“Among other things. Apparently, these people have an ultimate goal. It’s a fantasy, you might say. Build a program that can infiltrate every classified system in the Collectorate – government, military, or private – retrieve the data, and leave no trace.”

  “That’s a dangerous goal.”

  “Yeah, well. Not for Ulbrecht. He built a phantom drill.”

  Never did a dead man interest Trevor more than right now.

  “How do you know?”

  “After those contests, I heard whispers that engineers had come forward saying parts of Ulrich’s proposals derived from their own work. The scandal would’ve gotten out of hand, so the organizing committees closed the book. But I didn’t.”

  “Go on.”

  “I reviewed every detail of his proposals and compared them against what I could find through non-classified resources.”

  “What did you discover?”

  “The underlying data was an amalgam of bits and pieces from everywhere and nowhere. No one piece was enough to prove theft. He synthetized the data into something new. The proposal was his, but it was built on the backs of people he stole from.”

  “Did you confront Ulbrecht?”

  Orval chuckled.

  “That’s why I was expecting you. I heard you learned about his so-called threat on my life. Yes, Deputy. I accused him of fraud.”

  “You mentioned the phantom drill?”

  “In private. I gave him a chance to come clean.”

  “Did he?”

  “Not in a way that would hold up before a judge. Ulbrecht loved to talk in hypotheticals. He said, ‘If I was the type of person who created a phantom drill and could access any data spool anywhere, why would I waste my time in school?’ He almost sounded logical. Then he added a little something extra. I don’t know, maybe he got feeling too smug. He said, ‘If I was the type of person who could do all these things, I’m sure I could ruin lives. Especially people who make crazy accusations against my family’s good name. It’s a damn good thing I’m not that type of person.’”

  Orval double-tapped the digipipe and inhaled.

  “You had to be there, Deputy. I saw something in his eyes. A twinkle. A little madness. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

  “I understand he threatened you in front of witnesses a few weeks ago.” Orval nodded. “How did you respond?”

  “He laughed afterward like he was joking. I walked away. Someone else complained to school admin. I couldn’t prove what he’d done, and I knew Thet wasn’t about to subject the school to a scandal. I wrote an anonymous complaint to Ulbrecht’s supervisor at Halifax R&D.”

  “You accused him of data-fixing.”

  He exhaled a thin stream of purple smoke.

  “I hoped somebody over there would have a spine and follow through. They’re all gutless.”

  “Did you mention the phantom drill?”

  “Not as such.”

  “Why not? If such a thing exists, it poses a threat to station security. For that matter, interstellar security.”

  Orval bowed his head as he smoked. He might have been releasing the weight, but it still dragged him down.

  “I’m a coward, Deputy. I got my whole life waiting for me on Yaniff. I stepped about as close to the flame as I’m willing.”

  “OK. Let’s take a breath. If Ulbrecht actually developed this phantom drill, where do you think we’d find it?”

  “His pom, most likely. Everything on there’s protected by his gene stamp, so he wouldn’t have to worry about infiltration.”

  Trevor was afraid he’d say that. Poms were designed to be all but uncrackable. When owners died, their poms were usually disintegrated rather than anyone waste time trying to extract the internal data. Yet another product of the Collectorate’s guarantee of personal privacy rights. It was not, however, helpful to anyone investigating criminal activity.

  “Do you believe others knew about his program?”

  “No idea.”

  “Think he used the data he collected against people?”

  “Extortion? Wouldn’t surprise me. Ulbrecht thought he was invincible. Why else would he have risked it all for Motif?”

  Ideas upon ideas queued up inside Trevor, none of which he thought best to pursue with Orval.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Oh. Ah. Three days ago. He hopped off the lift and walked right past me without a word. I was more or less dead to him at that point. He figured I was no threat.”

  “Would you object if I reviewed your LinkPass history, just to confirm that your movements line up with your statements?”

  The Turk straightened his shoulders into a defensive posture.

  “You can check whatever you want. I have nothing to hide. But why do my movements matter? Am I being accused of something?”

