The Cipher of Tolo

(The First 3 Chapters)

1

Imogene: Missed

Imogene Sol was afraid she’d made a terrible mistake. Choosing what she’d thought would be a life to discover who her parents were at Ring Academy and beyond turned out to be a slide into a chaotic oblivion of perpetual frustration. Considering who she was and all the experiences she’d collected in her short twenty-three cycles, she was used to it, but tired. In the silence of the workout room, however, pushing her body like it owed her a debt, she remembered what the tug of a satisfied life on her insides felt like. 

The darkness of the early-morning sky pressed in against the windows. The lights in the room were low, and the dark mats added to the stillness—a calm surface of inky black swallowing the light from Turnus beyond the windows. The ringed planet glowed green with angry blue-purple swirls of the weather, bruising the surface with cyclones. That view—serene on the surface—reminded her there could be peace amidst the storms, even if the tempest raging in her was never ending. Her resistance training was the only furious sound in the room, a testament to the tumult and disappointment of coming up short on her latest query. Her muscles burned, and she welcomed it.

Argos and Makesh would rise soon.

She would face another day as a halo at Ring Academy, another futile attempt at uncovering information about her parents in the archives, another span to push her toward a night she’d fall into bed frustrated and ask herself if she’d been a fool to stay. A fool to—

She coughed to clear her chest. She refused to go there.

Remaining at Ring near Adim Glyn, her father’s best friend, had been the right choice to make, and until she could access Legion for herself, the archive at Ring was the only place she could learn about her parents, their lives, their time there. Adim was that gatekeeper. It didn’t hurt that through getting to know him, she’d discovered she liked him. Taking the opportunity to know Adim wasn’t a mistake, but everything else, so far, reminded her of pressing on a day-old bruise.

Alternating her hands back and forth, Imogene whipped the thick cables into a tempest of waves across that matted surface. Her arms screamed at the exertion. Her chest heaved. Her muscles rebelled, and sweat dripped down her face. When the burn gripped everything, she pushed a little harder. A little longer. Just a few more ticks, until the deconstruction of her muscles was counterproductive. With a growl, she dropped the fat ropes, put her hands on top of her head and walked away from the exercise, breathing through the physical pain and wishing emotional turmoil was that easy to navigate.

Make my body hurt so my heart won’t.

Her brain, as it turned out, was the loudest thing in the room. Exercise was the only activity that seemed to shut it off from all the doubt, the worries, the extraneous drift trying to answer questions that began with what if. 

Since taking the halo position, her early morning workout had become essential to fracture the frustration. When she’d been a cadet, workouts had been the way to prove herself, to prove she was worthy to be there. Now, she was worthy enough to be entrusted as a halo—a teacher—and her purpose was to redefine who she was as a Sol. That had been why she’d stayed. To prove her parents were innocent and that meant learning about them, finding them in the halls, in the conversations with Adim. But she wasn’t sure she was finding them there. And redefining herself felt like a joke. Therein existed the doubt that made her question if she’d made the right choice. 

Workouts tethered her to what she could control.

She picked up the ropes and did another set. 

And another.

And another.

When she was done, she put the combat ropes away and flopped, lying on her back, arms outstretched at her sides, staring up at the wooden beams running across the ceiling. Just existing in the physical effects of a workout left there on the mat. 

“I thought I’d find you here.”

She sat up, her heart snapping into its battle rhythm, afraid it was another halo there to hassle her. When she saw Adim Glyn walk across the mat toward her, dressed in workout clothes, her heartbeat tempered. She’d never seen the Sirkuhl in exercise gear. His tall, lean form was showcased in a sleeveless top and workout pants. It made sense he would be in shape considering his work, not only as the Ring commander but also as a member of Legion, the intelligence organization he’d recruited her to join. 

The same agency her parents had joined and died for.

He sat down a few feet away and stretched out his long limbs. 

“I’ve never seen you in here,” she said, a bit panicked about it. “You’re not in uniform.” 

“That wouldn’t be very comfortable.” He smiled at her, his sharp Felleen teeth bright white against his red skin. “If you worked out in the halo facility you’d see I can wear something other than my uniform and ‘grandpa attire’ as you like to call it. I’ve never seen you there.” He wasn’t looking at her and leaned back onto his hands.

She didn’t work out in the halo facility. She’d tried it when she’d first taken the halo position. Despite what she’d been able to prove as a cadet, her mettle hadn’t translated with the existing haloes who’d once been her superiors. 

“Have you met Mins?” She flicked at the ends of the wrap around her wrist and yanked the sticky, white substance off.

He chuckled and sat up, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees.

“You’re back.” She crushed the tape into a ball. It had been several spans since they last spoke. They’d missed their last weekly dinner since he’d been traveling for reasons he didn’t share. He didn’t usually, and she determined it was Legion business.

“I am. Did you get your application in?” he asked.

She knew he was referring to her petition to join Legion. “Yes. All submitted. Bring me a souvenir?”

He hummed, and she knew he was trying to find the words in a space that was most likely monitored. “A few trinkets. I’ll show them to you at dinner.”

She nodded.

“What will you bring?” he asked.

This was how it had been since she’d decided to remain on Serta. He’d access Legion records within the parameters of his position, find a lead and share it with her. When he was on an op, he’d attempt to investigate the leads he could, but digging into Legion files was walking a tightrope to avoid setting off red flags. They needed his access to both Legion and Federation files. Adim would share his lead, and she’d add her own research within her limited means at the Ring and Bellenium Federation archives, usually hitting the proverbial wall of nothing.

She shook her head. “Nothing new on Serta. Maybe I can try and access a new shop. Sell?”

“And risk a pawnshop price?” He arched a brow at her. “Best option, like we discussed, is holding onto the collection until we find a collector.”

Imogene grunted in annoyance, but she understood. He was working on a way to help her gain unfettered access to the Legion files once she was admitted to the next recruit class. 

“Some advice?”

“Would you refrain from giving it if I said ‘no thanks’?” She smiled at him and snorted her amusement.

