She sat alone reviewing a tablet when Trevor approached from behind.

  “Director, good morning.”

  She swung about and examined him with a cold demeanor.

  “Yes. You are ...?” Recognition brought a twinkle into those aged eyes. “Oh, yes. Trevor Stallion. Of course. How long has it been?”

  “Since Grandfather’s funeral, I believe. I was hoping I might have a quick word.”

  “Please.” She offered him the next chair. “We’ll need to be brief. Admiral Woolsey will want his seat.”

  Shit.

  “The High Admiral’s coming?”

  “He’s in the building.”

  If Woolsey was attending, then the confab was much bigger than Trevor anticipated.

  “I’ll be quick. I’ve been trying to contact an old friend who’s an SI field agent. I’ve been unable to run him down through deepstream. I contacted HQ and they dismissed me out of hand. He’s always good at responding to backdoor messages unless he’s in deep cover.”

  Devonshire grunted with a notable disdain.

  “You know I can’t discuss the whereabouts of our agents.”

  “I do, but ...”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Oliver Jamison. Last I heard, he was on Earth but ...”

  Devonshire was known for her cold, impenetrable exterior, but falling cheeks betrayed her.

  “Ah. Jamison. Yes. I seem to recall him mention you some time back. He said you’d make a fine SI agent. He was going to encourage you to apply.”

  “He did, but I have a young daughter with a medical issue. I wasn’t up to the demands of a field agent.”

  Devonshire touched his hand. He felt the heaviness right away.

  “Trevor, we’re in the process of notification. I’m sorry. Oliver Jamison died in the line of duty two weeks ago.”

  A genuine gut punch wouldn’t have hurt as much.

  “Oliver?”

  “One of our best. Remarkable courage. As I recall, he lived here around the time you joined Maxwell.”

  “Uh ... yes. He, um ... Sorry. His family came to help build out the Episteme infrastructure. He was my best mate.”

  She gripped his hand tighter.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss the nature of his work, but I will be making a presentation this morning. Put the pieces together. You’ll understand what happened.”

  Devonshire shaded her eyes, a tic signifying the end of their exchange. Trevor meekly thanked her and started around the table to take his place beside Dorrit.

  He grabbed an empty chairback for support and gathered his thoughts. Deep breaths. Calm down.

  Oliver Jamison understood Trevor’s paranoid streak better than anyone. He spoke often of the dangers hiding behind the veneer of peace and stability.

  “There’s going to be another war soon,” Oliver told him during that recruiting pitch. “Can’t say how it will play out this time, but it’s going to be nasty. We won’t be ready. SI will be on the front lines. We need men like you, Trev.”

  So dedicated. If not for Ana, he might have signed up.

  Now Oliver’s words ripped at his heart. Trevor dreaded what he was about to hear.

  20

  UNF HIGH ADMIRAL EXETER WOOLSEY entered the room alongside HSA Chief Barukh Tasqur. They shared pleasant words and went to opposite sides of the table. The moment divided Trevor’s attention.

  He admired few men more than Woolsey, a decorated hero of the Swarm War. Woolsey’s medal-laden blue-gray uniform, his elegantly coiffed golden hair, and stern beard delivered a gravitas no one present might match. His history as the first immortal to serve in the UNF and now one of the last elevated his stature.

  Trevor had seen the High Admiral from a distance over the years but never had the chance to meet and thank him properly.

  However, he couldn’t ignore Tasqur, who fell into the seat to Trevor’s right and extended a hand. Trevor reciprocated.

  “Barukh. Where’s your new First?”

  The native of Euphrates nodded toward the door.

  “Any second now. She was appointed at H22 last night. This meeting is her first assignment with the new bar.”

  “Her? You must’ve promoted Shireena Balance.”

  He nodded. “She’s put in the work. Of course, Central had to run it past the Ambassador. He demanded right of approval.”

  Trevor refused to touch that one. He thought Tasqur had more spine. What a disappointment.