  “No, no. It’s a standard part of verification.” A little lie sometimes moved the needle forward. “Before I go, there’s one odd topic I’d like to ask you about, especially given what you’ve told me. Ulbrecht’s public biography says he was studying trans-wormhole shielding tech. Headmaster Thet laughed it off. He said it was meant to be ironic. That trans-wormhole theory is fringe science. Do you agree?”

  Orval tugged at his collar. First time Trevor witnessed that tic.

  “Ironic, how? Like a joke, Deputy?”

  “Something along those lines. You’re not laughing. Why?”

  “I don’t believe it’s fringe science. Otherwise, I don’t think they’d be working on it at Halifax. Did they mention his apprenticeship?”

  “Interstellar cartography.”

  Orval sighed. “That’s what they call it? Interesting. Back in the first month, when Ulbrecht thought we were friends, he told me about the job. His team is mapping black matter substrata.”

  “Why?”

  “He said the aim was to improve safety of wormhole travel. I wasn’t interested. It’s not my specialty. But I remember he had that twinkle in his eye. He said, ‘Wouldn’t it be the ultimate if we could reopen the fissures?”

  Well, shit.

  Trevor flashed back to the question a student asked of Thet.

  “Fissures? As in, to the other universes?”

  Orval nodded. “He and I were born less than a month after the fissures were closed. He took that as a sign. Ulbrecht took everything as a sign. He was going to be the first to cross over.”

  OK. Here we go down the black hole.

  “What else did he say on that topic?”

  “Never brought it up again. I work at Atumwa. It’s possible he was spewing nonsense, but I don’t think so. Like I said, brilliant mind. He didn’t have to cheat.”

  Trevor heard enough. For now.

  “Thank you, Orval. I appreciate your candor. If I have any more questions, I’ll call ahead.”

  “Sure. Whatever works, Deputy. Just don’t interrupt my sleep. I don’t get enough as it is.”

  Trevor teemed with a strange excitement interlaced with equal bits of terror. If even half of what Orval claimed was true ...

  “Cudfrucker,” he muttered upon entering the lift.

  He tapped his wrist plate and contacted Hoshi.

  “What did you learn, Trev?”

  “Fill you in soon. Did the lifetechs submit the effects list?”

  After a short beat, she said:

  “Oh, let’s see. Here we go. Lifetechs logged it an hour ago.”

  “Check the inventory of personals.”

  “Sure. What are you looking for?”

  “Ulbrecht’s pom. Did they recover it?”

  “Hmm. I’m scrolling through now.”

  He waited until she came back with the one answer he dreaded.

  “Huh. No, actually. Strange. Everyone on Amity has a pom. Should we send the lifetechs back out to look for it?”

  “No. I’m in his building. I’ll do it myself. But I don’t expect to find it.”

  She asked why.

  “I hope I’m wrong, Hoshi. I might have just uncovered a motive for murder. Cud, I hope I’m wrong.”

  18

  TWO HOURS AFTER TREVOR returned to Sec Admin HQ without a dead man’s pom, he refreshed with a strong cup of café. Then he studied the collected puzzle pieces and reached a preliminary conclusion.

  Ulbrecht Hann, equal parts genius and madman, developed a hunter-seeker program capable of entering any data spool unnoticed, capturing the information, and retreating in silence. Someone offered to buy the so-called ‘phantom drill’ if Ulbrecht extracted it from his pom. He refused. They stole the pom and killed him under the guise of an overdose.

  Who? How?

  “Those questions I can’t answer,” Trevor admitted to Dorrit, who studied the deputy’s report with an unusual silence. “If this was a murder at all.”

  Dorrit massaged his double chin from behind the desk.

  “Therein lies the quandary,” the Chief finally said. “We have no direct evidence of foul play. Everything you and Hoshi acquired today points to an arrogant young man who made a fatal mistake. Yet one of his own choosing.”

  “I know,” Trevor conceded. “But that missing pom is a problem.”

  “You believe Mr. Erdogan’s story?”

