Trevor overheard earlier. Jeon answered without prompting.

  “I recently made the acquaintance of a lovely woman from New Bangkok. We are exploring the future. I hope, that is. She is outgoing. Loves to dance. She should be here very soon.”

  “Ah. A date. Well, good luck to you, Jeon.”

  He thought Connor might get the message and create an excuse to send Jeon on his way. Instead, the opposite occurred.

  “Jeon has an amazing life story, bruv. It’s remarkable he’s even alive today to meet a nice girl. Ask him about it.”

  Jeon grabbed at Connor.

  “No, no. We are all here to enjoy ourselves. Your brother does not wish to listen to my sad tales.”

  That’s the cudfrucking truth.

  Connor didn’t give up.

  “No, really. Jeon, you should tell him. Or I will, if that suits.”

  Jeon shaded his eyes in obvious embarrassment before nodding.

  “Trevor, has your brother always been this way? Putting others in awkward positions?”

  “Since he learned to talk.”

  Connor beamed with satisfaction.

  “It’s my special gift. So, Jeon’s family used to live in the Ularu Province on Indy Prime. Three years ago, Black Star came in there and effectively took over.”

  The mention of Black Star piqued Trevor’s interest.

  “They sent extermination squads around to kill anybody who refused to work for them. They burned Jeon’s village. His family escaped with the clothes on their backs. Jeon’s father encouraged him to seek a better life off world. Long story short, he entered the Amity lottery. He didn’t make the cut. Guess what happened?”

  “No idea,” Trevor said.

  “Two months later, the shuttle carrying the winners crashed on its way to the spaceport. Jeon got the call.”

  Of all the luck.

  “That is amazing, Jeon. Is your family well?”

  “Spoke with Father last week. Life is hard in Elaxis, but the city has many jobs not in service of Black Star.”

  Connor picked up from there.

  “Jeon had to be trained from scratch on the air recycling system but now he’s our team leader. He’s come a long way in eleven months. Agree, bruv?”

  The twinkle in Connor’s eyes opened Trevor’s. Connor told the man’s story to make a point.

  “Jeon, do you plan to reapply when your rotation is up?”

  “I may, Trevor. No one in my family has ever made this many UCVs. Half of it goes back home to support the others.”

  Trevor had taken his eyes off the entrance. Did the first mentees slip past him?

  “I’ve heard a great deal about what Black Star has done to your people. I’m so sorry, Jeon.”

  “Thank you, Trevor. I ...”

  A somber tone turned buoyant when Jeon spotted someone and waved across the lounge.

  “My young lady has arrived. If you will excuse me. Trevor, so wonderful to meet you. Control this brother of yours!”

  “I’ll do my best, Jeon.”

  Trevor followed the man until he kissed a woman in her early twenties. She dressed like a business professional.

  “Come clean, Connor. What just happened?”

  Connor threw back his drink, a muted yellow liquor that vaguely resembled a healthy urine sample.

  “I remembered what you told me about the minder’s profile.”

  “Oh?”

  “Someone with no criminal history, family not affluent, arrived here in the past thirteen or fourteen months, free to move around and worried about being recognized. It was a hell of a coincidence running into Jeon. Here. Tonight. He never mentioned a girlfriend before. You get me?”

  “Huh. You made the leap to ... Connor, do you seriously suspect he is the minder? And she’s his cover?”

  “No, but he could be. That’s my point, bruv. The minder is an enemy agent hiding in plain sight. Nobody suspects him. That means he’d have to be a great actor. Somebody people trust.”

  Connor posited nothing Trevor hadn’t already considered, but he applauded his brother’s instinct. And the remarkable reversal of fortune that brought Jeon here struck a wrong chord.

  “Do you want me to check his LinkPass history? If he’s been here more than twice, then we’ve caught him in a lie.”

  Connor stared at his empty glass. Did Trevor sense apprehension?

  “I’d know if he was playing me for a fool. Believe it or not, T, I learned a few things from you about studying people. But, uh, if tonight’s mission doesn’t work out, maybe you run his history.”

