The cloistered home at the end of the lane stood silent atop pilings stretching out over the cusp of the ocean shore. It was almost half a kilometer from here to the sole neighboring house, and the only sounds to reach Nyx’s ears were the cawing of gulls and the gentle lapping of waves upon the sand.
She rang the entry bell, but was not surprised when no one arrived to answer it. She waited a generous two minutes before removing a small module from her bag and hacking the lock. The door slid open without complaint.
An overwhelming sense of staleness greeted her when she stepped inside. A thin layer of dust coated the otherwise stately furniture and polished wood floor. Ubiquitous windows cast warm rays of light across empty, untouched rooms. She wandered into the kitchen, taking in its dust-covered marble countertops and nook table, then opened the refrigerator. Two piles of fine granules sat on the top shelf, the remains of food that had been auto-sanitized once it started to spoil. A half-empty bottle of eau de vie sat in the door rack.
A stroll through an abandoned living room decorated in beige-and-sorrel furniture brought her to a sliding door. This door was unlocked; she ventured out onto the deck beyond it, leaned against the railing and peered down at the water swirling around the pilings below. From here, the salmon-hued waters stretched to the horizon. White dots in the distance marked pleasure boats, and wind sails soared across the spotless fuchsia sky.
She reluctantly left behind the idyllic view to return inside and head upstairs. As on Ficenti—as on nearly every mission—she knew what she was going to find. The curse of being an Inquisitor.
The door to the master bedroom was open, and she stopped in the entry to lean against the doorframe. The blinds on the wide windows to the left were open, letting light stream unfettered into the room.
Laid out on the bed, atop the covers, were the skeletal remains of Xeshar elasson-Praesidis. Time had melted away his flesh and organs, leaving only sun-bleached bones behind.
There was no data belonging to him stored in any Praesidis regenesis server, nor at the general regenesis lab in Volie’s capital city, and unlike Kolgo, Xeshar would have no reason to use an unregistered lab. Odds were he’d followed the path of at least three of their brothers and sisters, disconnecting from the Praesidis integral then ending his life.
She understood why each of them had taken such an irrevocable step. She felt the absence of her diati every single day. She mourned what its loss had taken from her: the freedom, the power, the sheer certitude of action and belief. But without it, she’d learned who she truly was when stripped of her armor.
Now, her heart ached in sorrow all over again. Xeshar was a good man and a talented Inquisitor. The profession made one a loner of necessity, but when their paths crossed he’d always been…kind. He was the quiet, introspective, philosophical sort, and she wondered if it was the loss of his diati or of something more fundamental that had driven Xeshar to this fate. The world had changed around him, and perhaps he’d felt he no longer had a place in it.
If only he’d held out for a few more years, she could have shown him the way.
A wave of loneliness weighed down her spirit as she went back downstairs and left the house and the ocean behind.
Two down, three to go, and she was starting to suspect that no one remained to stand with her at her grandfather’s side.
16
* * *
CONCORD HQ
Consulate
Marlee clasped her hands behind her back and waited while Dean Veshnael finished conferring with his personal assistant, whom he’d brought with him to the Consulate from the Senate. When the assistant finally departed, Veshnael graced her with a cordial and welcoming smile. “Please, Ms. Marano, come in. Have you recovered from your ordeal on Namino?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. I’m ready to return to work whenever you’re ready to have me.” Should she have included ‘if’ he was ready to have her? No. It was her job, and he’d have to resort to confrontational behavior and kick her out the door if he chose to get rid of her.
He didn’t so choose, not yet, instead gesturing to one of the chairs opposite Mia’s—his—desk. “Sit. Tell me about the Asterions. I’ve met several of course, but you spent weeks living in close quarters with them. I’m interested in your impressions.”
“Oh.” She sat and folded her hands in her lap. She liked Veshnael, she supposed, but he was so terribly formal, even for a Novoloume. He was all grace and politeness and decorum. She believed he was a good and honorable man, as did most people, but she couldn’t say much else when it came to Veshnael. But now that she’d be working for him, perhaps she’d learn more about him in time.
She did miss Mia so much, though. While she’d sometimes chafed under Mia’s strictures—and gotten herself into trouble for breaking them more than once—Mia was a terrific boss and maybe a friend.
But Mia no longer occupied this office, so she needed to suck it up and deal with reality. She cleared her throat. “Obviously, the Asterions weren’t at their best during my time there. It was a horrible, frightening situation for everyone involved. But they are as diverse in personality and skills as we are. Humans and Novoloume, I mean.
“The interesting thing about Asterions, though, is that they can change those personalities and skills whenever they wish. They call it ‘up-genning,’ which is where they tweak their operational programming in some substantive way. I think…” she brought a hand to her chin “…they are the most fully realized Artificials I’ve ever met, by far. But despite their mostly flesh-and-blood bodies, they are synthetic where it matters.”
“Interesting. What about their culture? Their society?”