“Right. No. I wouldn’t. So keep in mind that one of the most important measurements in Legion is teamwork. You’re going to be scrutinized for everything, including how well you work with others.” One of his brows lifted over a golden eye. “And they will do their research, interview your colleagues, for example.”

Imogene sighed. 

She didn’t want to share with him that the other haloes were making it difficult to be a team player. Though she’d initially tried to let her past be water moving swiftly down river, they weren’t adhering to the same philosophy. They might be adults instead of cadets, but Station 452 had still happened, her parents were still to blame for setting that bomb. Until there was proof that it hadn’t been them, Imogene might as well be a leaky vessel sinking in that dank reputation. No one was outright unprofessional or cruel like cadets had been, but the majority of her colleagues either watched her with a wary eye or outright ignored her existence. She might be their equal in rank, but she suspected she couldn’t cross the divide because there were a few too many senior haloes in the ranks punching holes in her presence there that the rest wouldn’t attach themselves to a sinking ship. 

Instead of commenting, she cleared her throat of the complaints. “I’ll do my best.” She meant it. Getting selected to be a blackout in Legion was imperative, especially if she wanted to be able to clear her parents’ names. She’d fake it until she made it.

Adim watched her for a beat, then looked around. “I used to work out with your father here when we were cadets. Eventually your mother, too.”

Imogene appreciated that he shared what he remembered, even if it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t ever be enough, and that made her feel transparent and vulnerable. Adim Glyn saw straight through her and usually knew exactly what to say to reduce her to that lonely, inner child she tried so hard to bury. Though she wanted to prod him for more information, the vulnerability wasn’t welcome this morning.

“Your parents didn’t get along at first.” He smiled as if he remembered something she wished she could witness with him. “But I don’t think it was because they didn’t like one another. I think it was their way of flirting.” He chuckled.

Imogene smiled with a light snort, hated that she thought about Timaeus Kade, and crumpled the wrap into an even tighter ball. “So my parents hated one another, eventually became lovers, and joined Legion after they graduated.”

“About sums it up.”

She huffed with impatient amusement.

Adim stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles, leaning back on his hands once more. “How long have you been here, Sol?” 

“About sixty ticks.”

He huffed. “At Ring?”

“Since I started as a halo? About 90 spans,” she answered, tossing the wad of wrap across the room toward a trash receptacle. She missed.

“No. Since your beginning here at Ring.”

“You know.”

“Say it anyway.”

“Eight cycles.”

He didn’t reply for several seconds, but she could feel his eyes on her. “That’s a long time.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

He got to his feet. “I’m glad you’re here, Imogene.” But she could hear the tone of something he hadn’t said.

“Are you? Because this little chat feels like something different.”

“How so?” 

She groaned at him. He always did this, and it made her more irritated when he chuckled. “You want me to think about how long I’ve been here for some reason. To get something more out of the symbolism or some such shit.”

“And what’s the symbolism?” He walked backward toward the door.

She didn’t answer him because she wasn’t sure what he was trying to get at and instead got to her feet.

“Eight years is a long time, Imogene. Seven as a cadet and now your first as a halo.” He glanced around the room. “You aren’t a cadet anymore. Just makes me curious about why you’d choose to workout here. Alone.”

She swallowed knowing the man was smart and was probably attuned to why she was avoiding the other haloes. He didn’t get to where he was by being an idiot. “I like the quiet moment at the start of the day.”

He hummed. “Eight years is a long time,” he repeated.

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

She stood up. “Is this supposed to be a pep talk?”

“Am I so transparent?”

“You’re not very good at disguising your motives.”

He made a humming noise. “Perhaps about some things.”

Which was true. She hadn’t known her connection to him her entire tenure as a cadet. She’d thought he’d disliked her. She sighed. “I’ll try harder.”

“Making connections to people is important,” he said. Case in point: he was a member of a team of benefactors that had made her education at Ring Academy possible. He had done that for her because of his connection to her parents. 

But her friends weren’t at Ring anymore.  

Her vulnerability told her lies that when she did make important connections, she lost them. Vempur and Jenna had taken their positions on Slegmus IV in the capital city of Reblion. Tsua had faced the UFB magistery tribunal for his crimes and was now serving his sentence at Carnos. And Timaeus had left for his position in Reblion City. She wanted to ignore the weight inside her chest with the loss, but sometimes couldn’t. She’d ended things between them, the choice meant as a kindness, but had certainly become a painful reminder of what she’d given away.

“Is that why you came all this way to find me? To talk me into working out in the halo facility?”

“No. Actually, I came to find you to remind you about dinner tonight.” He paused in the doorway, turning back to look at her. “But I’m always willing to give you a pep talk when you need one.” Then he disappeared through the door saying something about bringing dessert.

She smiled.

At least she had Adim Glyn. Soon, she’d have Legion. She’d find a way to clear her parents name if it was the last thing she ever did.

2

Imogene: The Way Hierarchies Work

Imogene hadn’t considered how much harder it would be to return to the bottom of the ladder in the same place where she’d once been at the top. She’d taken the job as a halo at the Ring Academy where everything was familiar, and yet nothing was. From her place at the window, she scanned the view from her classroom in Rotha, the farthest northeast one could go on campus, and tried not to look wistfully toward the athletic complex to the south. 

Mins’s Lair.

She couldn’t see past the Codex, or what they lovingly referred to as the Globe, which loomed like a hulking eye watching her, the glass glimmering in the twin suns’ light. As much as she wished to be teaching Intro to Combat, Comms Research was what she’d been assigned as a newbie to teach instead. The senior halo for the combat department was Halo Mins, and she knew how much he respected her. 

Slagging Mins. Still messing with her placement.

And now she had to play nice.

With a sigh, she pushed the button to darken the windows of her classroom. The lowlights bloomed as the console table rose from the floor. Then she walked around the tiers of tables situated in small groups for best viewing and programmed the data chips for the day’s lesson. On the main console at the center of the room, she accessed the hovering dataFeed, and skimmed through it for the files she needed. When she found them, she flicked the icon, and it opened, revealing the stats for the day’s inquiry, and tried to recall what she’d loved about being a cadet. She couldn’t remember liking much of anything aside from her friends and competition. She’d loved striving to be the best, and she’d loved competing with Timaeus specifically, but the thought of him made her frown, so she forced herself to think about something else. 

