Prologue

“The world is no longer as we know it, gentlemen.”

Commander Oswin stared out of the ship’s large window and past where Commander Garridan stood as he spoke these words. He vaguely noticed Garridan motioning for his attention, but it was fixed firmly on the planet within view. Steam from Garridan’s tea mug fogged the aluminum-silicate window almost as much as the hideous, wicked clouds outside, which rolled over Earth, dimming his view.

        All twelve commanders lounged about the stark, white room. The men molded their bodies into their usual stances: legs apart and hands rested atop their white uniform coats, which were pressed to perfection. Oswin, too, adopted this comfortable position.

        “That world was destined to fail. It was simply a matter of time.” Oswin knew the voice, though he hardly cared which commander it was.

        “Don’t act as though you knew what was to become of Earth,” another chimed in. “Not one of us could have seen it coming.”

        Some commanders could be so vapid. Oswin scrutinized the kaleidoscope of dying colors churning on the planet he had once called home. Tones of gray, brown, and tan stood out as bleak reminders of the catastrophe. The oceans, once an array of blues and greens, were now endless depths of leaden water. Landforms once lush and fertile were nothing but empty waste.

        “I would say the men in this room have made a fairly accurate guess,” Oswin said. “The world perished when the governments released Vapor Tenebris after the Wars of Humanity, yet here we are.”

        “The past no longer matters, men,” Commander Jude declared. “There is no use in arguing about it. In order to maintain peace aboard the Colony, we need to practice it ourselves.”

        “What a peculiar thing to say,” Oswin said, gazing upon the mix of tea leaves floating in his mug, the leftover fragments that were not to his taste. He lifted his eyes to the other eleven men in the room. Perhaps they were not bold enough to fill the positions they occupied. “The entire purpose of our mission is to prevent modern man from repeating history. Our most promising and vital generation is preparing now to travel to the past. I would say the past does matter.”

        “I agree the mission is fair, but we must focus on our future resources here, too.” Jude was testing him. The man’s one rebellious curlicue of hair jiggled from his Colony crew cut, distracting Oswin almost as much as the view of Earth.

        “This mission is our most important endeavor,” Garridan said. “It is our duty as the chosen to protect the Colony’s future!”

A grin pulled at the left side of Oswin’s lips at the words of support. Garridan always had his back.

        “What makes you believe we are the chosen?” Jude said, his voice cracking.

        Garridan spoke again. “The entire world collapsed. Commander Oswin crafted a solution. We commanders created an entire coalition. Without us, especially Oswin, the Colony’s population would be gone with the rest of Earth.”

Earth still spun, though there seemed no reason for that anymore. Stripped of dignity by the disgrace of man, Earth was nothing more than a desolate mass.

“We have reestablished order out of beastly chaos and designed a society in which only man’s ideal traits are exercised. We are the reason for the rebirth of mankind.” Oswin stood at Garridan’s side at the window.

It was time humanity came back greater and more powerful. More controlled.

        A technician entered the Commander Wing. “Commanders, we have a notice from the first wave. They’re preparing their ambassadors for descent in a matter of days.”

Oswin peered at the barren sphere beyond, ignoring sight of the goosebumps on one of the commanders’ arms whose sleeve didn’t reach his wrist. Fear? Good.

        “Do you know why Earth failed?” Oswin directed his question to the technician but meant it for the other commanders.

        The technician was caught off guard. “Sir, there were many reasons—”

        “There was only one reason.” Earth was the pupil of Oswin’s eye. His jaw tightened as he stared at the planet. He saw Garridan’s do the same. “Weakness. It made Earth unsustainable. Humanity gave in. It succumbed to its selfish, indulgent instincts. This could have been avoided if mankind had held itself accountable. But it was too emotional to admit defeat.” Oswin turned again to the technician. “Only those who could govern themselves survived, those who saw the destruction that passion caused.”  

        He’d gone three weeks without ordering himself sensory stabilizers—almost a personal record—but he might need to administer himself some after mentally revisiting the deplorable memories that the Wars of Humanity plagued him with, usually first manifesting in physical symptoms like a trembling hand and a thumping heart.

        “They all thought I was crazy. And look at me now. The one who saved us all. I emancipated humanity from its arrogance, did what they said could not be done. This mission will change mankind.” He puffed up his chest. “Send for the first wave. I want them on Earth by morning.”

