“Sorry for the inconvenience. I know my way around Amity better than anyone. I don’t like being led on a leash.”

  Andreas jumped into a rifter and grabbed the steering arms.

  “There’s always a leash, Governor. I’m paid to make sure you don’t trip on it.”

  “Oh. Is that what your pay stamp is for? I’ve wondered.”

  Andreas mocked laughter as he piloted the rifter.

  “Your superb wit aside, I should remind you that being a politician is not your forte.”

  “Because I’m not a politician.”

  Andreas raised a cynical brow.

  “You give speeches. You glad-hand. Everyone knows who you are. You’re a politician, sir. Now, please. Eat! Here’s your water. I’ll drive slowly enough so you don’t spill anything.”

  A leash indeed.

  Trevor saw no point in arguing. The snotty attitude aside, Andreas wasn’t wrong about ... well, anything. He was a prude with an ornery disposition and a side of misanthropy. But he kept Trevor on track, shaped his public language, and held the newb’s hand since day one.

  And the curry? Amazing. The chef was on his game today.

  “I’ve done some additional backgrounding on the owner,” Andreas said. “I found a couple of points you should capitalize on.”

  Between bites, Trevor said:

  “Capitalize? I was just going to make general remarks. Welcome him to the shopping district. Reemphasize the importance of diverse cultural influences on Amity. The usual.”

  Andreas winced. “Except this is not a usual affair. This is the first Riyadhi-owned business on the station. No one believed it would ever happen. You can’t simply ignore the precedent, Governor.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Riyadh and its tribes of descendants from pre-history Earth’s Arabian diaspora had never played nice with the Collectorate – the first or the current. The list of tensions was long.

  After it dropped ‘New’ from its name, Riyadh contributed the least number of soldiers and resources to fight the Swarm. It only agreed to join the People’s Collectorate because it desperately needed a massive economic lifeline. It seceded a few years later then rejoined after negotiations led by future President Kara Aleksanyan. Few of its citizens applied for positions on Amity, and its IC delegation formed no meaningful alliances.

  The first signs of genuine progress collapsed when President Aleksanyan visited Riyadh’s Emir four years ago. She was assassinated alongside him. The planet almost seceded again.

  Cynics thought the application for a restaurant would never pass muster. What kind of food did those people serve anyway? Who would want to dine there?

  Trevor remembered the kerfuffle. Murrill approved the license in one of his final acts. In retrospect, how tainted was that deal? How much did the owner agree to pay Murrill on the side?

  “Fine,” Trevor said. “Give me two talking points. No more. I don’t want to look like I’m reciting the man’s Shadow Gambit profile.”

  “Two. Mmph.” Andreas scrolled through his notes. “Here we are. Harrod bin Talman belongs to a long line of fruit farmers, and he has nine children ranging in age from eight to thirty.”

  “What does he harvest?”

  “Melons, apples, blancas, cherries, and dates. Primarily.”

  “What are blancas?”

  “A sour fruit. Purple with a pulp like lemons.”

  “Interesting. He might be the first farmer to open a restaurant in space. Might be a good question to pose.”

  “Fair instinct, Governor. Odds are, his children will be heavily involved in managing the business. The oldest three have a history in the financial sector.”

  “Good to know.”

  Andreas gave him time to finish lunch before piloting the rifter to the public docks at the L-3 shopping district. They walked past restaurants, bistros, and cafes until finding a small shop with two humble tables outside and barely room for a half dozen within. Trevor understood: The new place would rely heavily on takeout.

  Trevor recognized one of the four well-dressed Riyadhis standing outside. He wore a pencil-thin beard and a patch over his left eye pending a prosthetic replacement.

  “Rep. Malla. Good to see you again.”

  They shook hands. Trevor thought all the representatives had returned home to campaign in the upcoming elections.

  “Governor. Thank you for coming. May I introduce Sheh Harrod bin Talman, his son Radwan, and his daughter Reema.”

  They extended firm hands and slight bows but no verbal response. The children were, as Andreas predicted, likely the oldest. They might even have been twins, but now was not the time to probe. None seemed terribly comfortable with Trevor’s presence. He searched for a suitable icebreaker.

