Damn your secrets.  It’s time for the truth.

— Beyond Lies, Willow McLeod

14 Decem, 5249 PD

“Forgive her,” Ezra mumbled into the sudden silence.  “She’s…medicated.”

Brendan looked askance at his friend, eyes widening slightly.  He actually said that?  I don’t care if it’s true.  He’d better hope that she doesn’t hear that he’s said that.  She’ll kill him.

“No,” Winston said slowly.  “No, there’s nothing to forgive.  She’s right.  I didn’t know and I should have.  There’s a lot more going on in the Commonwealth than the Inspector General’s office can address—or dare address, I guess.”

“It was always a struggle,” Frederick said, his voice soft and expression slightly distant.  “How much good could we do without stepping on too many toes, without getting the organization disemboweled, dismantled.  If we pressed too hard, if we tried to do too much, that was the very real risk.  We lived on the whim of parliament.”

“We still do.”  Winston massaged the point between his eyes, as if he felt a headache forming, then exhaled sharply.  “We’re still bound by what we’re allowed to do, what we can risk doing.  It’s not right, but it’s the way things are.”

“The way things are,” Lindsay echoed, toying with her mug.  “Just because they’re the way things are doesn’t make it right for things to be that way.”  Her lips thinned.  “That was the point that Alana was making.”

“She was right to do it,” Winston said again, palms pressed flat against the tabletop, fingers splayed.  It was as if he couldn’t meet any of their gazes.  “We’re a paper tiger.”

“The whole Commonwealth is,” Adam said.  “You’re just beginning to realize that for the first time.  Is this the first time you’ve been out of the core?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Winston nodded.  “I’ve been on the very inner edge of the Rim, but never anywhere near this far out, and never on a world that’s considered—no offense intended—a backwater frontier outpost.”

Frederick’s lips twitched into a smile.  “You should visit them more often, it seems.  You learn a great deal more that way about how the whole apparatus works—or fails to—by doing so.”

“Apparently.”  Winston sighed and shook his head.  “But this discussion doesn’t bring me any closer to the reason I came here.”

“I suspect the reason you came here isn’t precisely what you think it is.”  Frederick reached for the teapot and filled his mug, apparently marshaling his thoughts before he continued.  “Sephora gave you your orders directly, didn’t she?”

Winston nodded slowly.

Fingers tightening around Lindsay’s hand, Brendan frowned. He makes it sound like that’s significant.  She’s his commanding officer, for better or worse.  Doesn’t he usually get his assignments from her?

“Not just loaded in.  You got an actual briefing.”

Winston’s brows knit.  “After I was off-world, but yes.  She sent an eyes-only message to me that I got after my transport dropped me out on the frontier.”  His eyes narrowed slightly and he leaned forward.  “What are you getting at, Inspector?  You’re hinting at something that I can’t quite catch just yet.”

“Bear with us,” Frederick said.  “It’ll become clear quickly enough.”  He straightened slightly.  “Sephora and I are old friends.”

“I knew that,” Winston interrupted.  “She was your partner.  You’ve mentioned her a couple of times in the hour that I’ve known you.  The significance of the connection there isn’t entirely lost on me.”

“Settle down,” Aidan rumbled, crossing his arms against his broad chest.  “Bear with Inspector Rose, as he’s asked.”

“Are you implying that my being sent here has less to do with what happened at the Whispers and more to do with what happened to Mimir?  Or are we talking about something else?”

“Something else,” Frederick said, “but no less massive in its import.  The Commonwealth is dying, young man.  It’s about to consume itself.  Humanity is about to consume itself.  Sephora Damerian sent you here because we are the only people who can help any of you save what’s good and right and wonderful about the human race while the rest of our fellows devour each other like some kind of ravening horde.”

Winston stared at all of them for long enough that Brendan’s heart began to pound painfully against his breastbone.

He thinks we’re nuts.  He’s about to bolt.

“You people are insane,” Winston said, though his tone lacked the conviction that one might expect.  “Humanity’s survived the loss of two homeworlds already.  What’s to say that—”

“You said homeworlds,” Rachel said, her voice quiet as she interrupted him on the beginning of a tirade.  “We said the Commonwealth was dying.”

“You implied that—”

“That humanity would destroy itself, yes.  Eventually, it will, and perhaps sooner rather than later.  But we’re talking about the Commonwealth, Inspector.”

“No,” the young man said, eyes bleak and voice hollow.  “No, we’re talking about humanity.  The Commonwealth is the only existing brake on anything that’s happening inside the homosphere and even the Commonwealth can’t stop most of what’s happening back there.”  His fingers curled back, tips scraping against the smooth wood, hands curling into fists.  “The attack at the Whispers was a symptom of a much, much greater disease, one that we’ve been impotently fighting for decades, maybe more.  Maybe since the Commonwealth was born.  I don’t know.  I’ve got no way to know.”

“We do,” Frederick said, eyes gleaming.  Brendan’s stomach did an uncomfortable somersault.

I don’t like that look.  That’s the same look that Marshal Windsor gets when he’s about to ask me to do something that I’m going to question the wisdom of.  Now he knew where Adam had learned it—or perhaps Frederick Rose had learned it from Adam Windsor, sometime in their misspent youth on Mimir.

Winston just stared at Frederick, more than half dumbfounded.  “I beg your pardon?  How would you be able to know that?”

“There are histories,” Frederick said.  “Histories that the Commonwealth—indeed, humanity as a whole—believe and fear and perhaps even hope are lost forever.”

“What are you talking about?” Winston asked, his frown deepening.  Brendan could almost taste the young man’s confusion coupled with discomfort.  “You’re not making any sense.”

“The libraries of Mimir held all of the human knowledge that was ever salvaged from our past homelands, from past societies,” Frederick said, as if that explained everything.

But those libraries burned.

Winston shook his head.  “I thought those were destroyed in the bombings.”

“Some of the physical archives were, yes,” Frederick said, emphasizing the some. “But those physical archives were digitized more than a hundred years ago.  It was part of our mandate in the Guard—the protection of knowledge for knowledge’s sake.”

“But weren’t the digital archives lost with Mimir?”  Winston’s voice was a bare whisper as he looked at the Marshals, at Rachel and Frederick, as if he absolutely couldn’t believe that he was hearing what they were saying.  “All reports said that it was destroyed with the grand library.”

Frederick glanced toward Rachel and Adam.  Rachel exhaled softly and shook her head.

“Steps were taken to secure the archive when it started to become clear that action might be taken against Mimir,” she said.  “There had been rumors that something might be happening and the Senate saw fit to make backups of all of the data.  Those backups were entrusted to a half-dozen individuals—several of whom are in this room as we speak.”  Her fingers knit together in front of her on the table and she leaned back in her chair.  “The database is hidden, but the keys—and the database itself—can still be retrieved.  The history of humanity isn’t lost, it’s just been hidden and forgotten.  Now that we’ve rescued my sister and my brother-in-law, all that remains is a few loose ends—like retrieving a key that was entrusted to Sephora Damerian.”

Winston sat bolt upright, as if someone had replaced his spine with a rod of titanium.  “The Inspector General—”

“Never knew that she had it, I suspect,” Frederick said, shaking his head slowly.  “But she sent you here, which means she’s starting to sort something out.  She may have found everything that I left for her in the days since you left.”

Winston’s mouth worked but no sound emerged for a moment.  Brendan cleared his throat.

“Why didn’t anyone say anything about this sooner?” he asked, eyeing the Marshals.  Lindsay’s fingers tightened around his hand beneath the table, her senses pulsing a warning that he was pointedly ignoring.  There had been too many secrets lately, too much happening.

What if something happens to one or all of them, Lin?  We never would have known any of this.

