She waved off the thought.

  “Rafe Murrill had no interest in my department. Except for social events, he might have said ten words to me.”

  Sounds about right. Asshole.

  “Then by all means, let’s correct the oversight. We should schedule regular meetings. Perhaps ... I don’t know ... every thirty or so standard days?”

  Her eyes blossomed with obvious surprise.

  “That would be lovely. Thank you, Governor.”

  “Please. Trevor. Somedays, the honorific feels a bit heavy. Andreas, add Director Brauman to my rotating confabs.”

  “Certainly, sir. For how long?”

  Brauman jumped in.

  “Short. Please. Thirty minutes. Normally, the business of the Housing Authority is mundane.”

  “But today is not mundane, I assume?”

  Her smile vanished.

  “Not today.”

  “When you contacted Andreas this morning, you said your matter was urgent.”

  She winced at Andreas.

  “I wanted to make certain Mr. Portnois scheduled me. To be fair, I’m not sure urgent is the best word. But it is concerning.”

  Most department heads, business owners, or diplomats who visited Trevor elevated the drama of their issue. Was she another?

  “Please. Explain.”

  “Thank you. I should provide context. My department employs fifty-two people. Normal churn keeps us busy. Residential renovations, cleaning assignments, stocking, lease agreements, establishing proper financials, guest reservations. Then there are cross-connnections with other divisions to secure LinkPass IDs and the station-issued pom. It’s a massive affair.

  “We’re at our busiest four to six weeks before a major rotation switch. We’ve only just come out of the throes of such a period. We focus ninety percent of our energy on new arrivals. We process departures with a simple checklist. Follow so far?”

  Clear enough. How far into the weeds are we headed?

  “All good. Continue.”

  “With Congress not in session, things are somewhat quiet in Harmony. You may have noticed.”

  Trevor laughed. “Yes. I’ve enjoyed the peace. Nothing going on for citizens to protest.”

  “The reps are back home campaigning. And they took most of their staffs, as usual.”

  “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

  She rubbed her hands together as if moisturizing them.

  “Your instinct is spot-on. Standard procedure for IC reps, whether between sessions or simply while taking personal time, is to leave their leases in place. Flats in the legislative blocs rarely turn over. If reps lose an election or retire and do not return, it’s custom to transfer the leases to their successors and staff. Cuts our processing by half.”

  “Are you about to tell me something changed?”

  “It’s unprecedented. Frankly, I don’t know what to make of it.”

  She removed a tablet from her suit pocket and scrolled. Brauman elevated a complex holo with floor maps and color codes.

  “You’ll notice two colors on this Harmony occupancy report. Green for IC reps and teal for their primary staffs. By primary, I’m referring to their Chiefs of Staff and top advisors. The low-level aides and internists, which often flip several times during a rotation, are scattered in Haven.”

  Trevor knew this bit and waited for something odd to appear. Brauman continued, adding a second graphic with Haven listings by bloc and level.

  “These snapshots are three months old. Also routine. Now I’ll show what they look like today.”

  The new holos remained primarily green or teal, but chunks of white space infiltrated the whole, like missing pieces of a jigsaw.

  “What does white mean?”

  “Vacant and available for lease.”

  “Huh. So, these reps are giving up their living quarters. Are they all planning to retire?”

  “Not to my knowledge, and it wouldn’t matter. As you can see, the attrition continues in Haven.”

  “When did you become aware of this trend?”

  Brauman shaded her eyes. This bit did not sit well with her.

  “I trust my staff. We have a fine system in place. Honed over many years. But some of my people are on their first rotation. They aren’t as well versed in these lease protocols. At first, I thought the codes were entered incorrectly. They weren’t.”

  Trevor recognized what Brauman dared not admit: She wasn’t paying attention while it happened.

  “Sum up for me, Grete. How many flats? How recently were the leases dropped? Who dropped them?”

