Hoshi hopped up and paced the tiny office, hands to her hips. She scanned the breadth of the evidence and shook her head.

  “How did you manage all this so quickly, Trev? I’d have spent days staring at these flicks, and ... I don’t know. I’m honestly overwhelmed.”

  “And impressed, I hope.”

  She scoffed at his snark.

  “Who wouldn’t be? Didn’t you tell me your wife said you ought to be an SI agent? She’s right.”

  Trevor thought of Oliver; he couldn’t shake the sorrow.

  “Maybe when all this is over, I’ll take a look at a career change. In the meantime, Hoshi, do you see cracks in my narrative?”

  Her blank expression betrayed nothing, like a doctor unsure of her diagnosis.

  “I think it could work. The only weak link is this so-called minder. He’s the only one not on the board. The way you described him – there could be thousands of suspects.”

  Fair point, to which Trevor rebutted:

  “We’ll narrow the search. The minder would have arrived within the past thirteen or fourteen months. He’d need time to blend in. Based on the timeline for the other MODs, we can assume the Customs agent arrived shortly thereafter. Then the students followed seven to eight months ago. Black Star is playing a long game, putting their pieces in place carefully.”

  She nodded. “Good, but that’s still a lot of suspects.”

  “To meet all my criteria? Not so many. I have ideas where to start, but the key is the credit trail. The ROA requests will establish a firm timeline for all the players.”

  “But you said they’ll take days.”

  He chuckled. “If we’re lucky. They might be more useful for a prosecutor. I hope to nab the minder before then.”

  “When do you intend to bring this before the Chief?”

  “The morning, I’d think. I need to conduct some solo interviews at Halifax. Something tells me the trans-wormhole business ties into the case. After that, I’ll go to Dorrit.”

  Hoshi crossed her arms in understandable frustration. Trevor knew she hated being left behind again.

  “If you won’t let me tag along to Halifax, can I help some other way? You’ve been doing all the heavy lifting.”

  “Sure. Run a search on potential suspects. All who arrived after SD 140 last year. Eliminate administrators and corp execs. Only roles that involve regular contact with the public. Highlight anyone with a modest background who came from the Perseus Cluster. That should narrow it to a few hundred.”

  “And then?”

  “The difficult bit. Find connections with Ulbrecht and the mentees. Remember, LinkPass is your friend.”

  Trevor smushed his holos into a giant bundle and gathered them against his chest. Hoshi opened her wrist plate to elevate the case spool, into which Trevor dumped his work.

  “For quick reference,” he said. “I’m going to head over to Halifax. If you hit the motherlode, call me at once.”

  “Will do, Trev.”

  He didn’t expect her to find a solid link anytime soon. Resolution required a different approach.

  “You’re a good partner, Hoshi.”

  She stared at the accumulated evidence and no doubt thought of the grind which lay ahead.

  "You can count on me.”

  He winked on the way out. Anything to make Hoshi feel valued. She was an earnest deputy but also green. Trevor doubted she could navigate the course he intended. Better she sit it out.

  En route to the Crossway, Trevor opened his pom and tapped the InComm. Connor, who did not respond for a full minute, was bare-chested.

  “Sorry, bruv. I was deep in Loutah.”

  No commentary. No snark. Play it straight, jackass.

  “Apologies for ruining your session, C.”

  “Not to worry. I’m a man at peace.”

  “OK then. One question: Are you too much at peace for a wild night out at Raison?”

  Connor’s big, beautiful smile – the one that usually heralded trouble since age three – emerged through a forest of teeth.

  “That’s an offer I’d never turn down, bruv. When?”

  “I want to be there by H10. Show me around.”

  “It don’t get hopping until around H11. You solid with that?”

  “Perfect. Only thing is, my wardrobe’s not club appropriate. Would you ...?”

  Connor’s eyes twinkled.

  “You have to ask? Trust me, bruv. You will be the talk of Haven.”

  “I’d rather it not come to that, but thanks, C.”