  “I have to tell you I’m very excited about this restaurant. I’ve probably eaten everywhere else, and I love trying new things.” OK, so not entirely true, but adjacent. “Mazookas Tazi. An interesting name, Sheh Talman. I know Mazookas is a continent on Riyadh, but where is Tazi?”

  Talman and his children smiled as if privy to an inside joke.

  “It is not a place, Governor. Tazi is from the ancient tongue. It translates loosely to ‘fresh.’”

  “Oh, I see. I know you’re a farmer, so I assume you’ll be focusing on natural foods. Fruits, berries, and such.”

  Talman nodded.

  “We have farmed the same land for twelve generations. The quality of our harvest is known across Riyadh. My children convinced me it was time we share in a place where everyone might visit.”

  “I’m all for anything that’s not from a kiosk.”

  Talman snapped his fingers, and his daughter reacted.

  “Show the Governor our menu.”

  Reema illuminated a dataflick and graciously pushed it to Trevor.

  “We have conservative offerings at a fair price,” she said. “Everything we serve is imported fresh from our farms.”

  Six dishes looked spectacular but also bore prices subject to high tariffs. ‘Fair deal’ might have been stretching it, especially for Trevor, who held tight to his UCVs.

  “You will definitely make an impression. I don’t think there’s another menu like this in Haven.”

  Rep. Malla stepped in.

  “Perhaps the Governor would like to place the first order?”

  OK. More than he expected. Why not? Andreas, keeping his distance, nodded with a healthy grin. His ‘so far, so good’ signal.

  They led Trevor inside for a brief tour. A third child, Aswan, took Trevor’s order from behind a counter. He went with a salad composed only of fruits he knew. Rep. Malla and someone from her staff remained outside, setting up the red ribbon.

  Trevor found a moment for some blunt talk.

  “I want you all to know, you’re setting an important precedent. I’m not sure if you’re aware of my backstory – it’s very different from Gov. Murrill. I’ve lived here for twenty years. This station means everything to me. I believe in its mission: It’s a place for people from every member world to feel safe and to prosper.

  “You’re taking a huge risk financially. Our quarantine rules on fresh produce are very strict, and the tariffs are outrageous. But I hope you succeed. I also want you to know: If anything – or anyone – becomes a problem, I’ll be here for you. Call my office anytime. I mean it.”

  The Talmans gazed at each other and then at Trevor. Sheh Talman seemed perplexed.

  “You are the most important man on Amity. Why would you concern yourself with our problems?”

  Trevor shrugged. “Why not? This sector is called Haven. I work in a sector called Harmony. Those are more than just names.”

  Talman shook his head.

  “You misunderstand. When a man of your standing offers direct access, it must come with a price. How many UCVs will you require for us to call your office anytime? Gov. Murrill said he would discuss a fee when we opened. He is gone now.”

  Great. That’s why the sonofabitch approved their license.

  “There is no price. Murrill tried to shake you down. I’m sorry. No one pays for access to my office. No one.”

  Talman extended his hand.

  “Thank you, Gov. Stallion. You are not like any government official I have met. I will consider this a good sign.”

  The atmosphere lightened into jovial banter as Trevor tasted a bright, splashy blend of cherries, dates, and apples infused by an herbal honey. The ribbon was cut, the first curious customers entered Mazookas Tazi, and Trevor bolted on a rifter for his next engagement. Andreas made notes.

  “I’m curious, sir. What did you talk about inside? The tenor of their body language changed for the better.”

  Trevor didn’t want to go there, so he massaged his Chief’s ego.

  “Just the talking points you fed me. And you were right, Andreas. I am a politician. Don’t know if I’ll be a good one. Time will tell.”

  “Follow my guidance, sir. You’ll be revered.”

  For now. People might yet see through his facade.

  Still, he handled a delicate moment well. He couldn’t wait to tell Shireena over dinner. And that wouldn’t be the only great news to share.