She reminded herself why she was at Ring and that it didn’t matter what course she was teaching. She had access to the archives, even if the only thing she’d uncovered so far was her parents’ enrollment, their background data, and homeworlds. She’d learned they had been rehomed students like Imogene and Vempur, for them an unfortunate consequence of the former unrestricted binding practice in the Federation. Both had earned scholarships to get them to the Ring, but then it was as if the record of their existence as cadets disappeared. She’d had to search for their presence peripherally through other cadets like Adim (who she’d learned a lot about). 

The entrance to the classroom slid open with a whoosh and several first years walked in together, talking excitedly about something. 

She greeted the cadets dressed in their gray uniforms, and collapsed the dataFeed until later when she’d need it. 

“Greetings, Halo,” the cadets stated at attention near the door.

“At ease.” With a glance at her comm, she noted the time. “Where is everyone?” 

“They’re–” one cadet started, but a shout beyond the door interrupted her, drawing Imogene’s gaze. 

The panels slid open and Imogene stepped through, hustling across the balcony concourse. She bent over the edge that overlooked the courtyard rotunda blooming with greens and a fountain four levels below. The first thing she saw was the group of students pulsing around something, as if they were a single-celled organism, and whatever was at its nucleus was keeping it alive. 

Moving quickly down the stairs, Imogene waded her way through the bodies of students at the periphery to whispers of “It’s a halo.” When she got to the center of the group, two first-years were locked up on the ground, pummeling one another. One was the blue and gold of a Baskin and the other a red Astra Felleen, and it appeared the Astra was winning. 

She lunged toward them, and though she was small, hauled them up by their cadet-gray collars. “What is going on here?” she snapped. “Stand down!”

Fighting wasn’t frowned upon at Ring, but protocol mattered.

The Baskin, taller than her by at least a head, swiped at his nose leaking dark blood. His chest heaved as he breathed like he was conjuring fire in his chest. His dark eyes stared hard at the Astra boy, bloody fists now flexing at his sides.

The Astra, his skin a shade of vermillion indicated he was Felleen and human, smirked. 

“I gave you an order,” she said.

“Just settling some differences.” The Astra-Felleen boy’s voice dripped with condescension and arrogance. “Ridig, here, needed help in understanding the way hierarchies work.”

The name surprised her, and Imogene’s eyes lodged on the Baskin boy. Ridig? She wanted to ask him if he was related to Dwellen, who had stained her entire time at Ring as a cadet. Not that it mattered anymore. She knew Dwellen wasn’t a villain. Hadn’t been since their final trial.

“And your name, cadet?” Imogene asked the Astra.

“Aoknie Fray.” 

Imogene hummed a note. “And is there a reason you aren’t at attention, cadet Fray?”

Aoknie snapped to attention, his face finding a neutral place. “Sorry, halo.”

“And your name cadet?” Imogene asked the Baskin boy.

“Rin Ridig.” He swiped the back of his hand under his nose one more time, trying to clean the blood which he only managed to smear. He stood straighter, even if his movement hinted he was doing so unwillingly.

“Rin!”Another boy barreled through the ameba around them, a replica of the first Baskin.  Twins. He was ready to fight, his hands up, his eyes wild, but when he caught sight of her, he skidded to a halt and snapped to attention. “Halo.”

The Baskin boys were nearly identical. Wide black eyes, heavy black brows, black hair, full lips with the hint of shape to their jaws. Both had short horns, curling up then pointed behind them, though one of them—Rin’s had a slight curl outward. The bone was dark and etched with golden markings that flowed into their deep blue skin like visible veins. Both had long black hair. Whereas Rin wore his hair long and secured at the sides with braids to keep it out of his face, the second boy had his hair in a single thick braid that ran down his back like vertebrae of a spine, the sides of his head shaved.

“And you are?” she asked the twin.

“Cadet Rez Ridig.” His eyes remained forward like any well-trained cadet. This one didn’t seem as antagonistic.

She looked at the crowd. “Get to your classes.”  Then turned back to the two combatants, and the third boy still standing at attention, who respectfully declined to leave his brother. “What are the four tenets of the Ring?” she asked.

“Order, tenacity, fortitude, and loyalty,” all three intoned together. It had been part of their orientation as new students. To not know it would have been a reduction.

“And this fight?” she asked, using a hand to reference Aoknie and Rin. “Which of the four?”

“Fortitude…” Aoknie ventured.

“At what cost to the others?” she asked.

“Everything.” Rin’s anger clearly still simmered just under the surface.

She glared at them. “There is a way to go about fighting at Ring, cadets. You will meet me at the arena after the sanctioned study period. Bring your gear. You can settle it then,” she said. “Winner will receive a point.”

“Yes, halo.” Their backs straightened.

“You’re dismissed to your classes,” she said, then added, “and keep the fight for the arena. I hear about this skirmish continuing, a reduction for both of you.”

The Ridig twins turned to go, but stopped when Aoknie said, “But we’re late.” 

“And whose problem is that?” she asked. 

Aoknie’s jaw worked, and his irritation produced the click in his Felleen throat. “Mine.”

“Take it up with the halo you’ve dishonored. Dismissed.”

The cadets took off in opposite directions. By the time Imogene returned to her own class, her students were gabbing excitedly about the fight.

When the suns—Argos and Makesh—began their descent, Turnus and its rings were glowing a little brighter than usual. Imogene made her way across campus to the arena. The beginning of the year was always warm, Serta tilted closer to the suns so that the Marken Plains basked in their warmth. The trees were green, the flowers blooming. As she walked, she recalled moments with Vempur, with Jenna, even with Tsua. When she passed under the trellis filled with open white milsk blossoms, she thought of Timaeus and their first kiss, and despised that the nostalgia wrought unwieldy loneliness.