“On an ordinary day, I can’t say. As I noted, my time with them was under pretty unusual circumstances. But they are really clever, displaying bucket-loads of initiative and ingenuity. Or the best of them do. They’re also highly individualistic. I think it’s important to them to be able to take care of themselves and control their own lives. Their own destiny, even. I’m only speculating, but this might stem from their history of rebellion and escape from Anaden repression. The Rasu have dealt them a brutal blow, but they seem doggedly determined to overcome it.”
“I’m glad to hear it. We need allies who display such spirit.” Veshnael looked pleased; hopefully it meant she was meeting his expectations. “How much of their Anaden nature would you say persists?”
She pondered the question for a minute. Every properly educated human knew that the history of Anaden/Novoloume relations was an ugly one. Having been freed of the Directorate’s shackles, the Novoloume now treated the Anadens with minimal civility within Concord, but nothing more. Veshnael had played an important role in toppling the Directorate, and there was no way he had forgotten the millennia of mistreatment his people had endured under Anaden rule.
“Very little. The opposite, in fact. The only similarity one might notice is due to how they live a very long time. Potentially forever, I expect. But the truth is, most of them don’t display the sort of detached, removed demeanor so many Anadens do. They value their lives a great deal.
“Granted, this could have been because most of the Asterions I met were having their continued existence threatened, since their backups…whatever they call their neural imprints…were stored on Namino and had been destroyed by the Rasu. See, they don’t use networked regenesis. There’s no trace of integrals or groupthink or anything. Like I said, they tend to be quite individualistic.” She paused. “But I’m generalizing. They are as varied as we are.”
Veshnael nodded thoughtfully. “Would you say they are good people?”
“Oh, yes. Absolutely. All the ones I’ve met are. They rescued me during the Rasu attack, at tremendous risk to their own lives. They took me in and cared for me. They took care of each other and tried to save lives whenever possible.”
“Excellent. Your assessment is most helpful.”
“I hope so.” She wasn’t sure if he was being truthful or merely polit
e, so she straightened her posture and lifted her chin. “Sir, I want to make a request. Since I’ve had more experience interacting with the Asterions than anyone else at the Consulate, I was thinking I could serve as an…ambassador to them. I want to further our cooperation as much as possible and—”
“Now, let’s slow down. You will make an excellent advisor to me on the Asterions. But with all the upheaval transpiring in Concord, plus the fact that I am new to this job, it’s important for me to play a public role in our interactions with the Asterions for some time. They will feel uncertain about their standing after the unfortunate departure of Ms. Requelme, and I need to make the effort to assure them our positive relations will continue. Besides, you are only beginning your career in diplomacy. Better for you to continue to watch, listen and learn for now.”
She bit the inside of her mouth to quash a smartass retort. In Novoloume-speak, he’d just called her a child. Dammit! After having the adventure of her life—a terrifying and stressful adventure, but a memorable one nonetheless—he was ordering her back to her office, consigned to once again do research and write reports.
She couldn’t bear the thought of it. But she also didn’t want to get fired straightaway, so she forced herself to hold her tongue for now. “Yes, sir. Whatever you think is best. I’ll get caught up on the backlog of work I missed while I was on Namino, then we can move forward from there.”
“Perfect. I look forward to a long and fruitful working relationship, Ms. Marano.”
On the way to her office, she stopped to gaze longingly out one of the frequent viewports on the torus. The gleaming silhouette of the enormous central structure of HQ dominated the tableau, with thousands of ships and stars twinkling in its halo.
She hadn’t gone to work at the Consulate to spend her life trapped in an office; she’d done so to get to see the cosmos and meet all the many-varied life that called it home. Like her uncle and aunt, she belonged out there, amid the ships and the stars. Now, how to make that happen?
17
* * *
PANDORA
“Thank you, and please come again.” Mia offered the customer a pleasant smile and kept it frozen on her features until the woman had departed, at which point she sighed audibly and let her shoulders sag.
She didn’t remember retail being this much work. Customers were far harder to please than rival diplomats, and their demands were often far more unreasonable. Here on Pandora, everyone expected goods to be either cheap or illicit, and usually both. The fact that she was offering high-quality, legal products seemed lost on too much of her potential customer base.
She peered idly out the front windows, observing the midday pedestrian traffic outside. And another thing—where were all the alien tourists? By her count, she’d seen a single Novoloume and two Naraida, both at levtram stations, since she’d arrived. Granted, she’d been spoiled by the constant alien presence at Concord HQ, but they were supposed to be integrating, weren’t they? The Big Three—Romane, Seneca and Earth—had implemented extensive alien outreach programs, but back when reports on such activities crossed her desk, they showed modest success at best. She would have thought at the very least some aliens would have been curious about the scandalous treats Pandora offered.
But there was almost no trace of them here. And after years working with a variety of aliens on a literal daily basis, their sudden absence was both odd and strangely disorienting.
It wasn’t that she’d anticipated selling aliens much in the way of wares, since most of her products were suited only to humans. She merely wanted to see them on the sidewalks and in the restaurants.