        “Sir, I will send for the first wave, but they are not quite ready—”

        “I said, by morning. It is time to bring glory and excellence to the Colony and to the human race.”

        The technician gave a nod of acknowledgement and walked briskly toward the door.

        Three commanders remained as statues; the only sign of life was their tapping fingers atop the upgraded tablets Oswin had gifted them a week prior. One scraped imaginary gunk from beneath his fingernail with a screen pen; several others kept their wrinkled lips closed and straightened their backs whenever he glanced at them.

        And then there was Garridan. “This calls for celebration.” His best companion grinned before pulling out a bottle of Scotch whiskey that his archaeological team had found in the Scottish Highlands beneath layers of rubble. Garridan blew dust from its top. “We’ve been holding on to this one for twenty years.”

Liquid gold splashed into the twelve glasses, and its pungent smell raided the still room, escaping confinement. Oswin observed the men circle the scotch and watched how their narrow minds thirsted for the whiskey’s warmth trailing down their throats. One commander wrapped his fingers around the glass, leaving an oily smudge on its otherwise spotless side.

He was the last to lift his spirited treasure. “I propose a toast. To our honor and dignity in selflessly sacrificing the untarnished generation for the ascent of humankind. There’s no sense in changing the past when we can take it instead.”

The clinking glasses harmonized with the swish of whiskey. There was an unspoken comradery within these walls; it was a safe haven for the constitutional brotherhood of commandership. At least for him and Garridan.

The scotch reigned over his lips, dousing his taste buds in oaks and caramels, flavors too earthy for his liking.

“Cheers, gentlemen.”

Chapter One

Colorless walls. Pallid faces. Harsh fluorescent lights coated the room without a flicker nor a glint. They shone white, blinding almost, but were impeccable as always. Most Colony wards were, and the implanting lab would be no different.

        Astrid licked her lips. Then with enough stealth as to not be noticed by guards, Astrid scanned over the faces of her fellow ambassadors. Everyone was still, a uniform state of mind. Statues even. Minus the odd ambassador who massaged their wrist. Astrid winced. A guard would be on them in no time.

Astrid wriggled in her chair. Why was she nervous? Implanting was just another part of the mission—the easy part, too. And just like the several waves that had been deployed and returned, soon she would become another unsung hero among the commanders by the collection of her target artifact. The excitement of that prospect eased her nerves. There was no telling the truth from fib about the implanting rumors she’d heard. So rather than quarrel with herself about it, she straightened her back to a stiffness not even a commander’s collar could compete with and stared blankly ahead.

        What savage artifact would be assigned to her? What time period would she be time-traveling to? In the end, did it matter? Now her eyes were wandering again. Astrid forced herself to replay what her mother had told her during their allotted five-minute conversation. Part your hair crisply to the right, her mother had said. Astrid’s reluctant hand checked her part, then smoothed the side of her blunt bob. In this whitest of rooms, Astrid imagined her hair appeared even a brighter shade of blonde than it usually did. Her mother said she was lucky to have such a hair color. White was Commander Oswin’s favorite.

One of the twelve commanders would assess her today and decide her fate. Astrid supposed that was the other reason her mother had called last night: one last ditch effort to probe for a little more information about why Astrid would be venturing to Earth. But that information was confidential.

Shaky breath was a clear sign of weakness, so Astrid held her breath instead. A quivering sigh escaped. Eyes wide, chin high, Astrid refocused on the colorless walls, pallid faces. Hesitation fought in her hand, but she had to distract herself. She ran her fingers along the weave of her perfectly textured white uniform coat. That action was subtle enough.

“Nervous?” came a voice.

The lack of discretion in the attempted whisper told her it was Lydia taking the seat beside her. “Trying not to be,” Astrid replied. Despite Lydia’s blatant disregard for Colony protocol, she was glad Lydia was here. This process was less daunting with friends around.

        Lydia gave her an easy smile. “We’re going to be fine. I heard it doesn’t hurt going in. It’s taking it out that’s the hard part.”

        “Why’s that?”

        “Because the commanders won’t care about you anymore. The chip will have served its purpose, just like you have. They won’t worry about a precise extraction.” Lydia’s matter-of-fact tone made Astrid restless. “Anyway, it’s the genetic testing that sounds awful.”

