“You were right: Motif was the cause of death. The lifetechs found nothing other than a high blood alcohol, which we expected. But there was a surprise with the Motif. Trev, his blood contained four times the normal level of K3.”

  “Compared to our other MODs?”

  “Yes. They scanned the pad you found. Contained the same amount of elevated K3.”

  Hard to look the other way now.

  “And we thought Motif was dangerous before. How did Dorrit react?”

  “Like I’ve never seen. Trev, he’s worried this time. He wants you back as soon as you’re available. He won’t slide this one behind the Executive Partition. What should I tell him?”

  This day just kept on giving.

  “I’m on my way.”

  He briefly considered hanging about the docks until Effie arrived. He didn’t want to leave things in such a state, especially now that his job might have to take precedent.

  No. Give her a day or two. Cooler heads.

  By the time he stepped off the train at Mogandi Station, Trevor had rewired his focus. That same sense of urgency which gripped him hours earlier returned. Dorrit called in the ten deputies under his charge. The toxical summary floated above his desk.

  He made a point of pulling Trevor aside.

  “Your little girl. Is she better now?”

  “Much. Thank you.”

  Dorrit pointed to the voluminous hologlyphs.

  “My oldest spent half his first ten years in a phasic trauma ward. They said he wouldn’t live to see twenty. Fortunately, they could not have been more wrong.”

  Trevor wasn’t sure what surprised him more: That Dorrit wasn’t the lazy, ill-gotten blowhard he had long perceived; or that Trevor felt a tinge of guilt for making that assumption. Either way, the simple exchange lightened Trevor’s load.

  Dorrit briefed his staff.

  “Prior to today, there were four MODs in Haven over the past nine months. We found no connection between the cases and concluded that the pads accidentally slipped through Customs. I consulted with the other sector chiefs and Customs Enforcement. We agreed: Procedures at the spaceports would be tightened and no reference to Motif would be included in the permanent reports.”

  When the looks of astonishment subsided, Dorrit went on:

  “Until today, we considered the problem contained. This morning, our new First Deputy and his Second discovered the body of Ulbrecht Hann in Andromeda bloc. You see here the results of Mr. Hann’s toxical. I call your attention to the levels of Kerasunehyde Trilucin. The infamous K3. And this,” he said, swiping through to another holo, “is the count from our other MODs. The difference is stark and, dare I add, troubling.

  “The last thing we want to do is make assumptions. Nor will we go public about Motif until we know more. We will report Mr. Hann’s death as a non-specific overdose. Whispers are sure to follow. For the time being, I am asking everyone to put your ears to the ground. Use the relationships you’ve built with your contacts. Every tip, every rumor. Dismiss nothing. Deputies Stallion and Oda will continue their investigation into Mr. Hann’s death. Questions?”

  Trevor had built a healthy list but gave his new colleagues a chance to jump in first. After three seconds of silence, he raised his hand.

  “Have you consulted with Chiefs Al-Jani and Tasqur today?”

  “Not as yet. I wanted my team to know first.”

  “Regarding the other MODs: Are you sure Al-Jani and Tasqur were forthcoming in your previous discussions?”

  Dorrit narrowed his bushy brows into a defensive posture.

  “Excuse me, Trevor. What is your implication?”

  “You know what I mean, sir. Five MODs now, all in Haven. Statistically, that seems unlikely. Bad enough if word spreads it’s happening here. But in Episteme or Harmony? The backlash would be out the airlock. They have a stronger motive to hide the truth.”

  Dorrit didn’t respond with the predictable umbrage.

  “We’re all in this together.”

  “In some ways, yes. In others ...”

  “Your point?”

  “You said Customs agreed to tighten procedures. Great. But here’s the problem. Motif with that potency of K3 would never get through Customs, no matter what techniques Black Star uses to hide it from our scanners. And Customs operates with support from the ESA and HSA.”

  Nods and whispers of affirmation followed. Dorrit noticed.

  “Trevor, are you saying my fellow Chiefs are not trustworthy?”