Breaking things off with Timaeus had meant to be a mercy. For him, perhaps it was. For her, it just felt like an anchor.

Imogene walked through the shiny, black pillars into the grassy arena and saw the boys along with a cadre of spectators. 

When she approached, all the cadets snapped to attention. “Halo,” the group intoned.

“At ease.” She set down her things, having brought extra equipment in case a cadet needed it. Ring might have condoned fighting, but injury to first-years wasn’t the goal. “Combatants step forward.”

Aoknie and Rin stopped in front of the rest of the other cadets. Rin’s twin, Rez, hovered just a step behind him. They were dressed in their usual uniforms, gray fatigues, but had lost their shirt for just the plain black t-shirt they wore underneath, finished with their black boots. The rest of the cadets looked exactly the same.

“By order of fortitude, one of you has issued a challenge,” she stated. “Who is the challenger?”

“I am, halo.” Aoknie lifted his chin.

“Under what circumstances?” 

“I don’t like him.”

“You recognize that despite your personal preference of any single cadet, you are a recruit class?” she asked.

“Of competitors.” Aoknie’s golden eyes found her even though his head didn’t move.

“Fair enough.” Imogene’s gaze jumped to Rin. “While there isn’t a rule that you must like one another, at some point along your journey, there may come a time when you need one another.”

Silence greeted her, and she knew none of them would take in her words yet. That might take the full seven cycles to understand, and for some of them, maybe never.

“Challenger?”

“Rin, halo.”

“Since you are being contested, you have the right to name the terms of the contest.”

“Hand-to-hand, halo.” Rin clenched his fists at his side.

Surprised by his answer she asked, “Any other terms?”

“No interference,” Rin stated.

“Challenger, do you find these terms acceptable?”

“Yes, halo.”

“Hand-to-hand rules apply. Do you remember them from orientation?” she asked.

“No low blows.” Aoknie’s upper lip curled with a smirk.

“Knock downs receive a point and a reset. If a knockout occurs, it ends the fight, the last one standing is the victor.” 

Rin glanced at his brother.

“As per terms, any interference results in a disqualification and results in a draw. First to three wins. Understand?” Both boys nodded, and the rest of the cadets created a ring around them. “Excellent. Tape up. Helmets on. And face one another.” Imogene moved from between them.

The boys turned and secured their bodies. Rin’s brother helped him wrap his hands then fasten the safety equipment onto his head. The two of them were alone and her muscle memory drew her into their sphere of isolation. The way they seemed like underdogs reminded her of being just this way with Vempur once, getting ready to fight for their place at Ring. Strangely, she still felt that way. Finishing fifth in her Trials, setting a record with Timaeus, becoming a halo—none of those things had changed how people perceived her. She was always and only a Sol, daughter of terrorists.

Aoknie, on the other hand, was surrounded by other cadets. He was laughing, so at ease with the idea of heading into a fight with Rin as if there wasn’t a question of his victory.

When both the boys were equipped, she made them face off. “Recite the tenets.”

Both boys intoned, “Order, tenacity, fortitude, and loyalty.”

“Endure,” she repeated. “On my mark.” She waited for a breath. “Fight.”

With a powerful jab, Rin’s blue fist punched Aoknie in his flat Felleen nose. It was immediate and brutal, the crack breaking the peace in the arena. The Felleen fell onto his backside, unprepared, his hands covering his face as bright blood gushed from his nose.

“Point, Rin,” Imogene yelled and several cadets in the crowd cheered. “Reset.”

Aoknie was on his feet, fire in his eyes as blood ran in twin rivulets down his face from his nose. He spat, his eyes filled in pure black as war waged in his veins, his gaze never leaving Rin. As much as she wanted to staunch the bleeding, it was against Ring protocol. This was their choice, which meant they had to face the consequences, the discomfort, and the pain. 

The two combatants circled one another, Rin’s element of surprise spent. Both boys looked for an opening, ducking toward the other at varied intervals. Imogene watched as Aoknie’s frustration rose, his face turning a bolder red than it already was. His teeth bared as he growled. Rin, however, maintained his cool as his brother coached him from the sideline. The rest of the crowd yelled, screaming for their favored combatant.

Suddenly, Aoknie feinted, Rin miscalculated, moving exactly where Aoknie wanted him, and with a jab, busted Rin’s lip. The Baskin’s head snapped back, but he kept his feet. 

“Point,” Imogene called, but the boys continued to brawl, Aoknie sweeping his leg out, pushing it through Rin’s feet and knocking them out from under him. Rin dropped onto his back and as quickly as a snake strike, Aoknie was on Rin. 

Rez pressed forward.

Imogene held up her hand and Rin’s twin stopped. “Reset,” she yelled, and pulled Aoknie from Rin with the help of two other cadets. “Deduction cadet!” She shook Aoknie at his collar. “You want to be disqualified and lose another?”

His head snapped toward her, his angry gaze unfocused and feral. 

“Follow the slagging rules.”

“Fine.” He spat another glob of blood on the ground.

The fight continued, the combatants evenly matched and the cheering of the cadre climbing in volume, echoing across the arena, and bouncing against the perimeter walls. Eventually Aoknie and Rin were tied 2 to 2. “Match point,” Imogene called out as they reset. “Fight.”

“What the slag is going on here,” a voice yelled as the crowd parted.

“Halo!” Imogene yelled. “Hold!” Her eyes jumped from Mins back to the boys whose focus was on each other.

But Mins ignored her, and whether it was due to his arrogance or his pride—she couldn’t be sure which—the halo walked right through the battle circle, yelling at her.

The combatants, undeterred by and ignorant of any intrusion, continued trading blows. Imogene’s focus slipped between the students to Halo Mins stalking through the circle. As if in slow motion, Rin threw a hook. Aoknie ducked, and the Baskin boy’s fist connected to Halo Mins’ jaw, knocking him out.

