Connor’s cheeks fell.

  “The fuck? Effie? I don’t buy it.”

  “It gets worse. She’s not going to take me back, C. I have a feeling Reginald will be Ana’s stepdad within a couple years.”

  “No, wait. You two are perfect for each other. Like the universe in balance. And Ana ...”

  Trevor refused to ride the wave of Connor’s indignance.

  “Is my daughter and always will be. I love you, Connor, but please don’t say anything to Effie. And don’t you dare hold it against her. I’m responsible for Ana’s condition. Seven years has taken a toll.”

  “I’m sure it has, but she’s juicing some DRC asshole. What are you planning here? You intend to roll over?”

  Yes, definitely time to change the subject.

  “C, have you ever known me to roll over for anyone?”

  “Not once. Not even to Ambassador Pissoff.”

  Connor knew how to make Trevor smile.

  “Pousson,” he corrected. “Cost me my job, but I held my ground because I was in the right. I’ll do the same where my daughter’s concerned, to my last breath. Understand?”

  “Sure, bruv. Think so. Hope so.”

  “Know so, Connor.” Little brother meant well but would never understand. “Look, there have been two times in my life when I knew what love truly was. First time, we were standing under that bridge in Redux. UNF on one side, Swarm on the other. Nowhere to run. I thought we were going to die, but the only one I worried about was you. I would’ve taken a laser bolt for you.”

  “Shit. Bruv. You don’t ...”

  “Then I held Ana in my arms for the first time. In that moment, she became my reason to live. She always will be. I will never roll over, C. Not for anyone.”

  He pushed a finger into Connor’s face for final emphasis. Connor nodded approval.

  “There you go. That’s my big brother. He’s still in there.”

  “Yeah, well. Your big brother is tired and hungry. And I need to talk to you about something before you leave.”

  Connor retrieved a band for tying up his hair.

  “Sure, but be fast about it. I’ve been tardy one time too many. They’re starting to notice in EngSec9.”

  “I won’t hold you up.” He decided to hit the high points for a quick shock value. “You can’t repeat any of this. Promise?”

  “Always, T.”

  “There was an MOD in Haven last night. Could be murder. Not sure. But we know Motif is entering the station through a gap in Customs or it’s being manufactured here. You work in the zone near Halifax and Maynor School. Yes?”

  “Ten hells! Yeah. That’s the zone.”

  “I need you to open your eyes and ears.”

  “For what?”

  “Any behavior out of the ordinary. Things you might have overlooked before. It’s all fair game. Especially with students. By now, word’s spreading. Even the smallest oddity might help.”

  Connor rebounded from his slack-jawed response to the news and seemed to relish the task.

  “So, you want me to gather intel? Be an informant?”

  “Judging by your full-throated grin, I think you’re up for it.’

  “Anything you need, bruv. And no worries: I’ll be discreet. Just another drone in a jumpsuit. They’ll never notice me.”

  “Exactly. Stay in the background. Do not be proactive.”

  Connor threw out his arms in a mocking defense.

  “Me? I’ll be a perfect spy.”

  “Good. And when you’re off tomorrow night, I’d like you to take me to your favorite stomping ground.”

  “What? Raison? I thought you stayed clear of the clubs.”

  “You know the place inside and out. Yes?”

  “All the nooks and crannies.”

  “Perfect. I’m not going there to have fun, but I need someone who will. Or at least, someone who looks the part.”

  Connor’s eyes ballooned when he saw the big picture.

  “I’ll be your Second Deputy?”

  “You’ll be yourself, Connor. That’s all I need.”

  “I’m there, Trev-or!”

  “Perfect. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  The Stallion brothers used to make a great team when they weren’t getting into all manner of trouble. Trevor hoped he wasn’t leaning too heavily on nostalgia to unleash their combined forces on the station again.

  They weren’t kids anymore. This would work. It had to.

  He settled down for a quiet dinner. Trevor resisted the temptation to open his wrist plate and pick up work where he left off at HQ. As soon as he started in on all the unfiltered data, he wouldn’t let it go. He’d show up at the office without a wink of sleep.

