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deliver my message to the occupants of Fisher Four?”
    Fisher Four is the only other outpost left standing. A volcanic eruption destroyed Fisher Two a decade after it was built, and Fisher Three was closed due to flooding. However, if the Orthocracy filled Fisher One with forgotten treasure, then ipso facto, Fisher Four should be a trove as well. The only complication was the miners, a pesky group of humans who would not desert the mines, even under the threat of death.
    â€œYes, my queen,” he says. “I delivered your message.”
    The queen notes a change in his voice, a higher pitch that indicates he is lying by omission. “How many did you kill? Kuhru, don’t lie to me.”
    â€œTwo.”
    â€œJust two?”
    â€œThere were only three humans, my queen.”
    â€œAnd if you had killed all three, there would be no one to deliver my message? Very good, Kuhru. Your reasoning skills are improving. Now, did you bring the leftovers to me like I commanded?”
    Kuhru says nothing. She turns. Her face is calm, the alabaster skin showing no blush of anger, no signs of emotion. “You didn’t!”
    â€œThe journey was long,” he growls, trying to soften his voice to evoke sympathy. “My Dræu were hungry.”
    Her voice rises, taking on a singsong quality that almost hides the ferocity of her anger. “Your Dræu? Your Dræu?”
    Kuhru falls to one knee. He bows so low, his broad, thick nose touches the floor. “Forgive me, my queen. I misspoke. All Dræu belong to you.”
    She taps the electric prod against her thigh. “Do not think a little bowing and scraping will incur my sympathies. Your queen gave you very explicit orders. One: Give the message to the miners. Two: Bring any kills back to me.”
    He fawns before her. “Please, my queen. Do not punish your faithful servant. I—I brought you this.” From the inside of his coat he pulls a small, flat shell. The outside is dappled brown, and the pattern looks like rows of interlocked triangles. He holds it at arm’s length. “Kuhru thought you would like it. It is pretty. The queen likes pretty things.”
    â€œIdiot!” she screams, and swats the shell from his hands.
    It hits the concrete floor. For several seconds it spins in the dust. When it stops, the queen sees a pattern on the shell—one that should no longer exist on the planet.
    She gasps and snatches it up. Takes a closer look and lays a palm on the outside of the shell. Her eyes roll into her head.
    Ecstasy.
    â€œIt’s fresh,” she says, and smiles as if intoxicated. Inside, she feels intoxicated. “Kuhru, darling. Where did you find this carapace?”
    â€œCara—?”
    â€œThis shell! Where did you find it?”
    â€œTook it. From the human girl that was left.”
    â€œImpossible.” She cradles the empty shell to her breast, fondling it like a stuffed toy. “They are all dead. Exterminated. But this shell is fresh. And it’s small. A hatchling! That can mean only one thing.”
    She shoves the tip of the prod into Kuhru’s nostril. He squeals in pain, although he is half a meter taller and outweighs her by a hundred kilos. “Gather the raiders. You must travel to Fisher Four.”
    â€œBecause of a shell?”
    â€œNo, you imbecile,” she says, and twitches the prod to pull him most painfully to his feet. “Because the miners have more treasure than I ever dared dream.”

CHAPTER 5
    Temple District, New Eden
ANNOS MARTIS 238. 4. 7. 08:48
    Returning the hostages takes us the better part of the morning. Because of the pharmies, they sleep all the way to the temple quadrant on the edge of New Eden, where we reach the Bramimonde estate.
    The main house is a cruciform of metal and concrete with high windows. A bank of terraces juts out over the gardens. I grew up in a house like this. Until the CorpComs burned it to the ground as