That, ladies and gentlemen, is a man playing a dangerous, dangerous game.  Pray you figure out what the game is before everything comes to fruition.

— Ambassador Alexander Channing, Psychean Guard, c. 5205

 10 Decem, 5249 PD

             “Watch Morgause.” Adam leaned back to murmur the words to Frederick as his friend leaned forward to catch them.  “I don’t think that he knows for certain what’s coming, but I’m thinking he certainly suspects it.”

Frederick’s lips quirked into a brief smile as his gaze flicked toward the slender, dark-haired D’Arcy Morgause.  The Council’s spymaster was deep in whispered conversation with one of his aides, a black-haired woman of maybe thirty years old.  There was a knowing smirk on the woman’s face as she listened to D’Arcy, then leaned into his ear to whisper something.

Frederick looked away, back to Adam.  “He’s already plotting something,” he said to his friend.  “I can tell.”

“We can all tell,” Adam said, eyes narrowing.  “It’s just a question of what he’s up to this time.”

“No good,” Frederick suggested, trying to smother a grin.  “And your niece and her husband are on the watch for shenanigans.”

Adam blinked, twisting to look at Frederick.  “What?”

“That’s what they said, if I’m reading their lips right.”

“Frederick, stop reading their lips and start reading D’Arcy’s.”

“Angle’s bad.  I can’t see what he’s saying.”  Frederick leaned back, glancing toward Rachel, seated in her own seat not far away.  “She’s nervous.”

“Who is?”

“Rachel.”

Adam followed his gaze and then sighed softly.  “I don’t blame her.  I would be, too.”

Frederick smiled faintly.  “She’ll be fine.”  All of it will be.  This is what she was born for—what she was made for.  She just doesn’t know it yet.

“The Council will come to order, please.”  Sergei’s voice rang from the Speaker’s chair, possibly for the last time.  “I will have order in this chamber.”

The hum of voices died away in response to his voice, eyes turning toward the Speaker.  Adam’s hands curled into fists as he watched the older man’s face.  Frederick patted his shoulder gently.

Steady, old friend.  All will be well.  His gaze flicked toward Lindsay, who was still watching Morgause, not the Speaker.  I’m certain of it.  Your niece would be the first to sound the alarm if something were about to go utterly sideways.

Sergei Petremoore waited two long moments before he gave a firm nod to the assembled.  “There has been quite a bit of speculation over the past two days regarding why this meeting was called.  Some of it was correct and some of it was wholly wrong.  I am going to put all the rumors to rest right now, this very moment.

“I am retiring from my post as Speaker in two weeks’ time.  That should be more than enough time to bring my successor up to speed.”

The Council exploded into whispers and shouts—most of the outcry coming from D’Arcy Morgause, who shot to his feet, his face pale with a strange mix of fear and anger.  “Speaker, we’re going to war.  You cannot step down now.”

“I can and I am,” the Speaker said evenly, his voice carrying over the din.  The room quieted after a moment, though the whispers didn’t die completely.  Sergei’s eyes smoldered as he met D’Arcy’s gaze.  “War is a young man’s game and I know that I am no longer young.  It’s up to others to defend this world and our mission against those who would destroy us.”

Morgause’s hands clenched as he saw the Speaker’s gaze momentarily flick toward Rachel Farragut.  The spymaster swallowed hard and said in a tight, soft voice, “You’d hand the reins of the Foundation over to the Guard.”

“There is no Guard anymore,” Frederick said, surprising even himself as the words escaped his lips.  “There are only the scattered survivors.  This is our home now—the colony is our home now.  Our loyalty is to nothing else.”

Morgause’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Frederick, something dangerous and calculating flickering through their depths.  His lips thinned as he turned back toward the Speaker, ignoring the rest of the Council, stunned into silence.  “Do you believe them when they say it?” he asked softly.  “Do you believe them?”

The Speaker stared right back at him, his gaze tired and sad.  He nodded slowly.  “I do, D’Arcy.  I believe the truth when I hear it spoken.”

“Your ability to hear it must be somehow broken,” Morgause muttered, eyes narrowing.

The Speaker gave him a long, hard look.  He looked as if he might say something, but Amelda cleared her throat quietly.

“Do you have a successor in mind, Speaker?” she asked softly, chidingly.  Effortlessly, she defused the situation—at least for the moment.

Frederick smothered a smile.  She’d be his successor if she was a few years younger, I suspect—or if he dreamed she’d say yes.

“I do,” the Speaker said quietly, straightening and tearing his attention away from D’Arcy.  “My choice for my successor is Rachel Farragut.”

D’Arcy’s hands slammed down hard against the tabletop.  The Speaker looked at him sharply again.

“An interesting choice,” Arigato Daichi steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his chair, dark eyes half-lidding.  “Not an entirely unexpected choice, but an interesting one nonetheless.  I will second the nomination.”

Frederick smothered a smile at the surprise that flickered through a half-dozen expressions and kept watching D’Arcy Morgause.

Brendan was watching the spymaster, too, worry in his eyes.

That’s a worry born of knowing, Frederick thought, brows knitting for a brief moment.  That can’t be good.

D’Arcy’s expression was dark but controlled, rage smoldering in his eyes, only half-cloaked by an air of civility.

He’s angry, Frederick thought, pursing his lips briefly and crossing his arms.  But how angry?  Angry enough for what?  To betray his own, I wonder?

This one bears a great deal of watching.  There was something about D’Arcy that reminded him of the past, of the old days when he was still with the Inspector General’s office.  I wish I could put my finger on what about him is tripping that synapse in my brain, though.  It could bloody well be important.

“I third,” Kara Grace said after a moment, sitting forward in her seat and swallowing hard.  “If the Council wishes, we can carry it to a vote.”

“Not so fast,” D’Arcy said carefully.  His words were measured, his tone far calmer than the storm in his eyes.  “If I recall correctly, there is room for a challenger.”

Sergei’s eyes narrowed slightly.  “There is,” he agreed.  “Are you putting yourself forward, then, D’Arcy?”

“I fear I must,” the spymaster said.  “Since there is no one else in this Council that will raise their voice against the growing influence of the Guard refugees on this Council, it falls to me to be the voice of those of us whose legacies stretch back to the foundations of the colony.”

Stunned silence met his words.  The members of the Council looked at each other, no one daring to speak.

Then, Rachel stood up, shaking slightly, jaw set and eyes smoldering dangerously.  “D’Arcy, I know that you’re not suggesting that there is some kind of conspiracy going on here.  I know you’re not suggesting that I have some kind of nefarious agenda up my sleeve.”

“Not you,” D’Arcy said, his voice soft.  “But perhaps your fellow refugees do.”

Interesting.  So that’s his game.  Frederick tapped a fingertip against his lips, leaning forward slightly.  Sow the seeds of mistrust in the Council and hope that they spread.  When Rachel is still elected to the Speaker’s chair, he’ll be able to leverage his conspiracy theory.  Her election puts him into a strange position of strength among those who might believe that there really is some kind of plot afoot.

Then again, Rachel has an advantage that I doubt he’s taken into consideration, as bright as he may be.

“I don’t answer to the refugees,” Rachel said.  “I answer to everyone here—everyone who’s thrown in their lot with the Foundation.  The Foundation, I might remind you, founded by Sarah Farragut.”  Her lips thinned, eyes aflame.  “Contrary to what you may or may not believe, D’Arcy, Ian Farragut’s blood runs through my veins same as it does anyone who’s been here longer that can claim the same descent as I.”  She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly before she plunged on.  “This world is the only hope humanity has left.  We know that now—all of us do.  This council cannot stand divided in the face of the threats that are out there, ready to destroy us at the first opportunity.  This world, the Foundation, humanity as a race—none of us can afford that.  This world cannot be allowed to fall and this council being horribly divided by lies and supposition is nigh unto treason.  We would become our own worst enemy.

“I will not allow that to happen.  Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.  Count on it.”

Frederick smiled.  Bravo, Squeaks.  Bravo.

Rachel stared at D’Arcy, a challenge in her eyes, as if she was daring him to speak.

The spymaster met her stare for one long moment.

Then, he sank down into his chair, lips pressed tightly together.