Her fingers tightened one more time, then loosened slightly, her warning starting to subside.

Adam met his gaze for a moment, then shook his head.  “There wasn’t a point when we wouldn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle.  Grant knows the location, since he’s the one they detailed to hide it.  The rest of us only had hints and clues.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Frederick said.  “I know where it is.”

Adam’s gaze snapped toward his old friend, who sat impassively back in his chair, meeting the Marshal’s sharp look with a bland one of his own.

“But,” Frederick continued, “as you said, Grumpy, there was no reason to bring it up because I didn’t know that we had America and Grant’s keys all along.”

“So many bloody secrets,” Winston said, shaking his head.  “How do you people function?”

Kara snorted softly.  “Usually, there aren’t this many.  Rest assured, we’re not typically this secretive.”  She stood up and walked around to where Winston sat and leaned against the table next to him.  “You have to understand, things are changing here rather rapidly—old secrets coming up because it’s finally safe to reveal some of them.”

“And the Whispers?”  Winston asked.  “What about that?  What secrets are there?”

“None,” Kara said, glancing toward her brother, as if to invite him to speak.

Ezra took a breath and exhaled it slowly.  “Just that we got there at the wrong—or perhaps the right—time.  America Farragut had the presence of mind to rig our sensors to record everything we saw.  Marshal Windsor has had some of our top technical personnel reviewing the footage and trying to identify the ships that we were able to make out.”  The doctor’s lips thinned.  “There were a few ships, though, and they were firing on the planet.  We could see the explosions and feel the psychic ripples from the planet.  So many—”  He broke off for a moment, then sucked in a breath and forged onward.  “So many people dying.  There wasn’t even time for distress calls.  We saw a few ships that look like they managed to escape—I can only imagine that they must have been Wanderer ships, but who knows what safe harbor they’ve fled to now.”  He shook his head slightly.  “It was awful, Inspector.  I’ve never seen anything like it before and I pray to never see anything like it again.  Not ever.”

Winston nodded slowly, then looked at Adam.  “I need the footage.”

“You’ll get it,” Adam said quietly.  “You’ll get it.  But will you help us?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Winston nodded.

“Aye.  I will.  We will.  The fight for the soul of humanity sounds like one that the Inspector General’s office—and the Commonwealth—should have been fighting or generations.  I don’t know why we’ve abrogated that responsibility…but we have, and it’s not right.  Something has to be done.

“I’ll help you do it.  No matter what.”

The truths that are left unknown are often the ugliest.

— Erich Quizibian, c. 5074 PD

14 Decem, 5249 PD

Frederick was the first in, despite his limp.  Daci trailed in his wake, casting looks back over her shoulder, past her fellow Marshals and to the Commonwealth Inspector Brendan was escorting.  Lindsay swallowed hard.

That can’t be the inspector.  He’s too young for that.

Isn’t he?

She glanced toward Frederick and for the first time, she realized how young he must have been when Mimir died, when he ran point on that investigation and it almost cost him his life.  Though neither he nor her parents or her aunt and uncle were necessarily young, they certainly weren’t anywhere near past their prime.  Mimir had died before she was born, probably before the inspector had been, too.

Plenty of time to grow up with Frederick Rose as your martyred hero.  She felt the feather-light brush of Brendan’s thoughts against hers and glanced toward him, just barely catching sight of his brief, faint smile. He was thinking the same thing.

She straightened from her lean against the sideboard.  “Inspector.  Welcome to Halo Ridge.  Our hosts are seeing to some refreshments.  Please, have a seat.”  She waved toward the array of chairs lining either side of the long antique dining table.

Adam arched a brow slightly at her even as Rachel smiled.  “Inspector Winston, this is Consul Lindsay Farragut.”

Winston’s brows knit momentarily as he leaned across the wide, dark surface of the table to shake her hand.  “Young to be on the Rose Council, aren’t you?”

Lindsay smiled faintly.  “Aren’t you young to be a Commonwealth Inspector on a solo mission?”

He smiled ruefully. “Touché.  It’s a pleasure to meet you, Consul.”

“I hope it will be likewise, Inspector.  Please, have a seat.  Doctor and Consul Grace will be joining us in a few minutes.”

Winston blinked.  “Husband and wife?”

“Brother and sister,” Brendan correct as he came around the table to sink into the chair next to Lindsay.  “This is the house their late parents built.”

“Ah.”  Winston settled quietly into his own chair.  The Marshals, Rachel, and Frederick likewise seated themselves as Kara and Ezra joined them.  Kara had a pot of tea and a tray of tiny sandwiches and tarts while Ezra followed behind, juggling the array of mugs and plates that they’d need to enjoy the perfunctory refreshments.  Brendan stood from his seat quickly to help, earning a nod of silent thanks from Ezra as he relieved his friend of some of his burdens.

“Inspector, this is Dr. Ezra Grace and Consul Kara Grace-Forester,” Adam said quietly as he took the teapot from Kara and settled it on the table. “Kara, Ezra, this is Inspector Timrel Winston of the New Earth Commonwealth Inspector General Corps.”

Winston opened his mouth to greet the pair, but he was cut off.

“You have questions.” Rachel leaned forward slightly, steepling her fingers as she studied Winston, her voice quiet.  “And you’ll get your answers to them about the Whispers.”

“You said you have footage,” Winston said.  “I’ll need access to that if I’m going to find out who attacked the Wanderers there.”

“You’ll get it,” Rachel assured him, her voice still quiet.  Lindsay felt an uncomfortable flutter in her stomach.  What was her aunt doing?

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Winston observed.

“You’re very astute,” Rachel said.  “There is a but coming.  You’ll get access to the films once we’re satisfied that you’re not just here to rubber stamp a decision that’s already been made back on New Earth—possibly before you were ever dispatched here.”

Winston just stared at her, the color draining from his face.  His hands, which had been laid flat on the table, curled slowly into fists.  “I’m here to find the truth, Speaker,” he said firmly.  “No one back on New Earth is going to tell me what my findings are.  Sephora Damerian is well aware of that.  It’s why she sent me instead of someone else.  I can’t be bought.”  He glanced toward Frederick for a moment.  “Much like you and she couldn’t be bought back in the days after Mimir.”

Frederick nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Though that’s not to say we weren’t approached quietly once or twice—more she than I.  After I called out Senator Cormack for trying to bribe me into looking the other way on another case, I gained a reputation for being incorruptible.”

“It just made him a more tempting target,” Daci muttered.  Frederick glanced at her and she just shook her head. “They didn’t approach you because they were too busy approaching me—thinking that where they’d failed to influence you, I might succeed.  I turned them all down flat.”

Lindsay reached for Brendan’s hand under the table.  Suddenly, our situation seems a lot easier to handle.

“You never told me,” Frederick said softly.  “Why didn’t you say something?”

“And make you an even bigger target?  You’d have gone after them, Frederick.  You’d have gone after them and that only could have spelled more trouble for both of us.”

Frederick looked like he was about to say more, but Rachel cleared her throat, staring pointedly at the pair for a moment.

Yes.  What Brendan and I have to deal with is much, much easier to handle than that.

Rachel waited a moment longer before she turned her attention back to Winston.  “Thank you, Inspector.  I think that allays our concerns to a certain degree.”

“But only to a certain degree.” Winston smiled wryly.  “What do you need from me before I get the answers I need?”

“Answers.”

Lindsay sucked in a breath, gaze snapping toward Alana Chase, who stood in the doorway, ramrod straight, face nearly as pale as her flaxen hair and her once-cybered arm cradled in a sling.  Even as everyone else twisted to look at her, Ezra started to rise from his seat, shock etched in every line of his face.

