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  For my sisters, with apologies for all the novels you read that I never wrote sequels to. You finally get a Book Two.

  “The miracles of the First Empire dumbfound historian and politician both; we look at an era when a Jorian could heal the near-dead, build whole functioning ecospheres and terraform planets in weeks, and we shake our head in disbelief. It creates a climate of fear and reactionism within the Second Empire. We do not trust miracles, for of miracles came devils.”

  —Thusen Tratus, primary historian of the Order of Saint Thuzera, executed by the Second Empire for high treason in 2IY 946

  Entr’acte

  She straightened her skirt. It was hot in here. It shouldn’t have been. Winter was falling on this part of Irithessa. Cold fog permeated the capital city outside, lay like a shroud over what had been done there.

  But then, this capital city felt sealed against the universe. There had been little damage to the inner circle of buildings, and most structures still stood, still filled up with people every day and emptied out every night, despite the fact that the stars above them burned with war.

  She looked back at the man across from her.

  The new ruler of the galaxy was even more handsome in person than his many, many holos. John Starfire’s face was completely unique, a rarity among crosses. A ragged line of salt-and-pepper hair marched across his craggy brow. More covered his jaw. Smile lines and crow’s feet framed his eyes, but they didn’t soften his hard profile.

  It was the kind of face that politicians had custom-shaped, and he had, by all accounts, lucked into it. An accident in the vat that created him. Or so he said.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, staring out the window past her. “I don’t often sit down.”

  “I’ve heard that,” she said. “It’s all right; you can stand.”

  Luck gave him the face, but it was not luck that led him to sympathetic media, a string of unlikely victories, and a surprise attack through Irithessa’s node. He’d been able to close the nodes to the Dark Zone, trapping the Imperial Navy there, making himself the most formidable military power in the galaxy.

  “Tell me your name again.”

  “Paxin. Paxin sher-Kohin. Not nearly as memorable as John Starfire.”

  His hand twitched, clenched the sword hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white, released his grip, clenched it again. “Explain to me about this independent agency you belong to, Paxin?”

  “Well,” she said, starting the same well-rehearsed speech that had gotten her in here, “with all the Imperial screens gone dead in the wake of the, uh, change, we’re a new coalition of independent media outlets, and we’re seeking the mind of the . . . the new Empire?”

  “Not the new Empire,” John Starfire said.

  “Still the Resistance?”

  “We haven’t quite figured it out,” he said, flashing half of the smile that had won over the galaxy.

  “Right. You taking suggestions?”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “It depends what kind of government you’ll practice. A parliamentary system? If so, how tight will be the control? Will it be a loose, confederate group, or . . .”

  “In these early days, we’re remaining focused on consolidation,” he said, “since so many systems are falling back on a version of the bluebloods’ representative electorate, and we want to show them that such systems must be dismantled.”

  Translation: We’re going to remain a military occupation as long as we can support it. And another question she wanted to, but didn’t dare ask. Are you making new crosses in the vats to support your occupation? He’d promised to stop the vats. Said new crosses would be born by plain old sexual reproduction.

  She settled for, “What kind of government are you building exactly, then?”

  “Where are you from?” he asked. The smile again.

  “People are curious. The Resistance is going from system to system, disassembling the bluebloods’ electoral councils and leaving a military occupation. Imperial travel restrictions are still in place, though the Empire is functionally gone. People rely on black markets for world-to-world supplies. All this is . . . worrying.”

  Worrying. One of those words that, in a journalist’s hands, was a kind synonym for Hide everything and run.

  He waited. She kept talking. She would go as long as he let her. “And then there’s the peace with the Dark Zone. You want to talk about any details of that agreement? I mean, how do you even make an agreement with . . . them? How do you even speak?”

  “There is peace, and that is what matters.” His whole hand turned bloodless from the grip on the sword. “Where are you from?”

  “Ah . . . I’m Kerboghan.”

  “Kerbogha. Interesting world.”

  “Yes, a couple billion humans, and not a blueblood among us . . .” She realized she had betrayed her species. Until now, he might have guessed she was a cross.

  She wasn’t stupid. She knew what was happening to humans. “The bluebloods disavowed my people years ago as bastard children. They don’t even think we’re real humans.”

  “And what do you believe?” he asked. “Do you think your people are human?”

  “This interview should be about you,” she said. “Otherwise, I’m just wasting time.”

  “What are you?”

  His eyes burned in the dim light, like twin blue stars. She looked down at her hand terminal, where her notes scrawled across the screen. “A lot of people are curious whether you support any particular creed. You got a lot of support from Biblical congregations.”

  “I am a Jorian originist,” John Starfire said. “You’re familiar with the theory?”

  She was—that was the notion that the Jorians had actually created life in this galaxy. And there was probably a kernel of truth to it; there were plenty of oxygen-breathing, bipedal species in this galaxy, with anecdotal stories of how they’d crossed at the founding of the First Empire to better unite with the powerful human-Jorian alliance.