  “Inasmuch as he believes it. The kid was wiped out. He said he smokes six digipipes daily to keep a level head. These students ... the entire atmosphere at Maynor School ... they’re being pushed to the limit.”

  “Agree,” Hoshi added. She helped Trevor pull together the early evidence into a cohesive presentation. “It was surreal. I’m sure they’re hiding something.”

  Dorrit wagged a demonstrative finger at the Second Deputy.

  “Everyone hides things. My wife serves me two small, bland meals each day. She’s determined to help me trim the excess in my mid-section. I do not cooperate. Twice a week, I leave home early and take the train to Harmony. I stop into Henwick’s and try out a plate of their newest confections.”

  All member worlds contributed candies, cakes, pies, and chocolates to the famed store outside the Interstellar Congress. Not a kiosk on site – everything was baked inhouse or jumped in by wormhole (an expensive proposition). Trevor took Ana there once a month for a special treat.

  “Henwick’s is seductive, Chief,” Trevor said. “But we’re not talking about guilty pleasures. I’m convinced the students in his mentee group know something pertinent.”

  “Would any have motive to kill Mr. Hann?”

  “Motive? Yes. Especially Orval Erdogan. But means? How did they get their hands on Motif with elevated K3? How did they ensure Ulbrecht consumed it? When did they steal his pom? They’re smart – probably smarter than the three of us combined – but there’s no direct evidence linking them to Ulbrecht’s death.”

  Dorrit nodded full agreement but showed no sign of shutting down the case.

  “What is your next step, Trevor?”

  “Reinterview the students in his mentee group separately. Talk to his supervisor at Halifax. I want to know more about Ulbrecht’s work. This trans-wormhole business concerns me. I thought the IC passed a law decades ago forbidding research into reengaging with the other universes.”

  Dorrit rocked in his luxuriant chair.

  “They passed many reactionary laws after the war, some of which came back to bite them in the proverbial ass. Later Congresses undid most of what that first group bolloxed up. Easy enough to verify.”

  “I’ll run that down,” Hoshi said, stifling a yawn.

  “Thanks, Hoshi.”

  Trevor didn’t discuss his plans for Raison. He intended to step outside the usual protocols. No need to bring Dorrit into the loop. Likewise for his review of LinkPass histories, not limited to students.

  “I’ll be straight with you, Chief. This business with the pom leaves me cold. The implications for a program like Orval described is ...”

  “Terrifying. I know. But until we have solid evidence the program exists, we don’t run this up the chain. If it is on his pom, no one will be able to crack it. Time is with us.”

  That seemed like a good moment to utter, “Famous last words.”

  Trevor refrained.

  “What about the K3, Chief? When do you expect a response?”

  “I submitted the finding to my fellow chiefs, SI, and Central. It’s a wakeup call for everyone. I’ll know more in the morning, but I expect an emergency session will be called. Have you contacted your man?”

  “Tried an hour ago. No luck.” Trevor wasn’t surprised. His SI friend Oliver often operated undercover in the field. “Deepstream can be tricky, especially for somebody who’s ventured off the path, so to speak. I’ll try another DS tonight.”

  Dorrit tapped the chair’s arms until he found a rhythm.

  Then he yawned.

  “In the interest of clear minds and full stomachs, I suggest we call it a day, Deputies. Your first one together has been full, and now you’re two hours past shift. Good work. Start again tomorrow.”

  Pragmatic Trevor cheered those words. Paranoid Trevor wanted to return to his desk and analyze the spools of unexplored data. Did waiting another day make sense when station security might be at risk? Then again, what the hell was he even searching for?

  “What do you think?” He asked Hoshi after their dismissal. “Don’t hold back.”

  She stared at the banks of dataflicks in his office.

  “I’m glad you showed up when you did, Trev. I wasn’t ready to deal with something this big. Thought I was.” She chuckled. “If I’d taken that call alone, I wouldn’t have entered Ulbrecht’s flat. A guy overslept. None of my concern. We would’ve lost valuable time.”

  “Lucky us. But you haven’t answered the real question. What do you think?”

