“Fela Buhari.” Barely conscious of the stiffness in her neck or the sharp pain crossing her skull, the words echoed in her ears, almost unfamiliar. Buhari was a strong name and proud family. Their house always about the safety and security of the community. It was the family she chose.

“Your place of birth?” the woman asked without glancing over at her.

“The Dreaming City. Muungano.”

“Mm-hmm,” the woman intoned with satisfaction, pleased with the results thus far. “What is your current mission?”

“To explore any planet on the other side of the Orun Gate that had life.” This was a prime reason she’d joined the HOVA. They were the first defense of Muungano, but they were also scientists, engineers, and anthropologists. Curious minds in the guise of military adventuring.

“No, why were you in the Daedalus System?”

“Daedalus?” Fela inclined her head toward her in a quizzical manner.

The woman checked her notes. “You Muungano-ites, or whatever you call yourselves, renamed everything. It gets quite confusing to keep our intelligence on the Terran colonies straight. How many are a part of your invasion force?”

“Our expedition is comprised of a complete HOVA platoon: four squads of nine people each, thirty-six gbeto total. Plus, a medic, two rangers, and a heavy weapons unit.” Fela’s drone took on a lazy edge.

“Name of your jump ship.”

“The Hughes.” Langston Hughes was one of her favorite poets. O, sweep of stars over Harlem streets, O little breath of oblivion that is night …

“Name of your squad?” The woman interrupted her thoughts.

“The HOVA Hellfighters Brigade.”

“What are the defense strategies for the Sol System?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” The woman’s bemused tone committed to nothing. Her manner stiffened, her words keenly articulated. A haughty tone beneath each measured word. An ache of performance filled her every moment. “Now the interesting part can begin.”

Even through the mental haze, Fela wasn’t afraid of the woman and wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be. The woman leaned over, her face filling Fela’s entire field of vision. The woman’s bronze complexion had a tangerine undercoat. Severe crow’s-feet not quite hidden by the makeup. Makeup. Expertly done, the skin abrasion alone made the woman’s age difficult to gauge. The woman backed away from Fela as she regained her senses enough to lash out.

The woman alerted the guards, and they rushed toward Fela. The danger cleared her head. She jabbed the first one in the throat and elbowed the next, doubling them over where she delivered a satisfying crack of their jaw by her knee. But there were too many of them. One flashed a blade. They cut the nanomesh stocking, running the knife along her length. The material peeled away from her in a single sheet. The guards held her by each arm while she continued to struggle. But she stood before her adversary completely nude.