  Trevor committed to doing so even if they found the actual agent. Jeon’s story was problematic. He watched the man buy his girlfriend a drink and take her to a small table across the lounge.

  “Strong instinct, C. I should’ve known you wouldn’t compromise the mission without a good damn reason.”

  “Compromise? That’s what you think I did, bruv?”

  “You improvised not five minutes after we arrived. What was I supposed to think?”

  “Dunno. Maybe give your brother a little more credit?”

  He made a good point; Trevor did not argue.

  “I’m sorry.” Trevor reached for his glass of surprisingly decent horse nip. “Is there anything they serve you haven’t tried?”

  Connor crossed his arms and mulled the question.

  “Hmm. I used to keep track. There’s probably four or five planets I haven’t hit yet. Mostly variations on whiskey. I’m not much for whiskey. Too bitter.”

  Trevor sipped the horse nip and tried to think of a witty response. He never had the chance.

  Connor slipped out of the booth.

  “Looks like it’s game on, bruv.”

  “What are you ...?”

  Connor nodded toward the entrance. There they were.

  Sil Mariputti, Ashraf Diep, and Eliza Hutton. He hadn’t seen her on the LinkPass profile. The others took rifters; she must have walked. But their grouping followed a pattern. His research showed them arrive as a threesome on sixteen previous occasions.

  “Where are you going, Connor?”

  He smiled. “To say hello.”

  29

  NO WORRIES,” CONNOR SAID. “I won’t compromise the mission. They have no idea who I am.”

  “Fine, C, but don’t push them. If you come across heavy-handed, they’ll know something’s off.”

  “Gotcha, bruv.”

  He straddled up to the bar, ordering from the kiosk nearest to the mentees. Connor didn’t hesitant to engage.

  “Before you put in that order, I’ll say two words: Horse nip.”

  Sil, Ashraf, and Eliza glared up at Connor. From his angle, Trevor couldn’t see the looks on their faces, but he thought abject horror might be expected.

  “You drink that sludge?” Ashraf scoffed.

  “Every chance I get, friend. Tonight, they’re having a special. Order it with extra foam.” Connor threw an air-kiss. “The best.”

  Ashraf turned his back and huddled with the others. Their voices were too low for Connor’s ear bead to consume.

  “You three look like newbs,” he added, opening a kiosk order. “Special treat. Three horse nips on me. What d’ya say?”

  Trevor felt a knot in his chest.

  “You’re laying it on too thick, C. Back away before you scare them out of the club.”

  “We’re not newbs,” Sil said loud enough for the bead to hear. “And you look ridiculous. Go away.”

  “Listen to him, C.”

  Connor finished his order, grabbed his drink, and complied. Yet he didn’t leave their company without a passing remark.

  “When someone offers to buy you a drink, smile and be grateful. Generosity does not have to come with a price stamp.”

  Trevor saw Ashraf mutter a reply but outside the bead’s range. Connor rejoined his brother with a tall horse nip plus extra foam.

  “That could’ve gone better,” Trevor said, to which Connor laughed.

  “Whatcha talking about, bruv? That was perfect.”

  “How so?”

  Their eyes followed the threesome to another booth.

  “I got a closeup. Those three are wound so tight, their assholes are sewed shut. That woman ... Eliza ... she looks pale. Either that, or she’s wearing the worst makeup in human history. Take a look at how they’re dressed. Hardly made an effort. They’re not planning to dance. They plan to meet their contact here or in a Spin Room.”

  Connor’s theory made sense. The students wore casual tunics more suited to lounging at home. Moreover, they sipped their drinks without appearing to talk to each other.

  They’re waiting. Where are the other two?

  “I’ve heard about the Spin Rooms but never seen one. They use sims to replicate other environments. Yes?”

  “Those are the most popular. You can go damn near anywhere in the Collectorate. A tropical beach on Earth or a jungle on Indy Prime. Mostly for the same purpose: Hang out and fuck.”

  “When did they become sex parlors?”

  Connor let slip a wicked smile.