  “Good for her. She’ll make a fine First.”

  Tasqur acknowledged Dorrit then spoke under his breath.

  “I hear you had a hell of a Day One.”

  “You know me, Barukh. I like to bend gravity.”

  Trevor detected no hint of the friction or resentment which clogged the office during their farewell. Tasqur was a professional.

  So, too, was Shireena Balance, an ex-military on her second rotation. She offered attention to detail and a steady hand. She acknowledged Trevor with a polite smile upon her arrival.

  Was it an act for his benefit? Or had they moved on from him so quickly? Fifteen years protecting Harmony, an ugly finish, but no hint of the controversy.

  He didn’t have time to wallow in pity or paranoia. As predicted, President Kieran Haas arrived seconds before H8. She drifted into the room with the familiar swagger that invited others to clear the way or pay a price. The strawberry blond with coordinating lipstick scanned the participants with a move practiced often on the campaign trail. As Trevor and the others rose to greet her, she signaled for them to refrain.

  Haas pulled out her chair and stood in front of it.

  “Be seated, everyone. I have fifteen engagements today. This is the only one that intrigues me, for obvious reasons. The findings out of Haven yesterday are troublesome, but Director Devonshire and High Admiral Woolsey are here to provide intelligence they say connects the Haven toxical report to a larger and graver threat.

  “One important note.” She motioned toward the side where SI and UNF occupied half the seats. “We have excluded the Corp Execs. At Admiral Woolsey’s recommendation, we are limiting this classified conference to security personnel. Some may argue we are violating the Amity Charter. They might even have a case. I believe you’ll soon understand why the civilian reps should not sit in. Do I hear any enthusiastic objections?”

  Trevor heard that question a time or two. It was Haas code for, “Don’t you cudfrucking dare!”

  No one did.

  “Director Devonshire.” Haas took her seat. “The room is yours.”

  The ‘Forever Queen’ linked her tablet to the projector crystal in the table’s center. A four-sided holo arose featuring the logo of Special Intelligence: An eye encircled by forty stars representing the member worlds. It hovered above the grim statistics of the Motif epidemic:

  Estimated users: 1.35 billion (3.7 percent of human population)

  Verified deaths by overdose: 54,209,166

  Estimated indirect deaths through Motif use: 1.1 million

  Estimated violent deaths (via Black Star & affiliates): 190,000

  Estimated Black Star revenue: 540 billion UCVs

  Largest corporate valuation in Collectorate: 710 billion UCVs

  “Take a moment,” Devonshire said. “Absorb these numbers.”

  Silence, stares, shaking heads, shaded eyes.

  Trevor heard similar statistics from the late Oliver Jamison, who said they weren’t being reported widely enough, or the problem’s magnitude being given the proper sense of urgency.

  But to see them together? His stomach knotted.

  “At SI, we obsess over the big picture,” Devonshire continued. “Horrific though the death toll may be, those final two numbers terrify us the most. Three years ago, Black Star did not exist. It rose out of a small desert town on Azteca. Within a year, it will become the single richest entity on forty planets. The difference being, Black Star is based on thirty-nine.

  “Influence flows out of UCVs, and Black Star has developed a bottomless well of credits to share with any willing partner. Which is precisely their objective, and they’re succeeding – both in the public and private arenas. Their tactics are simple: Allies share in the wealth; resisters are summarily executed.

  “Until recently, two places in the Collectorate were unspoiled by Black Star. One is Aeterna. The High Admiral’s home world remains a powerful shield against the epidemic. Until recently, we believed the same about Amity. Yesterday’s report from Haven Sector along with new evidence we uncovered in recent hours tells a different story.

  “The precise nature of that narrative – whether Black Star has planted its flag inside this station – remains unclear. But we do know Motif is here, and has been distributed with deadly levels of K3. The High Admiral and I had planned to brief you within the week. We expedited this session after the Haven report came to our attention.”