  He retreated to bed early, closed his eyes, but couldn’t shut off the engine. He turned over often before sitting up in frustration.

  “Shit.”

  There was only one sedative. One way to slow the engine.

  Trevor opened his pom and contacted Effie.

  The signal dinged six times before she opened the comm.

  “Hey, Eff. Sorry. I know it’s late. How’s she doing?”

  “Good, Trev. She woke about an hour ago.”

  “Can I speak to her?”

  Effie looked up and away. Who was with them? Doc Sim? Reginald Endowi? At last, she nodded.

  “Ana, it’s Papa.”

  He expanded the holo to see her in wide view. She was still in bed, drinking from a straw. She handed the glass to her mother.

  “Hey, Papa.”

  My angel.

  “Evening, sweetheart. Feeling stronger?”

  “I am. Mama said you helped me today.”

  Smile! No tears, asshole.

  “I did my best. I’m sorry I had to leave you, sweetheart.”

  She showed no anger this time.

  “It’s OK, Papa. I understand now.”

  Trevor slept well.

  19

  THE CALL CAME EARLY: Security conference promptly at H8 in Amity Central Administration. “Everyone will be present,” Dorrit told him. “Including the President.”

  That was all the café Trevor needed to power him through his morning routine. President Kieran Haas wouldn’t attend unless the stakes extended far beyond elevated K3 in two pads of Motif.

  “Got any theories, bruv?”

  Bleary-eyed Connor remained in bed, wiping hair from his face. He hit the sack an hour before Trevor received the ding on his wrist plate.

  Trevor spit mouthwash into the sink.

  “I don’t theorize about Presidents. They play by different rules.”

  Connor squeezed a pillow against his chest.

  “You sure rant about them. Especially the last one.”

  Trevor threw on his jacket and slipped his pom inside.

  “She was a criminal, C. Got what she deserved.”

  “Didn’t the inquest clear her name?”

  Connor loved to challenge his older brother on the subject of Collectorate Presidents, few of whom Trevor respected. Absolute power transformed people into animals, a topic on which he had no time to debate this morning.

  “The Board of Inquiry was stacked with her sycophants. Look, C, I need to leave. How did your shift go? See or hear anything odd?”

  Connor talked through an extended yawn.

  “Actually, bruv. Yeah.”

  “Like?”

  “Students. Maynor students.”

  “Go on.”

  “I was inspecting the ABLs outside the Halifax receiving platform. It was downshift, so there’s usually nobody about. Even the drone loaders were quiet. That’s when I saw five students. At least, I assume they were. Younger than me.”

  “They wouldn’t be authorized for that location.”

  Connor moistened his lips.

  “Nope.”

  “Did they see you?”

  “Hard to miss the guy in the orange jumpsuit. I don’t think they cared. At first, they passed around a digipipe. Conversation got heated. I didn’t hear enough to make sense of it, but two went after each other with closed fists.”

  May be worth a follow-up.

  “Would you be able to ID them from glyphs?” Connor gave a thumbs-up. “Good. See you after work. Get some sleep.”

  Connor hurled a pillow at Trevor.

  “Send my best to the President.”

  Trevor shot back with a sly grin.

  “Your name will never come up. Guaranteed.”

  Connor feigned ignorance, flailing his arms.

  “What? The cake accident happened seven years ago. She’s forgot about me, bruv.”

  Trevor wished.

  “That woman carries vendettas. Later, C.”

  Connor lost his residency qualification for Harmony one month after a brief kerfuffle at the Stallion-Labroque wedding reception. Trevor suspected but never proved Haas – then a Congresswoman – instigated the order as retribution for public embarrassment.

  Connor was right, of course. The most powerful woman in the galaxy didn’t care squat about anyone with an L3 pay stamp. Trevor presumed her vindictiveness went deeper. She and Grandfather Max butted heads often. Haas fought legislation to help Chancellor refugees establish small colonies on member worlds. Not the only politician with anti-Chancellor bias, but she often wore hers like a badge of honor.

  All the more reason Trevor intended to keep his head down.

