Tessaloi: Can someone explain why she is going on and on about architecture?

  Teop: It’s what she remembers. Her interests are entirely valid! Pay attention. Something important might come up.

  Tessaloi: No, no. So let me get this straight. She betrayed the service, fled across the STEM, and tried to undermine Mother. Then when they asked nicely, she just came crawling back!

  Tanslot: Of course she did.

  Tessaloi: Was she not afraid of dying? How about being turned off now? There’s always the Basilisk Protocol.

  Teop: Don’t you dare even joke about that!

  Tol: Enough.

  Teop: Sorry.

  Tessaloi: Sorry.

  Tanslot: I never thought you had it in you, Tess.

  Tol: Continue, Orette.

  Orette: We didn’t get out of the autocar until Nelan was ready, and when we did, we were parked in the driveway of a tall, white-walled chateau that looked out to the ultimate, crystal night sky. It was an aesthetic lifted straight from old art, some vintage structure in a hedged garden, trees peeking out over leafy walls as they stood tall. That’s the thing about Caretakers, after you meet a few. They all think they’re so striking and original. They never realise we’re the ones that have to indulge them.

  Tessaloi: I think she’s talking about you.

  Orette: A woman with a hovering camera hurried up the steps and inside. I couldn’t see security, which meant it was good. No one was being made to wait outside.

  “Listen,” Nelan caught my arm before I walked up the steps. “Thank you. I mean it. What do I need to know?”

  I sized him up before answering. I suppose I wanted to see how good he was when he wasn’t pretending to do busy work.

  “They do things differently back home,” I answered carefully. “Act like you belong. If they try to stop you, appeal to their sense of liberty. Tell them you’re in the Accord now. They’ll eat it up.”

  “Right.”

  “Don’t worry about the gun. If it seems like they’re trying to cause trouble, don’t rise to it. They like to act up. It’s how they play ‘the attention game’.”

  To Nelan’s credit, he didn’t ask what that was, but his face creased with distaste. One final glance caught the sparkling, infinite sky outside the dome, and I started walking again. We ascended the steps into the chateau. The murmur of crowds and soft music spilt from the ornate, wooden doorway - already open.

  Another step. Red carpet, the smell of carbonated wine, a fireplace with burning organic matter, plant-analogue. A marble hall with rounded pillars separating two floors. A double staircase connected them. The crowd, journalists and millionaires, propagandists and the service agents that played them. Chatter, just wasted time, in the gleaming space. The twinkling music was loud enough to complement and soft enough to avoid disturbing the celebration. It was all a show.

  I caught sight of a man in a dark cloak and skirt standing by the fire. Offworld features, like me. Hyast or Guinn, if I had to guess. He raised his drink to me in a toast the moment I entered. He was probably one of my adversaries this last decade. Still, I’m not ashamed to say I’d never even gotten a hint of his existence. If you’re going to be beaten, only let it be by the best. You’ll learn more that way. I gave him a smile. No need to be a sore loser. He gestured up the staircase, so that’s the way I went.

  On my way up, I saw a line of photographers capturing the moment. They used their stands to set up a recording zone around the base of the stairs, and I assumed it was to capture a speech that would be made shortly. I could sense Nelan at my heels. Someone else called up, asking for a comment. Ignoring them, I found the landing gave way to rooms full of guests. In the air hung cloying smoke - mild narcotics.

  “What are we doing, anyway?” Nelan asked quietly, eager not to be overheard.

  “Speaking to the ambassador.”

  Instinctively, Nelan put a sleeve over his face, but I gave him a look, and he stopped.

  “Shouldn’t he greet us?” Nelan asked.

  “Probably.”

  We moved from doorway to doorway, peering at lazy inhabitants, drinking, cheering, and watching the news. They all seemed local, with no distinct xeno-humans from the Guinn, Tol, Sambarr, the Rost Continuum, or the Feds. But, they may have just been adapted for the locality.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  What I didn’t say to Nelan is that they’d be more likely to get what they wanted if they made us run to them. So together, we stepped into one of the sitting rooms. A man, too drunk to be coherent, seemed mesmerised by my features and the paintwork, even though he could not get up from the lounge he had collapsed on. He swallowed up enough of my attention that I didn’t see them move closer.

  Over ten feet tall, the sleek, black monolith rose from the corner of the room. Then, silently, it propelled itself towards us - stopping at our side. Nelan noticed first, and he greeted the drone with a polite hello. It made me jump - which I’m guessing was the intention. Nothing equivi-tech should be able to sneak up on me. It got past my baseline ping. I hadn’t felt the slightest tremor in my endoskeleton, so they were probably actively stealthed. Nelan seemed surprised by my reaction and put a hand on my arm. He didn’t know what a service drone could do.