“I withdraw my nomination,” D’Arcy said quietly.  “You have my vote, Farragut.  Do not make me regret giving it to you.”

Red skies at morning, sailor take warning…

— ancient mariner’s proverb

 10 Decem, 5249 PD

             She could feel the low hum of tension and hear the faint buzz of thoughts that weren’t hers, a buzz she tried to force out of her mind.  The Council was on edge.

Of course they’re on edge.  Why wouldn’t they be on edge?  There’s a war brewing and I’m sure half of them know that the Speaker’s stepping down today.  The other half have no idea why we’re having this meeting but they know that it can’t be good.

Lindsay closed her eyes for a moment and sucked in a deep breath.  How much worse is it going to be when everyone finally gets here?  This isn’t even the whole of the Council yet.  Brendan squeezed her hand.

“Steady,” he murmured in her ear, his breath tickling it.  “I’m right here.”

Thank heavens.  She nodded slightly and squeezed his hand back, tugging him with her toward her seat.  A few of the other figures in the room looked at them askance, though not nearly as many as she might have expected.  Brendan squeezed her hand again.

“They’re not looking as surprised as I’d expected,” he murmured as he sank into the chair that sat just behind hers and slightly to the right—her aide’s chair, most recently occupied by Frederick Rose.

“What, because you’re here?”  Lindsay’s nose wrinkled as she sank into her chair.  “Bastard D’Arcy outed us.  It was only a matter of time before he decided to take offense, of course, but he picked the worst possible time to do it.”  She sat sideways in the chair so she could look at him, wrapping one arm around the back of her chair.  “He was trying to undermine my position.  It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Brendan said, his eyes narrowing slightly.  “It might have a lot more to do with me than either of us want to think about.”

Lindsay shook her head.  “It didn’t.  I’m sure of it.”  Of sure of it as I can get when it comes to D’Arcy, anyway.  He’s up to something, but I don’t think it’s some kind of vendetta against Brendan.  There’s something else going on that he doesn’t want uncovered.

“Well, it seems he is alive.  Rumors of your demise have apparently been greatly exaggerated, Commander Cho.”

Lindsay smothered a smile as she turned toward the sound of her uncle’s voice and Brendan answered.

“Seems so, even if I still feel like death warmed over.  When would you like me back at work, sir?”

Adam shook his head.  “Not until Dr. Grace clears you, which I’m thinking will be another week or so.  If you want to program some more simulations during your continued downtime, however, I don’t think any of us would argue with you about it too much.”  He smiled wryly and inclined his head toward the figure lurking in his shadow.  “Introductions will have to wait until later, I’m afraid.  Wouldn’t want to cause an uproar.”

She could see Brendan’s brows knit out of the corner of her eye and she reached back to squeeze his knee.  “Of course not, Uncle.  You can introduce your aide at the house after the meeting.  We’d love to come over.”

“Your aunt was hoping so.”  Adam smiled at them both and gave Brendan a firm nod.  “We’ll talk about your new array of duties, too, when you’re feeling up to it.”

New array of…?  Lindsay smothered a frown and glanced back at Brendan, who looked as surprised as she felt, but there was a tightening around his eyes that implied he suspected he might not like all of what Adam had in store for him.

“Maybe tonight, sir.  Thank you for the heads-up.”

Adam nodded and he and Frederick walked away, across the chamber to Adam’s seat with the other Marshals.  Daci glanced at Frederick as the pair joined she and Aiden, the ghost of a tremulous smile crossing her lips.

Lindsay smothered her own smile.   I guess she’s getting used to the idea of Frederick rejoining the world.  I just hope that we’ll be able to pull this off in a way that prevents us from having to continually save his life from assassins and crap like that.

Brendan leaned forward.  “Lin…I’ve seen him before.  I saw you knock him down when I had those visions after I touched Rachel.”

She nodded slightly, looking at him, their noses almost touching.  “I’ll explain who he is later.  This…really isn’t the place.”

Brendan’s brows knit, but he nodded slightly.  “All right,” he murmured.  “I can handle that.”  A shiver went through him and he took her hand again, squeezing tightly.  His chair scraped against the stone floor as he eased it nearer to hers, further forward.  “I’m not liking the feeling I’m getting right now, though.  Regardless of what’s about to happen in here, everything still feels wrong.”

“Feels wrong?”

“That’s what I said.”

She frowned, looking away from him and at the Council.  She could feel the tension, almost taste it, but there was nothing that struck her as truly wrong.  “I don’t—”

“It’s okay,” he said quietly.  “I’m probably just paranoid.  It’s been a long time since I was at a Council meeting.”

The last was before you left, when the plans were made and you got roped into all of it.  She squeezed his hand again.  “This won’t be so bad,” she whispered.  “Just watch D’Arcy.  That’s all we need to do—watch D’Arcy.”

“For what?”  Brendan asked, traces of his rueful smile leaking into his voice.  “Shenanigans?”

She looked at him in shock, choking back laughter.  “Who the hell taught you that word?”

“Your uncle,” he said, smiling.  “Is that what we’re watching D’Arcy for?”

“Absolutely,” she said.  “We’re watching for shenanigans.”

•           •           •

“Stand by to drop out of jump in ten…nine…”

“Is this your first trip this far out, Inspector?”

Everyone keeps asking that question.  Is it somehow obvious?  Tim nodded, eyes not moving from the tactical displays on the hauler’s bridge.  “It is.  Not many Inspectors end up out on the Rim or the Fringe, let alone at the edge of the Reaches.”

“Well, brace yourself.  Even dead, the Whispers is a sight to behold.”

Cold shot through him, but Timrel managed to smile at the hauler’s captain.  “Of course, sir.”

He knew why the captain said it, of course.  The system was a longtime home for the Wanderers, a binary system with one star near and one flung far, far out, just near enough to cause a wobble in the orbits of a few of the worlds and to be a navigation hazard.  The second planet in the system had been the world that had taken the name of the system—or perhaps given the system its name—and had once been home to millions of Wanderers at any given time, whether they were stopping there on pilgrimage to the Weeping Caverns, Starlight Falls, or any of the other half-dozen sacred sites on the world.

Now they were all gone, blasted to bedrock.  The planet, according to reports, was nothing more than tomb.

His lips thinned as he concentrated on the tactical display.  They weren’t expecting any threats, but it never hurt to be vigilant.

The whole ship shuddered as they dropped back into realspace.  The tactical screens went bright white for the barest moment and Tim reeled back with a curse, dazzled for a few seconds before he shook his head and returned his attention to the display.  The sound of tiny bits of debris against the hull echoed through the ship.

“Tac clear?” the captain asked.

Tim swallowed twice, scanning over his boards.  “Tac is—”  What the hell is that?  “Wait one, Captain.  I think there’s something out there.”

The captain jerked around to face him, brow furrowing.  “There shouldn’t be anything out there.”

“I know there shouldn’t be, but there is.”  Tim peered closer.  “Bigger than us, but they’re running scramblers.  I don’t know what its designation is.”

“Has it seen us?”  The captain glanced toward the communications officer.  “Are they hailing us?”

“They’re maintaining their course,” Tim said.

“No chatter on standard frequencies,” the communications officer said.  “But I am picking up some tight-beam transmissions back to New Earth space.”

The captain scowled.  “I don’t like this.  Marcias, come about.  Let’s jump out of here.”

“Where are we headed, sir?”

“Eridani Trelasia,” the captain said.  “And step on it.”

“Shouldn’t we find out who’s here before we bolt?”  Tim asked, turning away from the tactical displays.

“We’re a hauler, not a warship, Inspector.”  The captain’s eyes narrowed.  “You’ll have forty-eight hours to figure out who’s giving the orders to that ship out there before we drop you off at E-557.  After that, as long as we don’t get blown out of the sky, you—and it—are no longer my problem.”

 There are moments in which the world changes—and then there are moments when the world only begins to change.  That moment when things begin to change is often more important than the moments of instant change.

— Willow McLeod, Death of Lies

10 Decem, 5249 PD

“You’re going to the Council meeting,” Brendan rasped.  “And I’m going to go with you.”

Lindsay froze in the middle of getting dressed and slowly turned toward her husband.  He sat swaying on the edge of the bed, dark eyes meeting hers as she turned.

