SHADOW

  GAMBIT

  Book 2: Farewell Amity Station

  Frank Kennedy

  Dedicated to everyone who assumes the enemy is close.

  c. 2024 by Frank Kennedy

  All rights reserved

  A note from the author:

  Farewell Amity Station is set in the universe of the Collectorate, which includes at least three other series. Reading them is not a prerequisite. However, if you want a wider look at the Collectorate, please check out those offerings.

  I’d love for you to become part of my literary family. Sign up for my newsletter, which drops every three weeks along with free books and special offers. You can also follow me on Facebook, where you’ll find me hanging out daily. Come on over and let’s chat!

  1

  Amity Station, Collectorate Unified System

  Stop skirting the truth, Trevor. I’m here to help. No one else will know, not even your wife.”

  Consul Su Yi spoke to Trevor Stallion as if he were a child. Her patronizing tone suggested she might pet him. He no longer took offense; after four sessions, Trevor saw through her technique. Effie said it made her a superior diplomat.

  “She’ll put you at ease,” his wife insisted. “Help you unbottle your anxiety.”

  Effie’s euphemism for extreme paranoia.

  “And if I don’t agree to see her?”

  Effie left him no choice.

  “I will not allow you to frighten our daughter again. She’s too young. She doesn’t understand.”

  “What? That her Papa is trying to protect her?”

  Effie built a list of infractions, starting with the extra fulltime guard and the snapdrone surveillance. His worst violation? Yelling at Ana for leaving his sight on the Harmony Green. Her little tears cut deep.

  “Our daughter is safe, Trevor. You’re not. Consul Yi can help.”

  Yes, he’d gone overboard in trying to protect his little girl. What father wouldn’t? But a therapist ...

  Yi prodded with a subtle poker, pushing ever so gently toward this thing she called “the truth.” She insisted they could only make a breakthrough if Trevor dropped his defenses.

  “The truth?” Trevor said. “You’re looking for one pat answer. I don’t have it in me.”

  “You underestimate yourself.”

  Consul Yi was a regal woman, born of the upper crust on the planet Xavier’s Garden and reared among a family of diplomats and politicians. As such, Trevor had no chance to outlast her. Yi mastered the art of patience.

  “Perhaps we should return to the moment that triggered your recent actions,” she said.

  Square one again? Shit.

  “We covered that ground. You think I imagined it.”

  Yi sat next to Trevor on a rifter, hovering above the Green with a wide view of the pyramidal Interstellar Congress building. He’d grown tired of meeting in her diplomatic office. She agreed to a compromise, if he promised to be more forthcoming.

  “Trevor, you experienced several traumatic events. Your partner was arrested and deported for multiple murders. The brother you looked after since childhood left your care and began a dangerous life in the military. Your wife was seeing another man, and your daughter endured an attack of neurofascitis, for which you blame yourself. The call to your pom could have been a manifestation of these traumas, compromising your view of reality.”

  Now he took offense.

  “Consul, do I seem like a man who’s losing his mind?”

  “Not in the least. I’ve always known you to be level-headed and detail-oriented, long before Effie brought us together. Your recent actions call that assessment into question. How long has it been since you received the threat, Trevor?”

  He knew where Yi was headed.

  “Ninety-two standard days.”

  Trevor’s answer wasn’t as comforting as it should have been.

  “All that time, Trevor, and not one follow-up threat?”

  “No.”

  “By your admission, the message defied protocol. No transmit stamp or ID on the call. No history on your pom’s log. Untraceable.”

  “That’s the size of it.”

  No. He never imagined it. Though his pom did not record the call – an apparent impossibility – Trevor still heard the smug, theatrical voice echo between his ears:

  “We never anticipated an adversary of such skill and precision. Our next maneuvers will require a more deft approach to avoid your cunning and wiles.” And then the devastating bit: “I am so enthralled by your daughter. I dearly wish to meet her in the near future. Perhaps you can arrange it. If not, I feel certain my friends will take it upon themselves.”

  Yi continued.

  “You never reported the threat to your superiors for lack of evidence. You feared they wouldn’t act. Instead, you hired off-duty security and told your family to go nowhere without a guard.”

  He also contacted SI Director Lana Devonshire, who might have had the ability to override comm protocols, but she offered no explanation.

  “Your point, Consul?”

  “In all this time, there have been no credible threats against your family. The scandals regarding the student deaths have subsided. By all accounts, life in Amity has returned to normal. What of your brother? Is he doing well?”

  “He is.”

  “Last time you said he finished UNF Basic training.”

  “Connor received his first posting.”

  “He’s happy with the path he chose?”

  Trevor allowed for an undeniable truth:

  “Happier than I’ve ever known him.”

  Connor recorded short, cheery missives every few days but had not deepstreamed since Basic. He transformed from a “man at peace” to a “man with a mission.” Connor’s newfound obsession with combat tactics and weaponry surprised his older brother.

  “You even received a promotion,” Yi continued. “Start first thing in the morning, I’m told.”

  “I do.”

  “Excited about the opportunity?”

  “Not the word I’d use.”

  “But you’re a Sector Chief now. It’s the job you always wanted. Or you said as much in our first meeting.”