  En route to Central, a new message arrived on Trevor’s pom:

  “I’m due for leave. Going to take it on Amity. Look for me, bruv.”

  Trevor had a smile on his face the rest of the day.

  Connor was coming home.

  10

  TWO DAYS LATER, TREVOR wasn’t thinking about his brother’s imminent return. Connor had yet to provide a date. Trevor also pushed aside his questions about the Enzathi, which had not communicated since it merged with its final fragments. No, this morning required his best game face. His next engagement: The biweekly security confab.

  He'd been attending these for years – on the quiet fringe at first. Now, he ran it with the blessing of the President.

  “I want to be an observer,” she insisted after the last confab. “Command the room, Trevor. No one had much respect for Murrill. You’re young, and I imagine those soldiers will try to run roughshod. Do not give them an inch and do not defer to me. Yes?”

  Trevor took her advice and discussed it at length with Shireena.

  “I’ve known Kieran Haas for years, and she’s changed. She floated around here like obnoxious royalty. Couldn’t stand her. Now she arrives early to every confab, studies the agenda, and offers helpful advice only when it makes sense. Don’t know what to make of it.”

  Shireena fluffed his collar a bit.

  “Trevor Stallion, how have you not figured it out?”

  “What?”

  “You’re a lawman. Murrill was an empty-suited bureaucrat. Haas installed you because she wants a badge running this station. As she lowers her voice, yours grows louder. She wants the Admiralty and SI to hold both you and the office in high esteem.”

  Not a bad theory, Trevor thought.

  “Or she wants my public endorsement for her reelection.” They shared a wry grin. “Only kidding. Who’d pay attention to me?”

  “You might be surprised. It’s almost time. We should go.”

  Trevor collected his Chief of Staff on the way out.

  Andreas Portnois and the President’s Chief, Cillian Harwig, sat behind their bosses. To Trevor’s right, the three Sec Admin Chiefs joined Shireena, as head of Shadow Gambit. To his left, SI sent Desk Chief Carson Roe, while the UNF featured their usuals: Capt. Remy Graygone, head of Amity’s Guardian fleet, and Adm. Sike Nagano, the Admiralty’s representative. At the far end, Haas crossed her hands on the table and nodded.

  Trevor called the meeting to order.

  “Morning, everyone. No new attendees today, so we can pass on introductions. We have a busy agenda. I don’t want to waste time. Rather than opening the table to whomever wishes to begin, I’d like to stick to the plan. We’ll take it sector by sector with my Chiefs, followed by SG.” He nodded toward the left: “Then we’ll focus on the broader view. Next time we’ll flip the script. Good?”

  He didn’t wait for the clearly annoyed UNF officers to object. The sector Chiefs needed more agency in these confabs. The outsiders often dominated with their concerns at the expense of internal security issues.

  He turned to Barukh Tasqur, who delivered an update on Harmony’s outreach programs founded after the dissention caused by the MR-44 protests. Barukh also reiterated his plea for more funding to increase Custom agents at the spaceport.

  Ramesh Suhl read the Haven report with a nervous cadence. It seemed innocuous until he mentioned the recent opening of a restaurant and a complaint lodged with his office.

  “I took it as more of a nuisance call,” Ramesh said. “There was some racial animus in the complaint. It was an incident involving a gratuity.” He explained the angry back and forth between the customer and server. “The owner said it was cultural confusion.”

  Trevor was disappointed to hear it but not shocked.

  “So, you’re convinced it’s an isolated matter?”

  “Possibly. My deputies haven’t spotted many customers at Mazookas Tazi. I don’t think it’s necessarily an ethnic bias. Truth is, they’re not marketing on the Haven stream bank like everyone else. Sheh Talman’s son, the manager, says their margin doesn’t allow them to advertise. They intend to rely solely on word of mouth.”

  Trevor sighed.

  “That won’t help them in Harmony or Episteme. I wonder if we might give them a boost. Perhaps a free week of posting on the bank. I can arrange it through the Hospitality Council.”

  “I’m sure they’d appreciate it, Governor.”

  Nagano forced a grunt.

