Grandfather Max would’ve had none of it. A silly indulgence, a pointless and fleeting escape. The business of life and legacy required a precise pursuit of tangible objectives. The attainment of glory was every serious Chancellor’s endgame.

  No. Trevor was nothing like Max, but he also couldn’t imagine life as Connor did: A series of random journeys to test the inner soul.

  “You’re the middle man,” Effie once told Trevor, back when her love and fealty were firm. “The one we can always count on.”

  At the time, it seemed like a compliment, a fair reading of his disposition. Now, it grated under his skin.

  In this moment, he couldn’t count on anything. His instinct had betrayed him. He walked the breadth of the prime floor. How in ten hells had he lost the target? Why even follow? The students were key. As long as he had them cornered and asked the right questions, they’d lead him to the minder.

  Or was it all a game of misdirection? Was it possible the minder knew someone might follow? Was he being led away from the students for a reason?

  What if, what if, what if ...

  Then, as he prepared to give up, Trevor glanced toward the rafters. His eye caught the nearest catwalk parallel to the drummers.

  A feathered human danced among scantily dressed patrons.

  How did?

  Of course. He was an idiot. A pressure lift scaled the far wall at each end of the prime floor. They had to go up and down somehow!

  The simplest logic having eluded him, and the feathered dancer content above him, Trevor reached the only logical conclusion.

  “It’s not the minder,” he told Connor. “It was a messenger.”

  “That’s gotta mean your real target is inside the Spin Room.”

  “I’m going back down, C. Guide me to your location.”

  “On it, bruv.”

  He tried to shed the embarrassment of being deceived, but it was his own damn fault. So certain he was. Surely, his instinct couldn’t betray him, not this close to a resolution.

  After he descended the escalator and returned to Paradise Lounge, his body vibrated. The squawk of birds and the maniacal pounding of drums haunted him. How did normal humans survive such things and go to work in the morning?

  Yes, he was too old for this shit.

  It’s not a total loss, Trevor coached himself en route to the Spin Rooms. The minder and her agents couldn’t stay inside that room forever. Once they appeared, he’d have a lock on the killer’s identity. Unless, of course, this person intended to play yet another sleight of hand.

  The Spin Rooms were shielded from the earthquakes of the prime floor and the drifting opera gallery. Additionally, each room featured soundproof walls to protect the privacy of those engaging in a wild variety of fantasies. As such, this sector of Raison was as quiet as a hotel after midnight. Trevor walked narrow corridors past rooms with alphanumeric designations, all of which were arranged on a bizarre, four-diamond grid pattern.

  Connor whispered instructions. Trevor made a wrong turn and had to reset his path. Ten minutes after he left the madness of prime – though his ears still rang – Trevor rounded a sharp corner and ran into his brother.

  “You made it,” Connor said. “I was worried about you, bruv.”

  “Where are they?”

  Connor nodded up the corridor.

  “Far end.”

  “That’s got to be ten or twelve rooms down.”

  “Fifteen. I’ve been pacing. Can’t just stand idle out here. People stare at you like you’re trouble. Didn’t want anyone reporting me to house security.”

  “Good thinking, C. Any traffic in or out?”

  “Nothing. Tried putting an ear to the door once. Lot of good that would’ve done. What’s the plan, bruv? We wait them out?”

  Trevor didn’t hesitate. He had one shot at this.

  “We go in.”

  “What? How?”

  Trevor pulled back his jacket sleeve to reveal the wrist plate.

  “Same way I entered Ulbrecht Hann’s flat.”

  “Override LinkPass? Trevor, these doors only accept gene stamps from invited participants. Wouldn’t you be breaking the law?”

  He used a clause within the Charter to gain access to Ulbrecht’s residence. He did not have evidence of a health emergency this time.

  “Risk-reward, Connor. The risk is acceptable. Worst case: We walk in, surprise them, claim we were invited. The students won’t question it at first because they’ll assume our gene stamps were accepted.”

  Trevor started walking toward the target room, Connor abreast.