  “Thirty-two reps. Three hundred fifty-two flats in total. All in the past six days. And here’s the kicker: It’s not random. These people represent eight planets.”

  Nothing about that sounded good. Trevor asked the question for which he dreaded the answer.

  “Which eight?”

  She threw open a summary page with the list, which she read:

  “Yaniff, Kartuffe, Catalan, Forster's Alliance, Qasi Ransome, Kyriokos, Brahma, and Xavier's Garden.”

  Trevor felt a deep pit in his stomach and glanced over his shoulder to find Andreas with a limp jaw.

  “You see the pattern?” Trevor asked his Chief.

  “I do, sir. It’s remarkable.”

  “What?” Brauman asked. “What is their commonality?”

  Andreas answered faster.

  “You must not follow Collectorate politics, Director.”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m much too busy.”

  Trevor finished the thought.

  “Seven of those planets led the charge for MR-44. They wanted to snuff out the wars between Black Star and its competitors. The collateral damage was growing. Kartuffe wasn’t part of the group, but a Black Star work village there was wiped out the same day as the vote. Eighteen hundred killed. Black Star retaliated. A hundred thousand have since been killed on Kartuffe.”

  Brauman fell silent, no doubt absorbing the shock. Trevor didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Yet.

  “Grete, have you spoken to the President about this?”

  “No. She’s off station. I’ve been told she won’t return for days. I only finished my assessment last night.”

  “Andreas, you know how the IC works. Could there be a logical reason that doesn’t involve the worst-case scenario?”

  Andreas tapped his left temple whenever he studied on a problem. He also clicked his tongue – a habit which annoyed Trevor.

  “In theory, sir, this maneuver could be related to IC voting rules. No legislation can be debated or brought to a vote unless every member world has at least three representatives on the floor.”

  “No one’s here now, but the President can call them back for emergency session. Yes?”

  He gasped. “She has full discretion, true, but the voting rules apply. And also this! I’d almost forgotten. It’s never had to be invoked. Congress can conduct no official business unless every member world has at least one representative on Amity. If a group of four has to be away at a critical time, such as during a state funeral back home, they’ll appoint a proxy to occupy an office.”

  Trevor heard of this procedure.

  “The designated heartbeat.”

  “Correct, sir. It’s a procedural maneuver to end-run a silly clause that never should have been inserted into the Constitution.”

  He didn’t want to believe it or say it. Perhaps it was no more than a coordinated strong-arm tactic to use against the next IC session. These planets were fed up with inaction. They figured out a way to force the IC’s collective hands.

  Or ...

  No, I’m not going there. Not until I know for sure.

  “Grete, have you reviewed the rotation turnover outside the political class? Seen any similar trends?”

  “I haven’t studied the numbers. Rotation residents always end their lease. They have no option.”

  A few ideas came to mind.

  “Do me a huge favor. See if there’s a pattern of departures favoring these eight planets. And don’t share your concerns with anyone else for the time being. Rumors can be bad for business.”

  Brauman squashed the holos into her tablet and uncrossed her legs. She looked queasy.

  “You’re not telling me everything, Governor. What do you really think is going on?”

  “I’m not sure. Let’s meet again tomorrow. Andreas, add her to my calendar.”

  “On it, sir.”

  Brauman stuffed the tablet in her suit.

  “Until tomorrow.”

  Trevor showed her out.

  “I’m sure we’ll discover a logical explanation. Thank you for trusting me with the information, Grete.”

  He returned to his desk and continued with Andreas.

  “You have friends over there. Make some discreet inquiries.”

  “I’ll give it a go, although I’m not optimistic.”

  “Why?”

  “A rep typically leaves one or two staffers behind to act as liaisons for residents. They’re not high up the chain and likely not allowed to speak on these matters. The clerks are back home. If any remained on station, I’ll run them down. I have a second concern.”

  “Oh?”

  “The Director said these leases were vacated in the past six days. Congress ended its session three standard weeks ago. If the representatives sent these requests from their home worlds, it’s likely no one outside the Housing Authority knows.”