  Trevor didn’t dwell on what type of ensemble Connor might lay out for him. He trusted his brother to show at least a little decorum. He wanted to blend in at Raison, not make a name for himself. Trevor thought of the LinkPass trend waves he didn’t show to Hoshi, the ones he hoped would prove beneficial tonight.

  Timing was essential.

  He hopped aboard a train bound for Episteme Kallcunik Station, last on the line. The nearest points of interest: Episteme Spaceport and Halifax Research & Development.

  Entering Halifax would be simple, but getting them to come clean about an apprentice and his work might require more a bullish approach than he used at Maynor School.

  Trevor opened his wrist plate and searched the Episteme Sec Admin directory. He choked down his pride and contacted the last person he ever expected to call an ally.

  25

  SECOND DEPUTY THOMAS QUINLAN, Trevor’s childhood bully, greeted him inside the Halifax lobby. Hands tucked behind his back and legs spread, Thomas exuded the same arrogance that intimidated the Stallion brothers long ago. Yet as a man of forty with gently receding hairline, he lacked the same aura of danger.

  “Thank you for this,” Trevor said reluctantly as he extended a hand. “I won’t forget the assist.”

  “I would hope not.”

  Despite having five inches on his old nemesis, Trevor couldn’t shake how Thomas managed to meet him square in the eye.

  Thomas continued.

  “I appreciate you thinking of me before Chief Al-Jani.”

  “Not a tough choice. I respect Al-Jani, but he’s too close to the corp execs. And frankly, you owed me a debt I never called in.”

  When Thomas chuckled, one corner of his lips folded down as if struck by a palsy. Something to do with an injury he sustained after a bar fight years ago. Trevor forgot the details.

  “I always assumed you’d attach strings, Trevor. I’m surprised you waited three years.”

  “Honestly, I forgot about you, Thomas. Life was always better when we steered clear of each other.”

  Thomas showed zero hint of offense.

  “No argument. But look at us! Twice in two days.”

  He led Trevor inside the Halifax lobby.

  “Al-Jani briefed us. You caused quite the stir.”

  “I was in the wrong place at the right time. If there’s a stir, Black Star is behind it.”

  Thomas nodded toward reception and led them to the lifts.

  “Regardless, the spotlight shines upon you, old friend. We’ve been told to assist the investigation however necessary.”

  “Perfect. Do they know to expect us?”

  “I spoke to a mate who promised to alert the department chief.”

  They entered the lift, where Thomas requested Level 4. Trevor did not feign surprise.

  “You have a mate in Interstellar Cartography?”

  Thomas straightened his jacket with a flourish.

  “I’m a much more gregarious man these days. Episteme brings out my better side.”

  “Ah. So the old fixture – four-word sentences and the underlying tone of impatience – long gone?”

  “Indeed,” he said as the lift opened. “The man of mystery routine did me no favors.” He stopped in the threshold. “A confession. I almost left the station after one week on the job. I found out what it means to be the most limited man in Episteme. Even among Sec Admin, I’m an intellectual dwarf. My own mistake for never giving two shits about my education.”

  Trevor wondered if that was why Thomas applied for promotions early on. Was he looking for a way out of Episteme?

  “Appears you’ve compensated, Thomas.”

  “More like, I learned the secret to existing among these people. A smile, a certain swagger, followed by well-timed worship of their considerable talent, tends to set them at ease.”

  “Ah. Sucking up.”

  “At every opportunity.”

  For the first time Trevor could recall, they laughed together ... and it wasn’t staged for the other’s benefit. Perhaps they experienced a sudden thaw in their relationship – or maybe Thomas had merely demonstrated the technique that allowed him to flourish on Episteme.

  “Pleased to see it’s working out. For the record, I always found this sector imposing.” The door opened, and he motioned for Thomas to lead the way into a maze of labs. “I don’t understand much of what they do here. They can be a strange lot.”

  They walked abreast along a wide avenue lightly populated with scientists in lab coats and full-body tunics, all bearing the Halifax logo featuring a red bird of prey and a spiral galaxy.

  “Strange in what sense, old friend?”