Alana waved him back into his seat and then focused on Winston again.  “We need answers.  The Commonwealth allows all manner of atrocities to be perpetuated, all sorts of indignities suffered, and they do nothing to stop them.  But the minute it looks like the Foundation might even be peripherally involved in the death of a planet—a planet that died in a no more or less spectacular way than Mimir—the newsnets light up, the Parliament starts talking about sanctions and worse, and a Commonwealth Inspector shows up on our doorstep and demands answers.  Well, you’ll not get them until I get mine, Inspector.”

She stabbed a finger at Lindsay.  “Her parents were held for two decades by two different congloms as bloody test subjects because they had the misfortune not only to have been born psychic, but to have led the survivors on Mimir in their fight to hold on to what was left of their bloody planet.  That was well after her father was conceived because the Eurydice Compact dangled my grandmother in front of an ambassador for the Psychean Guard—hoping to gain leverage and an asset by holding her.  Thanks be to whatever gods still exist that Alexander Channing had the sense to listen to the woman when she said to take his son and run and not to look back.”  Alana prowled closer to the table like a wolf moving in on its kill.  “The congloms use children as weapons and soldiers, Inspector.  Did you know that?”

Winston took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  “There are a lot of things the congloms do that I may or may not be aware of—and may or may not be able to do anything about, no matter how much I many want to, Miss…?”

“Colonel,” Alana said, her tone clipped.  “Colonel Alana Chase, late of the Foundation defense forces and late of the Eurydice Compact’s Death’s Head Brigade.”  She leaned toward him.  “I was their weapon,” she breathed, her blue-eyed gaze intense.  The seething rage that rolled off her longtime friend made Lindsay shiver, made her fingers tighten around Brendan’s hand.

When she glanced at her husband for the barest moment, she saw that his lips had compressed into a fine, pale line, his eyes wide but gaze flinty.  Somehow, impossibly, he must have expected this.

I wonder how.

“You’re a refugee from the Compact.”  Winston’s words were accompanied by a tone of wonderment, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.

“I’m a defector from the Compact,” Alana corrected, straightening.  “I came here to protect my cousin because her father couldn’t.  The assets that the Compact and Chinasia are demanding returned—they’re in this room.”  Her voice dropped to a hiss.  “They’re human beings.”

Winston straightened in his chair, sucking in a deep breath.  “I was afraid of that,” he said quietly.  He looked up at Alana slowly.  “You, then.  And Commander Cho, unless I’m mistaken.”

“No,” Alana said.  “You’re not mistaken.”  Some of her anger seemed to drain away momentarily.  Her gaze flicked toward Ezra, who sat next to his sister, pale-faced in shock, his jaw tight and hands locked around his mug of tea in a death-grip.  Her expression softened, though only for a moment.  Then the steel was back, the angry fire in her eyes, the killer’s mask dropping back over her face.  “I imagine they’re rather  miffed at losing America Farragut and Grant Channing as well, though I think if they were to admit that they’d held them for as long as they have, even the Commonwealth  may have something to say about it.”

She leaned toward him, almost into his face.  “Why does the Commonwealth allow it?”

“Allow what?”  Winston seemed genuinely confused by the question.  Lindsay winced at the subtle shift that caused in Alana’s expression, tilting her even closer to the very edge of her control.

“Allow child soldiers,” Alana snapped.  “Allow the destruction of our humanity from our most tender beginnings.”  She pointed to her arm, the one that was no longer sheathed in metal as it once had been.  ‘They started molding me into a killer when I was eight years old.  Eight.  They cut into my body and sowed the seeds for what they turned me into.”  She looked at Brendan. “When did they take you from your parents?”

“I was ten,” Brendan said quietly.  “Most of my training cadre didn’t survive to become pilots, either.”

Winston was white.

Adam cleared his throat quietly.  “You didn’t know?”

“No,” Winston said, his voice a bare whisper.  “I didn’t know.  I—I should have known, but I never—”

“You didn’t want to,” Alana said bitterly.  “No one ever does.  The Commonwealth is useless.  It can’t protect anyone.”  She straightened, looking toward Rachel.  “We can only protect ourselves.”

With that, she pivoted on her heel and walked out the door.

Pray that your secrets don’t someday doom your children, old friend.  Gods know that they’ll have every right to hate you if they do.

— Attributed to Erich Quizibian, c. 5065 PD

14 Decem, 5249 PD

Brendan drew up behind the inspector, shaking his head slightly.  “None of them are going to ask, Inspector,” he said as he nodded toward the Marshals and Rachel, “so I will.  What are you talking about?”

“The chip,” Frederick said.  “My research—everything.  I always left a copy of everything I was working on behind whenever I was heading out, just in case.  It may have been a paranoid thing to do, but something tells me that perhaps I should have been more paranoid in this instance.”

Daci laced her fingers through his and squeezed his hand.  Brendan gave her a tight smile as she rested her cheek against her husband’s sleeve.

She certainly agrees.

Winston’s brows knit.  “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Inspector.”

Frederick exhaled a frustrated, annoyed sigh and shook his head.  “Maybe she did and she didn’t say.”

Rachel frowned.  “Freder, you can’t possibly expect—”

“Never mind,” Frederick said.  “Let’s get inside.  Inspector Winston can tell us what he thinks he knows and we can show him what we think we know…and then maybe we’ll get to the bottom of whatever conspiracies haven’t died since Mimir.”

A shiver shot down Brendan’s spine at the former Commonwealth inspector’s words, but at the same time, he found himself unsurprised at them.

There’s a lot in the Commonwealth that doesn’t surprise me anymore—a lot that I didn’t know before that makes sense now.  He glanced at Winston and almost felt sorry for him.  He’s going to be getting a fairly rude awakening, I think.

He caught the feather-light brush of Lindsay’s mind against his.  She was getting impatient, wondering what was taking them so long.  She was inside the house with Ezra and Kara, waiting for them.  About half the Council had wanted to be at Halo Ridge for this, but Rachel had put her foot down.  Winston would experience the full Council soon enough—the first meeting needed to be smaller.

Amelda had suggested that Lindsay and Kara be in attendance, along with perhaps one other.  Mugabe Zenak had volunteered, but then pled illness earlier that morning.  Brendan wasn’t sure if it was a ruse or not.  Mugabe was smart enough to plan something like that and moreover, he trusted the Marshals and Rachel with whatever they wanted to do.

I wouldn’t put it past him to be faking his illness.  Brendan killed a smile before it fully bloomed.  Rachel’s got more allies on the Council than she ever imagined that she had.

He nudged the young inspector in the shoulder.  “Come on.  I’m sure they’ve got something to eat laid out, too.”

Winston twisted toward him, brows knitting.  “The Speaker said you were at the Whispers,” he said.

Brendan nodded slightly.  “I was, but I was unconscious.  You’ll want to talk to Ezra Grace.  He saw everything there was to see.”

Winston frowned and looked like he was going to ask another question but shut his mouth when Adam cleared his throat.

“Are you gentlemen coming?” the marshal asked mildly.  Brendan had to kill another smile.

“Yes, sir,” he said, then gave Winston another gentle push toward the door.  This time, the young inspector got moving.

So Frederick Rose hid his research—his findings—on a chip somewhere back on New Earth.  Wouldn’t the conspiracy that almost killed him just love that?  The idea that it was al connected made him shiver.  What if it was all connected?  What then?

Could a conspiracy really survive that long?

Without a bloody doubt.

•           •           •

The place was halfway to a dive, dimly lit and smelling like fry oil and beer, but was quiet and the patrons seemed content to keep to themselves.  Sephora frowned slightly, half wondering why Padraig would have asked to meet her here, of all places.