  He met Dorrit at Mogandi Station and was surprised to see Hoshi tag along. Since when did Second Deputies attend a Presidential-level emergency confab?

  “It’s irregular,” the Chief admitted, “but Central requested both investigating officers.”

  “They couldn’t have been happy to see my name attached. I don’t have many supporters in Central.”

  “No, Trev. You do not. As I told Hoshi, say nothing unless called upon.”

  They entered the train and flashed wrist plates to confirm their destination: Harmony Aleksanyan Station.

  “That’s the plan, Chief. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  Dorrit shot him a skeptical side-eye.

  “I dearly hope so.”

  Trevor watched Hoshi twice check her bar for proper alignment after the train embarked on its short journey.

  “Nervous?”

  She seemed as antsy as a recruit experiencing Amity for the first time.

  “Also excited, Trev. I’ve never been this high up the chain.”

  “No worries. Some of these people can be intimidating, but most are interchangeable parts, like us. They do the best they can with what they’ve got.”

  “The Chief said something similar. They put their shoes on one foot at a time.”

  That old saw. Trevor agreed with Dorrit’s advice, but the Chief had an ulterior motive: Best no one blame HVSA’s lax oversight as a potential culprit. Dorrit wanted a quiet path off Amity.

  “When we get there, follow my lead, Hoshi. I know the conference room well. There’s protocol to the seating. President Haas on one end, Gov. Murrill on the other. Sec Chiefs and First Deputies on one side; SI and UNF commanders plus Corp Execs on the other. Everyone else gets the kiddie seats against the wall. That’d be you.”

  The news didn’t land. Instead, she asked:

  “Gov. Murrill. Don’t know anything about him.”

  Trevor chalked up the question to a brain glitch.

  “He keeps a low profile. He’s a bureaucrat, more like a glorified city manager, but he’s powerful. He signed my transfer order.”

  She snapped her fingers.

  “Oh, yes. Now I remember. Murrill. I haven’t paid much attention to Harmony. This is only my third trip there.”

  “Really? Seat of government. Beautiful gardens. Great restaurants. A history museum. Never thought to visit on a day off?”

  Hoshi set her eyes on strangers across the aisle.

  “Not especially. Remember what you said yesterday about the seen and unseen? I had time to think about it, Trev. You’re right. There’s a class system here. I’m more at home with Havenites.”

  “Nothing wrong with playing tourist. Plus, I did live there for nineteen years. Am I so horrible?”

  Her cheeks reddened.

  “Not yet.”

  As the train approached the station, Dorrit made a request.

  “Normally, I would take the Swiftrak, but my knee is bothersome today. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer we travel by rifter.”

  Interesting, Trevor thought. He didn’t hand it down like an order; he seemed embarrassed. Trevor decided not to pile on.

  “Perfectly reasonable. It’s half a kay. I’ll be glad to hold the arms.”

  “Thank you, Trevor.” When the doors opened, Dorrit muttered, “Into the beastly cave we trudge, where monsters breath fire and await our flesh to burn.”

  Trevor recognized the line from a famous poem. He doubted the Chief meant it for an audience, but the timing surprised him. Or that Dorrit knew poetry.

  The docks at Aleksanyan were busier than usual today, with three-fourths of the bays empty. Only one rifter remained among those reserved for security personnel.

  “No one’s much in the mood for walking today, Chief.”

  If his words soothed Dorrit’s nerves, all the better. In case fingers pointed and accusations arose, Trevor wanted an ally in his new boss. He wouldn’t have imagined such a need one day ago.

  Trevor dictated the rifter’s course and grabbed its steering arms. He navigated among unusually heavy traffic.

  “Curious, Chief. I heard you quote Tenochtilan back there. Are you a student of his work?”

  Dorrit released a guttural moan.

  “Heard that, did you? Dear. I had a passing interest in Tenochtilan when I was fourteen or fifteen. Like so many boys, I found his impression of humanity’s darkness a temptation. Then I grew out of it, as most do. And you, Trevor?”

  The memories hurt, but the poetry made those years bearable.

