“I’m glad Undil is the youngest planet,” Lucas says at one point. “Has its disadvantages, of course, playing catch-up to planets like Daliona. Others, like Belvun and Narviid, had their societies built for them, so they’ve never experienced the reward of true progress.”

A satisfied smile settles on Lucas’s face, and it’s a long time before he speaks again.

“To think that, seven hundred years ago, Undil was barely a colony of Rygin. Scientists and engineers had to live in capsules while they terraformed the atmosphere. Nearly twenty generations lived and died before the first sustainable city was built, did you know that? Most lived in orbit their whole lives.”

John shakes his head, mouth hanging open in awe at Lucas’s story.

“Think about that,” Lucas continues. “Thousands of people embarked on a one-way trip into certain death…and it led to us.”

More assemblies follow the tour of Horizon Tower, but these are much more interesting than the ones Shield offered. One assembly even details every type of interstellar spacecraft in Undil’s fleet. Threshold Tower travels in bulky, standard model stations, while Horizon uses wider, sleeker models designed for months of continuous space travel.

Lucas takes us out for dinner, and then we take a two-hour exam, the first step in determining where we best fit in the Embassy. Glacia and I receive the same score. I didn’t try very hard, though. The less desirable I look, the less likely it is I’ll be chosen as the ambassador.

We spend the morning of the fourth day walking around the city, with Lucas spitting out random facts he dug up overnight, things like ‘two hundred-thousand miles of pipes transport water to every city on Undil,’ and ‘the population of the Embassy is nearly one-tenth of Undil’s total population.’

Around midafternoon, we enter a building on Delta Street. Lucas tells us it’s a civilian target range. We’ll get to shoot military weapons in a non-military environment.

A green light flashes above an elevator and we step inside. The elevator descends and reopens into a thin corridor. Blue holograms—each in the shape of various weapons—shimmer below flat projectors along the walls. There’s an assortment of machine guns, rifles, handguns, rocket launchers, and grenades.

“Afternoon, Recruits,” says a man who comes out of an office at the end of the hall. “I’m Sergeant Marnell. Officer Starmile registered you for a one-hour session and you’re going to make the most of it. I’ll run through the guidelines, then gear you up and get you going.”