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life, bearing the knowledge that a Jewel-human hybrid was an abomination. Then, on the day he liberated Hiebimini, he also liberated the Jewel within. He paid with his life, but he served the greater good. If I recall, you came through the fold with similar determination. Yes?”

“And my plan has not changed. You’ll see. But you… you never said Ignatius Horne was like me.”

“There are countless secrets I haven’t spilled, James. We’ve only known each other a short time. If you live long enough, you’ll learn all the secrets. Then you’ll beg to die.”

He blinked twice and continued following the party of five along a walkway heading northeast of the outpost.

They walked in silence for several minutes. Sammie didn’t say a word after Perrone called her a child. He couldn’t recall ever going this long without hearing Michael riff. If he had ten minutes in a room with them, he’d explain everything. They had no time for a meaningful conversation since crossing the fold.

Soon enough, fate arrived. Five figures rounded a bend in the walkway some hundred feet ahead just as the admiral’s Scramjet moved into position for a landing at a nearby clearing. The morning sun began to break over the eastern tree line.

Ophelia Tomelin led them. James didn’t recognize any of the other Chancellors, but he knew her. The Jewel. She was as tall as the rest, but she dressed like no one on this Earth. Her full-length coat reminded him of photos from world history class: Russian fighters in the old days, before the Communists took over. What were they called? Big fur hats, rounded swords? As they drew closer, he recognized the hilt of a sword in a pouch slung over the coat. He was already impressed. She must have refused to change into Chancellor garb. It was very warm here, perhaps eighty degrees. She had to be suffering underneath.

As they neared, he heard other voices on both teams speak, but James never took his eyes off the Jewel.

She carried the swagger of a girl his age – a rising senior ready to pounce on the world. But better: She was a fighter. Even more, she was a killer. Her features told a story: steeled by loss, world-weary, disciplined through purpose. James smelled the gunpowder on her hands, tasted the blood of her victims on her blade.

A surprising sound snapped him out of his trance. Sammie walked up to Ophelia and delivered a powerful slap across the woman’s right cheek, throwing the scientist back on her heels.

“You could have told us,” Sammie insisted. “Michael and I almost died out there.”

Ophelia glanced between Sammie and Perrone.

“I deserved that,” she said. “I’m sorry, Samantha. We had a plan, and I couldn’t risk drawing attention. I knew a classified way out of the facility, and I couldn’t risk suspicion by bringing others along.”

“You even removed Linton. She was supposed to protect us.”

“I didn’t think you would be in any danger. Our enemy wasn’t focused on you. They wanted the Jewel. And you are trained to defend yourself. Yes?”

“Come now,” Perrone interrupted. “No sense in a minor squabble over what might have been. Our guests have arrived, and we need to board my ship.” He introduced himself, but the girl did not speak. She did, however, glare. “I understand your position,” he told her. “If I had encountered the same treachery, I would be suspicious, too. No matter. You are with us now and safe.”

“You sure about that, Admiral?” Sammie unleashed her fury. “Ophelia said someone on our team was a spy. Didn’t you?” She stared down Dr. Tomelin. “Three possibilities: Brey, Rikard, and Patricia. Was that a lie, too?”

James heard the dispute, even as Ophelia struggled for a response, but his focus never left the Ukrainian. His heart grew lighter, his thoughts dizzy with anticipation as he studied her. Then it came to him. A full name. Rayna Tsukanova.

“We don’t have time for this,” Ophelia said. “I promise to talk later. Admiral, I’d like to introduce Misha Tsukanov, the last surviving observer of the Ukrainian team.” Misha offered Perrone a side-nod. Ophelia added, “It is not his birth name, but he has chosen to keep it.”

Misha, tall and blond and old enough to be the Jewel’s father, shared a smile with the girl. Misha wore a Chancellor-made suit.

“It is not protocol, but I have lived with this beautiful name for fifteen years, admiral. It has been my duty to watch over Rayna. In her honor, I wish to keep this identity.”

“Understood,” Perrone said. “We will reach accommodations with your descendency. And you,” he faced the girl. “Rayna Tsukanova. I cannot express how momentous this day has become.”

“You can try,” Rayna said, her thick Russian accent carrying a wind of disdain. “But do not bother. I have no use for praise.”

Misha interrupted. “Apologies. Rayna has been through a difficult experience. She has lost those who mattered most to her, including her father.”

“And my horses.”

“Yes, and the horses.”

“Excuse me?” Perrone said.

“We struggled to meet our arrival schedule,” Misha said. “Rayna insisted our horses be brought aboard the Scram and taken to a safe place to live out their lives. We set them free on the plains of Domadi, where they could join the wild herds.”

Perrone nodded. “My condolences about your father. I did not know Peter well, but he always struck me as…”

“Do not talk of Father,” she glared.

“Very well. Then we should move forward. Rayna, I suspect you know who this is.” The admiral eyed James. “He too has suffered but is coming into his own quite beautifully. As will you. Rayna Tsukanova, meet…”

She jumped his words. “James Bouchet, son of Emil and Frances Bouchet.” James took a half-step forward, wondering if he should shake her hand, hug her, tip his head. Kiss her. But Rayna kept both

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