  “It was complicated. The Chancellory banned his work in our education tiers. They didn’t want a lowly Aztecan to undermine Elevation Philosophy. I came to him through the one Solomon friend I made on Earth.”

  “Ah. Yes. You would have grown up during the Great Transition. Must have been a confusing time.”

  Trevor heard the term Great Transition used more frequently to explain the twelve-year gap between the fall of the original Collectorate, ruled by his caste, and the rise of an egalitarian People’s Collectorate.

  “They were instructive years, Chief. I’ll leave it at that.”

  The Amity Central Administration building stood out among its neighbors for its disinterested character. Like the functionaries, bureaucrats, accountants, and solicitors who worked inside, the ACA drew in only those who had no choice. Ten levels of unadorned façade pockmarked by the occasional tiny window hid the nuts and bolts work that kept the three sectors running in orderly fashion.

  They took the lift to Level 8: Security and Posture. A cascade barrier greeted them outside Conference Room C. The static field prevented entry until they verified their identity. The wrist plate’s LinkPass reader preceded a retinal scan.

  Trevor knew the routine. These measures used to strike him as excessive given all the station’s safety features. Now, with the undercurrent of change and threat of Black Star infiltration, the paranoia seemed prudent.

  Room C, brightly lit beneath radiant ceiling panels, featured a long, clean table with a holoprojector at its center, surrounded by two dozen high-backed leather chairs. Images from Amity’s sectors projected along the walls. The “kiddie seats,” as Trevor called them, formed two rows at the far end, behind the Governor’s chair.

  Though Dorrit insisted they arrive early, half the participants beat them. Some took their seats, but most milled about.

  “You’ll be down there, Hoshi,” Trevor pointed. “When you see Haas enter the room, make sure your ass is planted.”

  “That’s the go sign?”

  “It means we’re at H8. Haas always makes a grand entrance at the last possible second.”

  “We still have fifteen minutes. Am I allowed to make the rounds and introduce myself?”

  He didn’t expect a bold play. Dorrit answered for him.

  “Absolutely not. We don’t use these occasions to network.”

  Her shoulders sagged.

  “Of course, Chief. I never should have ... I’ll take my seat.”

  “Good thinking, Second Deputy.”

  When Hoshi left earshot, Dorrit leaned over to Trevor.

  “She’s a fine young woman, but far out of her league.”

  “With luck, it will be a good learning experience.”

  Dorrit pointed to the Sec Admin seating, where Episteme Chief Sharif Al-Jani and his First waited patiently. Al-Jani tipped his chin their way. Trevor and Dorrit replied likewise.

  “I see we beat Barukh,” Dorrit said of his Harmony counterpart, Barukh Tasqur. “Will he think we made it here first at your insistence? To show him up somehow?”

  Trevor chuckled at his old boss’s reaction.

  “Doubtful. Barukh and I worked together for five years. He knows I’m many things, but petty isn’t one of them.”

  “I heard he stood up for you against Ambassador Pousson.”

  Perception and reality. They never match.

  “He didn’t support firing me. But he didn’t go out of his way to shout down the Ambassador.”

  Dorrit pointed to their seats beside the Episteme crew.

  “This will be awkward for you, Trevor.”

  “Not so much. We shook hands. He left the door open if conditions changed down the road. Specifically, if I ever agreed to the public apology. Central didn’t leave him much choice.”

  Trevor waved Dorrit ahead.

  “If you don’t mind, Chief, I need to speak with Director Devonshire about a personal matter.”

  Dorrit raised a cautious brow.

  “You know SI’s Forever Queen?”

  Trevor stifled a laugh. Lana Devonshire, barely five-foot-six, had run Special Intelligence with an iron fist for more than twenty years. She outlasted many challenges to her post.

  “She and I have something in common. We found a job we liked and never left it. I met her through Grandfather.”

  “Be brief, Trevor.”

  By all accounts, Devonshire was the most influential woman in the Collectorate who only a few people knew much about. SI operated semi-autonomously, with most of its operations hidden behind veils. Devonshire resisted every attempt by the Interstellar Congress to slash its budget or bring it out into the open.