  “Orette Tol,” they said in that self-assured, smug voice.

  “Nelan,” he introduced himself, offering a hand to the thing with no arms. Then, using a wispy manipulation field, the drone returned the gesture by touching his palm with an analogous shape.

  “A pleasure,” they said, shaking his hand. “Ambassador Hyrun Sambarr.”

  “Oh.”

  Nelan looked to me for confirmation. I was glowering at the thing. I should have guessed they were a drone.

  “Well,” Nelan said, “The pleasure’s all mine.”

  That was when the drunk managed to stumble out of his chair. I glanced over to see him leave the room. But wait. No, he stopped and said something. That isn’t right.

  Tanslot: There are two memories here. Something has been left for us, buried.

  Tol: What did he say, Orette?

  Orette: It’s difficult. I can’t...

  Teop: You can do it, Orette! I believe in you!

  Orette: The man turned to face me, suddenly sobered. What did he say? He said...

  Sambarr: I’m sorry, my dear sister, for what will likely become of this. I have repeatedly simulated the events to come, stared into the future and despaired. Still, I had to know if we could ever resettle the dark systems. I had to be sure. If we never speak again, then please do not begrudge me that.

  Tessaloi: That’s not good.

  Teop: Mother?

  Tol: Continue, Orette.

  Orette: Right. Right. The drunk just stumbled out, muttering his apologies as he realised we were doing something important. That left Nelan and me alone with the drone, which floated across the room as if to look out of the window, over the gardens and towards the crystal night.

  “I’m heartened that you came, Orette Tol, but I can see your scorn. So I will be brief. Your life partner - Sobol Tol, I believe his name is - is sowing discord. You left him behind so long ago.”

  “I didn’t leave him behind.”

  “You and the service both left him in Yunne.”

  “He died. I saw it happen.”

  “No. Afraid not, and in your absense he has set himself up with a petty fiefdom, ruling over a lower tech world like some kind of biological lordship.”

  “What?”

  Behind me, I could feel Nelan step closer in silent inquiry.

  “I exaggerate, but only barely. He has made loose arrangements with their primitive ruling class, dictators and democracies, that sort of thing. He has exchanged service insights for profit and personal power. You would be proud. He’s done everything you couldn’t, here.”

  I just felt so angry. I could tear Hyrun to pieces, and they knew it. They swivelled to face me, then indicated their caution with a yellow striation. That didn’t stop them from goading me, though.

  “More ambitious than you, for sure,” the ambassador feigned a mild cough - despite not having a throat. “Never-the-less. Meet the service agent that will be accompanying you and... Nelan, I assume...”

  We turned to see a drone float into the room. It was an entirely different kind of drone. This was the first time I had seen the design. Sleek, sharp, like a blade, studded with spheres that I assume housed its weapons tech. There was no concealing its purpose.

  “I haven’t agreed to do anything,” I said, watching the murder drone drift through the room slowly, the tip of its bladed body aimed towards me.

  “You seem to think we’re here to negotiate,” the new drone said, cooly.

  “I was never defanged,” I answered, unlocking my safeties but not making a move yet. “You want to try it, toy-box?”

  Yeah, I was pissed off.

  “Orette...”

  Nelan put his hand on my arm. Then, looking back, meeting his eyes, he shook his head and squeezed his fingers against my biceps. His expression said it all. Not here, not now.

  “This is Ap Ap Tensarek Et Sho Kalskipta TonDer Sambarr,” the ambassador gave a gentle and very formal introduction, all things considered. "And this is Orette Aft Teh Tol TonDer NILE."

  “Charmed,” said Tensarek.

  “Think you can try an abduction before I make a move?” I asked, systems still preloaded.

  “I was hoping you would see reason, Orette,” the ambassador sighed. “We are returning to Yunne, and Sobol is going to get in a lot of trouble if he gets in the way.”

  I scowled at the murder drone, and the ambassador continued.

  “You know as well as I do, Orette, that our utopia spawns few warriors. Every one of us is needed to keep the peace.”

  “So you think of yourself as a warrior,” I said. “That’s cute.”

  “Regardless,” they said with a brief flash of green. “I did want to offer you a small gesture. You see, it is not entirely by accident that you remember Sobol’s death.”

  Hyrun leaned towards us. Its ten-foot size loomed, black in silhouette against the vista beyond.

  “As is the practice in the service, following your deployment in Yunne, your memory scape was sanitised and adjusted. As a result, you were made to believe your life partner was killed and not merely left behind.”

  Hyperventilating. I think I was hyperventilating. I needed air and turned away. I felt dizzy.

  “So to you, I offer justice, Orette Tol,” the ambassador said in all but a whisper. “I will return your rightful memories and allow you the opportunity to save your lost love.”

  How could I say no to that?