  The problem was, he didn’t believe just the kernel in that truth. He believed the fundamentalist version, in which the Jorians created all life.

  “What led you to that belief?”

  “If you had seen what I’ve seen, seen our win against these hopeless odds, you too would realize the nobility of Jorian DNA,” he said. “My troops are the true Jorians. I look in their eyes and I know.”

  Time to switch gears. “How is life with your wife, now that the war is over?”

  “She doesn’t see much of me,” he said. “You are about my daughter’s age.”

  “I didn’t know you had children.” That, the stories left out.

  “Four daughters. Three living.” He wasn’t smiling now.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “My daughter Rashiya was the only one who took after me. The others are happy to be citizens. But Rashiya, she joined the Resistance. She fought. And she died, just a few days ago.” He turned back to the window, looked out at the haze over Irithessa’s capital city.

  “I’m very s
orry.”

  “I know who killed her. That’s the thing that gets me.” He turned around. “I know it all. Like a play, being acted out on a stage. I can see it all.”

  “Do you want to talk about—”

  “A cross killed her. A cross who knew enough to believe, and yet didn’t. How can anyone have so many reasons to believe, see so much, and turn against it?” He shook his head. “He’s seen miracles. He’s seen us come back from total defeat. And what does this . . . this . . . Araskar take from it?”

  “That’s his name? Ar . . .”

  “Don’t write that down.”

  “Don’t worry, ah, I didn’t.” Her stylus shook. She prided herself on her ability to meet humanoid eyes, to pry answers even from horrific subjects. It was becoming difficult to focus on details, other than that scarred hand clenching and unclenching on that sword hilt. “I think I have enough for the interview.”

  “You were brave to come here,” John Starfire said. “I admire that.” He held a hand out to the door.

  The door didn’t open. Even when she walked within range, even when she pressed her hand to the pad.

  “Unfortunately,” John Starfire said, “I am not interested in interviews. I was mostly interested in meeting you, and seeing what sort of human thinks we need an independent press agency. I don’t think we do. Not yet, anyway. Not for a few years. We need a firm hand, and the press should be part of that.”

  “You . . . there has to be freedom on the screens. Even for state-sponsored press,” she said. “It’s a principle of . . .” She realized she was about to cite the Principles of Empire. The Empire he’d overthrown. She switched tacks. “People supported you because they thought you were fighting for a more just galaxy.”

  “People get Jorian originism wrong,” he said as he walked around the table. “The perception is that we believe humans and Jorians are the only independently evolved species. That’s not true. I don’t believe that humans evolved. I believe they are merely a bastard species, perhaps made when the Jorians began tinkering to see if they could make weaker, smaller versions of themselves. I like that theory. We’ve retained several school administrators for the Imperial Academic system who agree with me.”

  She swallowed the words. Please let me out.

  “Soon the schools will reopen, and we could invite the media. Even you, as long as this interview meets with the Resistance’s approval. That would be a fine story. Something that plays off people’s faith. Not their fear.”

  She looked right into his smiling eyes and said, “I’m recording this and transmitting it now.”

  “Who do you think will be brave enough to broadcast it?” he said.

  She reached inside herself for the word. “Everyone.” She meant to sound defiant, but her voice squeaked.

  “When the Vanguard ships hang in orbit above their planet? When they see a planet-cracker blot out the evening stars?” He laughed. “Maybe they’ll send someone stronger next time.” He stood before her now. “Or perhaps you’re stronger than I think. Maybe you simply haven’t been tested.”

  His hand clenched and unclenched on the sword hilt.

  -1-

  Jaqi

  MY LIFE EN’T EVER been simple, but it’s been a lot more complicated since I went and did a miracle.

  Take this situation, here, right now. I’m at the bottom of a node-relay tower. The node-relay controls communications for this entire moon; it sticks a mile up into the sky, the crystal Jorian structure shining prettily from the middle of a desert junk field, all old chassis and parts, spread out so evil wide it could pass for the Imperial Fleet’s secondhand sale.

  It’s not our node-relay tower; we’re hijacking it to try and recruit for the cause. It belongs to the Matakas, the nastiest crime lords on all the nasty worlds, and if they saw what we’re doing, they’d kick us out the airlock.

  Actually, no airlocks here. We’re on the planet surface, where gravity and air are free, so I reckon they’ll just fly us evil high and drop us. You’ll have to forgive me, as I’m just a spaceways girl.

  Yeah, me, Jaqi, the spaceways scab. I am fighting my own little fight against John Starfire himself, who conquered the galaxy. All because I did a miracle.

  Don’t ask.

  Right now I’m bent over the power cell, greasing it up with anti-oxitate to make sure the thing actually speaks to the tower. Got to grease up the connections before they go back together, as the atmos evil corrodes everything. These power cells work best in vacuum.

