When I walked on the beach in my uniform, everyone made a wide berth for me. No matter how many people filled the space. No one pressed in around a Peacekeeper.

Is that what respect looks like, outside of a training base?

Are fear and respect the same thing?

I didn't think so. I respected General Colbert. I did not fear her.

I didn't fear anyone, so far as I knew. My fear lived in the unknown; in an infinite number of "what if" questions. I feared my inadequacy and what might happen because of it.

An instructor once told me there'd been experiments in the early days of intentional breeding. A generation of Peacekeepers without fear had been born. Most of them died in their cadet days. A few were taken to the penal colonies in Heaven after Healers said their homicidal tendencies could not be controlled. They were careless and foolhardy. Or, worse, they were careful and cunning and absolutely without remorse. Fear needed to remain part of the human condition.

Sitting in the sand felt as unnatural as bathing in mud, but I forced myself to act as any other tourist would. To my right, four visitors played a game with dice. To my left, two men lay baking like greased chicken breasts in the sun.

I'd read a snippet from an ancient religious text once. Be still and know that I am God.

God didn't interest me much one way or the other, but stillness was as important as exercise. I believed in the power of stillness, among other things, but I found it exceptionally difficult to achieve.

Humanity buzzed around me—laughing, squealing, playing.

I sat still.

My stomach growled. I'd meant to take a couple of Nutrites before I left my room, but I'd forgotten.

That's not the first time, a little warning voice said in my mind.

Everyone forgets things sometimes.

People don't forget to eat. Especially when they don't have a single other thing to do.

Well, that wasn't entirely fair. I had one thing. I was training the Earthborn boy. He was sloppy and slow. Muscles covered every inch of him, perfect to the eye, but, as if someone had painted them on his skin, he had no idea how to use them; no control; no coordination. It was like training a child.

But he was learning. Three sessions in, he'd successfully dodged or blocked a dozen quick punches in a row until I cheated and threw one at his midsection and he folded in half. "Time to move beyond protecting your pretty face," I'd said, trying to hide my delight over his success. As if I could hide my feelings from a creature who feasted on them.

He swallowed hard and nodded. His eyes sparkled with some kind of mania. I didn't understand what drove him, but I accepted it. Whatever it was, it gave him grit like I'd never seen from any cadet. He'd take a hit with all the sturdiness of an antique porcelain doll, but then he'd drag himself back up again, his eyes on me the whole time with that wild look, flashing like the lightning in Jupiter's Red Storm. He'd flip his dark hair out of his eyes and lift his fists.

"Try again," he'd say.

I did.

But everyone had their limits, and I had no intention of putting him in the infirmary, so our training never went too long.

That left me with far too much time on my hands.

No reason, then, why I couldn't walk back up to my room for some Nutrites. Or request some from the bot at the front desk. No doubt I could get them there. But then what?

For the first time on Earth, I decided to get some solid grub. If nothing else, it would burn twenty minutes off my six-month sentence.

I stood up and everyone nearby stepped back. Except for the oiled chicken breasts. They didn't move. Apparently, they'd attained a level of stillness that conquered fear.

Practically every second door along the main street led to a restaurant. It seemed the Earthborn had a drink, or some tiny tidbit on a wooden pin, or a plate of meat smothered in cheese in front of them most of the day and well into the night. Though they didn't technically need to eat in the traditional sense, it appeared that they did little else.

I walked until I found a place that wasn't too crowded. Dim lights hung from gold chains over glossy wooden tables. A woman with a ribcage twice the normal size sung in tones so complex, I wondered how the sounds remained invisible as they wove a wondrous tapestry over the sparse crowd. Something so powerfully felt should also be seen.

An Earthborn nonby beamed at me from behind a podium like I was their long-lost best friend. "Welcome to The Gillespie. Are you joining someone this afternoon?"

"No." I scanned the crowd. Most were visitors with Earthborn companions, sitting in pairs or pairs of pairs. Three people slumped over glasses along the long bar. A group of five Earthborn leaned toward one another over a table as if in close conversation.

The host led me toward a small table to the left of the group.

Five Earthborn.

Had I ever seen a group of Earthborn together without visitors? No law prohibited it, of course, but it triggered an alarm in the back of my mind that I'd learned to pay attention to. I glanced across the room and found what I wanted—a mirror image of their semi-circular table with a high back.

"I'd like to sit there." I pointed.

The host paused and followed my gesture. "We normally reserve those tables for groups of five or more.

I surveyed the empty tables around me pointedly.

"Well," they said after a moment's hesitation. "I suppose it will still be some time before the dinner crowd arrives." I took my place and waited for the host to walk away.