  “Maynor, for a start. Interact with the students much?”

  “Only when they test boundaries.”

  He thought of Connor’s report about a group out of place on Halifax’s loading dock.

  “Often?”

  “They can be a wild bunch. When called on their violations, downright obnoxious. They’ve even tried to bully me on occasion.”

  “Huh. Now there’s some irony.”

  Thomas had no witty retort. Perhaps he didn’t want to touch that part of their shared history. Instead, he led Trevor through a door simply labeled IC.

  A small, bespectacled man with a shiny dome greeted them in an anteroom with one chair, a kiosk, and a pair of sconces.

  “My mate,” Thomas said. “Ivan Detzler.”

  Ivan removed the smile meant for Thomas and studied Trevor with clear suspicion. He couldn’t have cleared five feet by an inch.

  “You need to know,” Ivan told Thomas, “she’s not happy about this. Not in the least. You she trusts. But this one?”

  “Now, now, Ivan. First Deputy Stallion is a veteran of great repute. I’d hate to think he’d be subjected to anti-Chancellor bias. Such an esteemed woman must avoid outdated attitudes.”

  In another context, Trevor would’ve verbalized his amusement at the irony which thickened into hypocrisy.

  The man almost sounds reformed. Nope. All part of the act.

  Ivan’s cheeks turned cherry red.

  “OK. Yes. She has a problem with his ... with the Deputy’s kind. And with good reason. But that’s not her issue. She’s grappling with the loss of her best apprentice. She’s having a difficult day.”

  He delivered the explanation without once eyeing Trevor, who might as well have vanished.

  “Show me inside,” Trevor said. “I’ll be gentle. I only have a few questions, Mr. Detzler. Promise.”

  “I vouch for him completely,” Thomas added. “In fact, if there’s even the slightest conflict, I’ll be waiting here.”

  Trevor felt a wave of relief. He did not want to conduct this interview while his old nemesis observed.

  Ivan shuttered and waved Trevor onward.

  “Eh. Let’s get it over with.”

  Trevor saluted Thomas, who settled into the lonely chair.

  The IC lab caught him off-guard. It was far from anything like he’d expect of a facility for mapmakers. At its core, three narrow bases at least ten meters long supported dark, translucent cylinders, the ends of which mounted into titanium frames. A series of phasic plates lined the bases, with low-back swiveled chairs completing the workstations.

  Ivan led him between two such cylinders toward the lab’s rear, where a blond woman in her forties ate a sandwich. Between bites, she stared at her visitor unblinking.

  The little man made a mess of introductions.

  “Madam Cass, this is Deputy ... what’s your name, again?”

  Trevor ignored him, stepping forward with hand extended.

  “First Deputy Trevor Stallion, Haven Sec Admin. I apologize for barging in at a difficult time, but I have pressing questions.”

  The woman, whose blue eyes reminded Trevor of an Earth sky he hadn’t seen in two decades, set down her sandwich and wiped her hands with a napkin. She sighed at the trouble of standing before conceding to the shake.

  “Cassandra Latin, Chief Cartographer. My staff have taken to calling me Madam Cass. From you, I’ll accept Chief Latin.”

  Huh. She’s not condescending at all.

  He felt these vibes on rare occasions. Anyone with a lingering sentiment against Chancellors got their jollies by playing linguistic power games. Latin’s impressive stature, facial bone structure, and piercing eyes provided the clue to her animosity.

  “Of course, Chief. If I’m not mistaken, you’re Aeternan.”

  “I don’t see how that’s germane, but yes.”

  Perfect. One of only ten immortals based on the station, less than a fifth of its peak years ago.

  “I only bring it up because I rarely have the pleasure. I sat in on a meeting this morning with High Admiral Woolsey.”

  Latin offered no reaction.

  “Ivan, activate SIM2. Let’s rerun yesterday’s algorithmics.”

  “Certainly, Madam. If you need anything, I’m close.” He flicked a side-eye at Trevor. “Also, Deputy Quinlan is waiting outside.”

