Devonshire nodded. “We’re paid to be frightened and cynical. You can pretend humanity has reached its zenith. We know better.”

  Other voices entered the fray, sending the room into a temporary verbal skirmish. Dorrit’s considerable cheeks turned white. Hoshi locked eyes on Trevor. He felt her disbelief.

  Had they fallen so far that preserving a four percent death rate was acceptable policy?

  Haas banged the table until the room fell silent.

  “The decision has been made,” she said. “The Director informed me days ago. I allowed her to pass along the information to this station’s chief security officers in order for you to understand the depth of our problem.” She saved her sharpest glare for Murrill. “Governor, if you’re unable to run Central Administration under these conditions, I’ll be happy to accept your unconditional resignation.”

  Trevor had seen men of stature cower – and he usually took pleasure in the moment – but he felt for Murrill. The Governor sought to preserve Amity’s reputation but had been kept out of the intelligence loop.

  “I swore my life to upholding the Amity Charter,” Murrill said. “I have no interest in resigning.”

  “Excellent. As you were saying, Director?”

  Devonshire scoffed at Murrill and continued.

  “Black Star has known about the genetic marker for at least two years. Their leadership hid the data. That seems counterintuitive to good business. Not to Black Star. Profits only fuel a piece of their agenda. The rest is bent toward chaos and a slow collapse of civilization itself. They are nihilists. They seek to end the rule of law, to see us turn against each other, until we are so weakened that no force can stand against them. Their leader seeks to create a new empire built on the blood and ash of billions.”

  OK, that’s dramatic.

  Trevor raised his hand.

  “Director, I believe we’ve all heard horrific stories about Black Star, but what you’re predicting is an apocalypse. If I may, how would SI know this information unless ...”

  Devonshire smiled, as if anticipating the question.

  “We have agents on the inside.”

  “Yes. But they’d have to be embedded close to leadership.”

  “And no one has gotten close, or so the public believes.”

  Devonshire laid a hand on Admiral Woolsey’s shoulder. They shared a nod. Woolsey sighed.

  “Sixteen standard days ago,” Woolsey said, “we captured the man who invented Motif. Number Three in Black Star leadership. What he revealed changed our outlook on this fight. Unless we take quick and decisive action, all we fought for in defeating the Swarm may be lost.”

  21

  THE HOLO SHIFTED TO THE FACE of a man in his early thirties. He stared at the vid with a wild-eyed expression of joy though his right eye was battered and shut. His bleached hair was frazzled, and the scraggly black goatee did not hide a bloodied lip.

  “This man was born Marcus Gallego,” Woolsey said. “He’s an Aztecan who adopted the pseudonym Elian. Part biotech genius, part psychopath. Several months ago, one of SI’s field agents began tracking his movements. Like others in the Black Star leadership, Elian was well practiced in the art of living in the shadows.

  “Fortunately, he was not so expert as to elude the field agent. He sent word of Elian’s location, but the agent and his partner needed backup to secure the target. We sent in our best interdiction unit. Elian was captured after a firefight in which we lost several good soldiers. The team took him to what they believed to be a secure facility for interrogation.

  “It was not. Ten hours later, Black Star jumped in a cruiser and overwhelmed the facility. They slaughtered the agent and our team.”

  Now it made sense.

  Trevor set his eyes upon Devonshire, who nodded.

  Oliver! I’m sorry, my friend.

  “So,” said Murrill, “Elian is free again?”

  “No. The enemy forces had two objectives. One, to take out our people. Two, to execute Elian. They succeeded on both counts.”

  “Why would they kill a man so important to Black Star?”

  Woolsey’s eyes lingered on Murrill, as if he should’ve known the answer. Trevor did. He assumed the other security officers reached the same conclusion.

  “He was not important anymore, Governor. Though Black Star would not exist without him, Elian served his purpose. He became a security risk if captured. We held him for ten hours. And in fact, he did talk. Not to the extent we hoped, but Black Star assumed he was a traitor. We have secure cam footage.