Exactly as I'd hoped, the rounded, high-backed booth acted like a satellite, broadcasting the hushed conversation across the room to my table which received it. It wasn't perfect.

"...less than a hundred, but that's more... if they understood what... freedom."

"They think they are free. You're not going to convince them with talk of freedom."

"When they... then they'll tell others. The movement can't help but grow. When they see what it can be, they'll..."

"Some of them like the way it is."

"Some of them don't mind being put in the infirmary."

"... fault if a person is sick... but when they deliberately..."

"... and where... or Javier or Lisa?"

Another Earthborn, this one with four brawny arms growing from his broad torso, approached my table, blocking my view of the little group across the room. "May I bring you something to drink?"

I hadn't thought to look at the menu. "I'll have a glass of water."

"We have the finest Millroe in the solar system."

Just the mention of the sweet, sticky concoction made my tongue turn dry and papery. "Water will be fine."

He bowed and hurried off to do my bidding.

It would take a lot longer than six months to get used to the Earthborns' deference.

The menu projected onto the tabletop offered three kinds of seafood, served with grains and noodles and covered in rich sauces, poultry, rolled in herbs and fried in oil, and beef, served "red and juicy." The acid churned in my stomach. Who cared if it was synthetic? Eating bloody meat was disgusting, even if it was fake blood. When the guy returned, I told him I'd like some tea and a salad and a bread roll.

"You Peacekeepers are a hard race to please," he quipped.

"It would please me to have a simple, nourishing meal without commentary."

Looking abashed, he retreated to fill my order, leaving me to my spying.

The group seemed to be all female. Or maybe four females and a nonby. Hard to tell at this distance, in the dim light. The only one I could see clearly sat in the center. She was the one who'd said, "They think they are free." When the crafters built her, they took extra time to measure each proportion with painstaking care. Her bright blue eyes twinkled beneath thin, arched brows. Her full, wide lips led directly upward to high, round cheekbones. Thick curls the color of corn silk rolled over her square shoulders.

If I had to choose an Earthborn for their beauty, I'd pick someone darker who showed the time they'd spent playing in the sun. I preferred straight hair and heavier brows.

Kind of like Wyatt has? The annoying little voice piped up in my mind again.

I'm not attracted to Wyatt. I'm just saying that pale as paper isn't my preference.

Who are you trying to convince? You're literally arguing with yourself.

I took a long drink of my cold water and received an immediate reward in the form of a stabbing pain in the center of my forehead. When the brain freeze abated, I focused on the whispers drifting across the room again.

The female next to the blonde twirled a lock of auburn hair around her index finger. "I can't get him to say anything."

"She got him to say something last night so loud the neighbors complained," the woman on the end said in a much louder voice. They all laughed together, an easy, natural thing that involved pressing hands to shoulders and leaning into each other.

Had I ever touched anyone so naturally and easily? Peacekeepers moved with athletic prowess and grace, but no race appeared so at ease in their own skin as the Earthborn. I felt something that might have been jealousy, if being jealous of the lazy, drifting Earthborn wasn't so foolish.

The server came back with my salad in one hand, my tea in one hand, a little plate with my roll on it in one hand, and a set of utensils, rolled in a napkin in his fourth hand. He spread it all before me with a flourish that seemed a bit much for salad and bread, but I thanked him for his effort.

He seemed somewhat disappointed, as if expecting more than thanks.

Too bad for him, that's all I had to give.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked.

"Do you know those Earthborn over there?"

He didn't bother looking. "Of course. Do you wish to request one of them?"

"What?" Of course that's what he would have thought. Great spy I would make. Had anyone ever blended less than me? Good thing I hadn't been assigned anywhere for covert ops. Or any ops. Not me. No, Sir. I was on vacation.

You must have really knocked someone's socks off to be sent for this mission, the pilot had said.

"No," I told the man in front of me. "I just... the blonde. She looks familiar. I wondered if you knew her name."

"She's quite popular. Her name is Shalaine."

"Are those her partners or something?"

He didn't laugh at me, but he couldn't entirely hide the urge to. "No. None of them are the marrying type. Not too many Earthborn are. We..." he gestured with all four arms. "Tend to wander."

"Got it." I picked up the roll of silverware and he continued standing there as if waiting. "Well, thanks."

When he finally moved, once again freeing my line of sight, the group was gone. I ate my salad and listened to the music and let the thoughts in my mind bounce about like electrons in a collider. Sooner or later, they'd bump into each other and split open, revealing the truth about what lay inside.

Only a little more than an hour until Wyatt would meet me in the gym for his training. At least there was something to look forward to. Teaching the cute little rabbit to protect himself against the hawks made me feel slightly less worthless.