  Her smile vanished.

  “To be honest, I don’t believe Ulbrecht was murdered. It doesn’t seem plausible based on what we know. Maybe something else will change my mind. But at the very least, we know Amity has a major security problem. That’s huge.”

  She wasn’t wrong, of course. So what if she couldn’t yet see the bigger picture like Trevor did? He wouldn’t hold it against her.

  “It’s important. Yes. We’ll see what people at higher pay stamps intend to do about it. So, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Yes.” Hoshi stammered. “Trev, I ...”

  “Talk to me.”

  “I didn’t know if you had plans. You mentioned this morning maybe we could sit down over a drink sometime.”

  OK, so that was surprisingly fast.

  “We will, but not tonight. My plate’s full. Among other things, I hope my daughter wakes up soon. I need to ...”

  Hoshi waved him off with a grin.

  “Of course. What was I thinking? It’s been a crazy day. We both need time to decompress. Perhaps when life returns to normal.”

  Normal. When was that?

  Trevor did not allow his paranoia to suggest Hoshi’s motives were anything other than pure. If she did have an angle, she wouldn’t like his answer. Not in the least.

  He ventured home by Swiftrak rather than rifter. Among its many benefits, Amity empowered walkers. He passed many residents in full power-walker posture. Most followed their progress inside hololenses. He encountered no leapers, which was a small relief. No need to stop everything, chase them down, and dish out warnings.

  A few residents acknowledged him with a courtesy nod or half-smile, but his uniform and bar appeared to carry no weight. That’s how they liked it in Haven, or so Hoshi claimed.

  “Live and let live,” she said that morning. “That’s our charge, Trev. It works.”

  Until it doesn’t.

  His gut knotted with the sensation that an unpleasant change was taking place around them. Subtle, quiet, patient.

  Pragmatic Trevor warned the alarmist not to get carried away.

  He arrived at his brother’s flat and sighed. Trevor promised Connor a little heads-up so he could change into ... well, any clothes.

  OK. Time for another floor show.

  The outer room and kitchenette were empty. A small victory.

  “Home, C,” he shouted into the bedroom.

  “You’re late, bruv.”

  “Busy day. You eaten?”

  “Couldn’t wait,” Connor said, appearing with brush in hand and wearing a maintenance jumpsuit. “Off to my shift in about ten.”

  Trevor did the math.

  “So soon?”

  Connor shrugged.

  “Those washer fans are calling to me like the sirens of old.”

  “Hmm. Words I never imagined hearing in the same sentence.”

  Connor ran the brush through his silver locks.

  “Beautiful, ain’t it? Poetry.” He slapped Trevor on the shoulder. “A gap shift. Seven hours then I’m off for two days. Worse fates.”

  Trevor held off triggering the kiosk for dinner.

  “I was hoping to have a word before you went out again.”

  “Hey, sure. Why don’t we ...?”

  Connor cussed under his breath and set down the brush. In one fluid move, he fell upon Trevor, wrapping him in a stern hug.

  “Sorry, bruv. I wasn’t thinking. Effie told me about Ana’s seizure. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. It’s been a tough day.”

  “I hate it for you, T. I know it’s tearing you up inside.”

  Trevor squirmed out of the hug.

  “It’s strange. When it happened two or three times a month, it felt routine but killed me to see my little girl like that. Now it’s every few months, but the pain’s worse.”

  “I get it. Effie said she thinks each time is the last. Then the next one comes, and she’s not sure it will ever end.”

  “What else did she say?”

  “That she was glad you were there.” Connor stepped away and grabbed his brush. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, bruv, but I have a feeling she’s coming around.”

  “Toward what?”

  Connor’s comical smile said, “Whatcha think? A reunion. She sees what she’s missing.”

  Oh. That. Trevor sighed and thought of a dinner plan. First, to set the little brother straight.

  “C, did you ever meet Reginald Endowi? He’s DRC.”

  “Kidding me? I never drifted with that crowd.”

  “No, you certainly did not. At any rate, she’s been sleeping with him for five, maybe six months.”