“No, Brendan,” she whispered.  “I’m not going to the Council meeting.”

“Your aunt is going to need your support, Lin.”  Brendan grunted quietly as he heaved himself up off the bed and to his feet.  Somehow, standing, he seemed less unsteady than he had a moment before.  “Especially if the Speaker’s stepping down and intending to make her his successor.”

“She has more than enough support without my vote,” Lindsay said.  Brendan came to her and slid his arms around her.

“She needs you to be there, Lin.  The Council’s going to take it like some kind of omen if you’re not there.”

“The Council won’t care.”

“All right, fine.”  He let go and stepped away, moving with careful, measured steps to the closet to find some clothes.  “When word starts to leak out that you weren’t there for this meeting, people will start to take it as some kind of omen.”  He jerked open the closet door and began to rummage for something clean.  “You need to be there, Lin, whether you want to go or not.  I’m going to come with you.”

“You can barely stand up,” she protested weakly, eyes starting to sting as she watched him.  Stubborn.  So damned stubborn.

“I’m standing fine,” he growled.  “And you’re stubborn, too.”

She made a weak sound in the back of her throat.  “Brendan, I—”

“I know you didn’t say it.”  His shoulders slumped, then straightened as he took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.  “But I heard it anyway.”

“What’s happening to us?”  Lindsay asked in a bare whisper.  “Dammit, Brendan, what’s happening to us?”

He pulled one of his more formal duty uniforms out of the closet and shook the wrinkles and dust from it.  “Does it really matter?  I don’t think we can stop it.  I’m not sure I would want to if I could.”

“Brendan—”

The pain in his eyes as he turned toward her made her stop and swallow.

“Is it really that awful?” he whispered.  “Hearing thoughts like this…that doesn’t usually happen until forty, fifty years into a Bond.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“I know it’s not.”  He sighed and tossed the uniform on the bed.  He came back to her and rested his hands lightly on her shoulders.  “Lin, whatever I saw last night—whatever I saw before when I was out rescuing your parents—it doesn’t matter where it came from.  It doesn’t matter what’s happening.  It doesn’t change anything between you and I.”  He hesitated a moment, then added, “Does it?”

Her jaw trembled and she shook her head hard, putting her arms around his shoulders.  “No,” she said softly.  “No, it doesn’t.  Not at all.”

Brendan drew her into a tight hug, resting his cheek against her temple.  “Good,” he whispered into her hair.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, then winced.  Why did I just…?

He stiffened in her arms and straightened, looking down at her in blinking surprise.  “You are?  When did—how—?”

“I’ve known for a few weeks,” she said.  “Dr. V knows, and Kara knows.  I haven’t told anyone else.  Kara guessed.”  She caught her lower lip between her teeth.  “What does all of this mean, Brendan?  Why is everything happening now?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist.  “What I do know is that I’m not leaving your side until we make it through all of it.”

A bitter laugh escaped her even as she leaned into his chest to listen to the comforting thump of his heartbeat.  “Uncle Adam needs you to fight—or at the very least train a new crop of pilots to fight.  I need to…to…to do a lot of things, I guess.”

He rested his chin against the top of her head.  “All right, fine.  I’m not leaving this planet again, not without you.  How’s that?”

“More realistic,” she said.  “Hopefully a promise we can keep.”

She felt him wince and heard him sigh.  “Right.”  He drew back and tucked a knuckle under her chin, lifting her face to his.  “I guess we’ll just have to find a way to make that happen, huh?”

“Absolutely,” she whispered, then gave him a bare smile.  “We’ll find a way.”

He nodded, arms sliding around her again and squeezing tightly before he released her.  “Good.  Now that we’ve got that settled…we have a Council meeting today.”

“I still don’t want to go.”

Brendan smiled wryly.  “And I’m still not going to give you a choice.  Get dressed.  We’re going.”

“You’re going in uniform?”

“If I wore something else, I’m thinking that people might give me a few strange looks.”  He stripped off his shirt and half turned toward her, brows knitting.  “Half the Council already knows what we are to each other.”

“More like the whole Council.”

“Then it doesn’t matter, does it?  I’m going to be there with you, like I’m meant to be.  No arguments.”

“I think some of Alana’s stubbornness rubbed off on you,” Lindsay said with a sigh.

Brendan grinned.  “Entirely possible.  Come on.  I’d like to be able to stop for something to eat on the way in.  That way neither of us needs to cook.”

That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.  “All right,” she said.  “You’ve got yourself a deal.”  She dug a sweater out of a drawer, watching him as he started to pull on his uniform.  “But don’t start thinking that I’m going to be letting you win all the time for much longer.”

He grinned again, shaking his head.  “I’m not going to count on anything.  I promise.”

The galaxy is full of mysteries—some of which we never want to solve.

— Erich Quizibian

 9 Decem, 5249 PD

             Lindsay darted forward as Brendan crumbled like a sand castle undermined by the tides.  His eyes rolled up into his skull as he went down without a sound.  She and Rachel caught him just before he hit the floor.

As her arms wrapped around him, the force of his terror and the visions hit her with the force of an uncontrolled atmospheric reentry.

…Rachel pointing a gun at the back of someone’s head, someone whose face they couldn’t see…

            …Lindsay tackling Frederick Rose to the ground as gunfire rang out somewhere not far in the distance…

            …Marshal Rose herding pack of frightened men and women—most of them terribly, terribly young—into a shuttle, wincing as explosions begin to rip a space station apart…

            …nose of a fighter angling down, the water coming up fast and at a steep angle, fear bubbling up in his belly…

She gasped out his name, eyes tearing as her arms tightened around him, even as Ezra tugged at her shoulder.

“Lin, let go.  Let go!  Your noses are bleeding.”

She could taste it, the blood in her mouth, dripping down onto her upper lip.  She sucked in a ragged breath and looked up at Ezra through watering eyes.

“What’s happening?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly as he gently disengaged her arms from around Brendan.  Rachel had a solid grip on him and held Brendan as his eyes moved under tightly closed lids.  His breathing was quick, but easy.

Lindsay’s hands curled into fists as she rocked back and away from him.  Is that what I look like when this happens to me?

Why is it happening to him?  This doesn’t make any sense.  He never…really had this talent before.  It was me.  Her gaze drifted toward her aunt.

“What’s going on?” she asked quietly, meeting Rachel’s gaze only for a brief instant before her aunt looked away.  Lindsay’s jaw tightened.  “Aunt Rachel?”

“Not now,” Rachel said, her voice tight.  “Clean yourself up, Lindsay.  I have to help Ezra.”  Her eyes flicked toward Alana.  “Stay with her.”

Alana, standing next to the kitchen table, nodded slowly.  “Of course.”

“But I—”

Ezra made eye contact with her and shook his head slightly.  “We’re going to put him to bed.  I’m sure it’s nothing.  Stay here.”

Her stomach twisted back on itself.  If it’s nothing, why are you telling me to stay here?  She swallowed against the knot in her throat and fumbled her way to a chair, snagging a napkin off the table and balling it up against her nose.  Alana touched her shoulder as Ezra and Rachel took Brendan back to the bedroom hanging limp between them.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.  “What just happened?”

Alana grimaced and sank into the chair next to her.  “I’m not sure, either, but unless I miss my guess, he just had a dozen visions and it was you catching the end of all of that for a change rather than the other way around.”  She reached over, her good hand covering both of Lindsay’s.  “I’m sure he’s fine.  Just a shock.”

“Yeah.  Sure.”  Lindsay squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the bright playback of what she’d seen when her arms had closed around him.  Why Brendan?  And why now—why when he touched Aunt Rachel?  She swallowed hard.  “Something’s happening—something’s happened.  I’ve got no idea what it is, but something’s going on and it’s big.”

“Maybe that’s why your aunt’s here.”

“Oh, I have zero doubt it is.  I just wonder what happened.”  What couldn’t wait?  She knew that we were having Ezra and Alana over tonight…it must be important, whatever it is.  “She wouldn’t come over if it wasn’t important and couldn’t wait.”  Lindsay stood from her chair abruptly and started for the doorway into the rest of the house.  Alana shot to her feet and grasped her arm.