  And there it was. The wake-up call. Trevor sensed Dorrit’s fear. The “new evidence” almost certainly involved the previous MODs he had covered up. Devonshire turned her eye to Trevor.

  “First Deputy Stallion, you are the lead investigator in the case of Ulbrecht Hann?”

  Trevor didn’t mind being the focus of the audience, especially Gov. Murrill, who approved his transfer to Haven.

  “I am, Director. My Second, Hoshi Oda, is also here.”

  Trevor pointed her out, but Devonshire did not shift focus.

  “According to your report, you recognized the signs of an MOD before finding the body. Explain.”

  Trevor took the room through his analysis of the scene, starting with the blood-soaked impacts on the bedroom walls.

  “Deputy, had you previously seen an overdose in person?”

  “No. I immersed myself in forensics reports from many worlds.”

  “At the time, you believed this to be the first MOD on Amity.”

  “I did, Director.”

  “Until Chief Dorrit confirmed other reports had been modified.”

  Trevor never lied to protect anyone above his pay stamp. He did not intend to make an exception.

  “Chief Dorrit said it was done to ensure the station’s reputation as a Motif-free zone and provide residents a sense of security.”

  Those were more or less the Chief’s words. Perhaps it would score Dorrit a few brownie points.

  “Did Chief Dorrit specify if anyone colluded in this matter?”

  Before Trevor answered, Murrill raised an objection.

  “Director, is this a presentation or an inquest?”

  Trevor heard a long-standing animosity in the governor’s tone. Devonshire responded with a simple grin that said he’d never catch up to her.

  “I believe an inquest is the last thing Central Administration wants. Chief Dorrit, did you act in conjunction with the other Chiefs and Gov. Murrill in altering the MOD reports?”

  Trevor wondered what calculus must’ve been rushing through Dorrit’s mind. Throw his peers into the same wagon and he’d likely save himself, even though the deaths occurred in Haven.

  Dorrit cleared his throat and leaned forward.

  “We agreed it was in the station’s best interest. We determined them to be isolated cases and not a threat.”

  Of course. Dorrit couldn’t have pulled this off himself. But the idea that Barukh Tasqur, who shared Trevor’s principles about proper station security, would play along?

  You cut me loose!

  Murrill rapped the table.

  “Enough, Devonshire. These men made a judgment call which I supported. In retrospect, we were wrong. Do you want our heads?”

  Trevor noticed the President and High Admiral remained stoic throughout the exchange. Devonshire laid down her tablet.

  “I have no power in Amity, nor do I care about your internal affairs – until they affect Collectorate security. The mechanism that delivered two Motif pads with high-dose K3 to an engineering student thrived due to lack of vigilance. As I said, you do not want an inquest. Deputy Stallion, have you reached a conclusion as to how the deceased acquired the Motif?”

  “Not yet. We’re exploring a number of options, including the possibility that foul play might have been involved.”

  Apparently, no one outside HVSA knew this angle, judging from the twisted brows and whispers.

  “You believe he might have been targeted for murder?”

  “We established potential motives.” Trevor stopped shy of diving into those, especially the conjecture about Ulbrecht’s ‘phantom drill.’ He had no hard proof the thing actually existed. “Also, I’m not aware of K3 being found at such high levels before, which suggested these pads were manipulated to ensure the victim’s death.”

  Devonshire tapped her tablet, posting a new set of images.

  “The information I’m about to disclose is known only to the President and a few members of the security apparatus. Under no circumstance must it leave this room.”

  She pointed to the holo.

  “What you see are five toxicals, all from the past four months and different planets.” She expanded the chemical assessment of Motif levels. “Elevated K3, identical to that found inside Ulbrecht Hann. In the other cases, each victim was an influential member of his or her community. They had rebuffed Black Star’s efforts to expand its territory. We believe they were assassinated.

  “This modified version of Motif will kill almost anyone who ingests it. As that runs counter to Black Star’s bottom line, we believe they have manufactured a small subset of pads to use as weapons. We have found evidence suggesting the other deaths were staged to resemble MODs.”

