Chapter One

4.25.44B: T-minus 9 days until the BRR

Ezren

A year ago, Ezren never would’ve dreamed she’d be sitting at a table with Belethea’s most powerful leaders, and yet somehow this had become her new normal. The Belethea Race Royale council meetings weren’t exactly her favorite pastime in the ’verse, but to her own shock, she didn’t hate them either. To be fair, her standards had dropped drastically since her second near-death experience—the one that claimed her father’s life on Otho. Here, seated in a plush chair at a broad synwood table surrounded by familiar faces in the high-collared, long jackets of Belethean business wear with Foster beside her, they were relatively safe.

And that was enough.

She’d even gotten used to the weight of the gun pressed against her thigh and the sight of its duplicate on Foster’s waist—a requirement levied by Shiro after one too many death threats. Between the hardware and Shiro’s omnipresence outside the council door, they were always ready for the syndicates to deliver on their promise of retribution after Ezren and Foster had shut down their illegal luxie trade, but so far they’d been all bark and no bite.

Drawing her thoughts away from that dark spiral, Ezren forced her attention back to the meeting. The council only had ten core Belethean members, but their biweekly holocons often included ambassadors from the other twenty-seven Casollan stations and planets as topics were brought to their attention and resolved. They discussed the organization of the royale season, which events were held where, potential cheating accusations, the legality of cybernetic enhancements, disciplinary actions, outdated rules, waivers, safety, suit technology… the list went on. Though most of the other attendees were present as holopros, she, Foster, Villegas, and Calderon always attended in the flesh with the roiling Belethean sky projected on the domed ceiling above them.

As the Obronian ambassador argued to change team size requirements, Ezren cut a glance to Calderon where he sat on Foster’s left. While Calderon was certainly the black mark on the proceedings, his knowledge and authority were impossible to refute.

Even as the high-status Dreitian and Obronian officials challenged them on every level, happily contradicting Villegas and the other Beletheans at every turn, they fell quiet when Calderon spoke. They listened. They respected him.

And it was infuriating.

Worse was the way he patiently took the time to lean over and explain every nuance of the discussion to her and Foster, including the questions they didn’t know to ask. The other council members, Belethea’s foremost political and industry leaders, had been downright glacial the first time she and Foster had walked into the boardroom at the top of Calderon’s headquarters in Petraskis. It was only after Calderon gave a flowery speech about them being the face of the future—of their hands guiding Casolla through the turbulence rocking its present—that the others thawed. It also didn’t hurt that he’d almost snapped Villegas’s head off when she’d muttered some comment about their place being in the BRR.

Villegas hadn’t said a word about it since. In fact, after seven months of these conferences, she and the other Belethean council members regarded them with something akin to acceptance. The ten of them functioned more or less as a coherent team, connected by the stacked powers against them, their dedication to Belethea, and the race royale that captured Casolla’s entire attention once a year.

Which was crazy. Because Calderon—the de facto council leader in everything but name—was a chaffing murderer.

But now Ezren understood how he’d miraculously dodged the lambast of public opinion. It was almost impossible to reconcile this patient, measured man in his perfectly tailored teal suit with Vieve’s murderer. After all, this was the same man dubbed by VSoc as the grandfather of Belethea for the last fifty years. The man who’d intervened to save the first sentient species in Casolla. And yet he’d also tried to murder her teammates. Tried to murder her.

His mask was perfect—an incongruity which just made him more dangerous.

Calderon ended the call, and the holos of the other attendees winked out of sight before he turned to where Foster sat massaging his hand, expression inscrutable.

“The Obronians lobby to adjust team size for population every year, but precedent is on our side. Never waver on equal representation from all entities.”

Foster nodded, but he crossed his arms, his jaw ticking in the way it did every time Calderon addressed him. Which was weirdly often. Despite Foster’s stormy visage and rebellious reticence, when he did speak up in these meetings—almost always to contradict Calderon—it was more than evident that he was paying close attention.

