“Yes, Madam!”

  She recalibrated.

  “Deputy, the need to understand black substrata is critical for one simple reason: It’s alive, and it’s sentient.”

  Not the first time he’d come across the farfetched idea, but never heard it from anyone of Latin’s credentials.

  “You said it allows us to travel through. Is it a lifeform? A species? For the lack of a better word: God?”

  “Deputy, the universe is too carefully designed to have been brought about by random acts of molecular generation and decay. The tissue that binds existence but remains hidden to the naked eye contains a sentience we may never fully understand. What we know: Worm drive algorithmics are a language that speaks to and receives confirmation from the substrata.

  “There is no other viable explanation. We cannot open tunnels beneath the visible universe on demand. Predictable and reliable? No. Our technology works because an intelligence beyond our limited comprehension cooperates. To what end? We’ll never know. Please, Deputy. Follow me.”

  Already, the interview had taken him to places far afield of his purpose, and he still hadn’t asked the two most critical questions. Trevor played along and followed her to the middle cylinder, the inside of which now glowed with smoke in varied colors.

  “Deputy, have you ever seen a full simulation of a wormhole inside and out?”

  “Not outside. I wasn’t aware anyone’s ever witnessed it.”

  Ivan stifled a laugh; his boss seemed bemused.

  “Nor will we. Ivan, launch the base matrix. What you’ll see is a product of more than a decade of data-gathering from hundreds of unmanned probes. Some recorded the wave energy of the inner walls while others created disturbances to corrupt those walls.”

  “Huh. You mean crashing out of the wormhole?”

  “Correct.”

  “Like the Lightfoot incident during the war. Woolsey’s ship.”

  The clouds took form, generating a rapidly spinning gray mass.

  “After a fashion,” she confirmed. “Capt. Woolsey’s ship took an indirect hit from an enemy missile which followed them through the aperture. Not a model we dare replicate. Look here.”

  Latin pointed out the wormhole’s hyperfast rotation. Data from the phasic plate projected numbers that made Trevor’s brain spin faster. A physicist, he was not.

  “What you see, Deputy, is a staggering release of energy to provide stability until the ship has safely passed through the exit aperture. It does this by holding back the turbulence inside black matter. The science is likely beyond you, but think of it this way: Have you ever cut a pie slice, and the filling was so fluid that it instantly flooded the gap?” She did not wait for an answer. “There are no gaps in substrata. It’s the glue, the cartilage if you will, that holds the universe together. And yet, it will spin up all that energy to allow humans to travel the stars like genuine gods.”

  Trevor reckoned if he thought about it long enough, the implications might hurt his brain. The people in this little lab didn’t get much notice, but their research went to the ultimate of cutting edges. He didn’t come for a lesson on wormhole mechanics, yet he couldn’t let this go without asking:

  “Are you saying a lifeform beyond comprehension is generating that energy four thousand times a standard day across nine hundred light-years? We don’t know it’s motivation. Only that it apparently wants to help.”

  She crossed her arms and huffed.

  “You oversimplified the relationship. My counter is speculative. However, I stand on solid footing. We did not create wormhole drives on their own. That we know for a fact.”

  She caught Trevor by surprise.

  “We do? How?”

  “I assume you were born around the fall of the first Collectorate.”

  “5358.”

  “A turning point in history. I was eleven. My people – not one of them yet in their twenties – aligned with a small group of hybrids to form Salvation. You might have heard of it?”

  Shit. Of course. She must have been one of them.

  “We never would’ve succeeded without mobile worm drives. Our leader at the time – a man whose name my people are forbidden from uttering – devised the technology. He was among a small group who were engineered from infancy with an artificial intelligence.”

  Trevor remembered reading the reports of that era. Horrifying.

  “Yes. The hybrids called themselves the Jewels.”

  He knew the infamous names of their leaders but decided not to embarrass Latin by mentioning the head lunatic.