        Lydia impatiently teased the ends of her chocolate-brown hair while Astrid flipped her hand over, spreading her fingers and looking closely at the inside of her wrist. The skin was smooth and untouched—a blank canvas for the Colony to claim.

        “It will be strange having a chip here,” Astrid said, sliding her fingers over the blue veins.

        “Yeah, it’ll be like we’re fucking cattle,” Lydia replied.

        “Ladies.” A nearby guard gave a sharp look.

        “I swear, you can’t say shit without being scolded,” Lydia muttered, just loud enough for Astrid to hear. Astrid pinched her arm.

Screens on the walls displayed the same Colony mission charts that she glanced at each day: all nineteenth-century ambassadors had returned to the Colony; all eighteenth-century ambassadors had been chipped and readied for Earth.

        “You must be excited that your brother is back from the nineteenth century,” Astrid said.

        Lydia tilted her head. “He’s still in reassimilation. But I don’t need to see him to know that he’ll say something about us being too young, even at seventeen, to be sent to Earth.”

        “He shouldn’t say anything like that about the mission.”

The lab doors opened, revealing an entire team of clinicians like a pack of Arctic wolves taunting their prey of seated, nesting birds. The head clinician, a man with a chiseled jaw and a face of brick, stood between two implanting stations supplied with medical instruments amid a chorus of unheard screams.

“Today is a beautiful day, ambassadors,” the man said. “This day sets forth your entire purpose. Based on your genetic results and your historical profile, you will be assigned your time period and location for the mission.” The commanders expected the ambassadors to be impartial about this, but Astrid’s curiosity was getting the better of her. Several months ago, one of the older girls, who lived a few doors down and sometimes found herself in trouble for wearing too much Colony makeup, had bragged about her American genes and how they made her smarter. But she’d only been sent to twenty-first-century Florida, the birthplace of the Second American Civil War.

“But before we get to the good stuff,” the clinician started, “each of you gets chipped. As you are aware,” he paused, “your chip is critical to the success of the mission. It allows the commanders to keep you safe. The device will monitor your geographic location as well as your pulse, to make sure you still have one.”

        There was no warmth in the words. Frankness was normally to be applauded, especially by the psychology ward, which diagnosed sensory imbalances anytime anyone as much as sniffed, but Astrid had hoped for more reassurance. She held her wrist, feeling each nerve fire and shake out of control like the temperamental pod simulator she rode last week modelled to appear every bit the vehicle she would be traveling to Earth in.

        “Earth is dangerous, and we will take no chances. You each play an integral role,” the clinician said. “The chip will be inserted beneath the epidermis of your wrist and has been engineered to withstand Earth’s harshest elements.”

        The clinicians funneled to their stations, prepped their machines, and loaded the square, golden chips into the narrow slots on the medical instruments.

        “This chip is not designed to come out. If somehow it is removed, we will deduce you have abandoned the mission. This is a criminal offense of the highest order, and you will be punished accordingly. If you know what’s good for you, protect that chip. It is your lifeline. Now, please make your way to a clinician to begin the insertion process.”

        Astrid gave Lydia a hesitant nod, though it was mostly for herself. Lydia grabbed her hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll see you after,” Astrid said.

        She marched past the other ambassadors, wishing her mind pledged as much confidence as her strong knees, until she reached the station with her number flashing about it. The clinician sat behind a glass panel, so clear it might not have been there at all. The Colony loved barriers.

 “confirmation of ambassador number?” the sharp-lipped woman asked.

 “Ambassador 336-777.” She sat before her clinician and repressed her fear, imagining it evaporating in her body like the vanishing clouds over the South American continent. Emotions led to weakness. She would not falter.

        “We will numb only a portion of your wrist for the procedure. Commanders’ orders.”

        “Wait, what? Why?” Judging by the clinician’s warning expression, the words had come out too panicky.

        “The commanders want you to know the pain of insertion. And that it’s twice as painful to take out.” The clinician paused, cocking her head. “But you ambassadors are the strong ones. You’ve been conditioned for pain. Certainly enough to be going on this mission.” But that didn’t stop the fear threatening to overtake her now, spinning her vision and transforming the clinician’s voice into nothing more than a low murmur. The clinician huffed. “Listen to me. Hold out your wrist.” The woman curtly jabbed her fingers. Astrid offered her wrist, not knowing what pain to anticipate. The clinician picked up a medical instrument, preparing it for a mission of its own. Astrid tensed at the cold metal on her skin and deepened her breathing.