Maybe the food’s good.  Who knows?  Paranoid, maybe?  She shook her head at herself and scanned the population, seeking her friend’s familiar face.

He was nowhere to be seen.

Do I even have the right place?

“Inspector Damerian?”

She jumped at the sound of a woman’s voice at her elbow, blinking rapidly at the dark-haired twenty-something standing next to her.

“Yes,” Sephora said out of reflex.  “Can I help you?”
“No,” the woman said.  “But I can help you.  Padraig’s this way.”

Sephora sucked in a sharp breath but let the young woman lead her on and into a private room Sephora hadn’t expected the place to have.

It was a small room, only four tables, and Padraig Danson occupied one of them, a glass of amber liquid in front of him that looked untouched.  Sephora’s companion cleared her throat slightly and Padraig’s head snapped up.  A light flickered to life in his eyes, then died away as he stood.

“Seph,” Padraig said, opening his arms to her, “I’m glad you’re here.”

She stepped into her longtime friend’s arms and hugged him tightly.  “With a message like that, how could I not come?  What’s wrong?  You were damned vague on the comms.”

He shook his head slightly.  “I had to be.  I’m not sure how deep this all goes.  I’m being watched, for all I know.”  Padraig exhaled a sigh.  “I may have even put you in danger.”

“I’m the Chief Inspector for the Commonwealth,” Sephora said.  “They’ll have to kill me to stop me from righting any wrong that you’ve uncovered, old friend.”

“I’m afraid that they might,” Padraig said as he slumped back into his chair.  Sephora slid into the chair across from him and leaned forward.  The girl who’d brought her here drifted back toward the doorway and closed the door, leaning against the jamb.  Sephora glanced at her, then put her out of her mind.  She was one of Padraig’s–she had to be–from the Colonial Office.

“What are you talking about?”  Sephora asked softly.  “Make sense, Padraig.”  Because right now, you’re not.

“I’m going to be rocking the boat, Seph,” he said.  “Hard.  How many psychics do you have in the Inspector General’s office?”

Where the hell is he going with this?  “Five,” she said.  “Two analysts, one field agent, and two specialists.  Why are you asking?”

“Find out if any of them want to get off-world before the shit hits the fan,” Padraig said.  “I can make arrangements.”  He started to lift his glass, then set it back down again, exhaling.  “I haven’t drank a drop in five years, Seph.”

“I know.”  She reached across the table and covered both of his hands with hers.  “Tell me what’s going on, Padraig.”

“The conspiracy,” he said quietly. “I don’t know who’s responsible, but they’re moving against the Foundation.”

Sephora straightened, blinking.  “That’s a little alarmist, Padraig.”  Her stomach was somewhere in the vicinity of her knees, though, as she thought of Frederick’s last message for her, his warning.  What if it’s all even more connected than I’m afraid of?

“They’ve been filing claims on the Eridani Trelasia system,” he said.  “Claims that are getting past my paygrade and moving up—claims I can try to bury and delay but I can’t stop.”

She sucked in a sharp breath and leaned back in her chair.  Then it’s worse than we’ve ever had reason to fear. Frederick saw it after Mimir.  How did I lose sight of it?  “Who?”

“Idesalli, the Compact, Chinasia…name them and it’s likely they’re staking claims.”  Padraig’s lips thinned.  “What happened at the Whispers was no accident, Seph.   Someone’s got a plan and they’re putting it in motion.  I don’t know if it’s one or all or what, but it’s something—someone—and they’ve got the Commonwealth wrapped around their finger.  No one’s going to stop them.”

“I will,” Sephora said firmly.  “That’s my job, Padraig.  To stop shit like this.”  Her fingers tightened.  “I promised Frederick.”

Pain flickered across Padraig’s features.  “You miss him. Still.”

“He taught me everything I know,” Sephora said.  Everything that was worth knowing, anyway.  “I feel like I betrayed him, not having figured out Mimir after he was gone.”

“You can’t keep blaming yourself for that,” Padraig said quietly.  “You paid a high enough price for that investigation—Frederick’s life, your marriage, almost your bloody sanity.  Let it go and let this be your redemption.  You can help me stop what’s happening now.”

“We don’t even know what’s happening right now.”  Sephora’s stomach had sunk even lower and kept on sinking.  Oh, Frederick.  This is what you were trying to warn me about, isn’t it?

“We’ll figure it out,” Padraig said, sounding more confident than he looked.  “Get your psychics clear of New Earth if they’re willing.  I’m already getting mine away.”

“You think they’re in danger?”

Padraig’s jaw firmed and his expression turned grim.  “Seph, I know they are.  I know they are.”

Sometimes, the dead don’t stay dead, even when we think we’ve buried them.

— Willow McLeod, Beyond Lies, c. 2017 AD

14 Decem, 5249 PD

Tim was impressed despite himself as he stared at the stonework of the old Grace house at Halo Ridge.  Far below, he could hear the waves crashing on the rocks and as he turned back toward the road, he could see Nova Spexi laid out below them, tumbling from the edge of the woods all the way down to the sea.  The newly elected Speaker hadn’t been lying—the view was certainly nothing short of amazing.

The Speaker patted him lightly on the shoulder.  “Come on.  We don’t want to keep the Marshals waiting.”

“Of course not,” he murmured.  He glanced back over his shoulder, toward the skimmer.  The pilot had climbed out as well and was staring out over the city, his gaze vaguely wistful.

He just returned from off-world, Tim thought.  Came home to the world that adopted him as one of their own.  I wonder if he’s seen this view before.

“He has,” the Speaker said softly as she drew him toward the house.  “Commander Cho and Ezra Grace are rather close friends.  He was in Dr. Grace’s care when they passed through the Whispers.”

Tim startled.  “In his care?  What is that—”

“It’s a long story,” she said gently.  “And it’s not my story to tell.”

“Then why bring it up?”

Her lips quirked toward a smile.  “To make you curious.”

Tim shook his head, gaze drifting toward the shadowed porch of the house where he could see four figures in the shade of the roof.

Four?  Someone else is with the Marshals, then, right?  All of our data says there’s only three of them.

Could one of them be Dr. Grace?

He’d heard of Ezra Grace—a pioneer in the field of decybernization, an old field that hadn’t changed in the better part of three centuries.  Mankind had spent centuries using biotechnology and cybernetics to modify themselves, but it had only been recently that scientists had begun to apply themselves to the mission of removing and reversing those modifications.  Ezra Grace was a pioneer and well-respected throughout the Commonwealth for his advances.

Of course, he’s probably had more than enough willing volunteers to work with, considering that refugees may end up here with modifications they never asked for.

The idea shot a shiver down his spine. Things like that shouldn’t happen in the Commonwealth—but everyone knew that they did and no one seemed to be able to do a damned thing about it.

How far we’ve fallen as a species, he thought mournfully as he studied the four.  There was huge bear of a dark-skinned man leaning against one of the porch’s columns, his arms crossed and his expression blank.  Braced against a rail stood a second figure, his dark hair peppered with gray and his eyes seeming to gleam with a mixture of mystery and mischief as he met Tim’s searching gaze.  Tim recognized Daciana Rose from newsvids and an image or two in Sephora’s office—the loss of her husband had aged her, but not so much that she was unrecognizable.  She was tucked against the side of an older man, tall and slender, leaning on a cane.

Bloody…why does he seem familiar?

No.  No, it couldn’t be.

Tim stopped dead in his tracks.  The Speaker went two steps beyond him before she turned, tilting her head to one side and looking at him.

“Something the matter?”

“I’m seeing a ghost,” Tim said, his mouth dry as he stared blankly at the man standing with Daciana Rose.

Frederick Rose is dead.

Isn’t he?