  She thanked her diminutive assistant and carefully wrapped the second half of her sandwich inside a fresh napkin.

  “You’re here to ask about Ulbrecht. You want to know about his work for IC and whether I thought he was a drug addict.”

  Wasting no time. Good!

  “I’m sure your answer to the second part is no because he wasn’t. Ulbrecht led an interesting life, but what happened to him was a one-time affair. Chief, we believe Ulbrecht was murdered.”

  He let the revelation lay heavy between them. Latin shaded her eyes for a few seconds. Trevor looked for any tic, no matter how small, but this woman gave away nothing.

  “Someone killed him? Why?”

  “I thought we might explore that subject, Chief. I need to know what sort of work Trevor did for you. Mr. Detzler said Ulbrecht was your best apprentice.”

  She motioned for Trevor to take a seat.

  “Apprentice?” Latin tapped her desk. “That title belittles him.”

  “How so?”

  “From the moment he entered my lab, I knew Ulbrecht was a generational talent. Within the first hour, he called into question the very algorithmics that form the basis of our research. Within a month, we made more progress than the previous two years.”

  OK, so he might have cheated his way onto Amity, but he wasn’t necessarily a fraud.

  “Ulbrecht’s public biography states he was studying trans-wormhole shielding tech. I’ve heard different perspectives on its validity. Perhaps you can shed some light.”

  “Oh, me. That Ulbrecht. Wrote it on his public bio, did he?”

  “His headmaster said it was intended as a joke.”

  She scoffed, her first visible show of emotion.

  “Bien Thet is a moron who disguises himself as a guru. The cleaning staff know more about what we do than Thet. Take his word at your peril, Deputy Stallion.”

  Brutal honesty or great dramatics, Trevor wasn’t sure. But he got her riled, which meant she’d lead him down the necessary path.

  “I understand from other sources that your department is attempting to map black matter substrata, where wormholes are formed. Was that where Ulbrecht influenced your algorithmics?”

  “Deputy, we’re not attempting to map anything. In fact, we’re achieving it. We long ago shifted our focus from the visible universe to the dark regions underneath. Most human space travel is spent inside regions we’ve only begun to understand.

  “More than four thousand wormholes are generated each standard day. We can cross the farthest length between member worlds in three hours. It’s the single greatest achievement in human history. Now, I dare you to ask a thousand captains what they know about black substrata. If you’re fortunate, five will offer a cogent answer. As long as their worm drive catalyzers plot the course and open the aperture, they don’t care.”

  A speech already. Impressive.

  Trevor pressed his luck.

  “You think they should.”

  “What kind of a lunatic pilots a ship wearing blinders?”

  “Probably the kind who has a valuable cargo onboard, and profit waits on the other side of a quick jump.”

  Latin relaxed until hinting at a smile.

  “They would be the ones. We believe this is reckless. Humans have pressed forward anyway. We map the substrata to better understand its environmental stability and precisely why it allows us to open wormholes inside it. Ulbrecht’s work was invaluable. His mind interpreted algorithmics like poetry.”

  Trevor stopped her.

  “Back up, please. You said, ‘it allows us.’ It?”

  She draped a hand over her mouth, perhaps realizing she said too much. When it fell away, Latin sighed.

  “At this point, pretenders like Bien Thet claim we’re a fringe science. You might too after hearing my answer.”

  “Chief Latin, the only people I don’t buy are the ones who won’t give me a straight answer.”

  Her smile suggested she believed Trevor.

  “Deputy, are you open-minded?”

  “I try to think so.”

  He wasn’t prepared for what came next.

  26

  LATIN GAZED AT TREVOR, as if inspecting him to ensure he had the proper intellect to understand her answer.

  “I’m sure you realize,” she began, “that the universe has to be far more than an infinite collection of molecules, some of which miraculously evolved into complex life. Yes?”

  “We know there are nine universes, and they once connected to each other through fissures. I’m open to all sorts of possibilities.”

  Latin shifted her gaze and shouted.

  “Ivan, adjust SIM2 to the base matrix. I’ll be there in a moment.”