  “They shot Elian repeatedly then decapitated him. They left with his head, like a prize. Needless to say, they were acting on orders from the top.”

  “Their leader?” Al-Jani asked. “The one called Raul.”

  Woolsey nodded with resignation.

  “We believe that’s also a pseudonym, but yes.”

  “Did the interrogation give us any hope of finding the man?”

  Devonshire shook her head.

  “Elian praised Raul endlessly, as we’ve seen before among these Black Star fanatics. He said, ‘Raul’s a god. You’ll never be able to stop him.’” Devonshire chuckled. “As you see, their devotion is absolute. Black Star is as much a cult of personality as a delivery system for death and chaos.”

  Al-Jani voiced the rumor that Trevor and others heard.

  “Is it true he might be one of your kind, Admiral? An immortal.”

  Woolsey had to know the topic would rear its head. Wild speculation surrounded Black Star’s leader. There were no images or vids; only human imagination run amok.

  “Possible, Chief, but unlikely. It’s been thirty-five years since my people settled on Aeterna. Of the hundreds then unaccounted for, all but a dozen have come forward. The others are presumed dead or simply unaware of what they are. All our combined efforts have generated little more than wild tales about Raul. Our best witnesses were the survivors from the Orpheus terrorism incident three years ago on Azteca. They made claims about Raul that stretch credibility. Frankly, we’re not sure he exists at all.”

  Devonshire added, “He’s such an elusive figure, we suspect he’s a myth created by Black Star leadership to perpetuate their agenda.”

  Al-Jani rubbed his hands together, apparently as dissatisfied with that response as everyone else.

  “It sounds to me like the four of us who covered up the MODs are not the only ones who have been negligent.”

  Devonshire and Woolsey shared a glance, as if waiting to see who wanted to take that accusation. Woolsey stepped up.

  “Chief, I respect the difficulty of your job.” He scanned the entire opposite side of the table. “Everyone here has to make hard choices. But our interdiction teams and SI’s field agents – as much as they’re allowed to fight with one hand tied – are sacrificing their lives to make headway against the enemy.” He shifted his focus to Haas. “We lack the personnel, warships, materiel, and the will of Congress to fight a proper war. This is not news.” Back again to Al-Jani, he added, “Yes, we came to the battle late. But respectfully, negligent is the wrong word.”

  Haas jumped in.

  “I’ve made my position clear to the High Admiral and the Director. More funding and less handcuffing will come ... in time. The process is complicated.”

  Really? Trevor didn’t understand how but held his tongue. Shooting down the President’s claim would not endear him or protect his job.

  Woolsey also did not take the bait.

  “Elian only talked to his interrogator when asked about Motif specifically. He happily explained the techniques he used to create it. He confirmed the four percent fatality rate. He admitted the drug could be easily manipulated into a weapon. He was proud of his work. He talked of his place in history and how his name would be remembered for centuries.”

  Devonshire added, “In his final report before the attack, my agent said Elian no longer cared if he died. All the man wanted was fame, no matter how he came about it. He succeeded.

  “We’re fighting a cancer for which there is no cure and which intends to ravage the whole of civilization. Earlier, Governor, you called me an alarmist. Right now, my people and Admiral Woolsey’s forces are holding the gates. The enemy hordes are growing faster than we can withstand. In time, we won’t be able to keep them at bay.”

  Woolsey said, “We recommend Amity tighten security protocols. Freeze Customs activity until everyone in the spaceports can be investigated and cleared for further duty. Expedite the inquiry into Ulbrecht Hann’s death. Determine how he acquired Motif and track it back to its origin.”

  “I can provide a field agent to assist,” Devonshire said. “The Admiral can send in a small, inconspicuous interdiction team. Of course, these measures will require your authorization, Governor.”

  Murrill reared his back up, but a quick visual exchange with the President softened his features.

  “You’ll have it today.”