He must be.  The Inspector General still cries every year on the anniversary of his death.  Everything that I’ve ever…they were so close.  He wouldn’t have left her in the dark.

Not unless it was a matter of life and death.

Staring at the slender man, Tim realized he wasn’t sure that it hadn’t been a matter of life and death.

The Speaker took him by the arm and gently steered him toward the porch.  The man leaning against the porch rail grinned.

“I think you won the bet, Freder.”

The man with Daciana Rose smirked.  “I’m thinking you’re right, Grumpy.”

Tim shivered.  “I—” He stopped and then began again, trying to gather his scattered wits.  “My name is Timrel Winston. I’m an Inspector First Grade with the New Earth Commonwealth Office of the Inspector General and I’ve been assigned to look into the attacks at the Whispers.”

The man with the cane stepped down from the shadows of the porch and moved to meet him.  He was taller than Tim, though not by much, and his smile was warm and sad all at once.

“You’re young to be First Grade,” he observed quietly.

It’s him.  I’m positive it’s him. Gamble.  If you’re wrong, at least it’s an honest gamble.  “So were you, sir,” Tim said.

One corner of the man’s mouth lifted in a wry smile.  “So I was.”  He extended his hand.  “Retired Inspector First Grade Frederick Rose.”

As Tim’s hand slid into the older man’s, he tried to swallow the words that escaped his lips.  “You’re dead.”

“You’re correct,” Frederick said.  “As far as the Commonwealth is concerned, I died when that transport blew.  I would say that my survival is a state secret, but even the government here didn’t know that I was still alive until a few weeks ago—most of the members of the Rose Council still don’t.”

He had too many questions for the elder inspector, his superior’s mentor—a legend in front of him, living and breathing.

A dead legend.

Tim swallowed hard, then looked at the Speaker.

“You did this on purpose.  Arranged this.”

She shook her head slightly.  “Not entirely correct, but not entirely incorrect, either.  When Frederick heard you were coming, he said that he would be involved in your investigation whether we liked it or not.”

Frederick smiled faintly.  “It’s true.  How is Sephora?”

“Still in mourning,” Tim said, meeting the older man’s gaze.  “Haunted by the ghost of a mentor she couldn’t save—that she didn’t have to save.”  He swallowed bile, looking at all five of them.  “When she sent me to investigate the Whispers, she said that I’d find people here I could trust, that would help me.  Tell me she wasn’t wrong.”

“Not at all,” Frederick said, leaning against his cane.  “Did she find it?”

Tim blinked.  “Find what?”

He shook his head with a faint, sad smile.  “Never mind.”

“No,” Tim said, stepping closer.  “I won’t.  What are you asking me about?”

Daciana came forward along with the man leaning against the rail, both clearly poised to stop Tim if he made any threatening moves toward Frederick.  He tensed slightly, but waited, staring Frederick in the eye.

The dead inspector began to laugh.

“Oh, Sephora!” he said.  “I like him.”

We are sadly bereft of a dearth of fine inspectors these days—men and women like Sephora Damerian and Frederick Rose are a dying breed—or an extinct one.

— Prime Minister Ariel Monsato, c. 5240

We are sadly bereft of a dearth of fine inspectors these days—men and women like Sephora Damerian and Frederick Rose are a dying breed—or an extinct one.

— Prime Minister Ariel Monsato, c. 5240

14 Decem, 5249 PD

“Halo Ridge is the estate of the Grace family,” Rachel said as she opened the skimmer door for the inspector.  He slid into the front seat next to Brendan.  She noted the quiet, measuring look that her nephew gave the other man.  There was no judgment in Brendan’s gaze, as if he was still deciding what to make of the man that the Commonwealth had sent to investigate what happened at the Whispers.  “They’ve been here since the founding of the Colony, built everything they’ve had here.  The family, as I understand it, was originally from New Earth.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the inspector said honestly as he settled into his seat.  Rachel climbed into the back, allowing herself a brief smile before the inspector turned to face her.

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” Rachel agreed, then reached forward and patted Brendan’s shoulder.  “Let’s get going.  I’d rather not keep the Marshals waiting.”

Brendan glanced sidelong at the inspector and gave him a bare, almost feral smile.  “Hang on to your hat.”

Then the pilot gunned the engine and they took off, all three pressed back in their seats by the force of the acceleration.  The inspector threw a look back toward Rachel, who smiled.

“Commander Cho is one of our top pilots,” Rachel told him.  “He’s heavily involved in the training of all of our new pilots coming into our flight program.”

“I’m also the materiel that Chinasia Corp is demanding back—me and America Farragut,” Brendan said, eyes never deviating from the road ahead, though his shoulders stiffened.

“You’re a refugee?” the inspector asked, tearing his gaze from Rachel and turning it on Brendan.

The pilot nodded slightly.  “I landed here as part of a failed invasion.  I was the only survivor and they allowed me to stay.”  A muscle twitched in his jaw.  “I married Speaker Farragut’s niece a few years ago.”

“I—I see.”  The inspector sat back in his seat, glancing back over his shoulder at Rachel again before he looked toward Brendan.  “Are you worried that I’ll throw you into my duffle and cart you back to New Earth space?”

“You’d be doing it with my corpse,” Brendan said.  “I’m not going back there again.”

“No one’s going to make you go back there,” Rachel said firmly.  And if someone tries, they’re going to find out how unpleasant attempting something like that can be.  “Are they, Inspector Winston?”

“I haven’t seen anything yet that would make me believe that you’re here by anything other than your own free will,” the inspector said carefully.  “And last time I checked, Commonwealth law didn’t count people as materiel anyway.”

“That’s good to know,” Brendan said quietly.

The inspector swallowed visibly and turned toward Rachel again.  “You were going to explain what you being Speaker meant—why that was important, beyond the fact that you’re now in charge of the day-to-day leadership of the Rose Foundation.”

Rachel smiled, pleasantly surprised that the young man seemed to gather at least that much.  “It means that the Foundation is finally coming full-circle.”

The inspector’s brows knit and he frowned.  “I don’t—wait.  Farragut.  Like—”

“Exactly like,” Rachel said softly.

“Sarah Farragut and Ryland LeSarte,” the inspector said softly, eyes widening slightly. “You’re from—”

“Yes,” Rachel said.  “Though that wasn’t entirely a secret back in the days when my parents were working for the Psychean Guard.”

“So Guard expatriates are now running the Foundation,” the inspector said quietly, leaning back in his seat and watching the trees as they whipped past them on the road.  “That is an…interesting development.”

Rachel was quiet for a  moment, then she said softly, “I know what you’re thinking.  The Guard aren’t a bunch of pacifists like the Foundation is.”

“I am thinking as much,” the young inspector admitted, “but not for the reasons you may assume.  I know what you’re being accused of and I don’t lend it a lot of weight.  However, knowing that a former member of the Guard is running the show here now does mean that when the time comes, this star system will be more than capable of defending itself against all comers.”

We can only hope to be so lucky.  Rachel smothered a frown.  Halo Ridge would be coming up soon.

“We had nothing to do with the Whispers,” she said slowly, “but we do have footage of what happened there.”

The inspector twisted toward her, eyes wide.  “You do?”  He tamped down his excited curiosity a moment later as suspicion seemed to set in.  “How did you get it?”

“Accident,” Rachel said.  “Chinasia and the Compact are both screaming about things being stolen, correct?”

He nodded.  “Absolutely.  They’re trying for sanctions and worse against you.”

“If they try it, they’re in for quite the surprise.  We stole Grant Channing and America Farragut back from them—they’ve been prisoners of war since the pacification of Mimir.”  Rachel’s jaw tightened.  “Commander Cho and another one of our assets, Colonel Chase, were on their way back here when the Whispers was hit.  They caught the tail end of whatever happened in the system and have the video logs to prove it.”