  “Then what, T?”

  “The rest depends on whether the minder is with them. If he is, we go all in. I’ll show my bar.”

  “And me?”

  Good point. Connor’s size was intimidating, but his sparkly complexion and shimmering one-piece undercut his gravitas.

  “You’ll stand inside the door. Block their exit.”

  “If the minder’s there, are we sure he’s unarmed?”

  “No. We’re not. I’ve got an idea.”

  They stopped outside room AL-43. Trevor grabbed his pistol.

  “Remember your training?”

  Connor reached for the weapon with a simple nod.

  “Good. You don’t have a pocket, so hold it behind your back until we know the situation.”

  So much for the regs. So much for the law.

  “If this goes bad, Trevor, you’ll ruin your career. Maybe there’s another way.”

  No, not this time.

  Trevor began the entry override.

  He never imagined what lay on the other side of that door.

  30

  A SIMULATED PORCH overlooked a lake. Emerald green water sparkled in sunlight, and spindly young trees swayed in a light breeze. String music filled the room. Mandolins, perhaps? Incense burned, the smoke rising in tiny whiffs from a low, bamboo table in the center. Trevor understood the gravity of the moment when no one reacted to his surprise entrance.

  Sil Mariputti and Ashraf Diep laid close to the table as if having been tipped over. Trevor spotted Eliza Hutton on the far side, face down in a contorted mess.

  “Cudfrucker!”

  Trevor raced to the students but didn’t need to guess. Sil and Ashraf stared into the infinite. He checked their pulses anyway.

  “Dead?” Connor asked.

  Two tea cups laid at their feet along with a tiny puddle of spilled brown liquid.

  A survivor moaned.

  “Eliza?”

  Trevor rushed to the pregnant student.

  “Help ... please ...”

  He rolled Eliza over. Her eyes bled.

  “It hurts. Please ...”

  Trevor glanced up at Connor, who said:

  “We need to call the front. Raison has a house doc.”

  He was right, but Trevor decided it wouldn’t matter. Her tea cup lay shattered at the table’s base.

  “Eliza, what happened here? Who did this?”

  Her head spun, her eyes wandered. She was close now.

  “My baby. I wanted my baby.”

  “Listen to me, Eliza. Who is responsible? Who is your minder?”

  Eliza shook her head, but Trevor sensed she was far away. Were his questions even getting through?

  “We were going to have a family. He loved me. I ...”

  She fell limp in Trevor’s arms.

  He laid her down with care and backed away.

  Connor squatted.

  “Bruv, what in ten hells have we walked into?”

  Trevor’s heart raced as he tried to reset for a new strategy. He looked past the carnage and assessed the room. The bamboo table, surrounded by thin mats, featured a formal tea service with two small trays of cookies. Dark wood panels lined the interior walls, which were decorated with calligraphy, paintings of birds soaring above ocean waves, plus tropical settings dominated by beaches, palms, and seashells. Those items remained static, but the holographic paintings at the entrance morphed between cityscapes.

  He began to make sense of it.

  “They’re cleaning up loose ends.”

  “Who?”

  “Ulbrecht’s death didn’t go down the way they hoped. We weren’t supposed to find the elevated K3. It drew too much attention. Now they’re afraid the students will crack. They’d sooner kill their own agents than risk exposure.”

  “Black Star?”

  He nodded. “Or whoever’s running their operation here.”

  “Something about this feels off. We saw that birdwoman ...”

  “Or man ...”

  “Whichever. We saw that person talk to the students. They came straight here. Had to be under orders. Right?”

  “Not a doubt.”

  “I followed them. OK? I don’t think they said a word to each other the entire way. No one entered the room afterward, no one left. That means the poison tea was sitting here waiting for them.”

  Trevor understood Connor’s point, even if his brother had yet to unravel the entire picture.

  “It’s not an effective way to murder three people, is it? If even one decided not to drink, and nobody was holding a pistol against his head ...”

  Connor’s eyes ballooned.