  “They did,” she said, “but the AI inside them were the true Jewels of Eternity. The genuine masterminds. A million years old, traveled the galaxy, crossed fissures between universes, terraformed many of our worlds before humans knew how to stand on two feet. The hybrids were killed – fortunately for everyone – but the Jewels of Eternity live deep inside Aeterna. We haven’t heard from them in more than twenty years. Might be preferable if we never do.

  “My point, Deputy: The Jewels knew many secrets about the universe, including the mechanics of wormholes. They provided the monster who led Salvation with the algorithmics. Without the drive, we wouldn’t have killed millions with singularity bombs or claimed Aeterna for ourselves. The Collectorate wouldn’t have fallen, and we wouldn’t have been able to defend our home when your ancestors came after us in 5358. I was there, a blast rifle in hand, fighting off the Unification Guard. Soldiers bigger than you.”

  There it was: The smoldering resentment toward Chancellors. He read the stories about the Chancellory’s disastrous assault on Aeterna; ten thousand soldiers killed in an hour trying to take down a single enclave of immortals. The Last Day’s War, they called it.

  “Those were difficult times, Chief Latin. I’m glad you survived. The People’s Collectorate owes a debt to Aeterna.” He pointed to the cylinder. “Your simulation is impressive. Your theories even more so. Now, let’s go back to why I’m here. What is trans-wormhole shielding tech?”

  She answered with a raised finger.

  “Ivan, insert the cross current.” As her assistant navigated the phasic panel, Latin said, “Deputy, we have a theory: Black substrata binds not just this universe but all. While the physical fissures have been closed, we hold that the black matter allows for cross currents which flow between universes. Here.”

  Vortices opened along the simulation and intersected new tunnels flowing perpendicular to the original wormhole. Those tunnels demonstrated the same hyperfast rotation.

  “Crossroads with off ramps,” Trevor mumbled.

  “Very good, Deputy. The Lightfoot incident opened the door to this possibility.”

  “You plan to design worm drives capable of doing this?”

  Latin shook her head.

  “Engaging with other universes would violate Collectorate law.”

  Trevor’s paranoia took charge.

  “Science always finds a way around the law. But this would be insanity. The Swarm almost destroyed us. You wouldn’t actually try to open new doors?”

  “Of course not.”

  He didn’t like her tone. Hesitant, uncertain.

  “What’s the shielding tech?”

  “A theoretical design we would use on our probes to test the larger proposition.”

  “Right. The one you’ll definitely not do.”

  “As I said, Deputy ...”

  She went on at length about the ethics of their work, defending the need for science to push new boundaries while balancing the needs of the many. Trevor ignored the details as he made the connection between Ulbrecht, this lab, and why he was killed.

  “Chief Latin, what would happen if your research fell into the wrong hands?”

  She and Ivan laughed.

  “Nothing, of course. Thieves wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

  “You sure there’s no one out there with your expertise on the subject? No one at all?”

  Her smile vanished.

  “Your point, Deputy?”

  “You said Ulbrecht advanced your work by two years in a month. Now, what if a group bent on destroying civilization could make this work? What sort of chaos might they cause?”

  Latin ordered Ivan to shut down the simulation.

  “I do not care for your implication.”

  “Neither do I, but I can’t ignore it. Did Ulbrecht often discuss the practical application of your work?”

  Latin shaded her eyes, while Ivan reasserted the same level of suspicion with which he greeted Trevor.

  “Madam Cass has given enough of her time. And been generous about it. You should leave, Deputy.”

  She silenced her diminutive assistant.

  “I can speak for myself, Ivan. But yes, Deputy, he’s right. Any discussions of that nature are proprietary and will not help your investigation. I have a sandwich to finish and a long day ahead. Please. Ivan will show you out.”

  OK, so that’s where they zip shut. Interesting.

  “No worries, Ivan. I can handle the complicated journey.”

  The little man sneered at Trevor’s dose of snark.

  “You heard her. Go.”

  “I never overstay a welcome.”

  Not usually, at any rate.

  Trevor thanked her on the way out. Latin called after him.

  “Will there be a service for Ulbrecht?”

