“Nothing sensitive. It’s more like double-checking his work. It may be nothing, and I wouldn’t ask you to do or say anything to jeopardize your relationship with him.”

“My first loyalty is to the crew.”

“I suspected as much.” Stacia retrieved and pocketed her command sphere. “Honestly, more than anything else, I just want you to make sure that his work is thorough.”

“He’s my elder.”

“Then he can use some of your youthful energy to keep him on his toes.”

When Stacia returned to her room, her lights were off. Not at the ambient preset she usually kept them at when she exited. Her emi stirred, not quite in alarm but with a wariness. Something or someone darkened her space. “Maya, lights to ‘working’ preset.”

“Captain, I believe we are long overdue for a chat,” a voice said from the darkness.

“Who’s there?” Stacia signaled for ship security. “Intruder alert.”

“I assure you, I’m nobody. Not a threat anyone would recognize.” The light slowly came up, but not due to Stacia’s control. A mzungu man sat across from an empty seat. A cybernetic interface covered his left eye, probably an early sensate. A well-trimmed white goatee framed thin, wistful lips. Everything about him, from his posture to the way he held his cup and saucer read delicate. “Please, do have a seat. All this pacing of yours is making me quite anxious.”

Her security team should have been there by then. “Maya?”

“I’m afraid that I’ve taken the liberty to ensure our privacy.” He cast his eyes upward to draw her attention to the small sphere orbiting him. A signal-canceling device, similar to the twins Selamault employed. “Besides, I’m no more than a few constructed photons. I can’t hurt you.”

With closer inspection, he indeed was a holovid, though the quality of transmission was flawless. Completely lifelike. Stacia ran her fingers through him to make sure. “Who are you?”

He sipped from his cup. “I’m afraid I have to apologize for my rudeness. I’d offer you some tea but, you know, photons.”

“For the last time, I’m going to ask you to identify yourself.”

“My name is Zenith Prebius. My friends call me Zen. Mr. Prebius is fine.”

“What do you want, Zenith?” Stacia glared at him while continuing to pace. His presence, even as photons, presented a threat she couldn’t abide.

“What do I want? Well, that is the question now, isn’t it?” Zenith kept his calm composure, existing like a tesseract fold, not quite in her space, yet completely protruding into it.

“I’m going to guess that you’re from LISC. From the sheer pompousness of this needlessly dramatic entrance, you’re the new cultural attaché attached to Muungano.”

“Correct. And I wanted to begin our relationship by delving into matters of substance. And mutual benefit. Opportunity Zones.”