XX

Mins scowled next to her his yellow-brown face dark with rage, the lighter swirls of his golden scales becoming more apparent the longer they stood in silence, both of them facing Sirkuhl Glyn’s desk. But that fist mark on his jaw was mottled with angry dark streaks, which made Imogene suppress a smile. Served him right for walking into the middle of a fight. She wisely ducked her head, however, to keep the amusement to herself and couldn’t wait to tell Vempur—

But the thought caught the breath in her lungs for a moment. 

Her friends weren’t there and she wouldn’t be able to speak to him for several more spans as the CommLink realigned.

“She overstepped!” Mins flung a hand out toward her.

“So you’ve said.” Adim’s golden Felleen eyes slid to meet hers.

She’d been in this position so often as a cadet at Ring Academy, facing the Sirkuhl, awaiting his judgement. This was her first time as a halo. She was almost certain she could see Adim asking for reprieve, a silent plea in the shape of his features. “Still, Imogene?” that look seemed to say.

“She yelled at me in front of students, for stars’ sake!” Mins huffed a thin sound through his slitted nostrils.

Imogene’s head snapped to face Mins, her mouth agape with incredulous shock. “To warn you. To keep you from this!” She used a hand to indicate Mins’ bruises, then faced Adim, setting her teeth, then taking a deep breath. “I was within defined halo parameters to discipline cadets. I took them to the field for a fair fight—within protocol—that held them to the tenets as opposed to what happened in the Rotha quad.”

Adam’s Felleen voice clicked with annoyance, but she didn’t think it was because of her. “Did you address Mins—a superior—with disrespect?”

She turned her head to look at Mins again, a colleague now, but she knew he would never see her as anything more than a cadet. As a Sol.

She turned back to Adim. “I did not, sir. Nothing that would show disrespect to a senior halo.”

Fuck Mins.

Adim’s shrewd gaze jumped to the older halo, assessing. “You’re dismissed, Mins. Sol remain.”

“Are you going to—” 

Adim held up a hand. “Halo Mins.”

“Sir.”

“You are dismissed,” he repeated. “Or should we be discussing your insubordination?”

The halo huffed, his Zardish face sharp and tight with his superiority and his cruel green gaze zipping to Imogene’s. She allowed her eyes to slip to the blooming bruise on his cheek before pointedly meeting his mean gaze. 

He frowned, and then was gone.

“Am I really in trouble for following the rules, sir?”

Adim sighed and sat with a resigned thump in his chair. “Will you ever just visit my office just to visit Imogene? Or will you always be at the center of some controversy? Sit.”

She relaxed and took a seat.

“Didn’t we just talk about playing nice, Imogene?”

“This isn’t on me, sir.”

“Speak your peace. I know you want to.”

“I did not yell at him.” She huffed indignantly. “On my honor, sir. Mins just hates me. If I could fix it, I would.”

Adim scoffed. “Mins hates everyone. Don’t take it personally. ”

“Hard not to when he’s made it his mission to make my life miserable.”

Adim leaned back in his chair, and it creaked under his weight. Still out of uniform, dressed in casual clothes which made him seem, more authentic somehow, less caricature. He looked tired, his eyes drooping slightly and his crimson skin a touch faded. He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “Mins has been a halo for a very long time. I inherited him when I received this assignment. As… problematic as he can be…he knows influential people, and life in the federation if anything is about politicking. That is an important lesson.”

“Doesn’t change the fact he’s a slag,” she muttered.

He surprised her and chuckled. “Well, that’s one way to put it. Regardless, keeping the peace is in your best interests.”

Because of her application to Legion.

Her earlier words to the cadets came back to her: there isn’t a rule that you must like one another, at some point along your journey, there may come a time when you need one another. While she couldn’t imagine ever needing Mins for anything, she could try and appease Adim. So she nodded. “I’ll try harder.” But I can’t speak for him, she thought.

Adim leaned forward in his chair. “That’s all I can ask.”

She hesitated a moment, sensing that more was going on with Adim. “Are you okay, sir?”

He seemed surprised by her question. “First, no need for the sir when we’re alone, Imogene.”

“Seems strange to call you something else.”

“I thought we were past that.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chest.

“Old habits,” she smiled. 

“Do I look like something is wrong?”

She studied him, noting the droop of his eyes, the depth of lines around his frown. He blinked and tried to smile at her. “Yes. You look… tired.”

He sighed and sat forward. “I’m looking forward to our weekly dinner.”

She nodded and knew he had information to share. “Me too.” She stood. “I’ll look forward to it.” 

He smiled as she left, but Imogene couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more going on with Adim Glyn than he was saying. Weekly dinner couldn’t come soon enough, but that meant following the last lead on her list she hadn’t yet had a chance to explore. 

3 

Timaeus: The Likes of You

Timaeus Kade’s body flooded with tension as he faced his commanding officer, Chief Rethro, who, at the moment, was typing into his computer. Being summoned to the CO’s office as a rookie couldn’t be good. Could it? A cold rivulet of sweat snaked down the skin over his spine.

When the summons came through, the other officers had given him shit. They’d just returned from a routine operation for a sitting Federation counsel member who’d been out to endorse the Core Prime Triumvirate candidate at a recent NRV press conference. 

“Ah oh, Rook.” SecOp Fasso had tugged off his gear and placed it in his locker before looking over his shoulder at Timaeus. “It’s never good to get a summons by the CO.” He’d grinned, his Felleen fangs prominently displayed.

“What did you do?” SecOp At’ex had asked as he wrapped a towel around his waist. His bright violet stare drilling into Timaeus, then he’d chuckled as he walked toward the showers. “Hope you return in one piece.” His voice had echoed in the steamy locker room.

Being a rookie sucked but he’d closed his locker and, with a good-natured smile, had said, “Slag off.” Then he’d left his SecOp team behind to a chorus of laughter.

A Security Operator for the Grand Prime Triumvirate Duodenary Counsel—the highest of the Planetary Chancellors—Timaeus was the youngest rookie in those ranks. His placement was one of distinction given there wasn’t an SecOp with service less than a minimum of 5 cycles. Vempur, also an SecOp, worked for the Magistery of Justice. Other new recruits were placed on planetary assignments. 

