Chapter 1
999 years later
Commander Jon Paxton smiled as he watched the languidly spinning, crimson–clouded sphere on the large view-screen. This treaty would undoubtedly be a milestone of the century. A combination of diligent effort and a sprinkling of luck had melded to ensure that he, despite only having ten years of service under his belt, would be present for this historic ceremony. The Collective intended to firmly demonstrate their approval of this pact. The warship he served on, the Zeta Nine, was briefly out of the trenches and marching on parade.
A deep voice spoke from behind him. “Ready to head down?”
Jon turned as Captain Smythe slowly pushed up from his command chair. The man was in his late fifties, but beneath that scattering of grey hair lay a mind as sharp as any of the instructors at the Academy. Smythe nodded to his second-in-command, and the two headed off the main bridge toward the elevator.
Anticipation coursed through Jon’s veins. The final round of talks was still two days off, but he had heard fantastic stories about the grand parties preceding all of Nicole Bessam’s signings. Everything about the woman seemed larger than life. The tangled conflicts she had managed to delicately unravel were legendary. She was said to be responsible for stopping more wars than anyone else in Collective history.
Jon pondered Bessam as the elevator whooshed down. The files on her seemed almost criminally empty for someone with such a stellar reputation. Apparently Nicole put a high value on her privacy and let few details about her background enter the public record. She spent most of her days commanding a scout ship on the fringes of Collective territory, gathering intelligence. According to the records, Nicole’s only regular contact with other fleet members came when she arrived for these negotiations.
The elevator gently grumbled to a stop. The two men stepped out into the transporter room to find the rest of the landing party ready for teleportation; all four crew members seemed eager to get under way. Undoubtedly, like most Collective officers, they had fervently hoped that one of their tours would occasion an appearance at a signing. With this treaty, they had been lucky enough to score an extremely important one. All were anxious to see how the reality of a Bessam event held up against the many tales and reports.
Jon glanced at the reflective surface of the wall as he stepped onto his pad. He gave his thick, brown hair a quick run-through with his fingers as he turned in place to face forward.
The lanky transporter operator gave them a nod and moved his hand over his console.
Blink.
Jon and his companions shimmered into life in the midst of music, laughter, and exuberant voices echoing through a large, ornately decorated marble hall. A golden sunset streamed in through the bank of large, beveled windows, throwing rainbow streaks onto a myriad of curling streamers, floating balloons, and delicate paper lanterns. The room was almost deafeningly loud, and a cacophony of languages sounded from all sides.
Jon looked around him with interest at the plethora of races and uniforms represented. The negotiating parties were not allowed in the main hall until the morning of the talks. Apparently this rule cut down on the number of violent confrontations which might spring up. For now, the room was packed with visitors and observers, students and recorders, dignitaries and locals, and undoubtedly a few spies. Tables laden with fragrant, exotic foods lined the walls, and moss-green-suited waiters circulated unobtrusively with an assortment of liquid refreshments.
Jon turned to his captain, grinning. “Quite a turnout,” he commented dryly, eyeing a round-eyed Jarusian who slunk by in a shimmering emerald dress. He nodded to her, then turned in place to take in the full effect of the hall. Many of those present wore respirators or cybernetic body suits to preserve the environment necessary for life. The variety of cultures present was staggering. Apparently the top representative from every edge of the galaxy had made an effort to attend this celebration.
“Many haven’t even arrived yet,” replied Captain Smythe, chuckling at the effect the room was having on his awestruck crew. “The majority of guests will be arriving tomorrow.” He waved a hand in greeting to an admiral lounging by a wall, and in a moment the two men were clasping arms and laughing in delight. Jon stood with them, barely hearing their shared stories, snagging a sapphire drink from a passing waiter.
The sunset slowly faded from the room. The glimmering paper lanterns and colored lights added a mystical effect to the figures moving through the shadows.
By the time darkness had descended in earnest, Jon had eased into the rhythm of the exuberant environment, in tune with the cacophony of voices and kaleidoscope of colors. It was almost a shock when a hush permeated, wave-like, across the hall. All eyes turned to a raised dais at the far end of the cavernous room. A willowy, blond man in a forest-green formal uniform lowered his hand and tentatively tapped his microphone.
“As I was saying, the resort planet of Glandy is immensely proud to be able to serve as host to the Cybian-Patar negotiations. These talks will join two powerful planets into the family of the Collective. And so, I present to you Captain Bessam and her crew!” The speaker motioned grandly to the pad, where five forms were already taking shape.
Jon was caught up in the holding-of-breath that seemingly blanketed the hundreds of people in the hall. He watched with steady focus as the group of negotiators shimmered into being.
Nicole stood in the middle of the group of four men, her dark, chestnut-brown hair curling just past shoulder length over her flowing turquoise and gold dress. The dress followed her slim curves, then swirled into a shimmering pool at her feet. Her companions had matching colored uniforms, in the more formal Collective style. Jon and his crew were wearing black versions of that same outfit. Each of the negotiating team wore a silver diamond-shaped pin over his or her left breast.
As Jon’s eyes swept over the team members, a sharp pain in his breast staggered him. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. His mind raced back to that day, over a decade ago, when he had seen the group during his orientation at the Academy. He had experienced that same visceral shock. It was a feeling of … what, jealousy? Envy?
He shook his head, letting his gaze rest for a moment on each team member, before settling it on Nicole.
Loneliness.
The rightness of the word echoed in his soul.
He wanted, with every fiber of his being, to be a member of that team. He craved it with a longing that he had never felt for anything else in the world.
And he had no idea why.
He let out a breath, taking a long drink of his sapphire concoction. Back at the Academy, as a new arrival, he had assumed his desire was simply a natural part of starting on his path. He figured that all new recruits felt that same passion when looking at established teams and that his feelings would settle down once he was assigned his first ship.
But looking at the group standing before him, he knew this was something different. No matter what team he had been grouped with, no matter what challenges he had faced, he had never felt an all-encompassing desire like this one.
Ten long years had passed. Ten years of achievements and promotions, of victories and celebrations. And yet, looking at that small group of men and women before him, he would trade it all in an instant to be able to stand by their side.