  “I deserve it because I put in the time. There’s a difference.”

  “A subtle distinction, but I understand. You thought more responsibility would make you happy. Am I wrong?”

  Ah, so she decided to come at him from a different tack. Trevor refused to accommodate.

  “My job is to keep tens of thousands of people safe. Happy doesn’t play into it.”

  “I see. The bar heightens your anxiety.”

  “These are dangerous times. I’m a serious man.”

  “Yes, you are. And we need serious men and women to look after our safety. But I believe your issue goes deeper. Trevor, you’re so close to a breakthrough. I want ...”

  Yi hesitated; the first time Trevor heard the woman stop in mid-sentence. She placed a comforting hand on Trevor. She didn’t pet, but the matronly move left no doubt.

  “What?” He said.

  “Your supervised visits with Ana have been fruitful. Effie tells me she’s ready to expand your access. Even allow Ana to stay with you in Haven while Effie’s off station. The developments are nothing but positive, Trevor. She wants my reassurance, and I want to give it. Yet you won’t confront a simple truth about your anxiety.”

  What words would satisfy her? Yi had been resolving diplomatic conflicts across the Collectorate for fifteen years. She heard it all, recognized liars and manipulators by instinct. What would she accept today? How sincere must he sound?

  Yi was right on every count. Life aboard the station had settled into a comfortable unease after tumultuous weeks following five Maynor student deaths, the disappearance of their headmaster, and the scandal involving a murderous Haven Deputy. Trevor emerged with the backing of key players in Central Administration and SI, his good name restored in many eyes.

  It wasn’t all bad. And that was the problem.

  The polish was too smooth. It hid the cracks, but for how long?

  Give her what she wants. One less thing on my plate.

  “I don’t sleep well,” he confessed.

  “Why?”

  “A recurring dream. It won’t let go.”

  “You mentioned bad dreams last time but avoided details. Will you describe the one you can’t shake?”

  He saw no point in holding back.

  “Fine. The dream takes many forms. I don’t remember much. Just the consistent images.”

  “Please. Go ahead, Trevor.”

  It always began the same way.

  “I’m walking outside the station. I’m in an EV suit. It’s peaceful. No background noise. No echoes. I wave to the passing warships. Then I have this sudden sensation of impending doom. Ana Marie’s there. Sometimes she’s walking with me hand in hand. Other times, she’s running and shouting, but she’s not wearing an EV suit.

  “I tell her to stay close, but she’s not listening. In the distance, I see someone approach. At first, it feels like a mirage. He’s getting closer, but then he’s not. So, I race toward him. It’s C ...”

  Trevor stumbled over his words. He choked up.

  “It’s Connor. He’s suited, too, but his face shield is cracked. There’s blood pouring fr
om his eyes. He stares at me. He’s ... uh ... he’s dead. I know it. I feel it. But I can hear his voice.”

  “Do you remember what he said?”

  “Oh, yeah. He says, ‘Read this. Save Ana.’ I look down, and there’s a package in my hands. A metal box. I don’t have time to open it.”

  “Why, Trevor?”

  He hated the next bit in particular.

  “There’s a sudden bright light on the far end of the station like a star going nova. It’s the energy core. A fusion blast. I stand there and watch the station disintegrate. The wave grows closer and closer. I look down, and the box isn’t there anymore. Neither is Connor. Ana seems ambivalent. The explosion never reaches us.” He stifled a laugh. “I always wake first.”

  Consul Yi let go.

  “What do you think it means?”

  “That I need more sleep.”

  She chuckled along with Trevor.

  “What does it truly mean? I think you know.”

  Of course he did. Telling Yi would change nothing.

  “I can’t protect them from everything.”

  She nodded. “But that’s precisely what you’re intent on doing. Isn’t it?”

  “I’m a father and a brother. That’s my job.”

  “Connor is a grown man light-years away, Ana has a caring adult with her at all times, and you have a full-time role protecting the public. You have to let something go, Trevor. The weight is clouding your judgment.”

  Let go? That’s your professional advice?

  She didn’t understand – no one did.

  The dream wasn’t a metaphor. It was a prediction.

  Amity’s return to normalcy would be short-lived. Of that much, Trevor was certain.

  The next morning, he attached the new bar to his chest. The Chief of Haven Security Administration braced for trouble.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  2

  TREVOR FINISHED HIS CAFÉ and dusted off his jacket. The green bar designating Sector Chief wasn’t much bigger than the bar for First Deputy. The color mattered most.

  “No more jokes about the Lifetime Deputy.”

  Hoshi Oda brought up his old reputation within the first ten minutes of their brief partnership. Damn, she played all of us for assholes.

  Trevor rehearsed a little speech he planned to give the staff from his new glass office but soon questioned its value. It was too long on motivation and short on specifics.

  “It’s not like I’m the new guy,” he reminded himself. With one exception, he’d been part of the same team for three months. He was merely trading offices. The deputies knew what to expect; they’d seen his revised duty schedule.

  “Who am I kidding? I don’t give speeches. I give orders.”

