Carriles watched as the ash that had once been Goldsmith was swept away on the breeze of the air recyclers. Tried not to notice as it disappeared into the vent. He brushed aside the thought that, within a few hours, they’d be breathing him in.
There were more disconcerting things to worry about in this moment.
Carriles’s eyes moved up to meet the cook’s gaze. Izaiah did not seem the least bit distressed, which worried Carriles. A man had just died in his hands and Izaiah had a look on his face like he was brushing his teeth. Carriles suddenly felt a wave of regret over not taking Liu’s sidearm.
“I didn’t do that,” Izaiah said, but his voice suddenly sounded different. Lower. Vibrating, in a way that didn’t seem human. “I suspect a suicide pill.”
“Why the hell would he need a suicide pill?”
“Probably everyone who went down to the surface had one ready to go,” Izaiah said. “Just in case they got captured. Just guessing. They didn’t exactly know what they were in for.” He put his hands on his hips. “It’s possible I was a little . . . aggressive, picking him up the way I did.”
“Speaking of,” Carriles said, trying to hold himself in place, knowing that if he stepped back he’d reveal just how scared he was. “How the hell did you do that?”
“He was going to attack you,” the cook said, looking down at the dwindling pile of ash. “I couldn’t allow that.”
“I mean, I appreciate it, but . . . why me?”
Izaiah seemed to smirk, but the expression was so fleeting that Carriles thought he might have imagined it.
“You seem to be my best shot at saving this situation.”
The cook spun around and started to walk down the hall. Carriles, unsure of what else to do, followed.
“Saving the situation?” Carriles asked. “Do you know what’s going on down on Esparar?”
Izaiah stiffened, but didn’t slow down.
“Because if you do, it would sure come in handy to have some clarity,” Carriles said. He was struggling to keep up. The cook was fast.
“Those people down there? The ones that your captain claims attacked him?” the cook asked. “They’re my people. And they would have never attacked anyone unprovoked.”
Carriles clamped his mouth closed to keep his jaw from dropping.
“Wait, you’re from Esparar?”
Izaiah nodded.
Carriles’s head spun.
Before, the “indigenous” people Delmar said he battled on the surface had been theoretical. They could have even been a contrivance on the captain’s part to further his own cause, whatever that was.
But here was an actual person from another world standing in front of Carriles. Jose needed a minute to process that.
And to figure out how he’d gotten on this ship.
Izaiah raised a hand, as if he’d heard Carriles’s thoughts, and understood that the pilot was reeling.
“I am not a threat to you,” the cook said.
Did he hear my thoughts? Carriles wondered. Was that even possible?
Carriles watched Izaiah—almost heard him grappling with what to say next, brow furrowed and arms crossed. The two men looked at each other. Izaiah pursed his lips before he spoke.
“I guess I should start at the beginning,” Izaiah said.
“Please do.”
Carriles took a deep breath, bracing his mind and body for whatever Izaiah would reveal. And how it might affect his fate.
“A few years ago, your world picked up our communications,” the cook said—the words coming out slowly, methodically. “We did not know. For years thereafter, Earth spied on us, and other members of our collective. We are part of an interstellar organization called the Mutual, an alliance of planets that spans galaxies. We promote the one truth—knowledge. We share ideas. We share technology. We live to serve each other and foster peace, focused on moving the galaxy into the future, without disease, bloodshed, famine, or hate.”
Izaiah paused and scanned Carriles’s expression before continuing.
“Finally, in time, we realized we were being watched,” Izaiah continued. “And your leaders were able to reach out. First they asked for membership in the Mutual. When we didn’t respond, they demanded it. We denied them. They proved us right with their response. Humans are too violent. Destructive. Driven to hate and jealousy. You are not ready to be a part of the Mutual.”
“Let me guess,” Carriles said. “We didn’t take it too well when you said no?”
Izaiah let out a dry laugh.
“An understatement,” he said. “They demanded that we help them. Those demands quickly turned into threats. But we would not be swayed. Once the Mutual agrees on something, it takes much to change its mind. Humans were deemed too primitive and violent. Perhaps, in time, Earth can reapply. But for now, we have moved on. While we are idealistic, we are not fools.”
Izaiah looked down the hall, as if staring out into space, toward his home world.
“Esparar is the name you gave it. But our home is called Reos. No one there wants for anything. Everyone is cared for, at no expense. There is no hunger. Everyone has a home. Everyone is embraced and loved as they are and as they wish to be,” he said. “Very much unlike your planet, Carriles. A place full of hate and recriminations. A place built on fear and the accumulation of money and possessions. A sad state.”
“All right, all right, I get it—” Carriles said, moving his chin toward the cook.
Izaiah chuckled. “My home world is not without its faults, mind you. But we’ve made great progress since our civil war—since we almost destroyed ourselves two centuries ago. We’d hoped to see Earth and its siblings make that same progress,” he said. “But we also learned your history, and we expected you might take some kind of action against us, based on what we’d learned. We pride ourselves on always being prepared. With that in mind, we needed people embedded in your society, to keep an eye on you.”
“So you learned how to cook? I mean, do you just happen to look human?”
Izaiah grimaced, as if remembering something unpleasant. “Our features resemble those of your kind. With minor procedures, I was able to pass for human,” Izaiah said. Carriles noticed a flicker of discomfort as Izaiah lingered over the word procedures. He guessed the transition hadn’t been as painless as Izaiah suggested. “I was sent into deep cover, along with another agent. We made our way to New Destiny. Our intelligence had learned that your captain, Delmar, was quite the food lover. Foodie? That’s the term. It was simple to create a false background in the culinary field. Next thing I knew, I was here.”
“There’s two of you?” Carriles asked.
“Yes,” Izaiah said. “But we have never met. Two were sent, to cast a wider net. I was assigned to this mission, and another was assigned to your Interstellar Union. To prevent what was coming.”
Carriles swallowed hard.
“What is that?”
Izaiah’s voice got even lower, a hushed growl.
“We soon learned that, frustrated over being rebuffed, a few powerful members of your government colluded to mount an assault on Reos—the closest member planet of the Mutual to Earth,” Izaiah said. “They had targeted a key research and mining facility near our capital. By attacking it, they’d gain access to advanced technology and weapons.”
Carriles sighed.
“Earth hubris is a helluva drug,” he said.
Izaiah nodded, but Carriles could tell the cook didn’t fully understand.
There was an awkward pause. Carriles could sense there was more the cook wasn’t sharing. “You don’t seem that worried,” Carriles said.
“I’m not,” Izaiah said. “Your people are making a foolish play. One that will backfire.”
“In what way?” Carriles asked.
Izaiah shook his head slightly before focusing on something on Carriles’s chest. He reached out his hand and Carriles flinched, but Izaiah just nodded. He looked down and watched as Izaiah brushed a small fleck of dust off his navy-blue uniform.
“Goldsmith,” Izaiah said.
Carriles shuddered.
“Earth wasn’t a threat,” Izaiah said. “Now you are.”
Another pause. Carriles felt the hairs on his arm stand on end.
“How do we stop this?” Carriles asked.
“It might be too late.” Izaiah shrugged.
Carriles sat heavily on a bench bolted to the wall, his head in his hands. His stomach dipped, like he was looking over the precipice of a long and inevitable drop.
Then it hit him. What he had to do.
Carriles said a silent prayer and turned to head to the brig.