The inspector as silent for a few long moments before he said, “And you’re offering to share them with me.  For what price?”

“Just objectivity,” Rachel said quietly.  “Nothing less and nothing more.”

“Objectivity,” the man echoed.  “Yes.  I think I can give you that.”

•           •           •

“This,” Daci said for at least the tenth time, “is a terrible idea.”

“Oh, settle down,” Frederick said, squeezing her shoulder for at least the thirtieth time since they’d arrived at Halo Ridge.  “It’s my life at stake, not yours.”

“You think that you dying wouldn’t have an effect on me?”

Federick sighed softly and rested his forehead against hers, sliding both arms around her waist as they stood face-to-face, his face tilted down and hers tilted up.  “My survival can’t stay a secret forever.”

“Who says?”  Daci whispered.

“I do, for one,” he said.  “If I can make a difference right now, Daci, I’m going to do it.”

The colony needs me—the Foundation needs me.  It’s time I get back to doing the job that I should have been doing when I came here.

It was only a matter of time before Rachel asked him.  He needed to be ready for that day to come, because it was coming soon.  Daci needed to be ready for that day to come.

Start with the baby steps and we’ll go from there.

“It’s too big of a risk,” Daci whispered, reaching up to hold his face between her palms.  “I can’t lose you, Freder.  I can’t do it.  Almost losing you was bad enough.”

“Well, you’re not going to lose him today, tomorrow, or any other day I’m on watch,” Adam said, his entry breaking in on the tender moment.  “They’re coming up the last stretch.  Are you two done arguing about this?”

Daci glared at him.  “There’s no arguing about this.  All of you made up your minds without consulting me.”

Frederick kissed her forehead.  “It wasn’t your decision to make,” he murmured softly.

Then he took her by the hand and led her toward the front door.

“Come on,” he whispered in her ear.  “Let’s see who Sephora found to replace me in the ranks.”

She couldn’t stop the smile.  “There’s no replacing you.”

“I know.  But she’d have to try.  Part of why they gave her the job.”  I almost wish they hadn’t.  I wish she was here with us, where she’d be safe.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. If things get too hot, she’ll run, won’t she?

No.  It’s not in her.

He closed his eyes briefly.  Daci squeezed his hand.

“You can’t make other people’s choices for them,” she whispered.

“I know.  I just wish I could sometimes.”

Her smile turned wry. “Don’t I know that feeling?”

She elbowed him gently, then leaned against his side.  Together, they waited for the latest of the best and brightest of the Inspector General’s office to arrive.

Only in the Inspector General’s office do we send our best and brightest out into the field with full knowledge that they may never make it back to us—and if they do return, they won’t be the same.

— Sephora Damerian, date unknown

 14 Decem, 5249 PD

             “This is as far as we take you, Inspector.”

Timrel glanced up from the console, brows knitting.  “Already?”

“I warned you it wouldn’t be long.”  The captain nodded to the console.  “Solve your mystery?”

“Not quite,” Tim said quietly, edging a little closer to the console.  He pressed the data crystal secreted in his palm into a port on the console, hoping that it’d download what he’d been working on without further intervention like it was supposed to.  This was a mystery he had no interest in leaving behind just because he was leaving the ship.  “I don’t know if it’s possible,” he lied.  “We really didn’t get a good look, did we?”

The captain shook his head.  “No, and I don’t regret it, either.  Come on. If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss the shuttle out to the planet.”

They were out in the further-flung regions of the Eridani Trelasia system, near the asteroid belt, on one of the few Mission Systems installations that had already been moved.  Tim wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he stepped through the airlock, but that was part of what made his heart beat a little faster, made his throat tighten just a little bit.

This was what he’d signed up for when he’d joined the Inspector General’s office.  Investigating the unknown—digging deeper into thing he didn’t understand, things that needed to be known, understood.  Investigated, revealed.

He killed a smile and shucked the crystal out of the port, pushing away from the console.  “I’ll get my bag, then, and meet you at the airlock.”

He felt the captain’s eyes on his back as he left the bridge and headed for his cubbyhole of a cabin.  I wonder if he suspects something?

If he did, it probably didn’t matter.  As the captain himself had said, the minute Tim was off his ship, he’d stop being his problem.

With a faint smile, he tucked the crystal into his pocket and ducked into his cabin.  Gathering his things didn’t take long since he’d just been living out of his duffle the whole trip from the station.  He slung it over his shoulder by the straps and headed out into the narrow corridor toward the airlock.

The captain was the only one waiting for him there, and the older man studied the young inspector as if seeing him for the first time.  Tim arched a brow.

“Something wrong?”

The captain grunted and shook his head.  “Likely not.”  He slapped the airlock controls.  “Have a safe trip to the Colony,” he said.

“I’ll settle for an illuminating one,” Tim said with a smile, then stepped into the airlock.  Behind him, the captain shook his head.

“You’re an odd one, Inspector.  Step lightly. Carry a big stick.”

Hopefully, Tim thought as the airlock cycled closed behind him and then irised open in front of him, I won’t need one.

•           •           •

The smell of pine and the sea hit him as he disembarked from the lander.  He walked a few paces along the smooth surface of the tarmac, eyes widening as his gaze swept over the field, the stone walls and the trees and mountains beyond.  As the engines spun down, he could hear the ocean—probably not far away from the sound of things.

“Takes your breath away,” a voice said from his left, “doesn’t it?”

“I—yes.”  He turned toward the woman who’d spoken, blinking rapidly.  She was somewhere north of thirty-five, hair dark and curling, dressed in heavy cotton slacks and a fitted shirt.

“I reacted the same way when I first came here,” she said, one hand on her hip.

Tim swallowed.  “How long ago was that, Miss…?”

“Farragut.  Though, it’s actually Speaker.”  She extended one hand.  “Rachel Farragut.  And you’re Inspector…?”

He tried to cover the jolt of surprise.  “Timrel Winston,” he said.  “Inspector First Grade with the New Earth Commonwealth Inspector General’s office”

“We’ve been expecting you,” she said as he shook her hand.  “Welcome to E-557.”

“You knew that I would come asking about the Whispers.”

“Of course.  We’re the closest world to it, aren’t we?”  She stepped back and nodded toward the edge of the field.  “I have a skimmer waiting for us.  We made arrangements for you to stay at Halo Ridge.”

Arrangements, hm?  I’m not sure if I should trust those arrangements or not.  Could they be trying to keep me from seeing something they don’t want me to see.  Tim’s brow arched.  “Sounds impressive.”

“Best vantage on the whole city, to be honest,” Rachel said as she led him toward the waiting skimmer.  A dark-eyed man of possibly Chinasian extraction was at the controls and he regarded Tim with a long, measuring look, even though they were still well outside of earshot.

“I don’t think your driver likes me,” Tim observed, eyeing the man right back.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rachel smirk.

“Commander Cho is inherently suspicious of anyone from the Commonwealth suddenly showing up on-planet, announced or otherwise.  It’s a level of paranoia that does tend to keep him out of enemy hands.”  Her smirk blossomed into a grin.  “I’ll see that you’re properly introduced when we’re within earshot.”

She’s a lot more genial than I expected.  Then again…  “I was led to believe that the current leader of the Foundation was Sergei Petremoore.”

Rachel took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.  “With everything changing as quickly as it is these days, Sergei has made the decision to step down from his position as Speaker for the Rose Council and nominal head of the Foundation.  He passed the mantle to me.”

“I see.”

“Do you, Inspector?”  Rachel stopped walking and rounded on him, halting his forward process as she studied him with a stare so intense he could have sworn she was looking through him.  “Do you understand what that means?”