  Trevor cleared his mind of the literary nonsense, tossed his café cup into the sterilizer, and tugged at his jacket.

  Hmm. A little snug. An extra hour in the fit room should do nicely.

  Tougher said than done. Trevor opened his pom to review his daily planner. This was a bad week for personal indulgences.

  Shit. They rescheduled the committee hearing. Again.

  He should have known. The IC was notorious for shifting agendas. A few reps decided Trevor must testify given his involvement in the Maynor Mischief, as it had come to be known. He had already done so twice, but the next private hearing would focus on a proposal for investigating Swarm infiltration. The document was all but finished.

  He tapped in an extra ten minutes daily for the fit room and prepared for the walk to Sec Admin HQ, two levels below his new flat. However, the door chime brought unexpected company.

  “Hannibal Dorrit,” the AI announced in a dulcet tone. “Do you wish him to enter?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  The outgoing Haven Chief, having lost none of his ridiculous girth or disdain for the fit room, entered without his usual flair. More to the point, he wore a royal blue civilian suit.

  “Chief,” Trevor said. “What a surprise.”

  The fat man waved off Trevor.

  “Not anymore, friend. I am Hannibal. Or, as my wife calls me, Retired.” Dorrit chuckled. “Has a charming ring.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Simple,” he said, making a beeline for the kiosk. “I’m done, effective three hours ago. Do you mind?” He reached for a clean café cup. “We ran out of pellets.”

  The hell?

  “Sure. Go ahead. Chief ... er, Hannibal. What happened to working as my advisor until your rotation ended?”

  Dorrit dropped a café pellet into the spritzer unit and set the cup beneath it.

  “Gov. Murrill had other ideas.”

  “Murrill? I haven’t received any notice from Central. As Chief, I should have been informed.”

  Dorrit massaged his considerable chin.

  “Familiar patterns, Trev. They gave me one hour heads-up before transferring you to Haven. Not enough time to submit a formal protest. All part of Murrill’s game. Hmmph. Not to worry. The notice will come down soon enough.”

  “What about your pension? You have two months left on rotation.”

  Dorrit watched the café pour with impatience then lifted the filled cup to his nose.

  “Dear. What a lovely blend. I’ll miss kiosk café. Nothing but real beans where I’m headed.” He took a long, loving sip. “Delightful. Oh, the pension? Yes. I’m covered. They already expedited my next two months’ pay and sent a confirmation stamp to my account. Pension will begin paying on time.”

  Trevor sighed relief. He’d come to respect Dorrit in unforeseen ways. The man he knew today did not resemble the complacent, bombastic fool he met in a dead guy’s flat ninety-four days ago.

  “Good to hear, Hannibal.”

  “My wife booked the first liner back home. Doesn’t leave for several hours, so we’re going to visit a few old friends and stop in at our favorite bistro. Then Amity will know the name Dorrit no more.”

  “You’ll be missed.”

  Dorrit laughed into his café.

  “By whom?”

  Fair point. Other than the young rotation deputies who staunchly obeyed his commands, Dorrit did little to build a meaningful legacy. The Maynor Mischief crumbled most of what remained. Still, Trevor thought Central had delivered a clear mandate: Dorrit and Haven’s new First Deputy would work with Trevor to launch a security unit dedicated to rooting out Black Star agents and sympathizers.

  “What about Shadow Gambit? We planned to submit it to the committee by the end of today’s shift.”

  Dorrit rolled his eyes.

  “That work is done, Trevor. No one will care if I don’t appear before the committee.”

  The ex-Chief wasn’t wrong. IC reps spent more time bloviating and propping themselves up than listening with an open mind.

  “There should at least be a ceremony, or a speech, or ...”

  Dorrit made himself at home in the love seat.

  “I had hoped for a nice luncheon. A trinket. A few nice words.”

  “You told me that on my first day. Why the rush?”

  Dorrit leaned back into the cushions, which were no match.

  “I stopped caring after they guaranteed my pension. Murrill and I have rarely seen eye to eye.”

  “At least stop by the office and say your farewells.”

  “No point. When I cleaned off my desk yesterday, I took everything home. I had to pare down for a smaller, temporary office. Wasn’t sure what family glyphs to bring in. Now, it’s no bother. HVSA is yours. I won’t distract from your first day in charge. That’s why I wanted to make sure I caught you at home.”

  Dorrit sounded oddly at peace.

  “You came to warn me. About what?”

  The ex-Chief cherished another long sip.

  “That’s the quality I’ve come to enjoy in you, Trev. Always assuming the worst.”

  “No. I anticipate. There’s a difference.”

  A belly laugh followed.

  “Semantics. Dear. Trevor, you’re intimately familiar with the politics of this station. If Murrill lost control over Central, I suspect he’d space himself. He’s a toad in the classic sense.”

  “You won’t hear different from me.”

  “Good. So, you won’t be surprised to learn he fought tooth and nail to stop your promotion. After you caused a commotion with that fool ambassador, Murrill signed off on your transfer in order to test my resolve. He wasn’t interested in you until the Maynor business. He noticed your friendly relations with Devonshire at SI and Woolsey in the UNF. A bit too high for your station. Yes?”