  “Suicide! They knew it was poison.”

  Damn it. She was pregnant. Why, Eliza? What would be so horrible you’d see no other way?

  Then the truth stitched together. The wild stories about Black Star, the intel he heard in the security conference.

  “Connor, the man who invented Motif – number three in Black Star leadership – was recently captured. His own people executed him rather than save him because they thought he might have talked to SI. If they’d take out someone that far up the chain ...”

  “That’s ruthless shit, bruv. But this weren’t an execution, so to speak. If you’re right, they drank the tea willingly. Why not just run? Get protection from Sec Admin?”

  He asked the right questions, to which Trevor knew the answer.

  “Family. That’s why. These agents weren’t the only ones to benefit. Black Star is helping their families, too. When the ROAs come back in a few days, we’ll see the proof. If I were to bet, I’d say the minder gave them no option. Drink the tea, and we don’t kill your family.” He stared at the bodies of those young, promising fools. “I saw how they walked out of the lounge. They showed no emotion. They’d given up.”

  “So, that feathered cunt who killed them – it wasn’t a messenger.”

  Why hadn’t Trevor stayed true to his instinct? It wouldn’t have saved these students, but the minder never would have left his sight. Why did the bastard choose the prime dance floor? Passing time? Letting off steam while the students said their goodbyes?

  Wait a minute ...

  “He’ll be back,” Trevor whispered.

  “What’s that, bruv?”

  “The minder. He sent them here to kill themselves, but he’ll need to make sure of it and remove evidence.” Trevor reached for his pistol. “We’re going to surprise him. What do you think, C?”

  Connor scratched his head.

  “Two against one? Sure. I can buy that. But I don’t understand how he planned to get away with it. Raison will know who reserved the room.”

  “I’d lay odds it will be listed under one of these three.” He reconsidered. “Or Ulbrecht. He was a regular.”

  “Can you find out, T? Do your magic and break into their system?”

  “Not that simple. I can check LinkPass histories, not internal records of private business. I guarantee LinkPass will only show their three gene stamps. The minder got in here the same way he entered Ulbrecht’s flat. Like a ghost.”

  “That phantom drill program you talked about?”

  Trevor studied the room again and developed a plan.

  “Connor, as I understand it, Spin Rooms can be fully customized by whoever reserves it. Yes?”

  “Anyone on the invite list can alter it with permissions.”

  “So why this design? The wall art, the bamboo table and tea service ... it’s something you might find on one of the planets in the Perseus Cluster. But I can’t nail down the precise style.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  Trevor focused on the door’s morphing cityscapes.

  “Here’s how we’re going to do this, C. I need you back in the corridor. Pace about like you did before. Play it cool. Anyone passes by, smile and keep walking. When the minder returns, say, ‘What a night!’ Got it?”

  “And then?”

  “Wait until he enters before you follow. I’ll do the rest.”

  Connor started for the door.

  “Sure about this, bruv? We got three dead students, and we’re laying in wait instead of reporting what happened here? Trev, I have a bad feeling this is gonna blow back on you.”

  “It’s my choice, Connor. I need to finish this. Are you onboard?”

  Mr. Sparkly Face gave Trevor a hug.

  “The Stallion brothers ride together.”

  “Always, C. Now get the hell out. I’ve got work to do and probably not much time.”

  Connor winked.

  “I’m on the case.”

  Trevor assumed the minder crafted this environment to provide the students a peaceful sendoff. A touch of mercy, perhaps. He might also have given them a time frame in which to say their goodbyes. Did they send delayed messages to their families through their poms? No way he could check; the devices were protected by gene stamp.

  He flipped open his own pom and scrolled the holographic menu until he found the People’s Collectorate Central Archives. He raised the pom’s Optic Translator program and linked to the device’s vidcam. Trevor spoke to the pom’s AI.

  “Search all public data spools to match the imagery in this room.” When the AI confirmed the request, Trevor flipped the flashing red holo around to face the door. He held it there until four cityscapes recorded. “Proceed with a full-room scan.”