  “Not at all. But they’re under political pressure, too. With all respect,” Trevor said, using a phrase he hated, “you downplayed the previous MODs. Why wouldn’t they do the same? Chief, we need to face a harsh truth. Either the pads Ulbrecht purchased were smuggled through Customs with inside help, or those pads were manufactured on the station.”

  The tenor shifted. Hoshi draped a hand over her mouth, Dorrit settled uncomfortably into his chair, and disgruntled whispers intensified. The bottom line was often inconvenient.

  Hoshi said, “Trev’s right. There’s no good explanation. We have a problem, Chief.”

  Dorrit stared at his team, grumbled, and shook his head.

  “Everyone out but Trevor and Hoshi. Return to your duties, and do not engage in unfounded conspiracy theories. Dismissed.”

  Trevor expected Dorrit to launch into him with a line of vitriol, halting the good vibes of empathy they had shared.

  Wrong.

  “Sit,” Dorrit told them. “I’m quite educated in the realm of logical deduction. I considered both possibilities after viewing the toxical.”

  “You don’t believe them?”

  “Not what I said, Trevor. I have an open mind, so I don’t rule them out.”

  Trevor realized he couldn’t hide the third angle any longer.

  “There’s another direction we need to pursue. During our interviews, a fellow student – someone close to Ulbrecht – claimed he was murdered, ostensibly with Motif.”

  Dorrit slapped his desk.

  “And you’re only now telling me?”

  “Because it seemed a longshot at the time. She had no evidence beyond Ulbrecht saying he felt in danger, and Motif is not a viable murder weapon. But at a much higher toxicity? We can’t rule it out.”

  “The only problem,” Hoshi added, “is that no one visited Ulbrecht’s flat last night. He consumed the pad voluntarily.”

  “The obvious solution to that,” Trevor countered, “is that he was specifically targeted. His dealer knew what would happen.”

  Dorrit puckered his considerable lips.

  “So, we’re now suggesting his murder was staged to look like an overdose.”

  “To be honest, Chief, that may be our best outcome.”

  Was Dorrit regretting his choice to allow the case forward?

  “Best? Murder by Motif. I can’t wait to hear your theory, Trevor.”

  Neither could he. Only now did his paranoia polish the theory into a usable narrative.

  “According to Eliza Hutton, the student, Ulbrecht claimed he was about to ‘expose people working against the Collectorate.’ She knew none of the details. But let’s say she heard right. More importantly, that Ulbrecht was right. If these people wanted to silence him without drawing attention, they’d try to put him down through unconventional means. Now, they could have tried to discredit his academic standing or manufacture a scandal that got him booted off-station.

  “Problem is, those methods would have taken too long. Everyone we talked to agreed – Ulbrecht was brilliant. Really going places. So, if they needed him gone quickly, a clearcut murder would have drawn too much attention. We haven’t had one in Amity in six years.”

  Dorrit nodded.

  “I see the map you’re drawing, but I question the premise. What you’re alleging is that someone acquired – or manipulated – Motif with elevated K3 and talked Mr. Hann into having a taste.”

  “Yes. It would have to be someone he trusted. Eliza said he would never take Motif willingly. But brilliance and arrogance often go hand-in-hand. He was a curious man. He had a change of heart. He placed the pad on his tongue. Would he have done that if he suspected he was being poisoned?”

  The Chief turned to Hoshi.

  “Do you agree with this madness?”

  Hoshi batted her eyes at both men before settling on Trevor.

  “My partner is more experienced, Chief. I defer to him.”

  “That, Hoshi, is the definition of a non-answer. Trevor, you said murder was the best outcome. Why?”

  He agreed with Dorrit. Hoshi was playing it safe. Still, it gave him slight leverage.

  “The alternative is that we’re seeing a new variation of Motif. If Black Star has reformulated the drug, increased its toxicity, then Ulbrecht was the first of many more victims to come. I recommend we send the toxical to SI. They have the most updated data. If they’ve seen these elevated levels before, we’ll know what’s happening. If not, we narrow the options.”

  Dorrit’s long sigh told the story of a man whose dream of a soft landing before retirement had faded.