  “Don’t know, Chief. You might want to contact Maynor, see if they’re planning anything. Thank you again. Sorry for your loss.”

  Truth was, anything else Latin revealed would’ve made little difference. She offered enough detail for Trevor to fill in a gap.

  Ulbrecht was out of control. That’s why they killed him.

  Trevor locked the final pieces into place as Thomas greeted him in the anteroom.

  “Productive?”

  “Oh. Yes. Very.”

  He said little to Thomas on the way out of Halifax, but his old adversary did not hold back after they entered the lift.

  “It’s nasty business, old friend. I trust you’ll put it to bed soon.”

  “What? Oh. Yeah. That’s the plan.”

  “I’d like to think my helping you sidestep the Halifax barriers will not go unnoticed.”

  Lovely. Now he comes clean.

  “I’m grateful, Thomas. You saved me valuable time.”

  “Good. I know we have a dense history, but I’ll soon be applying for a position in Harmony. I hoped you might put in a good word with Central. They’ve been cold to my previous applications.”

  Can’t imagine why.

  “I’ll certainly include you in my case notes. Of course, I haven’t been in favor with Central lately.”

  Thomas grinned as the door at Level 1 slipped open.

  “Soon to change, I’m sure.”

  He extended a hand, which Trevor accepted.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Also, Trevor, I’ve been contemplating our shared journey. We’re due for a fresh start. We might have been friends if I hadn’t bolloxed it up. I thought perhaps dinner ... my treat ... when you’re free.”

  If Trevor suspected the man was sincere, he would’ve agreed on the spot. Yet the temperature seemed to fall a couple of degrees in Thomas’s vicinity. Better to leave things alone.

  “You know, Thomas, when I turned fourteen, I had you by a good three inches. I could’ve beaten you to the edge of your life.”

  Thomas smirked. “You might have tried, but I was quite handy, especially with my right hook.”

  “I didn’t care. I wanted to hurt you every time you walked into the room. I held back because it would’ve broken your parents’ hearts, and I loved them for giving us a home. Plus, I had to set a standard for Connor.”

  “Hmm. Still want to hurt me?”

  “No. But friendship? Not happening.”

  Thomas nodded with faux resignation.

  “Too bad. I thought maybe ...”

  “Tell me something, Thomas. How are your parents doing?”

  “They’re ... uh ... getting on with life in reasonable health.”

  Trevor saw the truth in his blank features.

  “When was the last time you deepstreamed them?”

  “Very expensive to DS.”

  “Huh. Yeah. When did you last visit Earth?”

  “Even pricier. They’re fine, Trevor. Just fine.”

  What was left to say? Trevor hadn’t spoken to them in years. Perhaps he’d DS the Quinlans after this crisis ended.

  “Spend a few credits, Thomas. Don’t take them for granted.”

  He didn’t wait for the man’s response. Didn’t care.

  Trevor made a beeline for the public docks. As he put distance between himself and Halifax, the last nagging bits of the puzzle slid together. One question remained: Who waited for Ulbrecht in Flat 529?

  That answer, he concluded, would greet him in the place Ulbrecht used to treat like a second home.

  Raison Club.

  Here we go, Connor. I hope I know what I’m doing.

  27

  TREVOR’S HEART TOOK A DIP when he saw the ensemble Connor laid out for him. The blood-red jacket cast a waxy sheen that reflected light. Its black buttons glowed at a touch. Connor insisted the matching elastic pants and form-fitting collarless black shirt were perfect for the dance floor.

  “You can check the jacket if it’s too hot, bruv.”

  Not much chance of that. Trevor needed the internal pockets for his pom and pistol.

  The decorative glasses were the coup de grace. Thick, jagged frames surrounded lenses shaded in between the jacket and shirt. Flippers, Connor called them. They hid the bearer’s eyes without dimming the natural light.

  Trevor slicked back his gelled hair in a single wave. Connor, also grooming in front of the water room mirror, didn’t care for the look and swiped his brother’s comb.

