His way of speaking of himself in the plural—as if he were both so lost in the identity of community as well as a community unto himself—grates my last nerves. Despite Wachiru’s smile, the sharpness of the words sting. Amachi slumps in her seat, the image recalling a hapless child being brought in, from the storm, struggling to find a safe place from the cold.

When the room stills, only representatives from three of the Ijo families remain—the Adisas, the Buharis, and the Jywanzas—though all of their attendants have been dismissed. The group reconvenes in a more intimate arrangement.

“What is it?” Camara Xola asks.

“We lost the signal at the Orun Gate,” Stacia says with a cool evenness to her voice as if describing an unanticipated turn of weather.

“The Orun Gate,” I begin before Amachi can betray her ignorance, “is what we’ve dubbed the wormhole that hovers near Titan’s furthest orbit point.”

While we of the Muungano community support learning at all times, there are occasions when one may not want to appear an ignorant child in the crisis of decision. Learning, Amachi measures her words carefully. “This is not general knowledge among the members of Muungano.”

“Nor on O.E.” I nod with approval.

“Only at the highest security levels. It’s a complicated arrangement, but it seems to have forced a measure of cooperation between O.E. Mars and Muungano. The Cypher had been studying the phenomenon under the auspices of the Science Council of Titan and Mars’s Department of Interior,” Stacia says.

The Orun Gate was meant to be a hub of understanding. The all-too-naive dream was for it to bring together the entire system—O.E., Mars, and Muungano—to reframe the conversation between us. Allow us a new context to work together. It united us … on the surface. But there was no trust, and without trust, all the pieces of paper in the world didn’t matter. There would be secrets. And agendas. And secret agendas. Forcing everyone to play nice as fake partners until someone could figure out how to control and exploit it. In the meantime, each party pressed for advantage.

“Isn’t your husband the point person on the study?” I point out.

Stacia spares a glance toward Amachi. “As I said, it’s complicated.”

“And our military has been involved in its exploration, in partnership with some from the highest clearance levels of the Ministry of Science from O.E.” Stacia refuses to turn my direction, though I suspect it is more about avoiding Amachi’s gaze. This is not the time nor place for such adolescent distractions. “What of our HOVA regiment on the other side of the gate?”

“They launched a communication buoy to signal that they have landed safely and are going about their mission. But they have now gone radio silent, per mission protocols.” Despite my training, my voice grows thick with concern.