  “I’m inclined to agree.”

  “If I may, Chief, we can skirt the usual channels and have this expedited. I have a contact in SI. An old friend. Oliver Jamison. He’s been tracking Black Star for two years.”

  “He’s stationed on Amity?”

  “No. He’s a field agent. Moves around. Last I heard, he was on Earth. I can deepstream him. He’s discreet.”

  Dorrit pushed the holo of the toxical toward Trevor.

  “Sync it into your personal pom. I don’t want a record of it going out from your plate. In the meantime, I’ll notify SI through standard protocol. A perspective from your contact can’t hurt.”

  Trevor retrieved his pom, flipped it open, and dragged the holo over the tiny golden device. The holo flickered, cloned, and dropped into the pom.

  “Whatever we learn,” Trevor said, “won’t eliminate the first two problems: There’s a Black Star operative in Customs or a production facility somewhere in Amity.”

  “Or both. I understand, Trev. I’ll speak with Al-Jani and Tasqur. You and Hoshi focus on the Ulbrecht Hann matter. I assume you’ll have more interviews?”

  “Orval Erdogan, another student from Yaniff. He knew Ulbrecht well. They were neighbors in Andromeda. We’ll also expand our reach with other students. Chief, there’s something else I need. The data from those other MODs.”

  Dorrit eyed the second holo with an awkward grimace.

  “That information is still protected.”

  “I’ll be careful. I need to be sure there’s no connection.”

  Dorrit agreed. “Anything else?”

  “Clearance to access the LinkPass history for everyone associated with Ulbrecht.”

  “Well, sure,” Dorrit said with obvious snark. “Let’s proceed with violating everyone’s right to privacy.”

  “I don’t see how we’ll find the answers without it. Chief, I understand what I’m asking. If there’s blowback, send it my way.”

  “Fair enough. But I won’t put it in writing. I will not endanger my pension.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll be careful. You have my word.”

  Dorrit chuckled.

  “Your word. How many hours have we worked together?”

  Trevor added the old MOD reports to his pom.

  “Starting from the moment you barged into Ulbrecht’s flat? I’d say about six. Will that be all, Chief?”

  “It’s far more than enough. You’re dismissed.”

  Hoshi joined Trevor in his office, where his many dataflicks continued to hover.

  “That went incredibly well, Trev, all things considered.”

  “Agreed. Dorrit surprised me.”

  “Where do we start?”

  He tapped his noggin.

  “I’m making a list. Up first: Orval Erdogan.”

  Among the many things on that emerging list was one topic that never arose in the meeting.

  Raison Club. The place Ulbrecht claimed had exactly what his friend Eliza needed.

  Trevor wasn’t much of a partier, but he damn sure knew someone who loved that lifestyle.

  Perhaps it was time for the Stallion brothers to ride again.

  17

  ORVAL ERDOGAN DID NOT RESPOND when Trevor announced himself. After an uncomfortable silence, the flat’s door slid open. The young Turk, his complexion a darker tan than most Yaniff natives, stood in the center of the outer room, pulling hard on a digipipe. He exhaled smoke with his words.

  “Been waiting for you, Deputy.”

  He retreated to a loveseat of the identical style found in most Haven flats. The outer room matched Ulbrecht’s to the letter.

  OK, then, Trevor thought. He knows. That will save time.

  “I trust that’s your permission to enter, Mr. Erdogan?”

  Orval threw an arm onto the cushioned back and sighed.

  “You badges play by every rule. Don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Every rule? Debatable. Mind if I sit?”

  “Unless you’re not here to talk about Ulbrecht.”

  Trevor knew at once he made the right call in leaving Hoshi behind. He’d get more out of this character without a sidekick. Like the other students, Orval’s eyes were as empty as they were weary. This fella was at wit’s end, and not just because of the deceased.

  “I’m investigating his death. May I call you Orval?”

  “You’re the badge. I offer no resistance.”

  “I assume everyone in Maynor knows?”

  Orval tucked the cylindrical digipipe between this lips and pulled short puffs which the air recycling system quickly filtered. Trevor smelled bitter weed.