 Now, standing in front of the CO, his heartbeat thin with anxiety, he wondered if maybe the chief had a lock on Timaeus earlier fantasy of requesting a transfer to Serta, which he knew would be career suicide and mark him within the Federation. It’s why he hadn’t asked. That and the fact he had a name to live up to. Besides, he was really fucking bitter about what Imogene had done.

He swallowed and glanced around. The Federation had all kinds of intelligence operandums, but they hadn’t figured out how to read thoughts. At least, he didn’t think so. He hadn’t read any intel on that kind of tech. So he remained silent and stoic waiting for his CO, who was typing something into one of his encrypted files. 

Had they heard his earlier conversation with his father?

“Look what you’d be giving up,” Boaz spat over the holo of his comm, his face colored and shaped with anger and disappointment, neither of which Timaeus accepted well. His insides mottled with guilt that coagulated like bacteria inside him. “For a woman?”

And that was where his father’s rage originated. 

Boaz couldn’t reconcile the idea that Timaeus had other feelings that jumped outside the sphere of Family, Legion. and Ring, in that order. Sure, Boaz Kade was married and had forged a partnership with Timaeus’s mother, but his father wouldn’t suffer Timaeus’s foolishness over what he called “a fling.”

“You’re in a prize placement.” Boaz shook his head, and Timaeus knew his father was thinking of his Legion placement as well, even if he couldn’t say it over an open line. “This is untenable, Timaeus!”

“I can still–”

“Tenacity, Timaeus. Fortitude,” Boaz interrupted, his face looming in the frame of the holocam.

“And loyalty?” Timaeus asked, hating that it always came down to legacy over things like happiness. “What about that?”

“To what? Her? Your position? Your legacy?”

And the echo of the silence after his father had broken the commLink enraged was still reverberating inside his head. Timaeus knew that his father was right. Now wasn’t the time, and maybe it never would be. Imogene ending things had tugged on a frayed thread stitching up his heart and now it was torn open, leaking anger and frustration instead of sadness. Their ending had nothing to do with them as people but rather their circumstances. And that enraged him. 

He’d considered requesting a transfer a few times since her call sixty spans ago.

“I don’t think this is going to work, Kade.” The statement was over the comm, her gorgeous face shorting out on the holo as it traveled across space and time toward him. 

“Don’t Ima,” he said, shaking his head. “This is hard, but we can do this.”

“Ending it is better than getting bitter, right?” she asked, and swallowed thickly. “I don’t want us to not be friends.”

“Ima, slag this. Don’t.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Please don’t do this.”

“We don’t even know when we’ll see one another face-to-face.”

He couldn’t refute that. He was on Slegmus IV. Imogene was on Serta. He was a system away from her, four station jumps. Might as well have been through the broken gate to Earth with their ability to leave new jobs. And that didn’t even take into account their lack of saved credits. 

“And then? After? You’re there. I’m here. Our jobs aren’t going to change anytime soon. At least another four or five cycles.”

“Ima. You’re pushing me away again.” 

She shook her head. “I’ve thought a lot about this, Kade. And I think this is best. And before you ask, because I know you will, best for both of us.”

And he hadn’t been able to argue, because yes the distance was hard. Everything reliant on functioning technology that was outside of their control. CommLinks in proper alignment. Stars forbid there was a solar storm, or some other reason that communication was strangled. When they’d agreed to do this, these were things that they hadn’t known to consider. 

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Timaeus,” Imogene whispered, and a tear sluiced down her cheek that she quickly swiped away with a hand as if to keep him from noticing.

Even his family had been on Imogene’s side. His father’s endorsement wasn’t surprising, but his brother Penn—the romantic of them—surprised Timaeus. “I get where she’s coming from. And she’s probably right, you know. I mean, who knows what will happen in the future.”

And Vempur—his roommate and Imogene’s best friend—had understood her rationale. “This isn’t Sol running away, Kade,” he said. “This is just her being practical.”

“I don’t want her to be slagging practical.” 

“But that isn’t Imogene.”

Vempur was right. Timaeus did like that no-nonsense side of her, but he didn’t want to lose her because of it. Except he’d lost her the moment he’d been assigned Slegmus IV and she chose to be a halo at Ring Academy on Serta.He hated the reality of it.

“One more second.” 

The words drew Timaeus’s attention back to the present and the unknown of a summons as he faced the CO. “Yes, sir.” He glanced around at the sterility of the office, the black space highlighted by the data feeds scrolling between them and highlighting his CO’s somber face, which didn’t allay the chaos inside Timaeus. Rethro’s head was tipped back to see through the spectacles on the end of his nose as he plunked away at the keys one finger at a time.

Jule Rethro wasn’t an overly tall human. He was shorter than Timaeus, but was wide and stacked with built muscles like he was perpetually wearing ballistics gear. His hands were huge, his neck wide, his shaved head massive. There were these ancient vids Timaeus once saw of ancient earth creatures, huge four-legged, grass-eating beasts that were shaggy with dark brown hair and massive horned heads attached to a giant torso. Rethro reminded him of one of those creatures. While Timaeus liked the man who led the Security Council Force, he was intimidating even if all he’d ever been was fair and steady.

Chief Rethro held up his meaty hands and clapped them together. “Done! Goddamn, I hate reports.” He leaned back in his squeaky chair as he removed his glasses, then turned off the data feeds. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” The lights around the perimeter of the room and the glass behind him shifted from their blackout shade back to the frosted security glass, brightening the room. 

“It’s alright, sir.”

“At ease, rook. At ease.”

Timaeus relaxed his stance, though the stress was still writhing inside him. Rethro’s report-writing was certainly a machination meant to build the tension inside Timaeus. These were tactics he’d been subjected to as a child in his own home. Training. Wrangling his stress was proving difficult, however and that not only disappointed him but he could hear his father’s voice: don’t be the weak link! Was he about to ruin the Kade legacy? With his formal Legion application in, he knew everything mattered—especially his current placement. He wasn’t a stranger to the procedure.