  Trevor considered that troublesome angle.

  “Say they did. Why now? If this is connected to the worst-case scenario, why show their hand? Brauman’s team doesn’t work in a vacuum. Someone was bound to notice and ask questions.”

  “Unless.” Andreas hesitated.

  “Unless what?”

  “They don’t care if they’re exposed.”

  Trevor wanted a drink. He squashed the temptation.

  “This feels wrong, Andreas. It’s more than a political stunt.”

  “I tend to agree, sir. How do we proceed?”

  On the day of my daughter’s birthday. Great!

  “Quietly. Contact the President’s office. Confirm her schedule and next availability to deepstream.”

  “Should I attach a level of urgency?”

  “Call it an ‘internal matter in need of timely resolution.’ Vague enough, don’t you think?”

  Andreas smiled. “I do. What else?”

  “Contact the Harmony Portmaster. I want a list of all scheduled inbounds for the next sixty standard days. If she asks why, say I’m examining where the ports might need additional staff.”

  “Good idea. She’s always clamoring for a larger budget. What else?”

  Trevor figured anything more today might violate a quiet strategy.

  “Attend Ana’s birthday.”

  Andreas squirmed.

  “If it’s all the same, I’d prefer not.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re not fond of socialization.”

  “Or children.”

  “It’s going to last three hours. Dozens of friends and family. You’re a friend. Make an appearance, eat cake. Ana likes you. Good?”

  Andreas set down his tablet and let loose a mournful sigh.

  “If you deem it an order.”

  “I do.”

  “Fine, Governor. I’ll pop in, as they say. Ten minutes. That’s all I can guarantee.”

  “Ana will love you for it.”

  His spirits lifted for a moment. Then Andreas left Trevor alone to his paranoia. The mood turned sour.

  “What in hell is happening on my station?”

  15

  BIRTHDAYS USED TO RUSH BY with barely a notice in the Stallion household. The boys grew up during the Earth Civil War and the Interregnum, eras which dampened Chancellor celebrations. Trevor vowed to make it up to his own children. Each year, he and Effie feted Ana with an unforgettable day. This time, Effie took the party up several notches.

  The Stallion-Labroque event took over the main dining room of Hulla, where the political establishment often converged to wine, dine, and reshape the galactic sector. None of that lot were nearby, currently back home to ask for another three years in Congress.

  Effie took advantage of the recess and her final weeks as the Governor’s wife to score a “remarkably reasonable deal” from Hulla’s owner. Trevor balked at the price: Nine thousand UCVs all inclusive.

  “That’s a deal?” He asked.

  “I’d pay twenty. Our daughter is worth it.”

  Trevor couldn’t compete with the truth. He put his frugality aside and paid fifty percent.

  Effie was right. Ana Marie truly was Princess for a Day.

  The girl beamed throughout the meal, gift-giving, and games with her friends. She bounced between tables and hugged everyone – even Effie’s diplomat friends whose names she forgot. Ana screamed and bounced on cue when she opened the pom. Shortly after hugging Trevor and crying in his arms, Ana showed the golden device to her friends, who compared features.

  “She’s all grown up now,” Trevor joked from the main table. “She’ll be impossible after today.”

  Effie, seated between Reginald Endowi and Imelda Savoy, Ana’s tutor, laughed as she raised a fluted glass.

  “She already is. Last night, she asked for a bigger bed.”

  “Why?”

  “Apparently, there’s this new rage among her friends. Sleepovers.”

  Shireena replied from the seat beside Trevor.

  “I have fond memories of sleepovers. My family lived in Mumbassa City when I was Ana’s age. Our building was alive with children. We ran in and out of each other’s flats day and night. Best of times.”

  Effie’s curt smile reflected her naivete on the subject.

  “I was sheltered.” She sipped her wine and watched Ana move between tables with a neverending motor. “The Native children here are so different than what I see on terrestrial missions.”