  “About ten minutes after you finished with his mentee group.”

  “Now I see. Maynor students aren’t big on rules. They were told to remain silent until the public announcement.”

  Orval’s laugh carried a smugness Trevor often encountered from young, cutting edge know-it-alls.

  “Then you should have detained them. Oh, wait. That would be against the rules.”

  Trevor crossed his legs. This guy ...

  “You and Ulbrecht knew each other for quite some time. Were you good friends?”

  “Ulbrecht didn’t have friends. We were the competition.”

  “So, you two didn’t manipulate the housing assignments? You just happened to find flats down the corridor from each other?”

  “Oh. That. Ulbrecht’s handiwork. He had connections. I went along with it because it was easier.”

  Trevor felt a fruitful interview coming on. Orval carried a weight he wanted to release.

  “Did you socialize with each other outside school and job?”

  “Explain socialize, Deputy.”

  “Visits to each other’s flats. Recreation. Nightlife. Raison Club, for instance.”

  “Raison? Shit. That place was like his second home. We went there a few times, but only in the first month. I wasn’t getting any sleep. Studies caught up with me. But not Ulbrecht. Not that cunt.”

  Orval stared at the smoke cloud spiraling to the camouflaged ceiling filters.

  “You like the pipe, Deputy?”

  “Not since I had a child.”

  “I was going to offer you one. Got plenty. It’s called Stretch, from the Dinesh Vale. Goes down harsh, but it soothes what ails you. Sure you don’t care for a puff?”

  “Orval, your answer tracks what I heard at Maynor. The other students struggled to keep up with their obligations, while Ulbrecht exceeded without nearly the effort.”

  The student nodded.

  “Yep, that was Ulbrecht. Half the effort, twice the results.”

  “Were they jealous?”

  Orval shifted his body and leaned forward.

  “Them? Sure. Me? Cud no!”

  “Interesting. Records show he beat you in three major engineering contests on Yaniff. You weren’t bothered at all?”

  “I didn’t lose, Deputy. I just didn’t win. The key was getting noticed by the right people. I wanted a seat in Maynor.”

  “It worked. Congratulations. The headmaster said they selected three from seventy thousand Yaniff applicants. Has the seat met your expectations?”

  Orval shifted in a blink between a frown and a forced grin. Trevor saw him looking for the right answer.

  “Ask me in two years, Deputy. I smoke six of these a day. Helps me ride on an even keel. Declutters all the nasty thoughts.”

  “What about Ulbrecht? Did he have any dependencies you’re aware of?”

  “I never saw him with a pipe, or any other drugs. Man treated his body like it was a gift to the universe.”

  That tracked with Eliza’s perspective.

  “Were you shocked to hear he died of an overdose?”

  “For about three, four seconds.”

  “Explain.”

  “Word is, he took Motif.”

  “I can’t confirm that.”

  Orval grunted like someone who was in on the secret.

  “Don’t have to. Ulbrecht was obsessed with answering the big questions. People say Motif opens your mind to places humans aren’t meant to go. Just what I’ve heard, you see.”

  “Of course. And yes, I’ve read testimonials. I also know how addictive and deadly it’s become. How it’s destroyed more lives than any drug in human history. So, you believe he might’ve sought out a Motif dealer, even knowing the risks?”

  “Ulbrecht? Take a risk?” Orval massaged his eyes. “He built his whole life on risk. His reputation on risk. He would take any chance because every time he did, he won.”

  “What do you mean, Orval?”

  “Deputy, he didn’t win those contests on Yaniff. He cheated. Ulbrecht was a fraud. Yeah, he had a great mind. Maybe the best of us. But that wasn’t good enough for him.”

  Trevor thought the bitterness proved jealousy. Mr. Runner-up had a chip on his shoulder after all. Yet Orval’s tone had downshifted, like he was ready to dump the biggest weight.

  “Cheating? Explain how.”

  Orval tapped off his digipipe.

  “Ever heard the term ‘phantom drill’?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a catch-all. I knew a few subcutes on Yaniff.”

  “Ah. Data spool hackers.”