“No,” she said simply.  “Let them do what they need to do.  Sit down.”

“He needs me,” Lindsay said.

“No.  You need him.”

“We need each other,” Lindsay corrected, then jerked her arm from Alana’s grasp.  “I’m going to him.”

“Let him rest, Lindsay.”  Rachel was suddenly there in the doorway, looking vaguely guilty as she met her niece’s eyes.  “He needs it—he’ll need all of it he can get.”

Lindsay fell back a step, swallowing back the bile suddenly rising in the back of her throat.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rachel slid past her and slumped into a chair at the table.  “The Council meets tomorrow.”

“We weren’t supposed to meet until next week.”  Her heart thudded painfully against her breastbone as she made her way over to the table and reclaimed her seat.  “What’s going on?”  Is this about what ‘lana just told us?  About what Chinasia and the Compact are saying—are doing?

Rachel sighed.  “It’s Sergei.  He’s stepping down.”

“Sergei?  The Speaker’s stepping down?  Now?”  Now?  Why now?

She nodded.  “He told me a couple of days ago.  I guess that with everything that’s happening, he decided the sooner it all happened, the better.”

“There’s something you’re not saying,” Lindsay said after staring at her for a moment.  “It’s what I think it is, isn’t it?  He’s asked you to succeed him?”

Rachel nodded, gaze distant for a moment.  “Though that’s suddenly seeming less and less important.”

“I don’t understand.”

Alana snorted.  “It won’t take much for you to in that election, Rachel.”

She shook her head.  “I’m not worried about it.  I’m worried about doing the job, not winning it.”  She studied her niece for another long moment.  “There’s something else that’s got me worried, now, something that hasn’t been seen since Farragut and LeSarte.”

Lindsay wanted nothing more than to go curl up in bed with Brendan and not come out again for a few days, especially as she watched her aunt’s face.  There was something painful and guarded in Rachel’s expression, something that left her stomach unsettled and shot shivers up and down her spine.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she whispered.

“There were always theories,” Rachel said slowly, “about why Sarah Farragut didn’t display any psychic talent before she met Ryland LeSarte.  You’ve read the histories about them.”

Lindsay shook her head slowly.  “Being around him probably just make her aware of talents that she hadn’t tapped before.”

“It could be that,” Rachel agreed quietly.  “But LeSarte was well on the path to severe neurological damage—burning his brains out—when they started to become close.  There are medical records that show his issues began to ease almost as soon as he and Farragut were Bonded.”

“I don’t like where you’re going with this.”  She felt sick, her stomach out of control.  All thoughts of eating dinner had completely evaporated.  Now she just wanted to keep breakfast inside of her body.  Alana’s hand closed on her shoulder and Lindsay sucked in a breath.

Hang in there.  Hang in there.  You can do this.  Lindsay squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

“It may be happening again with you and Brendan,” Rachel whispered.

“Stop,” Lindsay whispered.  “I don’t want to know.”

“But you have to,” Rachel said.

“No.  No, I don’t.”  You suspected already.  But no one else has said it—the only one who’s ever come close is Kara, and that was enough.  “Let me have this, Aunt Rachel.

“Let me have my denial just a little bit longer.  Let me believe it’s not true, that it’s still just a theory.  Let me believe that I haven’t condemned him to the same life I’m living with this gift.”

“He’s sharing a burden.”

“We’re shouldering a curse together,” Lindsay whispered.  “And that’s all there is to it.”

She came to her feet and fled the kitchen, not certain she ever wanted to show her face outside the house ever again.

Lindsay straightened and Brendan glanced toward the door at the sound of knuckles against the wood.

“That’ll be them,” Brendan murmured, then leaned back in his chair with a quiet but heartfelt sigh.  Lindsay smiled down at him and kissed his cheek.

“Probably.”  She headed for the door as he reached for his tolerably hot mug of tea.  She swung the red wood door open and let the pair inside with a wry smile.

Ezra glanced between them with a brow arched quizzically.  “Were we interrupting?”

“Only a little,” Lindsay said.  “Come in.  How’s your arm, Alana?”

The former soldier gave her cousin a narrow-eyed look, glancing down at her sling and then back to Lindsay.  “A mess, but getting better,” Alana said after a moment.  “Rachel was right, I should have had it done a long time ago.  The waiting only made everything worse.”  She slumped into an empty chair at the table, wincing slightly as her arm bumped against the edge of the table.  Brendan lifted a brow slightly at the way Ezra’s hand grazed Alana’s upper back as he passed on his way to the kettle.

Guess you don’t actually believe something’s happening until you see it for yourself.  He glanced at Ezra, his gaze still holding a question.

Ezra just looked back at him, snorted softly, then poured two mugs of tea.

“Disbelief doesn’t become you, Cho,” Alana said.

“It’s not disbelief.  It’s wonderment.”  Brendan turned to her, cradling his mug between his palms.  “When did this happen?”

“My arm?  Almost as soon as we got back.”

“Not that.”

Lindsay let out an exasperated sigh.  “Brendan!”

Alana snorted.  “Let him be, Lindsay.  I know what he’s asking and the answer’s the same.”

“How many—”

“People know?”  Alana smiled a tiny, faint smile. “Only the families.  No one else quite gives a damn, I think.”

“Now that’s not true,” Ezra said as he brought the mugs over to the table, setting one down in front of her.  “Folks care.”

She made a soft noise.  “D’Arcy Morguase doesn’t count.  He’ll just use us against each other.  All the women in the Commonwealth who were hoping to somehow land the brightest doctor of the age don’t count, either.”

Ezra chuckled at that and leaned down to kiss her.  Brendan just sat and stared.

No wonder he talked about her the way he did on the run…how long ago did this actually start?  When…no.  Doesn’t matter.  Down that path lies madness anyway.

“Anything I can help with, Lindsay?”  Ezra asked as he straightened again.

“You could come stir this,” she said, pointing to a pot of sauce she’d gotten started on the stove.  She grinned at the surprised look he shot her.  “Don’t ask me if you can help if you don’t want to be put to work, Ezra.”

“Right, right.”  He joined her at the stove, smiling ruefully.  “I should know better, right?”

“Absolutely.”  Lindsay’s gaze drifted to the pair at the table for a moment and she smiled before she turned back to the stove.

Brendan shook his head slightly and winced at the pain that shot through the back of his skull.  Alana’s eyes were on him as she lifted her mug to her lips and sipped the tea slowly.

“What?” he asked.

“Just trying to figure out how to say what needs saying,” Alana said quietly, eyes momentarily distant.

He frowned.  “You’ve never had trouble saying something before.  Just spit it out.”

“Most things that I say aren’t quite this important.”  She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then sat up a little straighter.  “Chinaisa and the Compact have been saying things,” she said at last.  “That when the Foundation purportedly sent strike teams into their facilities a few weeks ago, they stole materiel.”

“Materiel,” he echoed, stomach sinking as he stared at her.  “Did they say…?”

“What kind?  No.  Absolutely not.  But I think they know that we’re more than fully aware of what they’re saying we took and they’re demanding it back.”

It was like being plunged into an ice-covered lake.  Brendan sucked in a sharp breath and felt Lindsay’s stab of alarm even before he heard the spatula in her hand clatter against the stovetop.

“Alana—”

“Ezra and I thought we should be the ones to tell you,” Alana said, looking past Brendan and toward Lindsay.  “Before anyone else did.  There’s no way to bow to their threats—no way we’re going to.”

“Materiel,” Lindsay whispered hoarsely.  “You’re human beings.”

“That’s what Ezra said, too.”  Alana shook her head. “To them, we’re cogs in the machine.  I’m sure they’d demand your parents back, too, if they thought they could get away with it.  They haven’t named what was taken because they’re trying to hide it—but they know we’re well aware of what they’re getting at.”

“But no one else is,” Ezra said, half turning from the stove.  “At least, that’s what we’re thinking.”

“Does the Council—”

“They must,” Alana said.  “I can’t imagine how they wouldn’t know.  The threats are all over the newsnets and the talking heads can’t get enough of all of it.  They’re trying to make us out as the aggressors when it comes to the death of the Whispers.”