While Ezren mostly stuck to advising on terraforming and scientific funding, Foster’s focus had been cutting through the corruption that had marred the BRR for decades—from gambling to spectator extortion, to the buying and selling of the royalers themselves. He’d pushed so hard on those issues that The Royaler Review, of all holologs, had called him “as cutthroat a champion in the council as he was in the race.”

His latest idea, to stonewall all companies with syndicate affiliations from profiting in any way from the BRR, had been particularly popular. With Calderon’s vocal support, the decision had passed through the Belethean Chamber unanimously and was actually set to go into effect—she checked her goggs—tomorrow. With any luck, it would be overshadowed by the BRR hype, but she sent a mental reminder to Sylvia to be ready for yet another landslide of death threats just in case.

Across the broad table, Villegas tapped her celestial-painted fingernails on the polished wood, her shrewd gaze on Ezren. “Everything is set for the BRR qualifier in two days, and we’ll have one meeting with all the attending ambassadors between the qualifier and the final race.”

“We’ll be there.” Ezren leaned forward, nerves tingling through her chest at the thought of the BRR. “And many of the ambassadors have also requested one-on-one meetings during that week as well.”

“Good.” Calderon’s flinty stare turned toward her, the navy clouds in the holopro above reflected in his dark pupils. “An opportunity to meet is an opportunity to influence. The deeper your ties, the easier it will be to sort out future conflicts.” His attention swiveled to Foster. “I know Coach Long has an excellent archive of pertinent information, so be sure you use it to your advantage.”

Villegas rapped her knuckles on the table in agreement. “This is Belethea’s time to shine, so make sure you’re hammering home the message about unity and ethical leadership.”

“Ethical.” Foster snorted. “What a load of shaft.” He rose and offered Ezren his hand. “All I know is in nine days, my contract is up, and you’ll have to get another puppet to jerk around on a string.”

Ezren suppressed a sigh. Despite her obvious reservations, she appreciated the immense opportunity their council appointment brought. Foster, meanwhile, had a harder time looking past the required proximity to Calderon.

Villegas and Calderon shared a knowing look, and Ezren wondered about their relationship for perhaps the hundredth time. Though they were never friendly, per se, they did seem to be in sync on a deep level. Had Calderon once mentored Villegas like he was doing for her and Foster now? In fact, she realized, at 103, Calderon had probably been behind every appointment to this council since he first founded the BRR eighty years ago—had probably mentored every sitting member.

The sheer power and influence of the notion sent a chill through her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sterling.” Villegas adjusted the gold goggs in her jet-black hair.
“There’s no running from this.” She rose from her seat, the two columns of brass buttons on her long, sleek jacket gleaming under a flash of lightning from the holo above. “Besides, we all know that you’re not going to leave Hart to shoulder the burden alone.”

Her hard gaze flicked from Ezren to Calderon meaningfully, and Ezren had to admit, she wasn’t wrong. Though Ezren often argued with Foster that she was quite comfortable sitting on the council while he pursued his own path, he refused to even consider it.

Foster’s hard façade cracked as he glanced at Ezren, his hand spasming in her grasp.

She offered him a reassuring smile and gave his fingers a hard squeeze. “There’s no use deciding anything now. We’ll continue to consider the options during our break in the off-season.”

“As is customary and earned.” Calderon picked up his black cane from where it stood perfectly balanced, waiting for him. His stare, however, never left Foster’s. “But please don’t forget that since you’ve joined the council, we’ve had three successful organized crime raids, you’ve ensured system-wide protection for the luxopodos, shut down their illegal trade, ensured smooth planning of the BRR, raised your Belethea team to the third-most lucrative in the system, and decreased Casolla-wide tensions three-fold.”

“And we also made Crion into a livable space and increased terraforming conditions outside the churn belt by 250%,” Ezren chimed in with a sweet smile.

While the BRR may have been their shared aim, she never missed a chance to press her own dream of a livable surface for Belethea. That was why she had originally started down this path almost two years ago, after all.

