“SUCH BEAUTY, ADMIRAL.” Australia feathers her fingers over the palms of flowering plants scattered along the wooden planked path.

“The arboretum will stretch for a full mile once the cruiser’s complete. Solid durasteel plates will close over the clear durasteel pieces in alert situations.”

“I would not expect you’d have many emergencies inside the Riftgate.”

“It’s a battle cruiser before it’s a diplomatic station. And you are an ambassador before you are part of the Silver Dragon crew,” he says.

“My training includes first contact situations. Before I attended the Academy for navigation officer, I was a full dignitary.”

“Your ambassadorial skills are not in question. Reynard needs your guidance.”

“If he had not been on Guil III, I would be in need of the resources of the UCP for a new search,” she says.

“I think your research should start here.” Maxtin removes the tiny ancient tome from his uniform pocket. “The Symballmum, as I said, speaks of Sandmen.”

Australia cradles the book as if she were handed her own birthed baby for the first time. She runs a finger over the lines of the faded red bumps. The same pattern she researched after discovering three of the founding members of the UCP had the same mark tattooed on their person. “Your own personal copy, Admiral?”

“You sought a book referenced as a mere footnote in a forgotten culture history from the Chawetha Dynasty.”

“Surviving texts from the era would be a copy of someone’s copy.”

“It’s been copied more, and the Chawetha were notorious for their reconstructions of literary works. More history exists on their rewritings than their people.” Maxtin lays his index finger on the tome. “My copy is even older than the Chawetha Dynasty.”

“I will protect it with my life.”

“The book is not as important as the last Nysaean. I can replace it. It was easy to duplicate. You are not.”

••••••

PERCHED ON A rock, dangling his boots over a trickling pool, Reynard strips the bark from a willow branch.

“Defacing plants in the arboretum, Commander?” Maxtin asks.

“Testing a theory. Missed you, Aus.”

“My transport arrived about the time you did, Commander. UCP engineering teams are attempting to repair the Kalshir’ engines.”

Reynard slides his knife under the bark in order to peal it away from the cambium in elongated strips, leaving behind a clean white stick.

“We are supposed to be helping people. Maxtin, I’m afraid we muddied the water.”

“Ki-Ton’s attempt to destroy your fledgling reputation makes you more of an outlaw.”

“But your friends. The civil unrest on Shalenotun VII.”

“Nothing will change any of what you did, Commander. All we can do now is move forward,” Maxtin says.

“Damage control, Admiral?”

“Only a select few know of my utilizing mercenaries to assist in our efforts to overthrow the Mokarran.”

“We’ve bounties on us. Large bounties. Large enough I should turn myself in and retire.” Reynard smiles his cocky smile.

“You’re a thorn, and the more the Mokarran pursue you, the greater trust you build among the rebels you assist,” Maxtin says.

“Our encounters with the Sandmen put a damper on plans assisting in this revolution.”

“For hundreds of millennia the Sandmen remained myths. Now there has been a surge in reports. They pose a threat,” Australia says.

“You’re not going to front us to chase monsters under the bed?” Reynard recalls his deal with Maxtin.

“Unless Samantha releases more information about the orb fragment locations, I will research possible locations between our missions for the Admiral,” Australia suggests.

“You two work this out without me?” Reynard asks.

“Our arrangement allows you to leave at any time, but I will need the return of my UCP personnel.”

“Feels like blackmail.” Reynard bends the willow branch until he has a circular hoop. Using one of the thin strips of stripped bark, he lashes the ends. “Our hunt for the orb fragments takes precedence over your missions. We need to off-load the princess’s treasury and hold it in trust for her return to the throne.”

“Commander, the position Ki-Ton put you in was to manipulate us all. You weren’t at fault,” Maxtin assures.

“Those two cadets are dead. The second because I was desperate to undo some of the damage Ki-Ton wrought,” Reynard says.

“Arrangements are possible for a crew counselor if you so desire, Commander,” Australia says.

“Not on my ship.”

“Commander, we do need a dedicated medic and someone with technical expertise in transporter systems,” Australia adds.

“Scott repaired the transporter.”

“I do not question him as a prodigy with all things mechanical, but transporter systems are…finicky.” Australia never openly dances around a subject.

“Cadets trained in specific skills are not available for immediate transfer. I do have one designing a new recon fighter and a mission,” Maxtin suggests. Even if his suggestion is actually an order.

“It will take an army to complete the Mecat storage bay.”

“Due to the diplomatic function of this cruiser, I had a synthoid-replicating facility constructed as part of the design. I’ll get what you need.”

Reynard nonchalantly salutes the Admiral, leaping to the path. “I’ll be on the Dragon.” He spins on his heels. “You don’t know where I can get some feathers?”

“Feathers, Commander?”

“Any large, sacred bird will do.”

“It might be possible to locate one.”

Australia allows Reynard to leave her view. “Admiral?”

“Our young captain returns—different,” Maxtin notes.

“Sandmen did something to him?”

“Australia, I hypothesize an Osirian is key in defeating the Mokarran. If I believed in the Wyrd Sisters, I’d wager the Sandmen attempted to prevent his destiny.”

“Why would creatures from another reality care about a single Osirian?” Australia asks.