“But we had nothing to do with that,” Lindsay said quietly.

“Of course,” Alana said.  “But that’s not what some people back in NeCom space are going to want to believe.  Then there are a whole slew of people who will use that desire to their advantage and suddenly we’ll be the villain of the tale even as the Wanderers and our other supporters scream against the storm that we weren’t responsible.  The damage will be done and we’ll have already lost.”

“We can’t let that—”

“There won’t be any letting, Lindsay.”  Alana’s expression was hard, voice cold.  “It will happen.  We will be the pariah again, just like the Psychean Guard was the terrifying boogeyman in all the back rooms of government.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Lindsay said softly.

“It might as well have been,” Alana said.  “Because that was the end result in every way that mattered.”

Lindsay began to say something, stopping as Brendan got up, his chair scraping across the slate floor.  He went to her and took her by the hands, led her back over to the table.

“Calm down,” he murmured quietly as she sat down and he crouched in front of her.  “Arguing about it isn’t going to change the reality of the situation—Chinasia and the Compact have thrown down a gauntlet.  We have to respond carefully or else the colony could be in a whole lot of trouble.”

“Trouble,” she echoed.  “When haven’t we been facing some kind of trouble?  We’ve pretended for so long that there was nothing that could hurt the colony because we were so far away from the bright center of everything, but we were only fooling ourselves, weren’t we?”

“The Marshals have done a fair job of making sure we wouldn’t be caught totally unawares,” Ezra pointed out from his position at the stove.

Alana nodded in agreement.  “That’s true.  We’re far better prepared than most pacifist worlds would be.  I imagine that part of the reason our enemies back in New Earth space are restless and casting aspersions—and starting to move—are because they see signs of us getting ready to defend ourselves.  They’re hoping they can discourage any and all sympathy and aid that we might be able to call on.”

“All because they want our resources?”  Lindsay knuckled her eyes and swore softly under her breath.  “Bloody…sometimes I think that our species deserves to go extinct.”

Brendan winced.  “Don’t say that, Lin.  Not everyone’s like that.”

“I know,” she said with a quiet sigh.  “But sometimes…”

She never finished the thought.  The sound of a knock at the door interrupted them.  Brendan straightened up from his crouch slowly, wincing again as the world slowly spun around him.

“You all right, Brendan?”  Ezra asked.

“I’m fine.  Just get a little dizzy, still.”  Brendan crossed the kitchen to the back door, swinging it wide to see Rachel standing on the stoop.  He grinned.  “Rachel.”

She smiled back.  “Hello, Brendan.  You look better.  Is Lindsay here?”

“Over here, Aunt Rachel,” she called from behind him.  “What’s the matter?”

There was a strange look on Rachel’s face, Brendan realized as he studied her.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he touched her elbow.

His world went white.

Love.  Love is what keeps us alive—all of us, from the greatest to the smallest, from the strongest to the weakest.  Without love, we are nothing and our worlds have no meaning.

— Ryland LeSarte

9 Decem, 5249 PD

“Whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful,” Brendan mumbled as he slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.

Lindsay smiled over her shoulder at him.  “Just some venison and veggies from the garden,” she said.  “I wasn’t going to wake you for a little longer yet.”

He shrugged with one shoulder and winced at the twinge of pain in his neck.  “I wasn’t really asleep.  Just laying there.  Starting to go a little stir-crazy, but I can’t stand up for more than a few minutes without getting dizzy, still.”

She abandoned the stove and came to him, running her palms across his shoulders and down his spine.  Brendan closed his eyes and exhaled quietly, the touch sending the best kind of shivers through him.  He bowed his head slightly, wincing as stretching muscles put a little stress on the still-bandaged sutures along the back of his head and neck, then exhaled quietly.

“You should tell Ezra when he comes over tonight,” she said, kissing his ear lightly.  “Make sure that’s normal.”

Brendan opened his eyes and glanced at her.  “Ezra’s coming over?”

She nodded.  “With Alana.  They’ve been pretty reclusive since he started working on her arm and I figured that maybe they could use some time out of seclusion.”

He blinked blearily at her, processing what she’d just said.  I never actually thought Alana would go through with that.  “So she didn’t change her mind?”

“She went through with it.  He’s done a lot of the work already, I guess, but they’ve been sticking close to home.  I don’t know why.  She wasn’t around when I caught up with him downtown.”

Brendan nodded slightly.  “Good,” he murmured.  “I’m…happy that she did it.”

“So am I,” Lindsay admitted, squeezing him briefly.  “Do you want something hot to drink?  I’ve got the kettle on.”

Flexing cold fingers, he nodded slightly a second time.  “Please.  And one of those giant pills Ezra left for me.”

She winced as she straightened and turned away.  “Headache?”

“The beginnings of one, anyway,” he said.  “If they’re coming for dinner, the last thing I want is to be completely laid up for the visit.”

Lindsay nodded.  “Probably not a good idea.”

They lapsed into silence as she made his tea and brought it over.  She joined him at the table with a cup of her own and wrapped a hand around one of his, squeezing tightly.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, an uncomfortable flutter taking up residence in his stomach.

“Nothing, really,” she said quietly.  “Just that things are starting to get interesting.  I…I know we talked about the Whispers.”

“Yeah.  It’s been getting worse in the big wide everything, then?”

“You could say that.”

His fingers tightened around her hand.  “Are we in danger, Lin?”

“Not yet,” she murmured.  “Probably sooner rather than later, though.”  She stared down into her mug.  “Uncle Adam’s worried.  He’s pretty keen to get you back to training pilots, at the very least, even if he can’t put you in the cockpit again yet.”

Fantastic.  That means that everything’s about to hit the fan.  Brendan massaged his forehead with his free hand, frowning.  “It’s going to be at least a few more days.”

“Days?”

If he’s concerned enough to tell her, I don’t think we can afford weeks.  “I think it’s got to be days,” he said after a moment of silence.  “We’ll find a way to do it.  I’ll find a way to do it.  If he needs me, then he needs me.”

Her hand tightened painfully.  “Brendan—”

He looked at her and she flinched, sighing quietly.

“I know what you’re going to tell me,” she said softly.  “You’re going to tell me that it’s as much for me as it is for everyone.”

“It’s not a lie,” he murmured.

“I know it’s not.  That doesn’t make it easier to take.”  She sighed, her fingers tightening one more time before she stood up.  “I need to finish dinner.”

“Do you need any—”

“Help?”  She smiled and shook her head.  “No.  Relax.  The last thing I want you doing is puking all over our floor because you’re too dizzy to keep your stomach under control.”

He managed a weak laugh and wrapped his hands around his mug, staring into its depths.  “Sure.  Guess you’re right.  I just don’t like feeling useless.”

“You’re not,” Lindsay said quietly.  “You’ve got no idea how hard it was, being here without you.  I was terrified I was going to lose you.”

He pushed himself up from the table and went to her, ignoring sudden double-vision and the way his stomach lurched.  Both vanished as he put his arms around her.  “Never,” he breathed as he buried his face in her hair.  “Never.”

•           •           •

“Stop trying to move it, ‘lana,” Ezra growled, glaring at her as he fumbled with the sling’s straps.  “Every time you move, it pulls something out of alignment and I’ve got to start over.  Just makes this whole process longer.”

And more annoying.  “If you stopped hurting me, I’d stop moving,” Alana retorted, glaring right back at him.  The concern and frustration in his eyes took her heart out of it, though, left her feeling vaguely guilty for snapping.

I shouldn’t take this out on him—no matter how much it hurts.

Ezra shook his head.  “You’re a terrible patient.”

“I did try to warn you.”  She held still long enough this time for him to get the sling in place.  They’d underestimated how atrophied her bones and muscles would be when he’d started working on her arm.  Hairline fractures in her forearm and wrist bones had her in the sling and a cast now—the former more to prevent further injury to her reconstructed limb and the latter to keep everything in alignment while it healed.

It was clunky and awkward and she hated it.

But it’ll help me be normal.  That’s what I want.  Not the old normal.  Actual normal.

            Live my life without constantly being reminded of my past kind of normal.

Ezra kissed her neck and she sighed quietly, glancing at him.  His brows knit.