But it was fine—as was the frightening lack of sales she’d enjoyed so far. She didn’t need the money; the store was simply something for her to occupy her hands and mind with. She’d initially intended for it to serve as a distraction from Malcolm’s death; now it served as a distraction from the reality that he lived.
But in the long silences stretching between the occasional customer, she couldn’t forget it. And at night in her bed—a bed free of memories of their long, luxurious nights together—he haunted her every waking thought and, to the extent she allowed herself to experience them, her every dreaming slumber. He was the shadow in the corner of her vision and the whisper on the breeze.
Dammit, the whole point of her not contacting him was to close the door on that part of her life before it brought her incalculably greater pain.
A simple directed thought, and he will know where you are.
No, Meno. We’ve already discussed this. At length.
There is no shame in changing your mind.
I said no. It’s too late for us. Besides, I can’t exactly walk back into my old life as if nothing has happened. They changed the locks on all the doors, remember?
You can take Richard’s plea deal.
Meno had long been her co-conspirator, trusted confidant and the voice of her conscience, but he’d grown increasingly irritating since she’d arrived on Pandora. Or perhaps her conscience had. I just want to be left alone in peace to run my shop.
Respectfully, no, you don’t.
The door opened to admit a new customer, bringing a merciful end to the prickly conversation. “Welcome. Is there anything I can help you with today?”
The customer was a beefy man sporting thick arms painted in angry glyph tattoos and a ragged, unhinged glint in his eyes. He strode directly up to the counter and leered at her as he leaned into it. “I’m from the neighborhood, uh, security watch group. We’ve had a lot of break-ins lately, and even one or two fires set. We want to help you keep your store and your person safe.”
She rolled her eyes in resignation. So not a customer then. “How much?”
“Well, you see, we’ve got a good crew, but it takes a lot of work to keep the peace—”
“How much?”
He glanced around at the well-stocked shelves and gleaming displays. “Eight hundred a week.”
It was a ridiculous sum for protection money, but she shouldn’t be surprised. She retrieved a thin film from the drawer, imprinted it with the amount and shoved it across the counter. “Here’s a month in advance. Don’t come in here again for, oh, thirty-five days.”
He took the thin film and stuffed it in a pocket, then snarled. “I don’t think I like your attitude.”
“And I don’t care. I’ve seen this whole routine of yours a hundred times before and, frankly, right now I’m too tired to fight it. So take the money and be glad I won’t cause any problems for you.”
“A mouth like yours, it sounds as if you are working up to causing problems.”
She switched to her diplomat voice. “I swear, I’m not. I just want to be left…” she was a worn-out, broken record “…in peace.”
“Huh. We’ll see.” The man turned his lumbering frame around and marched out of the store.
She’d been expecting someone to come around eventually. There had been protection rackets even on Romane back in the old days, so of course they would be pervasive on Pandora. Here, they were practically an entire industry all their own. The major, multi-planet cartels—Zelones, Triene, Shao—might be relegated to the rubble of history, but the vacuum created by their dismantling had allowed every corner thug with ambition to start their own racket.
With a sigh she added the weekly eight-hundred-credit payment to the store’s budget.
Later that evening, Mia stopped at the deli down the street to grab a sandwich for dinner and ended up striking up a conversation with the owner, a nice, grandfatherly sort named Jeffrey, who was originally from Scythia. The topic soon turned to the local gangs, and he filled her in on the current power players in The Approach. It turned out that about a year ago, a new group calling itself the Rivinchi cartel had popped up out of nowhere and soon crowded out the lesser gangs using more money and rougher street muscle.
Jeffrey instantly identified the guy who had shaken her down as ‘Chad,’ no last name. He gave her a free chocola
te chip milkshake to take home with her and advised her to keep paying the protection money, as Rivinchi’s use of strong-arm tactics had been ratcheting up in recent months. She thanked him for the information and tipped him enough to cover the cost of the milkshake.
Halfway home, she decided to start a file in her personal data store on the Rivinchi cartel. Chad was her first entry.
18
* * *
AKESO
“Good. Now close your eyes and try to deflect my attacks.”
Marlee’s face scrunched up, but she held any retort and nodded instead. Her eyes closed.
Caleb waited to a count of four, then glided to her left and snapped out a knife hand toward her shoulder. As his hand moved, so did she, pivoting and swiping up to deflect it with her wrist.
“Excellent. Again.” He backed up, then silently crept around her. His rear leg swept out to tap her on the hip—
—her hand shot out and grabbed his foot at the ankle, a pleased grin breaking across her lips.
He laughed. “Even better. You’re obviously ready for advanced work.” He peered up into the broad limbs of the tree overhead. “Felzeor? Are you ready to join in?”
The Volucri launched off a branch and sailed down to land on Caleb’s shoulder. “Indeed I am. I enjoy games so. But I do not want to hurt you, Marlee, and this game appears a tad violent.”
Caleb reached up and scratched Felzeor’s neck. He’d invited his friend here today to help with Marlee’s training, but also because he owed the Volucri some attention after abandoning Felzeor in his rush to get to Namino. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to hurt her, but we’re practicing now so bad people never succeed in hurting her, either.”
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