  “Hard to say, Trev-or. They’re whatever you make them. But once you register and pay up, what happens inside is nobody’s business.”

  “That seems like a shocking violation of the Charter. I assume criminal behavior is not exempted.”

  “I wouldn’t know, but I get your point. If we lose them inside a Spin Room, we can’t prove anything.”

  “Not necessarily. I have an ace up my sleeve. It’s not strictly ethical, but ...”

  Connor sipped his drink.

  “No need to explain, T. You’re hunting for a killer. Can’t let a little thing like ethics stand in the way.”

  He refused to feel guilty.

  “I guarantee Black Star has no ethical quandaries.”

  “Yeah. Well. I’ll say this much. I’m not a detective, and I don’t have your knack for sizing up folks. But those three over there? Not killers.”

  Trevor held up his glass, which was almost empty.

  “You just got through telling me what great actors these agents must be. Who’s to say one of them ...”

  “Liars maybe, bruv. Frauds. Spies. Whatever. But right now, those three are scared.”

  “Let’s stay put, C. We don’t move until they do.”

  “Gotcha.”

  The lounge grew more crowded over the next fifteen minutes, but Trevor zoned out the distractions. The other mentees not only were no-shows, but their LinkPass profiles displayed no movement since entering their respective flats earlier in the evening. They weren’t coming. Not invited? Refused to accept the invitation?

  Trevor wondered whether he misread the group dynamic.

  He checked in on Orval Erdogan and found a similar result. Ulbrecht’s likely-jilted business partner had not left his flat since returning home from school.

  “Take a look at that,” Connor said, snapping Trevor out of his LinkPass surveillance. He nodded toward one of the six doorways leading deeper into Raison.

  A guest passing into Paradise Lounge imitated a birdman. Black feathers dominated the waist, scaled the arms, and cushioned the neck. The guest wore black flippers and a white headdress.

  A few heads turned, but such a sight wasn’t out of bounds for Raison. Connor puzzled on it, though.

  “Looks like a woman, bruv. She came down from the prime dance floor, but she ain’t dressed for it. Too hot in there for extra frills.”

  Trevor would have let Connor’s analysis and his attention wander – until she slowed at the mentees’ booth. They moved over as she slipped in, leaving a large enough gap for two others.

  “This could be our target,” he mumbled, hoping his luck had taken a sudden bounce. “What kind of guest dresses like that?”

  “Might be drifting opera but depends on the theme. She looks more like a character you’d bring to a Spin Room. People like to role play as animals. Probably found the costume in a Recon tube.”

  “Or maybe she doesn’t want to be recognized.”

  Trevor stumbled on an idea he never considered. What if the mentees did not know the minder’s identity?

  “Maybe, T, but those three are buttoned up. They haven’t opened their mouths since she arrived. Look at them.”

  They listened to the birdwoman without moving a muscle.

  “Connor, are there any entrances besides the lounge?”

  “Staff, as far as I know. Not patrons.”

  “So, either she works here or she arrived before us. Let’s take the second option for now. What does that tell you?”

  “She set up a Spin Room.”

  “But that door ...”

  “Yeah. She took the indirect route. Maybe that’s part of the game she’s playing. Dunno, Trevor. I’m making this shit up as I go.”

  “Me, too. Perhaps if ...”

  Movement. Finally.

  The mentees slid out from the booth and walked past birdwoman in silent order: Eliza, Sil, Ashraf. They said nothing to each other as they quietly passed through the entry to the Spin Rooms.

  “They’re in no mood for dancing,” Connor mused. “Follow?”

  “You go. Quick. Don’t draw suspicion. Keep a safe distance. I want to see what the minder does.”

  Connor swiftly but discreetly complied. His parting words before leaving the lounge:

  “Don’t wait too long, bruv. She might just be a messenger.”

  Trevor worried the same. He left the booth and wandered casually between tables toward the bar, his eye drifting toward the feathered woman. Was she waiting for someone else? Following another’s orders? Or was this how every encounter with the mentees transpired?