Calderon cut her a cool glare, but she couldn’t help but note the glint of begrudging admiration there and allowed herself a twinge of satisfaction. While Calderon would never get behind her terraforming measures, there was no denying they both shared a unique tenacity that was impossible to ignore.

Calderon tapped his cane on the tile floor with a smooth click. “Yes, well, I suppose we have to pick our battles, don’t we?”

“What Calderon is saying,” Villegas cut in, “is that Sterling/Hart’s success in the actual BRR is now only rivaled by your success on the interplanetary stage. And…” She sucked in a deep breath, and her face softened, making her already diminutive stature seem even smaller. “We are getting old. If you want these changes to be permanent, we will need your young voices to lead the future.” She ran a knobby finger over the glossy table. “Which is all to say, you would be welcome and appreciated here in a long-term role, should you choose it.”

Foster’s jaw flexed, and Ezren quickly bobbed her head. Though she, Sylvia, and Foster had suspected this offer, it was the first time Villegas had officially proposed it. “We have so appreciated your counsel and wisdom; thank you for helping us fit into these new roles. We’re still processing these opportunities, but we’re proud to be part of Belethea’s hope.” Ezren glanced at Foster again, but he looked away. “It’s been a long year though, and I think we will take the off-season to consider what the future will look like for us.”

“An ambassador’s answer.” Villegas raised her chin, her sharp features practically glowing with a pride that heated Ezren’s chest. Villegas strode to Calderon’s side, the two of them looking nearly the same age despite Calderon’s silver hair and their forty-year gap. “In the meantime, we will, of course, continue your education in the next year. I trust as you learn, your decision will become clear.”

“And should you decide to leave anyway”—Calderon’s face darkened into a thunderhead that matched the squalls above—“know that you’d be leaving a power vacuum in your wake.”

Foster met his stare, their stony countenances reflecting one another. “I don’t want power.”

“And that is why Casolla trusts you with so much of it.” The steel in Calderon’s regard eased into something like regret as he shifted the old-fashioned brass goggs around his neck. “Should you give it away, know that the greedy hands snatching it from the bowels of the system would be more than capable of undoing all the good you have accomplished.” He tapped his cane against the mirror-like floor again, his dark velvet voice low and earnest—almost kind. “I know you didn’t ask for this, but sometimes opportunity chooses us, instead of the other way around.”

The ensuing silence tightened the tension in the air to a snapping point. Ezren stepped forward, trying to find the words to defuse the fraught circle threatening to strangle her. “So far, I think most would agree that Foster and I have risen to every challenge. This seems like a lot of stress over concerns still far off in the future. With the BRR pressing down on us, I think this could at least wait until next season.” She pressed closer to Foster, and his expression warmed ever so slightly. “If you can forgive my confidence, I think between the two of us, we’ll find our way.”

Calderon smiled at her, his face creasing in a hundred wrinkles as he exposed his sharp canines. “Indeed. It’s that confidence that I hope—”

The chime of the room’s central holopro interrupted him, and Belethea’s storm clouds disappeared from the ceiling.

“What?” Villegas blinked at the holo in her goggs. “This is a secure line, who is—”

Another, deeper notification, like that of the single toll of a sonorous bell, interrupted her. The room fell into darkness, and the holo of a lone silver bird glided across the black ceiling. Foster’s grip tightened on Ezren’s hand, and her fingers moved to brush the stock of her pistol as the projected creature alighted on a rotting tree—one of what must’ve been a hundred birds perched on the skeletal branches. A mournful, hoarse caw cracked the silence before Calderon connected to the center control and dismissed the holo with a curt wave of his hand.

The lights flashed on, and Ezren blinked the dying tree from her vision, foreboding crawling over her skin. “What was that?” she whispered.

But Calderon’s and Villegas’s features had turned to stone, and from their locked stares, she knew the chip messages were flying between them. Ezren looked at Foster, but his lips pressed into a firm line. They’d sat in dozens of meetings in this room, and never once had anything remotely like that happened.