“We don’t have to—”

“Yeah we do,” she said.  “We told her we were coming.  She’s rolling Brendan out of bed for it.  You’ve been looking forward to this all day and I…” she sighed again.  “I should be the one to tell them what the newsnets are saying before someone else does.”

He winced and slid his arms around her, holding on for a few moments and resting his chin against her white-blonde hair.  “You’re right,” he said quietly.  “Better we tell them than someone else does.”

“I just hope one of the Marshals hasn’t said something yet,” Alana murmured, closing her eyes and leaning again him for just one extra moment longer than she should have.  Ezra’s arms tightened and she exhaled softly.  “I’d rather deal with the fallout myself than make Lindsay deal with it alone.”

Ezra frowned.  “Do you really think it’ll be that bad?”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” she said.  “None whatsoever.  Look at how you reacted.”

He winced again.  “Right.  Well, then I guess it’s best it’s us, then.”

“Absolutely,” Alana said.  She sucked in a breath, then got up.  “Come on.  Shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

“Probably not,” Ezra agreed.  He put his arm around her waist and squeezed her against him.  “We’ll drive up.  Easier than walking.”

Less time getting stared at on the street more like.  Alana nodded.  “Yeah.  Let me get my jacket.”

He kissed her jaw.  “I’ll meet you outside.”

She watched him go and smiled weakly to herself.  I don’t deserve…  She stopped the thought before it was fully formed.  He’d chosen her.  She was the one he wanted.

The one he wanted.

It was still taking a lot of getting used to.

She snagged her jacket from the bedroom that had been his that was becoming theirs and wrapped it around herself.  It was less to protect her against the evening chill than to hide her arm.

I was always self-conscious about it when it was a metal monstrosity.  Now that that the cyberware’s gone…  She sighed and shook her head at herself.  Maybe I’m just self-conscious about everything and that was my excuse for being that way.  Maybe.

“‘lana?”

“I’m coming.”  She glanced in the mirror and smiled at her own reflection for the first time in a long while.  Despite everything, he’d picked her.  There had to be something that made her beautiful to him.

Maybe it’s time to just let it all go, right now, today.

Forever.

She tugged her jacket a little closer and walked out the door.

Sometimes, the choices we make are not the ones that are necessarily the best for us, but the best for everyone around us.  Those are the hardest choices, but at the same time they are the choices that often shape the world.

— Ryland LeSarte

 7 Decem, 5249 PD

“Rachel.”

She looked up from the dirt and plants of her garden toward the sound of Sergei’s voice.  She hadn’t heard him come up the walk and mentally scolded herself for it.  We’re practically at war and you’re not paying attention to anything but the garden and your thoughts.  Dangerous, Rachel. Adam and Grant would yell at you more than a little for this.

“Speaker.  Something the matter?”

He stopped at the edge of her garden and surveyed the plants.  The summer’s bounty was already gone, leaving the autumnal fare still growing.  She was starting to gather the more delicate of those back in already as the days and nights turned colder.  He was silent for a long moment before he said, “I’m retiring.”

A shiver shot down her spine.  “In the middle of a war?”

“Before the pre-war becomes the true war,” Sergei said with a faint, wry smile.  “I’m an old man, Rachel.  War is the game for younger men and women.  I don’t know how much time I’ve got left, but I’d rather spend it with my grandchildren than D’Arcy Morgause.”

She gave a humorless snort and rocked to her feet, careful not to crush any of the plants in her garden.  “That’s not a surprise.  The man’s useless.”

Sergei made a noncommitmental noise and waited as she picked her way out of the tangled mass of vine and foliage.  “For what we need him to do, perhaps, if not for anything else.”  His gaze met hers, eyes seeming ancient beyond measure for the briefest moment.  “You’re wondering why I’m here.”

“It’s probably written all over my face.”  Rachel wiped her hands on the seat of her pants and shook her head.  “But at the same time, I’m terrified I already know.”

“I want you to take my place.”

“That’s exactly what I was afraid of.”  Rachel sighed and crossed the gravel path alongside the garden to sit on the kitchen stairs.  Sergei drifted after her, crossing his arms as he regarded her with a long, measuring look.

“Why would that make you afraid?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”  Rachel stared at the trees, at the garden—at everything and nothing all at once.  “I’ve never done something like that before.”

He gave a derisive snort and shook his head.  “You’ve only been the driving force behind the Council for the past three seasons.”

“Not at all,” she said simply.  “I just spoke my mind and acted in the ways I thought were best.”

“Modest,” Sergei said with a faint smile.  He began to pace.  “I’d hoped that I wouldn’t have to convince you.”

“Unfortunately, that’s what you’re going to have to do,” Rachel said quietly, watching him.  He seemed thinner than he had been a year ago, his hair now gone completely to gray and white where there had once been dark strands amidst the snow and stone.  The lines around his eyes were deeper, the shadows darker.  She caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment.  “You’ve been thinking on this for a while.”

“I cannot do the job as ably as I once did,” he said.  “D’Arcy runs roughshod over us all because I cannot leash him.  The younger Consuls—you included—are the strongest voices now.  It’s time for you to lead, Rachel.”  The ghost of a smile touched his lips.  “It was perhaps time long ago, but you weren’t ready.”

“I’m too hot-headed,” she murmured.  “Too impetuous.”

“Then,” he said.  “Not now.  The last few years have changed you.  I can see it.  You’re far different than you were a decade ago, when I first started to think about walking away.”

Her gaze snapped up, eyes widening.  He gave her a gentle smile and shrugged.

“This moment has been a very, very long time in coming.”

“I’m not my parents,” she said, guts roiling, stomach bursting with a thousand fluttering butterflies moving at the speed of light.  “You can’t—”

“I don’t,” Sergei said.  “I only ever knew your parents by reputation, Rachel, I never met them personally.”

“But your father—”

“Your grandfather was a good friend to him and the Foundation,” Sergei agreed.  “My decision is not based on who your family was, but on who you are.  I’ve known you for quite a long time now, remember?”

“Of course,” she muttered, leaning back against the steps.  “You were the first one to welcome me when Adam brought me here.”

“And never once have I regretted it.”  He smiled.  “You are my choice to succeed me, Rachel Farragut, whether you like it or not.”

And I don’t like it, but how can I say no?  That’s the problem.  If I’m elected, I can’t turn it down—not in the face of everything that’s about to happen.  Dammit, I almost—almost—hate it when Adam’s right about this kind of thing.  She knuckled her eyes and exhaled noisily.  “I don’t know that I can get elected to the job, Sergei.  You can suggest, but you can’t name.”

“You’ll be elected,” he said with a confidence she didn’t feel—a confidence that frightened her.  “Kara Grace will vote for you without question, as will the Marshals—your husband’s position within their number nonwithstanding.  If I name you, Amelda will give you her vote as well, and given Mugabe’s apparent alliance with Marshal Windsor of late, I imagine his vote will be for you as well.  Then there are of course myself and your niece.  You will have an easy majority within the Council—you need no one else, though I daresay you’ll win more votes than that.”  He smiled faintly.  “Besides, who else would vie for the position?”

“D’Arcy might,” she murmured.  Of course, he’d try and lose, which would make him an even bigger political enemy than he already is—then again, he was never a friend to any of us to begin with, was he?

“He’s not half the man his father and grandfather were,” Sergei said.  “I hope by all the stars in the heavens that he knows it, too.  If he doesn’t and he stands against you, he deserves the rude awakening he’ll get.”

“He’ll only hate me more than he already does if he loses to me, Sergei.”

“Then we arrange things so he cannot run.  I imagine you and your allies are clever enough to arrange something along those lines.”

She laughed bitterly.  “Without it seeming contrived?  I doubt it.”

“Have more confidence in the abilities of those around you,” Sergei said.  Then he smiled.  “Think on it.  I’ll be announcing my retirement from the Council within the next two weeks, before the next crisis hits, I dearly hope.  You’ll also have to consider who should be named to my seat, if you are to be elected Speaker.”

Another shiver inched down her spine.  “Hell.  I don’t even know who I’d name.”  If I take the job.  If I win the job.

“Think on it,” Sergei repeated with a faint smile, then tipped the cap he wasn’t wearing.  “I’ll leave you to your greens.”