For his whole life, the Kade Legacy had been at the forefront of every decision, both his and those of his family. What he wanted didn’t factor into any equations that reconciled his existence. Those expectations informed everything, and while his emotions bounced around inside him like an echo trying to find a place to land, he was afraid that perhaps by even giving voice to his doubt he had become the weak link.

“It’s not often we get a rookie like you,” Rethos stated and plunked his fingers on the keyboard once more pulling up a file. An image of Timaeus floated above the chief’s desk, and he replaced his spectacles. “Third in class at Ring. Record holder in your trials,” he read. “Recently discovered a pattern of chatter about a possible resurgence of a dead terrorist cell. All that and everyone here likes you.”

Timaeus swallowed, unsure what to say, and glanced at Rethro. 

“You’ve been an asset here, Kade.” 

“Thank you, sir.” He took a deep breath and waited for the “but.” 

Only Rethro grinned, his teeth bright and somehow predatory. “I’m in a bit of a bind and I need a good man. I’ve got an unexpected opening on the current Prime Triumvirate’s detail. She has a selection event and needs a full detail. I’d like you to step in to cover.”

Timaeus couldn’t contain the surprise. “The Prime, sir?”

The highest official in the UFB.

His father would love it. 

Timaeus hated that the realization spread bitterness through him and the wonder if this assignment was by design. “I’m a rookie, sir. There must be–”

Rethro held up a meaty hand. “Haven’t seen the likes of you come through for many cycles.”

Timaeus wasn’t surprised by that, and that wasn’t arrogance. 

He’d been trained from childhood just like the rest of his family to be the best. Family, Legion, Ring—in that order. He’d been coached to understand the working of the UFB and its political machinations. Its manipulation of the masses. He was a student of Bellenium history, both good and bad. He knew the inner workings and origin story of Legion along with its mission to protect the citizenry. He’d been physically and mentally trained to be an asset for Legion knowing full well that one day he, too, would join the watchdog group’s ranks right behind that of his older brothers, his father and uncles, his grandfather. His lineage could be traced back to the original fifteen—Grayson Kade—his great grandfather. Timaeus was a legacy recruit, and it would take a horrific showing at the upcoming recruitment training for him to not be selected.

Timaeus knew he was the best because that is who he’d been groomed to be, all for family and legacy. Which left little room for what he actually wanted: a life with Imogene. A life that had slipped beyond his grasp and now only existed in the space of fantasies.

“Thank you for your faith in me, sir.” Timaeus nodded at his commanding officer. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. Now, onto other business—that thread you picked up has been substantiated by the analysts and the AI filters. I’m putting you on the investigative team. Check in with SecOp Ryz’en, tomorrow. He’s your new commander.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 After he was dismissed, Timaeus left the office and walked down the hallway past all the offices, grateful he was able to leave for home. Exiting the massive structure that served as the home office for the Security Council Force as well as several other agencies in the Federation government, Timaeus lifted his collar against the breeze. 

As usual, Reblion City was gray concrete, reflective glass refracting neon lights, and metal but for the patches of forced green at patterned intervals mandated by the City Planning Commission. The cloud cover was omnipresent, an entity filled with cumulus rage. Lightening flicked in the high clouds outlining them purple and followed by the rumble of distant thunder. Timaeus descended the steps, certain cold rain was on its way.

His mood matched.

The walkway was covered with beings moving to and from, the gray stones under their feet more expansive than the patterns their colorful clothing made. A few hours earlier, it would have been like trying to walk through walls, but the dramatics of a Duodenary Counsel press conference for the NRV was long over. Who knew Prime Triumvirate Selection years were so chaotic? 

Hovercrafts zipped in the thoroughfare overhead drawing his gaze up, his boots thudding against the concrete below him. The pipeline wasn’t far, and though he might want to take a hover vehicle home, he didn’t have the credits for it. That had been his biggest lesson moving from Ring to Reblion City—the amount of credits it took to live. He was paid well in his position, enough that he could share rent for a stack apartment with Vempur and still have a few credits to save or spend at his leisure. But it made him think about blinders and lower binders, how little they had. How down into the layers of Reblion City the breeze and rain didn’t wash away the stench or the filth, and the harder life was.

By the time he walked into the high-rise apartment, shrugging out of the black overcoat as he did, his mood matched. “Vempur?” he called as he unfastened the holster he wore for his ballista sidearm and secured his weapon.

“The lifeforce Vempur is not present,” the feminine computer voice intoned.

“Did he say where he was going?” Timaeus asked the AI that ran the building as he toed off the black boots, hopping on one foot to wrestle the second boot off with a tug.

“He did not.”

“Probably up to something not very virtuous.” He snorted, figuring his roommate was with his girlfriend Jenna, jealous they could still be together and simultaneously happy for them. He thought about Imogene and frowned.

“Virtue,” the disembodied voice stated. “Behavior showing high moral standards. Why would Lifeforce Vempur not be virtuous, Lifeforce Timaeus?”

“It’s just an expression, Aia,” he said, using the name he and Vempur had given the AI voice. He unbuckled his belt.

“I like my name, Lifeforce Timaeus.”

“Would you like me to call you Lifeforce Aia?”

“I am not a Lifeforce,” the voice explained. “I am a non-living artificial intelligence entity passing through the Communication Office. NAIE for short.” 

“Timaeus is enough, Aia.”

“But you are a lifeforce.”

“But that is not my name.”

“Understood.”

“Would you please heat the water?”

“For cleansing or cooking, Timaeus?”

“Cleansing,” he said, stripping out of his black-fatigue pants, then the black t-shirt as he moved to the water closet. 

“Cleaning you or something else?” she asked.

“Me.” He pressed the buttons and glass emerged from the wall, creating a tube that sealed around a drain. After bathing, dressing, and picking up after himself, he checked the CommLink to Lavi glad it was aligned to get this call over with.

“Timaeus.” His father’s face was clear on the holocam at the other end of the line. Boaz Kade was a large man, his golden skin the shade of Lavi sand when Ra’s sunset kissed the horizon. His hair had once been dark like Timaeus’s but now was streaked with silver. He arched a brow over one of his brown eyes. “Did you do it?”