Ezren: That was odd, right?

Foster: Yes.

Finally, Villegas frowned, and Calderon shook his head, clearing his throat. “Nothing important. A mistake. Nothing more.” He turned back to them, his ruddy skin a shade paler than before. “As I was saying, it’s best to always be prepared, as we never know when”—he paused, his lips twitching as if weighing his words—“opportunities might befall us.” He picked up his bowler hat from the table, tipping it upside down in farewell while he edged toward the door. “Until we next meet, Sterling/Hart, it has been my pleasure.”

“The next two weeks will be chaotic, so be sure to look after one another.” Villegas dipped her chin at them as she walked after Calderon, the door hissing open. “I’ll follow you out, Warner.”

Shiro peeked in on them from his post before the door slid shut again, leaving Ezren and Foster in silence in the empty room.

Foster braced himself against his chair, the muscles in his back bunching beneath his long dark coat as his words slipped out between clenched teeth. “What a chaffing hypocrite.”

Ezren leaned back against the table, looking up at the now blank white ceiling. “What do you mean?”

“The message, Ezren—those birds were crows.”

Ezren’s stomach flipped at the insinuation. “You’re not saying…”

Ezren trailed off, thinking back three months to when York’s body had been found on Crion as a “gift” to them from a man known only as “the Crow.” Though Shiro had warned them of his reputation, they’d heard nothing more from him since the incident, and Ezren had tucked the threat away in the back of her mind with all the others.

“That one of the most powerful men in the system is working with the dark syndicate king?” Foster swiped a hand down his clean-shaven jaw. “Well, Calderon certainly had no love for Ambassador York, and the Crow dumped his body on the ice. I’ll be curious to see what Shiro thinks of it.”

Ezren chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to make the pieces fit. “But… Calderon has been pushing so hard for the crackdown on the syndicates’ illegal trade. Not just of luxies, but everything.”

“He’s a lying murderer with a million secrets.” Foster winced, and his left hand moved to massage the other. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but we have to be on our guard and get out of this place as soon as possible. Villegas even said to take care of each other. I think she was trying to warn us.”

“But if we give up our positions in the council, then we’d be leaving Calderon to run it uncontested, Foster. Is that really better?” Ezren took his hand in hers and gently kneaded out the spasms that always seemed to attack in these meetings.

“Surely there must be someone else.” Foster’s shoulders relaxed as Ezren dug her fingers higher into his wrist. “Villegas or… I don’t know—someone.”

“Okay, when you think of that someone, you let me know.” She pressed a quick kiss to his knuckles and shot him a perceptive smile. “And also, you don’t have to come back when your eligibility is up. I really could handle it on my own.”

“I know you could.” He turned her hand in his, his expression softening as he threaded his fingers with hers. “But there is nowhere I’d rather be than at your side. Always.”

“Even if Calderon is on the other one?”

He gave Calderon’s seat a flat glare. “Seriously, why does he always sit beside me?”

Ezren laughed—a real, ringing laugh that echoed through the room, and finally the furrow in Foster’s brow eased with a smile. “I know it’s trying.” Ezren grinned, tugging him toward the door. “But I think it will be easier once you, Simon, and Bex age out this year, and we have a successful, drama-free BRR. Then, everything will finally calm down.”

Foster let her tow him around the table toward the door. “And then we’re going to have a nice long vacation, just like over New Year.”

“Longer.” Ezren raised her eyebrows. “I’m thinking we run away and don’t come back until the start of next season.”

Foster’s grin widened, his eyes falling closed as if in bliss. “And this is why I love you.” The door hissed open before them. “Let’s go home.”

And when he said it, the word was always so much sweeter. The stress and the fear all melted away, and Ezren let herself fall into the daydream of the two of them relaxed and peaceful under an open teal sky.

But as the door closed, Ezren swore the image of the crow tree flickered across the dome ceiling again, and a prickle along her spine warned her the dream was somehow farther than it had ever been before.