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, the words evaporating before they reached her lips.  She nodded.  “Have a pleasant afternoon, Sergei.”

“You as well, Rachel.”

She watched as he headed own the gravel pathway down toward the main road.  It already seemed like some kind of great weight had been lifted from his shoulders even as it settled on hers.  Her lips thinned.

Can you afford to turn him down, Rachel?

Can the Foundation?  Can the Guard?  The Colony?

Can any of us afford for you to say no?

She squeezed her eyes shut.  In her heart of hearts—deep where she kept the little voice that told her things she didn’t want to hear—she knew the answer was no.

Like it or not, she would be Speaker and lead the Council—lead the Foundation—and hopefully manage not to doom their world.

To ensure the safety of the people I’m responsible for, I’ll move mountains, asteroids, whole fucking planets.  I don’t care what it takes.  I took responsibility for these men and women and I will not walk away from that just because some hostile board of directors is asking me to.  There’s five thousand people counting on us to do the right thing by them.  I’m going to do what’s right for them right now.  To hell with everything else.

— David Brinson, Jr., owner of Brinson Technical, c. 2057 AD

5 Decem, 5249 PD

              “I don’t care what it takes to do it, pull up stakes and start moving that dry dock to the jump point.”

Tim winced at the shouting.  Whoever was behind the opaque glass wall of the Mission Systems office didn’t sound like they were having a very good day.

Then again, if I was being accused of some kind of ridiculous collusion to destroy a planet, I guess I wouldn’t be having a very good day, either.

“What do you mean you can’t do it?  Do you have any idea what we’re doing right now?  Do you understand what we’re doing right now?  I don’t care if the entire Chinasian armada is in your way, you move that station.  If they blow you out of the sky, consider yourselves the second round of victims in the war that hasn’t been declared yet.”

Tim winced again as he lifted a hand to rap lightly on the frosted glass door.  The man beyond it kept talking.

“No, I don’t think that they’ll risk that at this point, but I do think that the hostile takeover’s not that far away.  Get the installation moved now.  Offer anyone who doesn’t want to come safe passage to New Earth for their families and their belongings and make it clear to them that if they choose that option, they are no longer employed by Mission Systems.  Understand?”  He paused a beat.  “Good.  I need to go, station security is probably here to find out what all the racket’s about.”

A few seconds later, the door slid open and a black-haired man, olive-skinned with dark eyes surrounded by bruise-colored rings peered at Tim.  One brow slowly arched as he studied him, then the man said, “Can I help you with something, Inspector?”

“I certainly hope so,” Tim said.  “May I come in?”

The office’s occupant stepped back and waved him inside.  He was dressed in dark gray slacks and a matching jacket in a stylish cut, but the material itself was sturdy, as if this particular executive was more used to hard work with his hands than the hard work of corporate politics.

That explains a great deal.

His host dropped into the chair behind a metal and glass monstrosity of a desk.  “How can I help you, then?”

Tim slid the door closed behind him and paced to a spot two feet away from the desk’s edge, directly across from his host.  “A name would help.”

The man smiled.  “Mine, I presume?  Cosimo Scarelli, Corporate Controller for Mission Systems LLC in Q-sector.”

“Timrel Winston, Inspector First Grade.”  He eased closer and extended his hand.  Cosimo’s grip was firm as he rose to shake Tim’s hand before settling back into his chair.  “Sounded like a rather heated conversation.”

Cosimo glared at his comm for a moment and shook his head.  “Some of my subordinates are dragging their heels with regards to moving operations to the outer reaches.  They don’t understand the gravity of the situation in New Earth space—but I can’t blame them.  The propaganda machines do their job rather handily, don’t they?”  He lifted his chin to regard Tim with a wary look.  “Are you here to tell us that we’re doing something illegal in moving our operations?”

“Not at all,” Tim said even as he filed that little tidbit of fear away in the back of his brain.

“Good, because if you were, I’d be sitting here telling you that you need to take that up with my father, not with me.”  Cosimo smiled and crossed his arms.  “What can I help you with, Mr. Winston?”

“I need to get out to the Eridani Trelasia system.”

Cosimo’s smile vanished and his eyes narrowed.  “The Commonwealth isn’t seriously buying into that insane theory the propaganda machines are putting out, is it?”

Tim’s brows shot up.  “Beg your pardon?”

“Oh come on.  I know you’ve heard it.  They want us all to believe that the Colony and the Rose Foundation had something to do with the Whispers getting bombed to smithereens.”

“They,” Tim echoed, a hint of question in his voice.  Cosimo threw up his hands.

“Of course.  The folks who really did the deed.  If you listen to some of the old-timers, it’s Mimir and the war all over again.  I know who I believe when it comes to all of that rot.  Who are you beliving?”

Tim squared his shoulders.  “The official position of the Inspector General’s office is that this is an open investigation and we are looking into all possible, credible leads.  I was led to believe that there may be some individuals on E-557 that may be able to assist me in my investigation into the death of the Whispers.  But it’s hard to get in touch with them if I’m not there, isn’t it?”

“There’s always long-range comm.”

“Not secure enough for my purposes,” Tim said.  “This investigation is the type of thing that really can’t be handled at a distance.  I need to be there.  See their faces, hear their voices—and know that I don’t have some kind of conglom hacker listening in on my conversation.”

Cosimo grinned.  “Something tells me that paranoia just might keep you alive, Inspector.”

“Here’s to hoping.  Can you help me out?”

The grin melted into a frown.  Cosimo stood and headed over to a bank of computers recessed into the rear wall of his office and brought one of them to life with a touch and a code.  “I don’t know, Inspector.  I’ve got to check the flight rosters and see who’s heading out and when—and if they’ve got room for a spare passenger.”

“I wouldn’t have to be a passenger.  I know my way around a ship well enough to be of some use.”

Cosimo chuckled.  “I wasn’t aware that the Inspector General’s office was hiring men of many talents.”

“Men and women of myriad talents,” Tim said.  “They have been for about forty years, give or take, when Orwell Kant realized that they needed to be doing a lot more than looking at simple financial irregularities and rooting out political corruption.  The homosphere got pretty dangerous for an Inspector back then.”

“You know your history.”

“It’s a hobby.  Man can’t learn from the mistakes of the past if he doesn’t know what mistakes were made.”  He drifted up behind Cosimo, watching the other man as he tapped his way through a half dozen screens to pull up what must have been ship schedules and routes.  “The sooner I get out there, the better.  Something tells me that this particular mission is somewhat time-critical.”

“I can only imagine so.”  Cosimo’s brows knit.  “I have a cargo hauler debarking from here in two days that I can probably get you a berth on if you don’t mind heavy lifting.”

“I think I’m big and bad enough to handle that,” Tim said.  Besides, that way I’ll get a good idea of what the folks on the front lines for Mission Systems are thinking of corporate’s sudden move to shift operations out to Eridani Trelasia.  “You know, there’s something I’ve been getting a little curious about.  Indulge me?”

Cosimo glanced back over his shoulder.  “You can ask.  I don’t guarantee an answer, Inspector General’s office or not.  You’re not investigating us so I’m not actually under obligation to answer.”

Tim smiled wryly.  “No, it’d just make my life easier.  Couldn’t have been easy to get permission from investors or the Rose Foundation to shift operations to Eridani Trelasia.  Is your whole operation moving there, or just pieces?”

Cosimo glanced back at the computer and took a deep breath.  He exhaled it slowly before answering, his eyes focusing on some distant point that didn’t exist.  “It started out as just the Comanche operation.  My father is the vice president of operations for the company.  None of our investors liked having such a vital installation sandwiched in the middle of what could be a major skirmish zone if Chinasia and Idesalli ever decided to start taking pot-shots at each other again.  We’d been in negotiations with one of ranking Psychean Guard survivors to provide the Foundation with the ships that the Guard had paid for before the war, the ones that hadn’t been delivered.  That’s where it started.”

“It’s a pretty big jump between giving the ranking Guard survivors what they’d already paid for and moving operations out to the far reaches, though,” Tim observed, crossing his arms and leaning against a blank expanse of wall just shy of the monitors.