  Trevor thought now was a good time to speak without being called upon. He raised his hand.

  “The LinkPass data from Ulbrecht’s flat shows no one entered his home to pull off such a feat.”

  “Understood, Deputy. Black Star’s agents are clever. They may have found a way around Amity’s unique tracking system.”

  That’s what worried him.

  “So, you’re saying they’ve infiltrated Amity?”

  The question had to be front and center to everyone’s thoughts.

  “Almost certainly.” Devonshire didn’t miss a beat. Whispers intensified. “What we don’t know is the shape of it. The common rabble they employ – the front-line dealers, the termination squads, the smugglers – would never slip the net. They wouldn’t try. But Black Star’s reach is staggering. Many of their allies come from a specialized class. People with no criminal record. No suspicion to their name. But their accounts are lined with Black Star UCVs.”

  Murrill interjected.

  “No one enters this station without thorough vetting.”

  Devonshire seemed amused. She and the President shared a glance that set Trevor ill at ease.

  “Governor, have you tightened those background checks in the past three years?”

  Hell, no.

  Murrill shifted in his chair.

  “We work with many planetary partners and SI. Our process has always worked, even if it is not entirely consistent.”

  Haas replied. “Director, I feel certain the Governor will institute any changes you propose.”

  “Thank you, Madam President. We’ll send recommendations in the coming days. Now, I illustrate the case of young Mr. Hann to indicate the immediate threat to Amity. However, you did have four other MODs that did not involve elevated K3. On the surface, they were standard overdoses. What I’m about to tell you illustrates a larger issue we may not be able to contain much longer.”

  She changed the projection to a representation of the human genome. The double helix twisted in vibrant color, with a tiny section cut out and highlighted.

  “The fatality rate among Motif users has remained constant at four percent, regardless of age, gender, ethnicity, social class, or home world. For every hundred thousand users on Catalan, about four thousand die. For every hundred users on a small world like Inuit Kingdom, four die. More than a year ago, SI began compiling toxicals to search for the common thread.

  “Three months ago, we found the solution.” She expanded the genetic slice, which included a variety of statistical data. “Ninety-nine percent of MODs occur in people possessing this aberrant genetic marker. Everyone born with this marker has a high risk of structural defects in the circulatory system. Exposure to Motif is an effective death sentence. And yes, our expanded studies prove: This marker resides in roughly four percent of all humans.”

  Out of the stunned silence, Barukh Tasqur said:

  “The implications are incredible. If this data went public, it would be ...”

  “A disaster,” President Haas cut him short.

  “How so, Madame President? Fifty-four million have died. It’s a simple matter for anyone to have a gene scan searching for the marker. Everyone in that category would stay clear of Motif.”

  “And what of those who don’t possess the marker, Chief?”

  Trevor understood the moral dilemma. On the face of it, users should be allowed to know the risk factor. Devonshire countered the argument.

  “If the thirty-five billion who have not tried it believe they can use Motif without fear of death, what happens next? How many billions will clamor for it? Black Star’s operations will expand faster than we have any hope of slowing. Their financial and emotional hold over the human race will become absolute.”

  “What are you saying?” Murrill asked.

  “It’s a simple matter of causality. The obsession for this drug will lead to a fundamental breakdown of the interstellar economy. Regional and federal governments will bow to pressure from Black Star and its affiliates. Wars between forces loyal to the narco-states will fight a diminished opposition. The UNF, which has been hamstrung by the Constitution and a weak-kneed Congress, will not have sufficient tools to restore order. In a few years, the Collectorate will cease to exist. Anything after that will make our worst fears about the Swarm invasion seem minor.”

  “Alarmist,” Murrill said. “You produce a study that will save lives, but you claim it will bring doom upon us all. You people in SI live in a constant state of fear and cynicism. You have no faith in the better nature of the human race.”