Alanik had put in my head, but much more slowly. I felt I’d have this arrow for days at least.
She’d been weak, near death. That was why her coordinates had faded so quickly. This was a more powerful impression.
I could go. I could jump home, right now. I was free.
But M-Bot and Doomslug were back at the embassy. No—I still had a mission here. It wasn’t time to leave yet. Not quite.
Winzik can’t have discovered the drone, I told myself, shoving down my earlier anxiety. Why would they call us both back, in that case? Why would they call me back at all? If they suspected me, they’d start shooting, right?
I then turned my ship toward the Weights and Measures, which seemed like a small rock compared to the dominating polyhedral boulder that was the delver maze. As soon as I drew close enough to the carrier, my wristband buzzed, indicating that I’d re-established communication with the drone.
Status? I sent to it, tapping on the bracelet.
Have infiltrated engine room, it sent back. Am hovering in a corner. Good visibility. Algorithms determine a very low chance of discovery. Continue, or return to meeting point?
Seen anything interesting?
Not capable of answering that question. But my chronometer indicates I arrived after hyperjump occurred.
I’d want it to stay in place at least until we hyperjumped back to Starsight. That would give me the best chance of capturing sensitive information.
Remain, I sent.
I landed behind Brade in the fighter bays, and handed off my ship to the maintenance crew. I caught up with her as she climbed down from her ship.
“Any idea what this is about?” I asked. “Is it about recruiting me?”
Brade gave a noncommittal swipe of her fingers, a dione gesture.
We were met by a guide drone, which led us away from the fighter bay, down an unfamiliar red-carpeted path through the Weights and Measures. Irrationally, I felt like I was being walked to a cell—right up until the moment when we stepped through a set of double doors and entered a party.
Krell and diones in official uniforms or robes stood about, sipping fancy drinks. A large screen on the far wall showed shots of training fighters, alternating with slides of text that explained the philosophy behind our training. From the little bits my translator read to me, it looked like the Department of Protective Services was making great efforts to prove how important their project was.
Indeed, I noted other pilots from other flights standing throughout the room, speaking with officials. I’d been called in to be used for propaganda purposes, it seemed. Soon, Winzik gestured me over to stand by him—though the drone instructed Brade to wait behind.
Winzik was in good spirits, judging by the excited way he waved the arms of his green exoskeleton. “Ah, here she is! The only one of her species on Starsight. And now she serves in my program. Proof that it has merit indeed!”
The two Krell he was speaking to looked me over. “Ah,” one said. “Your people once served the humans, did they not? How do you feel at finally being invited to join the Superiority?”
“Honored,” I forced myself to say. Scud, did this have to happen today? Now that I wasn’t actively fighting, my worry about the spy drone was growing nearly unbearable.
“I’m more interested in your human, Winzik,” the other Krell said. “Has she killed anyone by accident?”
“My my, no! She’s very well trained. Let us focus on my project, Your Honors. A reasonable plan for protecting against the delvers, at long last!”
“That,” a voice said from over my shoulder, “and the Superiority’s first actively piloted space force in a hundred years. One composed entirely of lesser species, at that.”
I spun and found Cuna there behind me. Even in a room of diplomats and politicians, Cuna stood out—tall, with deep blue skin, shrouded in robes such a dark violet they were nearly black.
“It’s not completely made up of lesser species,” Winzik admitted. “We’ve got one dione. A draft, strangely.”
“Still, an incredible undertaking,” Cuna said. “That leaves me wondering at the Department of Protective Services . . . and its ambitions for this force it is training.”
I could practically feel the tension between Cuna and Winzik. The other officials did the Krell equivalent of clearing their throats—making a crossing gesture—before withdrawing. That left just me, Winzik, and Cuna.
The two didn’t speak. They only stared at each other. Finally, Winzik turned around without a word and responded to someone speaking nearby. The cheery Krell walked over and