  “Perfect,” Haas said. “I trust our sector Chiefs and their Firsts now understand the urgency. Each Chief will meet with your team today and tighten protocols. At the Director’s suggestion, I will sign a classified Presidential Order authorizing station security to access all LinkPass history under the umbrella of probable cause.

  “This will provide wide latitude, but it is a temporary measure. Do not abuse it. Understood? Now, if there’s nothing else, I have another engagement in ten minutes. I’d prefer to miss it, but my absence at public events tends to draw unwanted scrutiny.”

  Trevor reckoned if the President had a gavel, she would have used it. Instead, she rose from her chair; all others followed suit and held their position until she departed.

  “Right,” Tasqur said to break the silent aftermath. “I propose the Chiefs spend a few minutes with Gov. Murrill then assemble with our sector teams. Anyone opposed?”

  Murrill waited a beat before agreeing. He turned to Devonshire and Woolsey.

  “How long do you intend to remain on station?”

  “I’m consulting within my attaches,” Woolsey said. “I’ll return to Central Command in six hours.”

  Devonshire sighed. “Like the President, my day is full. I’ll be jumping straightaway. You know where to find me.”

  In other words, one hundred sixty light-years to another empty star system. Like Amity, Central Command’s permanent home showed no favor to any member world.

  Dorrit huddled with Trevor and Hoshi.

  “We won’t be long. You heard the Admiral. Ramp up your work on the Hann case. We need results. Explore LinkPass histories. Whatever tools you need.”

  If Dorrit was relieved at not being hung out to dry for his MOD decisions, he didn’t show it.

  “Right away, Chief,” Trevor said.

  “You can count on us,” Hoshi nodded.

  Outside the room, she leaned into Trevor and mumbled as if she didn’t want the other departing deputies to hear.

  “Are you as stunned?”

  “Not especially. When you know things are bad, you can be sure the truth is worse. I doubt they told us everything.”

  “I can’t believe they’re allowing us to violate the Charter. It’s one thing to investigate when there’s a crime; now all we need is to claim probable cause? Someone can look at me funny, and I decide that’s enough reason.”

  Trevor scoffed. This wasn’t the time for moralizing.

  “It’s not martial law, Hoshi, and we won’t endanger anyone who’s clean. Better yet, the LinkPass will help us rule out suspects. Sooner we nail this down, sooner we zero in on Black Star’s infiltrators. There has to be a connection.”

  She grabbed his arm.

  “You think we’re looking at an assassination, like the others she mentioned?”

  “It’s too early to go there, Hoshi. Everything about Ulbrecht says he had a brilliant future, but he wasn’t influential that I can see. Did anyone else know about his so-called phantom drill? Did the damn thing do what Orval Erdogan claimed? Who would benefit by killing him? Was he somehow connected to Black Star?”

  They exited the security perimeter and drifted into Central’s primary atrium.

  “I don’t know, Trev. From all we’ve learned, he doesn’t seem like the type.”

  He was disappointed in his Second.

  “You heard Devonshire. They’re recruiting people with clean histories. No criminal record. Upstanding citizens. And if Orval was telling the truth, Ulbrecht knew how to cheat the system. Wouldn’t that make him a perfect candidate?”

  “Maybe. What’s the plan?”

  Trevor stared past his partner to a tempting scene across the atrium, where Devonshire and Woolsey chatted. His opportunity might never come again.

  I have to do it now.

  “Go on ahead, Hoshi. I need to stop in and check on my daughter. I won’t be fifteen minutes behind. You can get things rolling. Open LinkPass histories for everyone in Ulbrecht’s mentee group. Same for Orval.”

  She couldn’t feign her disappointment. Her frown screamed.

  “Oh. OK. After that, I guess I’ll wait for you, Trev.”

  Like with yesterday’s awkward invite for after-hours drinks, Trevor thought she was trying too hard.

  “Grab some kiosk snacks. We’ll be putting in long hours.”

  Did he really think the first woman in his life not named Effie had developed a fast crush?

  You’re imagining things. Let it go, Trevor.