With one quick stamp, the chip was embedded in her wrist. The gasp that had been imprisoned in her body broke through her mouth as the pain spread from the insertion point into her entire arm in persistent throbs.

        “This is hardly the most painful thing you’ll experience. Earth will make you feel things you never thought you could.” Astrid lifted her stare from the new golden chip to the clinician, who raised her brows at Astrid’s pained expression. “Grow a thicker skin. Or they’re going to eat you alive.”

***

Even after several hours, Astrid’s skin was blotchy and swollen, and she was still adjusting to the golden square lying beneath layers of skin, reflecting the light just enough to be a constant reminder of its existence. Implanting had been painful. What would genetic testing bring?

Moments after her chip had been implanted, she’d been expected to waltz out from the lab room as if the pain was minute. Only a borrowed pinch from classic Colony medical procedures. Astrid hadn’t felt that hurt in some time. Not even in Officer Remington’s Training Dome.

Astrid hardly recalled how she ended up in her genetic testing lab room. She could have been carried for all she knew. She waited until a clinician dressed in a white lab uniform appeared from the depths of the labs, which was tinted a hazy blue from the biometrics scanner lights.

        “Take off your uniform and come take a seat.” The clinician gestured to the metallic chair in the center in the room.

        She did as she was instructed. The cold chair chilled Astrid’s skin, and no amount of adjusting herself could subdue her discomfort. Automatic belts strapped her to the chair, clasping her legs, arms, and chest like a webbed cage as her breathing raced against her thoughts.

        A machine moved around Astrid; its automation was meticulous. But what in the Colony wasn’t? The machine was fully calibrated and ready to take action. Or simply to take. Thin needles pierced the fleshy spots where all clinicians ogled the plump veins, while Astrid did her best to distract herself with thoughts enough to minimize the stings terrorizing her body and the pain spreading like a virus. But unlike a virus, the Colony had no quick cure for this.

        “Sit still,” the clinician told her. “It will hurt much less. And focus on your breathing.”

At least this clinician showed some semblance of empathy, though the woman didn’t as much as flinch when Astrid began gritting her teeth.

        Two more needles were stationed in her arm, one at her shoulder, another at her wrist, ready to taunt her if she stared at them for too long. Fear riddled her bones, sapping her willpower to remain detached in seconds. Several vials filled with Astrid’s crimson liquid.

        “I’m going to extract the needles,” the clinician said. “You may feel a little weak, so I’ll let you sit before continuing the examination.”

        The needles were jerked from her veins. Blood bloomed on her arm. Unable to maintain their rounded form, the beads of blood deepened in color as they grew, spilling over and running down her fair skin.

        This pain would be worth it.

        “We need to keep going now,” the clinician said. “No time to waste.” She rolled another machine before Astrid. “This won’t be painful. This device analyzes the body’s exterior characteristics—eye color, stature, facial features.”

Astrid nodded, though she had no idea what to expect. This device was another mystery. And most Colony procedures were painful in one way or another.

        “The digital imagery will sync to your genotype results, and we will go from there.” The clinician tweaked the machine. “You’ll need to stand so we can get a three-dimensional scan of your body.”

        Astrid rose from the metal chair, and before she could make herself comfortable, the clinician gestured to her uniform undergarments. “Lastly, these need to be taken off.”

Astrid looked at the neatly folded uniform she’d removed upon first entering the room. Her hands lifted to her back, unclasping the hooks of her bra. She allowed the bra to dangle from her fingertips before reluctantly letting it fall to the floor. Her nipples hardened at the abrupt rush of cold air. Using every bit of her self-control to keep from covering herself, she stood with her hands at her sides and her legs slightly crossed.

Just breathe. 

Apart from her mother, who would bathe her as a child, no one had seen her unclothed body––until now. Lydia had told her plenty about what it was like to be naked with another, promising it was nothing like the videos they showed in history classes of even the most sophisticated men acting like animals upon seeing a nude body, hurting, harming, taking what they wanted and giving nothing good in return.

