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in the meantime. Earn you keep. Yes?” When she nodded, he ordered Rosa to tend to Sam’s wounds. “My schedule is full the next two days. We’re very busy outside the city. When I find time, I’ll check in on you.”

Valentin didn’t wait for a response and joined another immortal on a rifter he was piloting when they came upon the confrontation.

“Come, Samantha,” Rosa said.

After her neck was cleaned up – the nails did little more than break skin – Sam joined Rosa in a loud, bustling hall consisting of three production lines. In the first, fresh-caught fish were gutted, scaled, and trimmed into fillets. The immortals, none of whom appeared older than twelve, processed the fish using phasic drivers and with the efficiency of seasoned pros. Rosa said they would be served for the evening dine with a pesto sauce, peas, and white potatoes.

“I don’t know what pesto sauce is, but we’re learning new recipes every day,” she said. “Right now, our meals are simple. Our culinary skills are limited. In time, we’ll bring in recipes from the colonies.”

The second line shucked peas, diced herbs, and peeled potatoes.

“Those lines are for cooked foods,” Rosa explained. “We’ll be working with raw produce. They can complement any meal, but we also submit them for pickling, juicing, and hyperfreeze.”

Rosa escorted Sam to their place among twenty others in the third line. At one end, crates of melons, citrus (five varieties), berries, apples, and peaches awaited; at the other, carrots, kale, lettuce, large nuts, peppers, ginger root, and palm-sized pink tomatoes stood ready for processing. Sam knew little of agriculture, but she never imagined this wide a variety maturing at the same time of year. She had to ask.

“Did Brother James do all this?”

“Some, yes. But we also brought seeds from many colonies. The fruit trees were here when we arrived, a gift from the Jewels.”

Rosa handed her a phasic driver, a multipurpose laser and holotool. Sam used one often at her Boston home.

“There’s so much here.”

“Yes. We’re making sure to stockpile all we can. We don’t yet know what the seasonal changes will be like. And if we’re ever attacked … well, we don’t want to take any chances.”

“How big is this stockpile?”

“At the moment, about twenty days, but we set a goal to reach half a standard year.” Rosa laughed. “We have a long way to go.”

“I’ve never seen a community work together like this.”

“That’s because you lived among Chancellors. We have a better way. Who knows? Maybe you’ll like it enough to stay with us.”

Sam couldn’t believe she heard those words. “I don’t think James and Rayna would ever allow that to happen.”

She followed Rosa’s example and launched into a crate of nuts twice the size of pecans, using the driver to crack them at the seam. In a few minutes, she found a steady rhythm.

“I’m sorry about what happened.” Rosa broke the silence. “Sister Rayna shouldn’t treat you that way.”

Sam held back her tears. The girl genuinely cared, but did it matter? Rayna made clear who would have the final word.

“Your love will be strong. Then both of you will be slaughtered.”

30

J AMES DID NOT CELEBRATE the birth of his girls to Rayna’s satisfaction, and she let him know it with a single choice. Oh, he stood by her side as the girls emerged with little exertion on Rayna’s part. Hybrid women handled labor with ease, the entire process taking less than ten minutes. After the twins were cleaned, James kissed each to show them his light, and the blue glowing orbs usually hidden from public view passed from his lips through their tiny bodies and onto the streams of every immortal required to view it. The girls’ unnatural growth began. The vid went out to their allies.

Yet James did not remain for the naming ceremony. He handed the babies to Rayna, whispered, “This is your moment,” and left the birthing room. She put on her most imperial smile for her galactic audience, but she was furious, as James discovered later when he learned what she did.

“I name you Martina Oksana Tsukanova,” she told the child wrapped in her left arm. “I name you Irina Ludmilla Tsukanova,” she told the child wrapped in her right arm.

Rayna rejected the names she and James had agreed upon, neither of which was supposed to reflect her Ukrainian heritage. James insisted for two years that hybrids would forever be distinguished by the simple title of “Brother” or “Sister” followed by first name only – even when their population grew by exponentials. “We will not be divided into tribes, families, or descendancies,” he insisted. As an extension, he encouraged intercourse among different hybrids rather than committed long-term partnerships – except his own with Rayna.

Other business drew James away from the birth ceremony, the kind that refused to wait. Even as the final hours counted down to the births, James steadied his focus elsewhere.

The message Trayem Hadeed scrawled on the shore taunted him. He had no doubt the old man drowned himself, keeping hidden the identity of the one who would kill James.

Why I can’t see it myself? Why aren’t you talking to me anymore?

He looked everywhere but heard silence from the Jewels. Did he not take them seriously enough on arrival day four months ago?

They echoed across the star plane when he first set foot in the empty city, congratulating themselves while he toured what would become JaRa.

“The next million years begin now,” they said. “The algorithm is almost complete. From this gift is found final truth, the path reborn.”

“What is left to do?” He asked.

“Bring life to the city. Build upon our design. Grow the army. Show our light and forge alliances. Finish the blockade.”

“How soon before our enemies find a way around the Nexus?”

“Time

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