  “Come on now,” I mutter. “Let’s get word out to the rest of the galaxy, and get back to camp and eat some real matter.” I had tomatoes and corn and beans for breakfast and it was better than anything. ’Cept now I’m ready for lunch. We didn’t even eat lunch in the spaceways. It’s a noble tradition, lunch. I plan to observe a couple of times a day.

  I wipe my hands on my pants, and then see the miracle, looming over me, holding out a handful of sand.

  “Here,” the miracle says.

  “What’s this for?”

  “It will get the grease off your hands. We often used sand for cleaning, among my people.”

  “Thanks.” I scrub the rough granules across my skin. “Evil rough on the old skin, though.” Could use a rag, the kind that we would recycle and re-spin once the fibers got too damaged. But you en’t going to be able to keep track of all your rags planetside. (Planetside! Where you can lose things! Did I mention that food grows out of the damn ground?)

  “You and I have discussed sand before,” the miracle says.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes.” Why’s he look so nervous? I en’t never seen this slab look nervous. Just cuz I did a miracle? “At the asteroid base. Bill’s. We spoke about the relative merits of cleaning with water, sense-field, and sand.”

  “I remember.”

  See, the miracle is my friend Z, short for Zaragathora, not that I have any intention of saying that mouthful. He’s a Zarra, about seven feet tall and one of those folk your momma warned you about.

  Z and I hooked up back on the day the galaxy was “freed.” John Starfire, the greatest swordsman and warrior and probably tea-drinker in the galaxy, overthrew the Empire, proclaimed a new order, and then started killing humans. Z and I teamed up to protect a couple of human kids who had a mighty secret, and ran all the way here, to the end of the universe.

  Oh, and in the process he died.

  And I brought him back to life.

  Don’t know how. I en’t got one little clue.

  “What do you suppose it is made of?” Z points up, at the node-relay tower.

  I follow his gaze all the way up. Unlike the miles of junk around us, the tower is a Jorian-built relic, so it has the appearance of spun crystal, gleaming and shining with a thousand different colors. Like webs upon webs, spun on top of each other up to the sky.

  “Reckon no one knows. Jorian things, left over from the past.”

  “It is beautiful. It strikes the heart as though the Starfire itself is drawn down from it. A thousand years the galaxy has stood in shadow, and yet the light still offers its mystery.”

  This is an odd conversation for us, given that this fella knows two words: “blood” and “honor.” “You feeling well, Z?”

  The handheld comm crackles, and Taltus’s snakey voice comes through from above. “I have reached the manual relay screen, sss. Are you hooked up to the cell?”

  “Well by.”

  Taltus, he who’s on the other end of this comm, is a big Sska, meaning a lizard, but more important, he is one of them Thuzerians, the military monks what wear the mask and take the vow to protect the innocent. He leads this group of desert runaways, doing everything from gathering seeds to training horses to leading church services. Now he reckons I should talk to his preaching heads. “Everything running smooth, sss? We must have uninterrupted connection with the Council of Elders.”

  “Evil smooth, aiya. You sure these folk’ll hear you?”

  “I have
invoked the great blood oath, most sacred to God. They must. For you, the Son of Stars, call them.”

  “Uh . . .” How’s a girl supposed to answer that? “Yeah.”

  The power hums, all juiced-up on solar cells. In space, you can draw power off background radiation, when you pass through a heavy belt, or just burn unthunium, but there en’t none of that planetside. Just go ahead and grab some of that sunlight, we do.

  I scan the horizon. No trouble coming from beyond this junkyard. Not yet, anyway. The folk what went out to serve as a distraction must have worked.

  I walk over to check on the kids, what got me into all this trouble to start with. They squat next to the power cell, looking at the horizon—well, the little boy, Toq, does. The girl, Kalia, is a bit more interested in the older boy next to her.

  Erdo is one of the random desert kids we’ve all been breaking bread with for the last couple of weeks. And he’s a classic scab. Stolen more than he’s ever owned, survived off protein packs, and ended up here after a job gone south. He’s got a year on Kalia, is tall and quick-spoken, with a ragged crop of hair. Kalia’s flush as five suns for him.

  “She said it wasn’t worth a shit in space,” Kalia giggles.

  “Oh, aiya, it en’t, trust me,” the boy says. “When I worked the spaceways, we woulda had power cells three times this size.” He gives a grin and tosses his hair, as if this power cell is a thing to brag about—to a blueblood like Kalia! “You shoulda seen one I took off a scow near Routalais. Could power a whole ecosphere.”

  “Wow,” Kalia says.

  Then he sees me and he and Kalia both look at me strange—Kalia because she’s a girl been caught going flush over a boy, but Erdo—well, this little spaceways scab of a boy hops to his feet and bows.

  The bowing again. “Don’t do that,” I say.

  He don’t listen. Comes up out of the bow graceful as a fine servant in a holo. “Message for the sentries, ah, Saint Jaqi?”

  “Erdo, stop that.” I done explained it lots of times. “Taltus told you. I en’t no Saint. It don’t work like that.”