  Birdwoman left two minutes after the students. Trevor avoided eye contact as she started toward the interior doors, yet the side profile made him question Connor’s conclusion. Was this actually a woman? The suit hid any distinctive gender curves.

  He or she passed through the first entry en route to the prime dance floor. Why a different route? Was Connor right? Was this merely a messenger now going about other business?

  “Headed a different way,” Trevor said, just loud enough for the bead to hear. “Prime floor.”

  “Hard to keep track of anyone in there, bruv. Let me know if you lose her.”

  “Never mind me. Keep on those three.”

  “Gotcha.”

  The corridor greeted Trevor with a sea of black, but his worries of losing the minder dissipated quickly. A sharp left turn brought him to an escalator. A psychedelic wave of color embedded in the walls accompanied a warm mist. His target ascended, now halfway toward the dance floor. Vibrations turned to merciless pounding.

  The minder stepped off the escalator. Beyond, whirling spotlights and an army of drums awaited. As he reached the top, Trevor wondered if he had miscalculated the ear beads’ ability to filter out background noise in favor of his voice.

  A violent cacophony poured down from the catwalk above the prime floor. Dozens of bald men in red tunics pounded on Damascene bowel drums, each two meters deep and equipped with speakers to intensity the effect. Patrons danced in hysterics on the main floor and on two catwalks parallel to the drummers. The spotlights cast red beams from the rafters.

  Connor was right: These people appeared insane, arms flailing, crashing into each other without care. Some tripped, fell, and quickly recouped. Others took incidental blows but never responded with violence. They lost themselves in the moment, a total break from the rigid life outside Raison.

  Trevor felt the rush, understood why they’d surrender to it. There was something primitive here. Savage. Perfect.

  Shit.

  He lost track of his target. He only looked away for a second.

  Trevor tested his ear bead, unafraid to shout – as if any of these people would notice.

  “Connor, can you hear me?”

  “Gotcha, bruv. Are those drums?”

  His brother’s clear voice brought a flicker of relief.

  “Listen, C. I lost the target.”

  “It’s OK. She’s not dressed for prime. All the other dancers, they’re wearing skin-tights. Am I right?”

  Of course. The minder will stand out.

  If he pushed through the lunatics without getting knocked around, he’d spot her. For certain, no one else here wore feathers.

  “I’m going in, C. Have you reached the Spin Rooms?”

  “Just now. It’s a maze back here. I’ll let you know what’s up when they choose a room. Be careful.”

  A sudden special effect heightened Trevor’s anxiety.

  “What in ten hells?”

  “Talk to me, bruv. What’s happening?”

  A flock of tall, rail-thin and entirely pink birds dive-bombed from the rafters, aiming for the dancers below. A storm of fire chased the birds, exhaled from a serpentine dragon.

  The aerial combatants screeched and roared, passing through dancers along the catwalks, flying in loops around the drummers, and descending to the prime floor.

  When Trevor described the precision holograms, Connor cursed.

  “You have to be joking! The Pink Flamingoes are back. How didn’t I know they were on tonight?”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “They’re the best. They play the station every few months. You’re a lucky man. Is it a beautiful sight?”

  Trevor shuddered as several flamingoes attacked him.

  They weren’t real. Yet ...

  Their squawks rang in his ears, and his stomach knotted.

  “I’m too old for this shit, Connor.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re just married with a kid, is all. Hold it together, bruv. First time is always a bit off.”

  “I made a huge mistake. If I don’t find the minder soon, I’m out of here. What about the students?”

  Connor didn’t reply straightaway. When he did, his voice lowered, barely a whisper against this madness.

  “They’re heading into a room now.”

  “Did anyone greet them?”

  “Dunno. I’m not close enough.”

  “Fine. Do what you can. I’ll search for the minder.”

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Those words remained front and center as he navigated through the sea of dancers, many of whom were much older than he expected. Perhaps Connor was right; he’d shed all sense of adventure. Ten years ago, wouldn’t he have embraced a scene like this? Or had he ever been capable of releasing his inhibitions?