Cosimo smiled ruefully.  “That’s true.  But the investors made a miscalculation when they detailed my father to be the one to handle the negotiations.  He’s been fascinated by the Rose Foundation and their mission for as long as I can remember—read everything Quizibian ever wrote, read the treatises and the charters and the testimonies and all of it.

“I’m not sure at what point he started to believe, but I know the moment he set foot on E-557 for the first time and when he saw how people there lived, he was sold on the idea, body and soul.  He came back and told the board everything.  A few of them were reluctant, but he just kept talking and they agreed that since the installation at Comanche wasn’t in an idea position, it might be a good move to shift it to Eridani Trelasia.  The asteroid belts out there are full of resources—enough for fleets of ships the likes of which we haven’t seen since before the Second Exodus.”

“So it’s a smart business move.”

“Oh, without a doubt.”  Cosimo shut down the screens and leaned against them, his posture mirroring Tim’s as he crossed his arms.  “Corporate sent my father in to negotiate.  He talked the Foundation into letting us move the installation in-system.  Anyone who’s willing to live by the Foundation’s rules and charter will be allowed to live on the planet proper, the rest can decide to live on the station.  There’s some talk about building an arcology, but no one was actually sure that we’d need it.  I guess there were a lot more people who’d been inspired to think the way my father does than anyone suspected.”

“That still doesn’t explain how this went from one installation to all of your operations moving.  What happened?”

“The Whispers,” Cosimo said.  “The Whispers changed everything.”

Unconfirmed reports of secondary explosions continue to leak out of Nordis system.  Forces from many of the other conglomerates have offered humanitarian aid to Mimir, which they have soundly refused.  Most of these requests have been withdrawn, given impending war among the congloms.  Elements within the Commonwealth have been asserting that Mimir is only the first blow—any world could be next.

— Newswire, two weeks after the attacks on Mimir

 5 Decem, 5249 PD

He ducked out of the baths as soon as he’d managed to collect his thoughts, trying to look nonchalant.  He even managed to smile at the Chinasian girl minding the front end of the baths as he strode out.

“Enjoy the rest of your stay at Cassini VII,” she suggested cheerfully.

Tim nodded to her, his mouth dry as he responded.  “I’ll try.”  Or at least I’ll try to fake it until I’m well away from here.

He walked quickly down the concourse, eyes trained straight ahead.  His appetite had vanished with word from Sephora, his stomach unsettled, twisting into uncomfortable knots.  A conspiracy.  Toss me into a damned black hole.  How deep could it go?

            Deep enough that she told me not to trust anyone.  That’s got to be pretty deep.

Deep enough that the only people I’m supposed to trust are the same people who ran from the Commonwealth twenty years ago.  This is insane.

He headed up a sloping gangway to the next level and hopped on a moving sidewalk, leaning against its rail as he attempted to gather his fragmenting thoughts, to put everything back into some semblance of order.  Above him, displayed on screens hanging from the concourse above, a pretty, dark-skinned newscaster in a red suit was talking, reporting whatever was purportedly newsworthy.  He blinked at the screen, starting to listen as he caught a fleeting glimpse of the story’s tagline—Death of the Whispers.

“Even now, there continues to be speculation that it was in fact the Rose Foundation colony in the Eridani Trelasia system that was responsible for the assaults at the Whispers,” the newscaster was saying.  “Recent activity has pointed to a military mobilization in the region that is unprecedented in the history of the Fringe.  No commentary has been forthcoming from the Foundation or the Colony, but sources within the Commonwealth have strongly indicated that it is not outside the realm of the possibility that the Foundation was involved.  In related news, Chinasia Corporation and the Eurydice Compact have leveled charges of espionage and theft at the Foundation, claiming that strike forces illegally obtained military materiel from Fringeward installations.  No additional details have been released, but Chinasia board chairman Daiko Zaki is scheduled to speak in the Commonwealth parliament at 0900 hours New Earth Standard time tomorrow.  It is hoped that he will reveal more information about the alleged assault at that time.”

“Bloody hell,” he murmured.  What the hell am I walking into?

Either the mother of all coincidences or some kind of insane set-up.  His lips thinned.  What had the Inspector General pointed him toward?

What if the Foundation—and the remnants of the Psychean Guard—really were responsible for the death of the Whispers?

The woman droned on as he neared the end of the walkway.

“Sources within the Wanderers, the faction that dominated the Whispers, indicated that they had no reason to believe that the colonists at E-557 had anything to do with their misfortune.  Father Andrais Cabrini reportedly said ‘The Foundation has always been our friend and ally, always willing to help in times of need.  We have provided them with succor and safe haven as they have done the same for us.  They, and their brothers and sisters in the late Guard, could not have been responsible for such an atrocity.’  Congloms throughout the Commonwealth have decried Cabrini’s words as being fueled by ‘sentiment and wrong-headedness,’ in the words of Senator Gordan Rafe, representing the Idesalli world of Maricopa in the legislature.  Many factions have indicated that the recent relationship forged between the colony and Mission Systems LLC indicate that the Colony is ready to go on the offensive against its neighbors.”

He stepped clear of the walkway and exhaled with a grimace.  Too many blind alleys, blind corners—too much I don’t know.  He shouldered his bag and started to walk.  No options.  I have to get out there.  For the love of all that’s holy and sacred, I’m not even sure that I can trust anyone anymore.  Might as well go with the devil that your boss knows and trust that she’s not going to somehow accidentally lead you astray, right?

Holding that thought close, he set is jaw and headed up another two levels to talk to the people at Mission Systems LLC.

•           •           •

Alana leaned back in the contoured chair, tilting her face toward the ceiling as she settled her arm into the open restraints to one side, the ones designed to hold it still while Ezra got started with the delicate process of removing components of her cyberware.  Her eyes slid shut as she exhaled.

“Do you know what I heard?” she asked Ezra quietly as he came to her side and injected her with a heavy dose of local anesthetic.  It would take a few long moments, but soon her arm would be numbed from the shoulder down.

“What did you hear?” he asked, turning away to get his tools.

She forced herself to relax, breathing slowly and deeply.  “The Compact and Chinasia are saying the Foundation staged armed raids and stole materiel from them.”

Something clattered to the floor and her eyes blinked open.  She straightened, twisting to look at him.  Ezra just stared at her, a pair of delicate-looking pliers laying on the floor at his feet.

“Ezra?”

“What the hell are they talking about?  How many—when did they—”

She eased out of the chair and went to him, cupping his face with her flesh and blood hand.  “We knew that they’d figure out who came, Ezra,” she murmured.  She leaned in and rested her forehead against his.  Their eyes met and he sucked in a ragged breath.

“Human beings aren’t materiel,” was all he could say, his hands coming up to catch her face between his palms.

“No,” she agreed in a whisper.  “But Brendan’s implant was.  My arm is.”

His eyes widened.  “You don’t—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.  “That’s how they’ll spin it, whether Brendan and I were the ones walking in and pulling someone out or if strike teams waltzed in and dragged he and I out kicking and screaming.  It’s a technicality.”  She set her jaw.  “It’s only a matter of time before they demand the return of what they feel was stolen.”

“There’s nothing to return,” Ezra said.  Alana glanced down at her arm and he followed her gaze, then winced.

“Except that,” Alana said quietly.

“They can’t have you,” Ezra whispered.

“Then get your head together and get to work on this arm.  If I’m decybered by the time they really get rolling, it’ll be a moot point.”

His fingers laced through her hair and he kissed her hard, holding her tightly with his free arm for a long moment.

“Ezra,” she murmured.

“I know,” he said.  “I know.”  He let go and stepped back, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.  “The sooner we get this started, the sooner it’s finished.”  He stared at her for a moment as she headed back to the chair.  “And the sooner you’re out of danger.”

“This particular dangerous situation, anyway,” she said as she settled into the chair again.  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

Ezra stroked her hair and sighed.  “Is it numb?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said.  “You’d better work while you can.”

“Right,” he murmured, fingers grazing her cheek.  “I love you, ‘lana,” he said as he turned away to resume retrieving his tools.  “And if they want to get you, they’ll have to come through me first.”

She had to swallow a laugh even as her heart swelled.

“I know, Ezra,” she said.  “I know.”