        The device revolved around Astrid’s body with the same precision as any engineering ward apparatus, analyzing every detail of her form. The clinician was right—it didn’t hurt. But what this device spared her in physical pain, it made up for in mental torment.

        Astrid’s digital replica materialized on the computer screen in a storm of pixels. It felt strange, not seeing herself in the tiny mirror in her suite. Judgment began its work as she appraised many things she had never had reason to notice before: her hips were too narrow and her lower back bowed in a small arch.

But she did have high cheekbones, even higher than her mother’s, which sculpted her porcelain face as if her creator had modeled her from marble. Her nose was desirably narrow and feminine and her lips pink with life… But she had to stop. Vanity was disobedience to the Colony, and while the clinicians couldn’t read minds, Astrid didn’t want anyone catching her brief moment of self-awe.

“All right, Ambassador 336-777. That’s all there is to it. Please sanitize and wait at the consultation desk for your results.”

        Alone at last, Astrid ran her hand up and down her arm, which was sore from the needle invasion, then stepped to the sanitation shower. Water trickled over her skin, invigorating her, bringing her back to life. The cloud of steam expanded to the shower walls, a soothing haze over her tired eyes. The water pressure stung at first but calmed her once she surrendered herself to it. It felt good to retreat from pain into her own little segment of peace. She knew it would be short-lived, but that was all right. In a few moments, she’d be given rather personal information about herself.

        She mustered up the strength to leave her safe haven, slipped into the uniform that constricted her chest, then panicked when she saw the mini blood spot on her coat. “No!” Astrid’s fingers hovered over the imperfection, which blossomed into a full stain on her shoulder.        

Her eyes, frantic and frenzied, darted to the door at the sound of footsteps beyond. She jumped into the seat at the consultation desk and moved her cape and hair to cover the spot. Her hair wasn’t quite long enough. Maybe the cape would be.

        Three knocks signaled the entrance of two new clinicians and a commander. Astrid was unsure whether to stand and greet them or remain in her seat.

        “Ambassador 336-777,” greeted the commander, making his way to the consultation desk.

There was an arrogance in his step—too subtle to offend yet loud enough to demand respect. He had more confidence in person than she’d seen on the network or during training orientations. Even his teeth were whiter, his hair the color of a cougar in the snow—remembrances of blond iced with age.

        “You are quite a lovely specimen,” the commander declared, looming over Astrid. A crooked smile curled one side of his mouth. “I am Commander Oswin.”

Commander Oswin motioned for the clinician to give him the computerized tablet with Astrid’s body scan.

There she was, on display. A feature for the screen.

        “You have some beautiful genes.” The commander spun the model, flicking over data, and zoomed in on her bare back where key notes denoted her shoulder blades to be weaker than average. Her cheeks flushed. “There is no reason to be embarrassed. We are looking at this in a strictly scientific manner. And you need to try a little harder to hide what you’re feeling about it. You don’t want me to think of you as weak, do you?” Commander Oswin stared at her.  

        Astrid had never been this engaged with a commander before and disliked it immediately. She felt his greedy gaze move round her face, then slowly inch down her neck to the shapes of her breasts. There were rumors about Commander Oswin’s abstinence, given his unpartnered status, but his face told a different story. His grayish eyes weren’t the craving kind that some of her ambassador classmates had when they secretly ran their fingers through her hair after class or wanted to sneak a kiss. No, the commander’s eyes were different.

Something interrupted Commander Oswin’s lustful indulgence; his eye twitched, then fixed on the little red stain upon her shoulder. She strived for unemotional decorum as the commander judged her wound, but the man came so close to her that his cologne stung her nose. He leaned back in his seat, hands together, lips rigid.

        “The clinicians will take it from here,” he said.

The clinicians jolted into action, scrambling to their tablet screens.

        “Based on the cumulative results,” one of the clinicians began, “your most recent genetic trace is America West. I am assuming that’s where the past few generations of your family resided.”

This did not surprise Astrid. Despite the risk, her mother had spoken of their home there when she lived with her in the Colony’s family residential ward. But that had been a long time ago.  

        “Let’s go back a little bit further.” The clinician played with the tablet. “Your lineage then can be traced back to Northern Europe, mostly Scandinavia, Ireland, and Scotland. Your phenotype indicates these origins almost exactly.” It sounded so scientific, but that didn’t take away from the giddiness in her head. “With this in mind, we have determined that you are to be sent to either Scandinavia or somewhere in the United Kingdom—”

        “And what better time period,” Commander Oswin interrupted, “than when those two cultures met? You’ll be time-traveling to ninth-century Ireland.”

