CHAPTER 1

2978 Olinda

How was I supposed to start the conversation with my old friend, my partner in our detective agency? Hi Shanley, according to my Nosferan friend here, you're actually just as alien as he is.

We were coming up on the night side of Olinda, beginning our descent to the planet that has been my home. The Epsilon, on loan from Hypatia Meier, Guide for the Enhancer's colony of Proving, was piloted by Hypatia's granddaughter, Tabitha. A young, fit woman with a taste for revealing clothing and cybernetic piercings.

My other companion on this venture, the Nosferan I called Drac, sat in the co-pilot seat. A natural pilot, he wrapped his wing-arms around his legs to resist the temptation to wrest the controls from Tabitha.

Both of them glowed in my scent-sight as the organic molecules they gave off were interpreted by my Euzebian-enhanced sense of smell. Drac glowed with a pearly light but smelled of rust and blood. Tabitha was bathed in an electric blue and yellow mixture, smelling of ozone and oranges. Since she was mostly human, I also picked up on her tension and concentration as she piloted the ship. Her hands didn't move much, most of the piloting happened through her implants.

I took the back seat, of no use right now. Brock Marsden, a member of the Moreau Society, and a private detective. I’ve piloted my share of ships, but that didn’t make me the better pilot. And at the moment I was caught up in wondering how I was going to handle the conversation with Shanley Walsh, my long-time business partner, and friend.

Not only did I need to confront him about whether or not he was an alien, but I also needed his help to figure out how we could get into the past and rescue my lover Muriel Reinhard, and my friend Dyami of Eyota. Both also worked at our agency. They were lost in a freak accident, one that stranded them a hundred years ago.

The ship bounced. Turbulence.

“We're entering the atmosphere,” Tabitha said unnecessarily. “Compensating.”

The ride smoothed out. The STC drives were Galactic tech, bestowed by the Glittering Throng on Rim species as they reached a certain level of technological sophistication. We still didn't really understand the Space-Time Coordinate drive, except that it somehow altered the location of matter within the drive's field. It was like a lot of Galactic tech—both mysterious and a reminder that the species of Glittering Throng really were just that much smarter than the rest of us.

My Euzebian scent-sight was possible thanks to the Moreau Pod, a piece of Galactic tech that enable us to rewrite the DNA of the occupant. The Moreau Society members used the technology to incorporate the traits of other species into their own DNA. It was deadly dangerous and took a lot of work to avoid ending up dead, or worse as a Dumpty, alive and scrambled beyond repair. It was also more of a human thing—Dyami and others rejected the whole idea. Even most humans did, which was why it was illegal on most worlds.

I rubbed my hands on the arms of the chair. My right was normal, the left, a nest of red tentacles, fifteen of them, segmented that writhed and twisted along the arm. The oily taste in my mouth was actually from the C'lacktal tentacles. I focused on my tongue, imagining the hot white Torlian coffee I would get when we landed, and the taste faded. The tentacles weren't my idea, a side-effect from a weapon based on Moreau technology, but they were useful. Less for their ability to taste or erogenous zones, than for the poisonous bite they could deliver. I hadn’t had time to research how to restore my hand.

The view outside showed the primary Olindan continent, like a broken island chain on the equator. Small icecaps, a few volcanic islands dotted the world-spanning ocean, but it was mostly the volcanic chain along the equator that was inhabited by a mix of humans and aliens in Olinda, the city sharing the name with the planet. Lights from the sprawling city helped trace the coastline.

“Guidance protocol accepted,” Tabitha said. “Following your instructions, Ground.”

She glanced back at him. Lights moved through the strands woven into her dark hair. The piercings in her ears, lips, nose, and eyebrows were more than cosmetic. They were cybernetic implants, storage, sensors, and other enhancements.

“We'll be down in twenty minutes at the spaceport unless you want me to break off landing protocol.”

Drac hissed from the co-pilot seat. “We must find Shanley Walsh immediately.”

“No,” I told her. “We'll land at the spaceport. I'm not going into the past before I settle a few things.”

“No more delays,” Drac said. “My people have waited too long!”

“A few hours now won't make any difference,” I said. “We have to play this right. Besides talking to Shanley, we also have the Tretan and Orlando Pike to think about.”

It was almost easier to think about the others than talking to Shanley about being a Galactic in disguise. The Tretan ran Galactic DNA Suppliers and had supplied the shuttle that had carried Muriel and Dyami into the past. I owed him. Not only for the shuttle but because I had destroyed the technology that had caused my C'lacktal hand instead of turning it over as promised. And for DNA samples like the Neridian cortex DNA codes that I had back in cold storage in my workshop. I didn't know his name, although rumors said that his species were once part of the Glittering Throng and were kicked out. Stories varied on the reason.

Orlando Pike had captured me and Drac, implanted nanowires in my brain that had triggered episodes where I relieved times in my past for his amusement and allowed him to control what I did. He sent us out to the Enhancer's colony to retrieve the tach field generator that we had planned to steal from him. Hypatia Meier had turned things around, taking his payment, his shuttle, and Tabitha had extracted the nanowires from my brain—freeing me in the process. He wasn't going to give up when he realized we were back.

“More reasons to hurry,” Drac said.

I might be the Esteemed One to the Nosferans, but Drac had gotten over that formality when he tried to kill Tabitha. Turns out my honorary ambassadorial rank didn't out-rank him.

“I'm not saying we won't hurry. But there are things I have to do, and I'll talk to Shanley my way.”

Drac hissed with his displeasure, and the rust-smell from him increased, but he ceased arguing. Tabitha was bringing the ship down following Ground’s flight path.

When we landed, my past was going to catch up to me.