“Perhaps you could explain it to me, Speaker,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze-head on and hoping that she saw as much steel in his spine as he could see in hers.

Tread lightly.  You need their respect, but you also need their cooperation.

“I could,” she agreed.  “But here isn’t the time nor is it the place.  Our skimmer is waiting.”

She spun on her heel and started walking again, leaving him bewildered in her wake.

I’ve got good news and bad news—and worse news.  Which would you like first?

— Unknown

12 Decem, 5249 PD

Adam stared at the starplot that hovered in front of him, brow furrowed and arms crossed.  Behind him the newsnets droned on, lies spread about the colony, the Foundation, shot out across the dark depths of space to reach them even all the way out here, on the very fringes of humanity’s sphere of influence.  A half-dozen members of the Marshal’s collective staff buzzed around, compiling intelligence reports independent of what D’Arcy Morgause had come up with.

He stared at the starplot without actually seeing it, his jaw set.

It’s worse than we thought.

“You asked to see me, sir?”

He took a deep breath and turned toward Brendan, nodding.  “Aye.  I imagined you’d want to know this as soon as possible.”

Brendan’s brows lifted as he joined him by the starplot.  “What did you find out?”

“Two of the congloms have ordered us to quit our claim to the system and leave,” Adam said quietly, gaze returning to the starplot.

From the corner of his eye, he could see his younger colleague wince.  “Which ones are they?”

“Idesalli and the Compact,” Adam said, shaking his head and looking vaguely regretful.  “I imagine that Chinasia is soon to follow.”

“Does the Council know?”

“We haven’t told them yet.  That’s what we decided was best for now.”  He looked toward Brendan.  “But we’ll have to tell them soon.”

“Do you think D’Arcy knows yet?”

“Possibly.”  Adam crossed his arms, eyes narrowing slightly.  “Probably.”

“What else is going on that you’re not telling me?”  Brendan asked, turning to face his superior.

Adam killed a grim smile.  Sharp.  But he always was.  “I heard something from one of our contacts at Mission Systems.”

“Is that going well?”

Adam was silently thankful for Brendan’s momentary distraction.  “They’re in the process of moving all of their operations here.  It’s going to take time, but that’s their plan.  The Council agreed to it and I’m more than a little thankful they did.”

The pilot next to him took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  “Because it means warships,” Brendan said.

“Because it means we’re not alone.  Because it means that there are people within the Commonwealth that may look more favorably upon us than they might have before Mission Systems threw in their lot with us.”  He shook his head slightly.  “There are hundreds of millions who don’t understand what the Foundation is all about.  They think we’re crazy survivalist extremists out here, paranoids and psychics out of touch with reality.”

“And having a minor conglomerate throw in with us makes us somehow more credible?”  Brendan grimaced.  “I knew the galaxy was screwed up, Marshal, but I didn’t realize it was quite that bad.”

A wry smile twisted Adam Windsor’s lips and he shook his head.  “I may be exaggerating.  Marshal’s prerogative.”

Brendan nodded slightly.  “Well, either way, having Mission Systems here couldn’t hurt, I guess.  You said there was more?”

He nodded.  “One of our contacts let me know that he loaded an agent from NeCom’s Inspector General’s office on one of his haulers about a week ago.  He should be arriving here soon, barring any complications.”

Brendan glanced at him, brows knitting.  “Is that supposed to be good news?”

“I’d like to think it is,” Adam said, crossing his arms and meeting Brendan’s doubt-filled eyes.  “The Inspector General’s office should be objective, at the very least.”

“I wish I felt like I could trust anyone from NeCom these days,” Brendan said, looking at the starplot.  He waved his hand vaguely at the systems it displayed.  “But from the sound of things, it’s not doing a very good job of protecting anyone or keeping anyone in check.  Extremists are ruling or just running roughshod over the works.  Or am I wrong?”

“No,” Adam said.  “You’re not wrong.  They can’t control the congloms, but they never really could.  We knew that back when Mimir died and when someone made Frederick Rose a target for retaliation when he started to get close to the truth.”

Brendan’s lips thinned as he clearly swallowed a question.  Adam shook his head slightly.  The boy had recognized Frederick after all.

I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me.  He may have been isolated while he was in training, but he’s bright and they’d have known about Frederick’s supposed death even in Chinasian territory.

“We can talk about that later,” Adam said in a low voice.

“I’d rather talk about it now,” Brendan said quietly.  “But I’m fully aware that this isn’t the place for it.”

Adam glanced around, then shook his head.  “It’s not.  Walk with me.”

Together, they left the cave and headed up to ground level, out into the chill sunshine of autumn.  Both men stayed silent as they walked away from the command center and down a wooded jogging trail that wended its way out toward the base’s walls.

Brendan broke the silence once it became clear that they were well and truly alone.  “How long have you been keeping his survival a secret?”

“So you recognized him.”

He nodded.  “Though not from the newsnets or anything.  It was from something I saw—or Lindsay saw—something.  Who’s seeing what is becoming harder and harder to sort out.”  He raked both hands back through his dark hair, leaving it in disarray.

A shiver shot down Adam’s spine, but he refused to let that show in his expression.

Brendan glanced at him.  “Are you going to answer my question?”

“Since he was reported dead,” Adam said.

“So it’s been a long time.”  Brendan shoved his hands into his pockets, head dipping, his eyes lost in shadows.  “Why?”

“He’s my friend and someone tried to murder him,” Adam said quietly.  “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing if it happened to Ezra.”

Brendan winced.  “I would.”

“I know.”

“So why has he resurfaced now?  Seems like a crappy time to do it.”

Adam smiled. “I don’t pretend to understand why he does everything he does, but I seem to recall his mentioning that it was a crappy time to stay out of things when he felt like he could help.”

Brendan frowned, then shook his head.  “That takes a lot of guts.”

“Yes, it does,” Adam agreed. “But I’m glad of it—for a lot of reasons.”  His gaze slanted toward Brendan.  “Not the least of which is the possibility of his intercession on your behalf and on Alana’s.”

Brendan winced again.  “Are we really in that much danger?”

“For the sake of my niece, I certainly hope not.”

“I’m not leaving her again,” Brendan said.  “I promised her.”

Adam shook his head, expression grim. “I’ll try to make sure you don’t have to.”

Unfortunately, I can’t give you a promise on that.

The look the pilot gave him told him that Brendan knew that, too—but it also promised that the day Adam Windsor asked him to leave their world again would be the day he got told exactly where he could shove his orders—right along with everything else.

The boy’s grit made Adam smile.

I made a good choice.  I made a very, very good choice.

Sometimes, it’s not about what we want to do, but about what we must do.  It is the greatest among us that realize this and take it to heart.

— Erich Quizibian, c. 5071 PD

12 Decem, 5249 PD

“You don’t have to go back to work just because Uncle Adam said he needed you, Brendan.”

He paused in buttoning his uniform jacket, head dipping for a moment before he turned to look at her.  Lindsay sat on their bed, knees drawn to her chest, chin resting on them.  She was watching him, eyes bright but fearful.  He smiled to cover the nerves they both knew he was suffering and shook his head very, very slightly.

“I don’t,” he agreed.  “But how can I not when the galaxy is about to go to war with itself again and we’re about to be—somehow—on the front line?  Those pilots we need aren’t going to train themselves, Lin.  Even if I don’t have to because Marshal Windsor asked, I have to because the Foundation needs me to.”  He went to her and kissed her gently, one thumb brushing against her cheek.  “I’ve got to do it for us, for you and the baby, so you can be safe—so we can be safe.”