        Commander Oswin clearly knew his history and had done this many times before. When it came to the mission, Astrid gathered that the commanders were exceptionally skilled at placing ambassadors where they’d fit best.

And now she knew where she did.

        Ireland.

***

Astrid winced as the beautician zapped the electrolysis laser beneath her brow, eliminating the little hairs that had grown since last month’s beautification day.

        “Shit!” Lydia flinched as another beautician did her brows. “This still hurts just as much as when we were thirteen!” Lydia’s thick eyebrows were pinched, plucked, and brushed until they had been restored to perfect arches.

        “Some things never change,” Astrid agreed.

Astrid looked at the many young ambassadors seated for their required beauty services. The Colony stopped at nothing when it came to perfection, not even the faintest strand of mismanaged hair.

        “Did you hear about Jax?” Lydia said. “He just returned with Thomas Paine’s Common Sense!”

        “Cecilia, the one from our boot camp who time-traveled to twentieth-century Greece, said that he’s getting a lot of praise for it from the commanders,” Astrid replied.

        “It is because he reassimilated quickly.” Lydia engaged her gossipy tone, which was usually acceptable only in the beauty ward, whose beauticians seemed to savor gossip just as much as the ambassadors did. Astrid didn’t think the gossip too wild, but it was far more colorful than anything else aboard the Colony.

Swish, swish, cut. Swish, swish, cut. The repetitive noise of the beautician’s scissors covered her scandalous chatter with Lydia.

“I heard a lot of ambassadors are having a hard time reassimilating,” Astrid whispered.

“Ha! I’m sure the commanders are loving that!” Lydia chuckled and tossed her aquiline nose back.

Astrid laughed too, though she wondered why it was taking some ambassadors so long. The mission orientation that she had attended promised that good behavior in reassimilation got ambassadors an upgraded suite, one with the best view of the stars, and humanitarian honors.

“My, my,” the beautician said. “You ladies will be thankful for these beautification days after you go to Earth. The primitive times you’re traveling to didn’t believe in getting rid of this.” She raised the electrolysis device from Lydia’s leg.

“What do you mean?” Astrid asked.

“I’m not sure what century you’re traveling to, but obviously it’s not within the first lucky waves of modern history.”

“Lucky waves?”

The beautician laughed. “Humans in earlier times had very poor hygiene. Very unkempt times.”

“Wait. You’re telling me they didn’t remove their body hair?” Lydia gasped.

 “That’s what I’ve been told. Especially not in the more private regions,” the beautician whispered, lifting her brows.

“Men too?” Lydia blurted out.

The beautician nodded, her eyebrows still raised.

“Well,” Lydia said coolly, “I’ll have to see about that.”

Astrid laughed, knowing Lydia would stay true to her word, just as she had when they were ten and Lydia promised Blade—the agricultural ward director’s son—five minutes of handholding. It led to her best friend’s first time in a Depravation Unit.

Her giggles faded into seriousness even faster than usual. Of the two of them, Lydia would be the next to voyage through time.

“Are you ready?” Astrid asked.

“I suppose,” Lydia replied. “The Renaissance can’t be that bad, right?”

Questions about the mission burgeoned in her mouth but couldn’t pass her lips. Not with Lydia’s sudden nail biting, which the beautician slapped her hand for.

        “So, when you return from your mission, what ward do you think they’ll assign you?” Astrid asked.

“Oh, Astrid! I haven’t thought that far in advance!” Lydia laughed. “They’ll probably expect me to be a mother, or else they wouldn’t have let me keep my eggs. So I’ll do that—at least until my children are taken away.” Her laughter faded, her dark eyes more focused than usual. “What about you?”

Astrid looked at Lydia—her best friend, her sister. She ran her fingers through her newly straightened, glossy hair and tucked a few pieces behind her ear. “I’m not sure. The Colony will find some purpose for me.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. They find purposes for all of us.”

She and Lydia sat in silence in their perfectly laundered seats, watching their reflections change in the mirrors before them, becoming altered and refined until they were just what the Colony wanted them to be.