“Well, allow me to recap.” Maulana shifted, an acknowledgment of Selamault’s words, but also figuring out how he wanted to present himself to the Ijo. He was finding his way. “The R received a final transmission from Captain Chikeke before I sealed the wormhole. It was her full accounting, copies of her logs, of the events on the Cypher. The activities of the new LISC ambassador, Zenith Prebius, though careful parsing of her report suggests that he and the Earth Firsters may only be sometime allies. But her confirmation of Night Train agents, the fact that they managed to even infiltrate her ship, disturbed me most of all. I had their Saqqara detained at Titan, at the O.E. embassy there. The Niyabinghi are handling their questioning, processing, and immediate deportation back to O.E. They will not step foot on Muungano soil again. There would be a reckoning. All accounts will be settled.”

The briefing stretched on for hours to cover the totality of where we found ourselves. The Cypher. LISC and Earth First and the matter of this unknown virus. The status of the Morrison and the Baldwin, stationed at Titan. The status of the Ring. The status of the investigation of the bombing of our embassy on O.E. Fela. The Hughes. All the HOVA Hellfighters lost on the other side of the Orun Gate. The tracking of Night Train operatives to Oyigiyigi. Matata. The disappearance of Amachi. The community was under assault from all sides.

“Which brings us to how best to handle O.E. and LISC. Let’s open a direct communication with the head of LISC.”

The full Ijo fell silent while the image coalesced to life.

Clay Harrison, the VOP of LISC, perched behind a grand oak table. The backdrop of the Indianapolis downtown behind him, with its orange skies and thick haze obscuring the iconic Monument Circle. A scar seared his face, creating an echo of a grin, no matter the face he made. A broad-shouldered, slightly oversized trench coat draped over a louche, tailored, white corporate uniform. Rendered with satin sashes and gilding his ecclesiastical vestments, his outfit specifically designed to remind everyone of his former title of reverend. His mask filtered O.E. air, which always smelled of freshly poured asphalt.

“I have only recently returned from a walkabout, or else I would have been the first to call to congratulate you after your official installment as the new Camara of Muungano. Xola was a great leader and had a gentle way of holding everyone around him into account. He will be missed.” With only a few of the security council of the Ijo visible in his feed, VOP made eye contact with as many people in the room as possible, ever assessing his audience. His eyes lingered on us and then Maulana’s mask, making a mental recalculation.

“Yes, he will be,” Camara Maulana said.