  He purged his mind of those petty concerns and set a course for the two most powerful people in the Collectorate not named Kieran Haas. He had rehearsed the words for years, gradually assuming the opportunity might never arise.

  As he approached Woolsey and Devonshire, the tiny woman bid farewell to the Admiral. She turned into Trevor’s path and stared up at the First Deputy, who bested her by eighteen inches.

  To his surprise, she reached for his hand.

  “Deputy. I’m so sorry you had to learn about Agent Jamison that way. He was a good man. One of our best. I intend to add you to the notifications list. You’ll be welcomed to attend his memorial at Central Command when we set a date.”

  A place he always wanted to visit.

  “Thank you, Director. Ollie was a good mate and a true hero. I’ll be honored to attend.”

  Soon as he said the words, Trevor realized he had committed to leaving Amity Station for the first time in nineteen years.

  Devonshire wished him all the best with the investigation and rushed away. The true object of Trevor’s attention had begun walking in a different direction and with some urgency.

  Come on, Trevor. You can do this.

  He caught up.

  “Admiral Woolsey, may I have a moment?”

  The face of the UNF was much younger in closeup. The beard did not hide Woolsey’s eternal youth.

  “Of course.” The Admiral extended his hand. Trevor responded with a firm, military grip, as he rehearsed. “What can I do for you, Deputy Stallion?”

  “Well, to be honest, sir, I’m a bit out of sorts at the moment. You might know my history. My grandfather was Maximillian Vanover.”

  Trevor berated himself for name-dropping straightaway.

  “Of course. I respected his commitment to Amity. Very interesting man. Very confident man. Yes?”

  They shared a chuckle.

  “An understatement, Admiral. Sir, I’ve seen you on station from time to time, but I never felt right approaching you.”

  “Why?” Woolsey laughed. “I generally try to be approachable.”

  “Maybe it’s the uniform. I don’t ... oh, I’m screwing the pooch on this one. Admiral, I wanted to thank you personally. Both for me and my brother, Connor. Sir, you saved our lives twenty-three years ago.”

  Trevor saw the gears churning as Woolsey reflected.

  “You’re from Earth?”

  “Yes, sir. Philadelphia Redux. We were there when the Swarm invaded.”

  “Ah. That. A difficult day, in many ways.”

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t know it at the time, but your wormhole maneuver as Captain of the Lightfoot saved us and likely everyone in Redux. Your forces landed just in time. My brother and I were trapped underneath a bridge while the battle raged. We lost our mother that day, and our father died in combat. I ...”

  Woolsey settled a hand on Trevor’s shoulder.

  “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Lucky for us, we had Grandfather Max. After the war, I learned about the Woolsey Maneuver, and I’ve followed your career ever since. I’ll admit I’m something of an overzealous admirer. I just wanted to shake the hand of a genuine hero.”

  The gushing felt over the top but also long overdue.

  Woolsey took it with the steady lip and humble smile of a man who heard these stories often.

  “I appreciate the kind words, Deputy Stallion. Trevor. We were lucky that day. Also unlucky. Twelve hundred and nineteen. That’s the number of Redux civilians who were killed because the plan wasn’t good enough. You see, I don’t forget who died on my watch.”

  Woolsey tapped his chest.

  “These bars have taught me many things. One of which: There’s never a clean victory. I take solace in what we accomplished, and I love that fate somehow brought us together in this moment. But I don’t consider myself a hero. I fought for a cause bigger than me, and I survived when so many did not.”

  Trevor felt the conversation reach a tipping point. He had so much more to say, but was it appropriate? Had the Admiral tired of talking about the old days?

  “I understand what you mean, Admiral. I do this job because it’s my way of contributing to everything Amity stands for. I also do it for my daughter. I want her to be proud of me.”

  Woolsey shrugged. “What else is there?”

  “There shouldn’t be, except ...” His voice almost cracked. “When you sat across from me, I couldn’t help but think, ‘I’m on the same team with a living legend.’ More or less. I mean, sir, you’ve fought in three universes. The life you’ve led is ... well, it’s mind-boggling.”