  “I must interrupt. How is this a security issue?”

  Hadn’t the Admiral been paying attention? Trevor set him straight.

  “We’re discussing the Riyadhi restaurant my predecessor licensed. I attended the ribbon cutting. Loved the food. You can imagine, Admiral, there are potential pitfalls with anything Riyadhi. I want to give them a fair go and not be judged because of their home world’s history.”

  “I see.” Nagano sighed. “If anyone upholds the egalitarian principles of Amity, it must be the Governor. Chief Suhl, do you believe Sec Admin has the matter well in hand?”

  Here we go. Nagano couldn’t resist a power move.

  “We patrol the area throughout every shift, Admiral. Fortunately, Gov. Stallion provided us with more deputies, so we’re equipped if there’s ever anything more than an awkward exchange of words.”

  Beautifully done, Ramesh. Thanks!

  Ilya Petrov summarized the Episteme report but concluded with an issue that might prove delicate. He related the story of detaining a woman who faced expulsion after a Shadow Gambit profile turned up family links to a Black Star facility. The woman refused to vacate her flat or head to the spaceport for deportation. She threatened to tell everyone the station was violating her civil rights without cause.

  “She’s loud, articulate, and well connected,” Ilya said. “She’s made many credible threats about what she’ll do after returning home. We’ve had this sort of reaction before, but it was smoke. With her, things might get hotter.”

  “Is it possible,” SI Desk Chief Roe said, turning to Shireena, “there are any flaws in this woman’s SG profile?”

  Shireena shook her head.

  “None. Whenever we tag someone for potential expulsion, my team makes direct contact with the relevant agencies on the resident’s home world. We double verify the most delicate data. By the time we’re done, we know all their relevant associations. None of the expelled have been able to poke holes in the evidence.”

  Ilya added: “This woman has never denied her family’s link to Black Star. She says the Amity Charter forbids invasive profiles.”

  “Does it?” Roe asked the question of Trevor.

  “Technically. The keyword is invasive. We rely on publicly available data and anything we can acquire through an intersystem warrant. We only pursue other avenues when new intel is inconclusive. It becomes a question of semantics.”

  Roe tapped the table with her left index finger, a tic which meant she was shaping a new line of questions. She turned to Haas.

  “You squashed the last threat of an IC investigation into Shadow Gambit’s methods. Might a case like this one force you to back down if the Constitutional Committee brings it up again?”

  Haas switched her focus between Roe and Shireena.

  “If I’m granted another term in office? No. I can’t speak for a successor.”

  “Fair enough. It’s Director Knightley’s position that Shadow Gambit is an effective tool, even if it skirts privacy concerns. It facilitates our work by reducing the need for field agents on Amity. Shireena, how many expulsions has the program forced?”

  “Twenty-one in six months. That’s a small number, but it meets our per capita projections.”

  Roe smiled, something she was not often inclined to do.

  “Twenty-one less threats to the station. Well done. When do you expect to complete all profiling?”

  “Three months at our current pace.”

  “I see. This Riyadhi restaurant owner. He was profiled?”

  “Of course. He and anyone in his family who applied for residency.”

  Trevor interrupted.

  “We move business owners to the front of the line.”

  “Excellent. Director Knightley has instructed me to make an offer. We are willing to loan out three agents from our core staff to assist Shadow Gambit until it completes all profiles. These agents specialize in detailed backgrounding. Do you accept?”

  Trevor didn’t see that one coming. Judging from her stoic response, neither did Shireena. He spoke for them both.

  “Why the sense of urgency, Carson? We’re making fine progress.”

  “In the Director’s estimation, fine is not good enough. What if the most dangerous threats have yet to be vetted? Does giving them more time play into their hands?”

  “If the trend continues,” Shireena replied, “we only expect to expel four or five more residents. The odds of ...”

  “With respect, Shireena, one rogue agent is a threat to all. Mau Ping proves my point. Governor, you will not have to pay these agents. They will follow SG protocols until the job is done. I estimate you’ll be up to speed within three weeks rather than three months.”