Timaeus considered saying he had just to see how his father would respond but instead said, “Did you pull some strings?”

Both of his father’s eyebrows arched over his eyes, but something about the action read forced. He tilted his head. “What are you talking about?”

“I was promoted today.”

Boaz smiled and clapped his hands together. “This is exceptional news. Congratulations, Timaeus. Let me get your mother.”

“Don’t.”

Boaz sat back down in the space of the holocam screen. Timaeus could picture his father sitting there, remembering the smell of ionized air and the sharpened weapon collection on the walls. The desk was a giant monstrosity that he and his siblings had used as a place to hide when they played seek. 

Boaz tilted his head with a frown. “You aren’t happy about it?”

“I’m not anything. It is what it is. But I want to know how you did it.”

“Did what?”

“Got me placed on the Prime Triumvirate’s detail.”

His brows arched high showcasing surprise. This seemed authentic. “The PT?” His hand brushed across his mouth. “That’s… incredible, Timaeus. A true honor.”

Timaeus observed his father with disconnected focus, unsure what to make of his expression. Boaz—like every Kade—was a master at manipulation and machination. As a Legion legacy, it was hard to stray from those lessons. “Be honest. You pulled strings?”

“Of course not!” His hand smacked down on the desk and the cam wavered. “I’m offended you believe I think so little of your capabilities.”

Timaeus tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think this has anything to do with my capabilities.”

Boaz stared back, his gaze cold. “I was worried you might do something rash, yes. But you are climbing based on your own merit, son.”

“Is that Timaeus?” His mother said off screen, interrupting and providing insulation for their flaring tempers. That had always seemed to be her function—tempering his father into an actual human being.

Boaz’s eyes jumped to look off screen. He smiled. “Yes, he has news!”

His mother’s face joined his father’s. She was smiling widely, the lines around her eyes deep, and showcasing the ease with which she smiled. Ruta Kade was the opposite of their father, all ease and tenderness that diluted the tenacity their father couldn’t. Her deep sienna skin was rich and smooth, her black coiled locks beginning to silver. “What is this news?”

So he told her.

She beamed, proud of him. Whereas his father’s pride was a product of what Timaeus had achieved (and he suspected his father had orchestrated but couldn’t prove it), Timaeus knew he could have called and told his mother he was being sent to the Outer Rim office and she’d have exhibited that same level of pride.

After talking for some time, his mother asked, “Could you call Cairo?”

“Is she alright?”

“She called and mentioned having difficulty with some such thing at school. And since you just graduated. Maybe you could help.”

“Sure Mom. I’ll check the alignment to Serta as soon as we get off the cam.” He followed through with the promise, the CommLink coming into the genesis of its revolution between the planets.

His younger sister picked up on the second alert, and it was good to see her on the vid. Her eyebrows shifted with her dubious disbelief and she tilted her head. “Really? You never call me.” A fifth-year now, Cairo smirked at him, her brown eyes alight with mischief. “I already told you, I don’t have her as a halo.”

“I couldn’t just call my sister to say hello? What’s up?” He vowed to do this more often as he pulled a pack of food from the cupboard to rehydrate.

“Sure, but I know you’re not. You’re desperate for news. I think she’s dating someone new.” Whatever his face communicated made his sister squeal with laughter as she threw her head back with impish delight. “I'm kidding! Slag. Chill out.”

“What the Carnos, Cairo? Mom asked me to call.” He vowed to do this less.

She groaned. “I need to stop telling her everything. She’s always recruiting you or Penn or Leo to call.” His sister rolled her whiskey brown eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Seriously, nothing. I was just having trouble with this cadet and I have a plan.”

Timaeus froze, stared. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t go all big brother on me. Stars, Timaeus. He’s just a jerk.”

“He?”

She huffed. “Remind me not to tell you anything.” Then her eyes shifted with a smile. “But I do have some intel.” She wiggled her dark eyebrows over eyes and fastened her wavy black hair into a messy bun.

His heart constricted knowing she was talking about Imogene, but he didn’t want it to. “Like that rude joke you just tried to pull?” he asked, adding water to the meal, unsure if she was actually joking. He put the dish in the oven to heat it up.

“Word on campus is that she got called into Sirkuhl’s office a couple of spans ago, and Halo Mins was sporting a pretty nasty bruise on his face.”

His eyebrows jumped up over his eyes. “She hit Mins?”

“Don’t know, but some first years were talking about this hand-to-hand skirmish she was refereeing before that. Sounded like Mins got into the mix, and might have gotten hit by a cadet. Heard he got knocked out.”

“If that’s true, he probably deserved it,” Timaeus said darkly, knowing Mins had made Imogene’s life difficult when they’d been students there.

“Cadets were saying he was mad, stomping across the arena, words flying from his mouth at her.”

“He yelled at her? In front of cadets?” Rage sliced through Timaeus. Slagging Mins still messing with Imogene. Dark thoughts of getting even with the horrible halo for Imogene morphed into fantasies.

Cairo nodded. “That’s the word. But haven’t heard any accurate story if it was her fist that connected with Mins’ face or a cadet’s.”

“He’d deserve it,” Timaeus said, wishing he could talk to Imogene, but wasn’t sure if she’d take his comm. “How’s your standings? What’s your plan for this asshole?” The oven alerted him by beeping that the rehydration process was finished, and he pulled his dinner from the machine.

“Thirty-third, but as I said, I’ve got a plan,” she said, smiling proudly.

“Oh?” Timaeus sat down at the table with his food. “Tell me all about this plan, and I’ll tell you how to make it better.”

His sister snorted at him, then proceeded to outline her five-step program to dominate her class standings— another groomed Kade ready to take the reins. Even though he listened, his heart was only half there as his mind wandered to Imogene. That she could see someone new and jealousy nicked at his insides considering it. He hated how weak he was to feel those emotions. There wasn’t any room in the Kade legacy for weakness.