  “In some ways, Effie. In most that matter, they’re the same. They have a language and unstated rules all their own. They form private communities and report to us only when they need help or food.”

  “Here, here,” Reginald toasted. “I love Miss Ana, but I do not pretend to understand the ways of young girls. I grew up with six brothers. We beat each other senseless for fun.”

  Trevor smirked, remembering the many pointless arguments he allowed Connor to bait him into. How many times did he want to wallop the brat? Then, as they faced imminent death under that bridge, Trevor thought of nothing but how much he loved the little brat.

  Yeah, OK. So, Reginald’s not the worst.

  He understood what Effie saw in the man. Patient, generous, never raised his voice. And never tried to replace Ana’s father.

  The man stole Trevor’s wife but somehow rose above it. Future friends? Not likely. Civil acquaintances, perhaps.

  “Why don’t I still hate the sonofabitch?” He asked Shireena the night before the party.

  She nudged closer until they shared a pillow. Then she winked.

  “You’re growing up, Governor.”

  “I am?”

  “You realize hate does nothing for you. They’re happy. We’re happy. And most important ...”

  Trevor kissed her.

  “Ana’s happy.”

  Shireena never needed to say much. As long as he heard love in her voice, Trevor conceded to her wisdom.

  After Reginald briefly mentioned his life with six roughhousing brothers, Shireena replied:

  “Did you and your brothers carry long grudges or make up by the end of the day?”

  Reginald wrapped an arm around Effie.

  “My parents encouraged our discord on a single condition. After we released our anger, love and forgiveness followed. No one in our home sat down to a meal with a heart tainted by offense.” Reginald’s eyes drifted into the past. “But there might be a swollen lip or a broken rib. These things happened.”

  The laughter felt easy. Nothing forced today. The tension seemed as far removed as Trevor’s fear of losing his daughter to a new man.

  The future Mr. and Mrs. Endowi embraced Shireena with open arms. The generosity extended deep into the guest list, three-fourths of which came at Effie’s invitation. As Trevor made his rounds – which everyone expected of Amity’s Governor – adults who might feel uneasy greeted Shireena with unexpected enthusiasm. Their compliments seemed heartfelt. Some spent more time gabbing with the woman on his arm, which Trevor appreciated. He never enjoyed small talk with diplomats.

  The live entertainment, a three-piece band brought in from Mauritania at Imelda’s expense – lent a jumpy beat to the occasion. At the lead singer’s request, the kids raced to the dance floor, lined up as if they rehearsed, and twisted their hips and arms in tune with the music. It made for a great floor show.

  Until Ana raced to the head table and grabbed her father’s arm.

  “Come on, Papa. You have to!”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  The ultimate nightmare came to fruition.

  “Dance with me!”

  Ana pulled at Trevor, who steered clear of dance floors all his life – while sober. After a few long-ago binges, Connor made wild claims about Trevor’s mobility. His own memory never confirmed those tales.

  Did he have a choice today?

  “OK,” he told Ana. “But you take it easy on me. I’m old.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “No, you’re not. C’mon.”

  Trevor refused to be fodder for legendary jokes. He pointed to his tablemates.

  “I’m not doing this alone. Everybody into the fire! Let’s go.”

  They accepted the challenge.

  To Trevor’s relief, he and Ana danced to music which didn’t require any special formation. She offered pointers. Naturally.

  Hips left, hips right. Bend your knees. Cross your hands over your chest. Point up. Point down. Wave to the crowd.

  “Where did you learn this, sweetie?” He shouted over the music.

  “Streamvids. There’s a million.”

  Trevor groaned.

  “After today, a million and one.”

  Ana shimmied, oblivious to her father’s snark. He tried a new tack.

  “Is the party everything you wanted it to be, sweetie?”

  “Even better.”

  “I’m glad. What was your favorite present? And don’t say the pom.”