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flesh.

The bodies decayed in front of him, their skin peeling away and their limbs dissolving. They changed from emaciated to skeletal to gray petals shorn from a dandelion.

The three humanoids who watched alongside Michael lifted their hands toward the sky. Though he could not hear them, Michael knew they were begging forgiveness.

They pleaded to the four winds, turning a full circle. He didn’t understand at first when they returned to their craft on nimble feet, ready to depart forever.

Fiery orbs emerged from the mountains and hovered over the city. This terrified the humanoids, who closed the bubble on their craft and tried without success to lift off.

Michael’s grief morphed into the terror they experienced. Utter hopelessness dragged him into a suicidal abyss when he realized what was approaching the city.

He saw the orbs closer now, descending the slopes in a steady march. Michael saw inside, through the translucent bubbles. A humanoid piloted each, twice the size of the three whose craft remained grounded.

Each pilot hovered inside an orb, hands extended as if in a warning to remain still. Electric fire spilled from those hands and wound itself into an avalanche of tornadic winds and a lightning-hot wall.

The storm shattered the great columns and cylinders of glass and pulverized the city. Michael succumbed as the fire, thousands of degrees, incinerated him and the three poor creatures who tried to escape. His final thought picked up the echo of the only spoken word since he arrived here:

J’Hai’Nyon.

He emerged elsewhere.

The field was green, and the poppies were about to bloom.

Off in the distance, fire poured toward the sky and the land shook between the great mountains.

He wasn’t alone.

The humanoid beside Michael bowed his head and cried. He extended a long, slender arm toward Michael. He turned up his palm.

Michael understood. He took the humanoid’s hand and listened even though the creature never opened his mouth.

J’Hai’Nyon.

He laid a poppy in Michael’s hand and gave permission to speak.

Michael replied: “J’Hai no more.”

Michael did not want to know what followed. He was bombarded by emotions, non-human expressions of joy and disgust, and by the sorrow of both of the victors and the vanquished.

Somewhere amid the torrent, the creature asked Michael a question.

“Yes,” Michael said after deep contemplation. “I’ll try.”

The poppy field disappeared, and Michael plummeted.

Maya was tugging him from behind.

“Michael? Michael, what’s wrong? Are you with us?”

He swung about. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I said come sit with us. We’ve got a long journey ahead, and you need to pace yourself. What did you do with your ration?”

He reset his thoughts. “The food? Oh, it’s here.” He pulled it out of a pouch. “Did you see a blue light or …?”

“What?”

He looked up. The sky was full of stars.

“Maya, you said it never used words.”

“Who?”

“The Jewel, when it was inside you.”

“That’s right. It spoke through my senses and emotions. Why?”

He waited until the picture unscrambled and walked to the glow pod, where Aldo was finishing his meal.

“Join us,” Aldo said as Maya took a seat.

Michael hesitated. It’s too damn much. I can’t believe this!

“What’s the problem?” The old man asked.

“Um, remember how you said that tower might have answers?”

“Are you suggesting we change course?”

“No. We follow the river. It will take us straight to their city.”

“How do you know?”

He ripped open the ration pack just to have something to do with his hands. Michael remembered it all, including the unbearable grief.

“I know why they’re here.”

“The Jewels?”

“Why they remade Hiebimini. Why they lured us here. I know what they’re gonna do. Oh, God. I know what they’re gonna do.”

Maya leaned in close. “Michael, how? What have you …?”

“We eat. Then we get on our feet and we move. Fast.”

“Why, Michael?” She said. “What’s going to happen?”

“The end,” Michael said. “It’s the fucking end.”

51

Project Drawbridge staging area

Star system NP-44

 

M AJ. AIDEN NILSSON STAYED INSIDE his quarters for most of the journey through the Fulcrum. He believed time away from the Praxis bridge would heal his wounds and solidify his loyalty as an officer of the Guard. Sleep off the rage, he convinced himself. They are your superiors. They have the best interest of the Chancellory in their hearts. He didn’t believe this. They were saving their reputations and their descendancies, but the greater good? No longer on the agenda. Rather than cleansing and revitalizing his spirit, fifteen hours in transit packed the salt deeper into Nilsson’s wounds.

He heard all the shipboard notifications. First, arrival at Nexus Point 44. Later, rendezvous with the attack fleet 1.6 million kilometers inside this uninhabited system. Most recently, the off-loading of personnel and materiel to finish the jumpgate. His talents wouldn’t be needed for many hours. Which is why he was surprised to receive a direct stream from Capt. Forsythe.

“Major, please report to the bridge without delay.”

“Yes, sir. At once.”

He straightened his bodysuit and hair before a holomirror. As he did so, he recited their names for the seventy-fifth time.

“Broadman, George, Carver, Muldoon, Learner.” He hesitated but finished the list, even though he couldn’t be sure: “Cooper.”

The Praxis command bridge was abuzz with more activity and officers than his last visit. He did not recognize most faces, but they busily reviewed windows of data packages, mechanical schematics of the jump gate, and classified survey reports on Hiebimini.

An orbital view of Tamarind showed a fiery mass spewing from the surface to the upper atmosphere. It was as if the planet sprung a leak, shooting out energy from its molten core. He started toward the team analyzing it but halted when he heard his name.

“Maj. Nilsson, to the dais please.”

Capt. Delano Forsythe awaited, hands behind his back. He shaved

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