Lindsay exhaled a quiet sigh, watching him for a moment before she shook her head.  “That doesn’t make it easier, Brendan.”  She turned her head to kiss his palm lightly, her eyes never leaving his face.  “Are you sure you’re actually up to it?”

He considered the question for a moment, then nodded again.  “Yeah.  I’ll just have to be careful, that’s all, and no simulators for me.  I should be all right in the classroom, though, and programming the next few simulations for the cadets shouldn’t be an issue.”

“As long as you’re sure.”

I have to be.  Brendan smiled and kissed her again.  “I am.  Now get dressed.  We’ll have breakfast in town.”

“What if I don’t want to?” she asked softly, looking up at him.

He tried to smother his disappointment.  Is she teasing, or is she serious?  “Then we don’t have to have breakfast,” he said.  “I’ll head into town myself.”  Maybe check on Alana and Ezra on my way.  Alana won’t like that, but she may appreciate it.

“Oh, Brendan.”  Lindsay sighed again and got up from her curled position on the bed.  “Don’t take it that way.  I’d love to have breakfast with you this morning, but I just don’t want to leave the house just yet.”

“Are you still upset over D’Arcy?”  Brendan asked as he resumed dressing.

“Concerned,” she corrected.  “Not upset.  Concerned.  Aren’t you?”

“Of course.”  D’Arcy’s sudden change of heart over Rachel becoming the new Speaker had left more than a few of them rattled in the wake of the Council meeting.  “I don’t know what kind of game he’s playing, but he’s got something up his sleeve.”

“And we won’t know what it is until it hits us on the blind side,” Lindsay said quietly, massaging her temples.  “Unless we somehow get lucky and figure it out before it’s too late.”

“We can only hope.”

Lindsay’s arms slid around his waist as he finished with his jacket.  She adjusted his lapels and his few service decorations.  “Yeah,” she said as she reached up to cup his cheek against her palm.  “Brendan, tell me somehow everything’s going to be okay.”

He smiled at her and brushed some hair back from her face.  “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.  “We’ll find a way to make it that way.”

She nodded slowly, giving him a weak smile.  “Thanks,” she said in a whisper.  “When you say it, I can believe it.”

“Good.”  He kissed her again, then exhaled.  “All right.  I’ve got to get going.  Are you going to be okay while I’m out?”

“As long as you’re okay at the base,” she said.  “I’ll probably go over to Aunt Rachel’s later, try to sort out what the hell D’Arcy’s up to.  I think Frederick’s making it his mission to sort all of that out.”

Frederick.  Brendan shook his head.  “I still almost can’t get over that.  Frederick Rose has been alive all these years—here, hiding.”

“I didn’t know, either,” Lindsay said.  “Even Aunt Rachel didn’t know.  Just the Marshals, I guess, and Ezra.”

Still, Ezra knew and we didn’t somehow find out?  That’s still vaguely mind-blowing.  “Hopefully that’s some kind of advantage to us,” he said.  Even he’d heard of Frederick Rose, even when he was still training.  He hadn’t known what to make of the man then and he was only slightly more certain of what to think now.

“That’s my hope, at least,” Lindsay said quietly, leaning into Brendan’s chest.  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders.  “Daddy and Mom seemed really happy that he was still around.  He was happy to meet me, too, which…I don’t know what to think about it.”

“Then it’s not worth worrying about right now,” Brendan said.  He kissed her temple and stepped back.  “Now I’ve really got to get going if I want to eat anything before I get to teaching.”

Lindsay gave him a lopsided smile.  “I guess I can let you.  I’ll be here when you get home, okay?”

“Good.”  He gave her one last kiss before he headed for the door.  “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“I’ll be here.”

He didn’t dare look back as he walked out the door because he knew that the tears she’d been trying to hold back had finally broken through the dam.  If he looked back, he wouldn’t be able to leave, to get back to work.

Neither of them—nor their world—could afford that right now.

•           •           •

“Commander Cho?”

Brendan glanced up from gathering his notes and smiled at the familiar face.  “Tomasi.  Congratulations on your promotion to ensign.”

The teenager flushed, her faint freckles vanishing under the pink.  “Thank you, sir.  I understand that I have you to thank for the recommendation.”

“It was my pleasure to pen that letter,” Brendan said.  “You’re talented and you deserve every opportunity to develop those talents.”

“Marshal Windsor does seem fairly adept at tactics,” she said as she edged a little closer.  “I’ll probably learn a lot, but it’s different from flying.”

He nodded slightly.  “Of course it is.  Nothing’s quite like flying.  Take advantage of what you can learn from the Marshal, though.  It’ll serve you well.”  In some ways, I wish I’d been able to learn more from his experiences over the years.  Maybe if he and Rachel had stayed together…

…then again, if they’d stayed together, I’m not sure I’d still be breathing.

“That’s actually why I’m here,” she said, scuffing a toe nervously against the floor.  “The Marshal needs you.  He sent me to come get you, since you weren’t answering your comm.”

“I left it at home,” Brendan said.  “An oversight.  Is it an emergency?”

“No,” she said.  “At least I don’t think it is.  But he did say that I should yank you out of class if I needed to.”

Brendan smiled grimly.  Not an emergency, but important.  “Is he at headquarters?”

“He’s in operations,” Tomasi said.

Operations was at the other end of the base—a long walk, but not an insurmountable one.  Brendan nodded slowly.  “All right.  Let’s get going.”

“I have a skimmer waiting,” Tomasi said.  “If you’ll come with me, sir?”

“Lead on.”

Together, they headed out to the small skimmer that waited outside of the training center.  A few cadets waved to either he or Tomasi on the way.  Brendan gave a few of his colleagues brief nods, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks against the chill that was starting to settle over the base.

Tomasi noticed and smiled faintly.  “A cold front’s coming through.  My father was complaining about his arthritis this morning.”

“He does realize that we can fix that these days, right?”

Her smile grew as she opened the skimmer door for him.  “Of course he does.  He just doesn’t see a point in wasting the resources to fix something he can easily treat with really strong willowbark tea.”  As he got settled in the passenger seat, she slid in on the driver’s side and got them underway.  “He’s old school like that, I guess.”

“Very much so,” Brendan said.  “Is he from here, or is he the side of your family that’s Guard stock?”

“Both of my parents are, actually.”  Tomasi steered them around a group of technicians on their way to their duty posts and threaded through a pair of machine shops on her way across base.  “My mother’s been here since she was a kid.  My father came after the war.  He was actually part of Commander Channing’s resistance on Mimir after the fall.  He’s…kind of looking forward to seeing him again.  It’s been a long time.”

Brendan smiled faintly.  “I’ll try to arrange something for him, if you’d like.”

“Marshal Windsor already offered,” Tomasi said, smiling back.  “I think they’re trying to organize something for all the survivors of the resistance that made it here.”

“I see.”

They lapsed into silence until they drew closer to operations, at which point Brendan wet his lips and glanced toward her.

“Do you know what he needed me for?”

“No, sir,” Tomasi said.  “If I knew, I’d tell you, but I don’t know.”

That could be very good or very, very bad.  Brendan swallowed the bile suddenly rising in his throat.  Why the hell does my gut tell me it’s very bad?

Because you’re becoming more and more paranoid every minute of every day, that’s why.

Tomasi pulled the skimmer to a stop in front of the operations building.  “I have to get this back to the motor pool,” she said.  “You should head in.  Marshal was down in the cave when he sent me to get you.”

The cave.  Fantastic.  The cave was the colloquialism they used when they were talking about the master control center, two floors below ground level.  If Adam Windsor was down there…

You won’t know until you head down there and find out.

Brendan took a deep breath, climbed out of the skimmer, and headed into the lion’s den.