  Like the snapdrone that analyzed Ulbrecht’s flat yesterday, the pom-powered holo began careful work, projecting a red field as it moved methodically about. While it scanned, Trevor studied the tragedy at his feet and recalled yesterday’s brief interviews at Maynor. At the time, he thought the pressure of a brutal curriculum was pushing these students to their limits. How naïve.

  Schoolwork must have felt like a breeze. Black Star had you inside a vice with no way out. Follow orders or we’ll kill your families.

  What was the endgame had they survived their rotation?

  That answer eluded him.

  For now.

  The minder might provide insight, although he was likely much more committed to Black Star’s cause. No point raising hope.

  Trevor removed the lid from the teapot and took a strong whiff of the contents. Bitter and acrid.

  The poison wasn’t even disguised.

  A voice – no, a recent memory – grabbed Trevor’s attention.

  “The leaf is less mature and a touch bitter at first taste. But the finale enriches mind and body.”

  Trevor fumbled and almost dropped the pot. He replaced the lid and set it on the table.

  Bien Thet. Yesterday.

  They entered the headmaster’s office. Thet had a tall ceramic pot on his desk. He offered them a cup of ...

  Pearl tea.

  Hoshi waited for Trevor’s permission before accepting a cup. Then she ... what was it? Yes, he recalled her reply.

  She grew up on pearl tea but added, “You’ll be hard-pressed to match the quality. We’re known for our blend in New Seoul.”

  Thet said they approached the blend differently in his region on Indonesia Prime. “The leaf is less mature and a touch bitter at first taste. But the finale enriches mind and body.”

  Hoshi took a cup; Trevor refused. “Not much of a tea drinker.”

  She said the tea “was lovely. I can’t help but miss the sweetness.”

  Thet is the minder?

  It should’ve been a mic-drop moment, the final piece of the puzzle. Thet sat in the perfect position to oversee the students. They could talk business during private consults. Bien Thet was the perfect conduit for Black Star to infiltrate the station.

  Moreover, this Spin Room could have been inspired by the same man whose office consisted of hanging plants, panoramic nature views from across the Collectorate, and antiques.

  And Thet’s reaction to news of Ulbrecht’s death? Muted. Surprised but not shocked. Instantly assumed it was drugs.

  He already knew. It’s him. Has to be.

  So, why didn’t the answer feel right? What was missing?

  Trust your instincts, jackass. Come on now. You’re overthinking it. Thet is logical. Impeccable reputation. Can move freely about ...

  No. There’s the problem. He was too recognizable for all these meetings at Raison. Even if he entered the Recon tubes and disguised himself, why would he take the chance of being seen in this sector so often?

  Trevor thought back to the feathered creature dancing on a catwalk. A bit too spry for a sixty-year-old academic.

  What am I missing?

  The AI made an announcement.

  “Optical Translations complete.”

  Trevor regrouped and spread the results into an orderly grid, like so many dataflicks. He started with the cities. Then the artwork. Then the lake that dominated the view. Finally, the maps.

  A hard chill ran through his blood.

  He didn’t want to believe it.

  Cities: Inchon Redux. New Seoul. Puratoon. Gwang-si.

  Artists: Cho Ji-Lin. Yanna Syung. Luna Baek.

  Lake: Sonang, thirty kilometers from Puratoon.

  Maps: Gangwou Province. Puratoon Metro Zone.

  He read them a second time, hoping for a different result. But Trevor wasn’t insane, and these names had one common thread.

  Hokkaido.

  Second largest planet of the Perseus Cluster. Home of President Aleksanyan before she was assassinated.

  Everything in this room was Hokki design. Likely the teapot, too.

  Of all the possibilities, this one never occurred to him. Yet the answer screamed in his face from the moment he entered Ulbrecht Hann’s building.

  Reply after nervous reply, tic after nervous tic, every panicked, suspicious, or knee-jerk reaction. Resistance disguised as assistance.