  “Hold still,” he said, parting Trevor’s hair down the middle.

  “I look ridiculous, C. Like a child.”

  “It’s the rage on Catalan.”

  “We’re not on Catalan.”

  Connor shrugged as he applied rouge to his own cheeks.

  “I thought Amity was every planet, bruv.”

  So went the mantra, to which Trevor dared not argue. Connor painted beneath his eyes, added sparkles along his jaw line, and tied up his hair. The effect seemed to work with the shimmering one-piece tunic that accentuated his considerable muscles.

  “You always go to this much trouble for the clubs?”

  “I’m following the plan, bruv. You said we had to look like two guys out for a good time. Draw no attention.”

  “Oh, and these getups won’t turn eyes?”

  “We’ll blend in.” Connor set down his makeup brush. “Damn. How long since you last had a night out on the station?”

  A fair question, although Trevor didn’t care for the tone.

  “Dinner with the wife and little girl tend to be subdued.”

  “Prison much?”

  Trevor sighed. His brother never cared for the domestic life.

  “I hope you experience the joy one day, C. It can be like magic. Sometimes.”

  Until it all goes wrong.

  “I hear you, bruv. I do. But kids? Not my style. That’s why I love little Ana. I can play Uncle C for an hour and go home. No. When I find a husband worthy of me, we’re gonna celebrate each other without the extra luggage. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  Trevor shifted uneasily in the heavy jacket while Connor finished his touchup. Connor grinned at his brother’s discomfort.

  “It’s sitting a little loose on your shoulders. Sorry about that, Trev-or. You’re not so buff anymore.”

  “Eh. Only have but so many hours to spend in the fit room.”

  “Now you’re making excuses. Every married man on my crew is just like you. Anal to the core, bruv.”

  Trevor stepped out into the bedroom.

  “Practical. That’s the word you’re looking for.”

  Connor came at him with the makeup brush.

  “I choose my words with loving care. Anal.”

  What was the point of arguing?

  “Connor, I’m the same man I’ve always been.”

  “You said it, bruv. Anal for as long as I can remember. Guess I loved and respected you so much, I reckoned you’d grow out of it by now. But they say folks don’t ever really change.”

  Nope. No argument. Just brothers. Trevor’s tension subsided.

  “That is what they say.”

  Connor slapped Trevor on the shoulder.

  “Whoever in ten hells they are. Am I right? But anytime you want me to teach you the Loutah ... it might help. Metamorphosis. Cocoon to butterfly. Anytime.”

  “I love you, C, but I doubt I’ll ever be a man at peace. It’s not in my fiber.”

  “Bullshit. We all got the right stuff. Just have to dig, bruv. Who knows? Maybe that’s what you need to win Effie back.”

  Trevor drew the line at marriage advice.

  “My burden, Connor. You tend to yours. Fair?”

  OK, settle down, jackass. He didn’t deserve that. He’s doing you a hell of a favor.

  Connor retreated to the water room.

  “I hear you, Trev. I overstepped.”

  Trevor paced while Connor attended to the last details. It was half past H9, giving him enough time to explain the night’s strategy and hit Raison by the top of the hour. If their patterns held true, Ulbrecht’s fellow mentees would arrive soon after. Surely, they’d link up with their minder at some point in the evening.

  You people have a lot to talk about. Don’t you?

  “Time to let it rip,” Connor soon announced. “Have some drinks, hit the dance floor, solve a murder. What a night. Ready?”

  Trevor surveyed his always-astounding brother.

  “Your pom?”

  Connor winked and tucked at his left side, where Trevor saw a slight bump camouflaged against the tunic.

  “Matching pack. Designed it myself. You like?”

  “Clever. You’ll need it.” Trevor opened a thumb-sized case to reveal two translucent ear beads. “Very sensitive to paired voices. Great at filtering out distractions. I hear Raison is loud.”

  Connor took a bead and smiled.

  “On a bad night. The rest of the time? Nobody talks on the prime floor. No point. You just let go and dance.”