I whisper.
“Honored guests,” he continues. “Legionnaires. On behalf of Greater Clan Battle Leader Danil de Verra de Stoy and myself, we welcome you to Aurora Station.”
The camera pans to the co-commander of the Legion, standing beside Adams. De Stoy is dour, hair drawn back in a severe ponytail. But her uniform glitters with medals, and her voice is as commanding as her presence.
“Many years ago,” she begins, “in a time of war, the Founders of our Legion forged an alliance that has endured for centuries. It is our fervent hope that even in these dark times, the races of the galaxy can unite again and shine a light that will banish the shadow growing between our stars.”
My belly turns a little at that deliberate choice of words.
Shadow.
Growing.
“Our last attendees will be arriving this evening,” Adams continues. “Tomorrow morning, before the summit begins, Battle Leader de Stoy and I will make a joint address that concerns everyone on this station and, indeed, in this galaxy.” He smiles, grim. “I urge the members of the press attending the summit not to sleep through your alarms. In the meantime, we would like to express our gratitude to you all for attending, especially Greater Consuls Mariun de Roy and Gense de Lin of the Betraskan Clan Coalition, and Prime Minister Tania Ilyasova of the Terran government.”
The camera tracks to the Betraskan consuls standing among their retinue and bowing at the ripples of applause. The screen then cuts to the Terran delegates, Prime Minister Ilyasova smiling and nodding thanks, her gray hair shimmering in the light. Around her are various ministers, attendants, and assistants. But my stomach rolls at the sight of her protection detail.
Should’ve known …
The Terran Defense Force would normally be in charge of ministerial security, and there’s no shortage of TDF troopers in Ilyasova’s retinue. But wherever you find a matter of Earth’s planetary security, you’re also gonna find agents of the Global Intelligence Agency.
They stand among the PM’s group, silent and still. Their suits are charcoal gray, head to toe to fingertips, their faces hidden behind featureless mirrormasks, elongated and oval-shaped. But I know what lurks beneath.
The Ra’haam is here.
“Are you quite all right, darling?” Lyrann asks, touching my arm. “You look as though someone’s danced on your deathstone.”
I swallow hard, jaw clenched.
“I’m all right,” I manage.
But I’m really not.
Because there among them, I see a familiar figure. Her face is covered by that mask, but I’d still know her anywhere. The body under that skintight nanoweave that I once held in my arms. My best friend in the world.
I can see her now, watching while I was tortured on the Kusanagi. Mold on her tongue and tears welling in her flower-shaped eyes as she begged me.
Tyler, don’t go… .
Tyler, I love you.
“Cat … ,” I whisper.
22
FINIAN
“Okay, that should work.”
I try to sound confident as we crowd around Magellan’s battered shell on the workbench, heads bowed like a med team over a critical patient. We’ve got the lab to ourselves right now—the team who should be here is off getting treatment for a dose of radiation. We’re probably scoring one ourselves, but we’ll be fine next loop, and we have urgent business.