Breath burned in Brendan’s lungs and his vision blurred.  It was a long way from base down to the shore—a few kilometers, a long way for someone to be running full-tilt, especially someone who had barely recovered from major trauma and a following series of surgeries.

The sirens were still going, but they wailed at a city that was all but empty of bystanders; its population had sought safety only a few minutes after the first blast of sound.  In a city with as many psychics as Nova Spexi, it was somehow easy to know the difference between a drill and a situation where the danger was very, very real.

Fighters screamed overhead, arcing upward through the atmosphere, toward the approaching ships that Brendan knew were heading for orbit.  He hoped that they’d avoid some kind of orbital bombardment, but the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that might have been his and might have been hers told him different.

Things were about to get very, very messy.

Very, very quickly.

He wanted to throw up but there wasn’t time for that.

His feet hit the last stretch of ground between the main road and the shore.  Bile burned his throat and the world was quiet—for now.  All he could hear was the sound of his heart thundering in his ears.  His vision was starting to double as he skidded to a halt on the gravel that marked the boundary between grass and sandy shore.

No one here.  I didn’t pass them on the way.  Where the hell did they go?

He cleared his throat and spat to one side, catching his breath as he looked up and down the beach.

They couldn’t have gone that far, could they?  Frederick couldn’t have, not very quickly.

“Hell,” he breathed, shaking his head.  Gabe’s.  They would have headed for Gabe’s.  It’s the nearest shelter.

Brendan sucked in another breath, pivoted, then resumed his run, heading toward the vineyard, though is legs felt like they’d turned to lead somewhere between the shore and the grass.

The first bombs began to fall twenty yards later.

“Too many, sir,” Brenner said, his voice choked and hushed as he reported on what he was seeing beyond the atmosphere.  “There’s too damned many.  They’re running completely silent—not even broadcasting any IFFs.”

“Can you patch us through some visuals?”  Windsor asked one of the technicians nearby.  “I want to see what we’re up against.”  He cleared his throat and then spoke to his pilot again.  “Brenner, I need a rough count and a shot in the dark on the classes of ship we’re looking at.”

“They’ve deployed two squadrons of bombers so far,” he said, the comm crackling and distorting his voice.  “A carrier, three frigates, two heavies.  We’ve got nothing but the orbitals and one of the frigates is closing on the nearest one.”

Windsor grimaced and cut the voice pickup on his headset again, turning to Tomasi.  “Try to raise the Mission Systems installations.  Make sure they’re still in one piece.”

“And if they’re not?” she asked, her expression slack even as she started to try to bring up a line.

“Then we start beaming the feed of whatever the hell’s about to happen here back to their corporate HQ live and let them avenge the loss.”  His stomach soured as the words left his lips but he knew as well as everyone else in the room that there wasn’t much else they’d be able to do.  “If they’re in one piece, tell them to stay the hell out of this until the enemy’s gone.  Then they’re welcome to sweep in and help pick up the pieces.”

A carrier, three frigates, and two heavy cruisers.  Someone’s here to make a damned point, aren’t they?

He turned to the first tech he’d spoken to.  “Do you have visuals for me?”

“Working on it, sir.”

Windsor nodded slowly and toggled the voice pickup back to active.  “Have they spotted you yet, Brenner?”

“I don’t think so, sir.  Are you scrambling some backup for me?”

“We’re getting intercepts in the air to deal with those bombers,” Windsor said.  He could hear his flight controllers getting two squadrons lifting from this base and another pair at two other bases elsewhere on-planet.  “Hold position unless they’re going to see you.”

“And if they spot me?”

“Run like hell,” Windsor said softly.  “It’s all you can do until your backup makes it there.”

He swallowed bile.

We need some kind of bleeding miracle right now or else everything the Foundation’s built over the years dies here today.

Trust no one, even those you think are your friends.

— attributed to Ryland LeSarte, date unknown

19 Decem, 5249 PD

“Is it far?”

“No, not far.”  There was pain etched on Frederick’s face as they moved away from the shore.  His leg was on fire, painful in ways that he hadn’t experienced since the early days after his injury.  Winston was concerned.

Of course he’s concerned.  There’s air raid sirens going off and he’s letting an invalid direct him to safety!  Of course he’s concerned.  I’d be concerned if I were him.

If there was a way to easily direct the boy toward Gabe Forrester’s place, he would have, but Frederick suspected that Winston would have gotten himself lost somewhere in the tangle of vines in the vineyard between the beach and the café.

“I don’t understand why this would be happening,” Winston said, his words half a mumble and half a growl.  “Why the hell would people hate all of you so damned much?”

“It’s the fear, not the hate,” Frederick said through clenched teeth.  “I’m surprised that you didn’t start piecing it together before now.  We symbolize something that’s terrifying—and we represent the possibility that man isn’t infallible and might have to make some kind of damned effort and sacrifice something in order to keep on living.”  He shot the young Inspector a quick, wry smile.  “Of course, there’s also the fact that we’ve got more psychics here per capita than anywhere else in the Commonwealth.  People don’t like the idea of folks in their heads, hearing their thoughts—never mind that it doesn’t quite work that way for most of us.”

Winston grunted, looking down the pathway ahead.  “Through those hedges?”

“That’s the vineyard,” Frederick said.  “Through there and down the hill.”

The whine was rising, too loud and wrong for the sound to be just the air raid sirens.  Frederick risked a glance back in time to see two of the Colony’s fighters scream overhead high above, heading back toward base at a quick clip.  He swallowed bile and shook his head quickly.

“This is about to escalate badly.”

“How do you know?”  Winston asked.

“Because that pair of wingmen isn’t running toward a fight, they’re running home for refuel and reinforcements.”  Frederick swallowed again.  “I’ve seen it before.”

Winston looked like he was about to ask where, then shut his mouth.  “Right,” he said.  “We need to move faster, don’t we?”

“Absolutely,” Frederick said, feeling sick.  He straightened slightly and started to move faster, ignoring how much his leg hurt and trying not to consider what he was doing to already permanently damaged muscles and tendons, knowing that the only thing that mattered right now was making sure that the young man with him survived whatever attack was coming.

It’s not too much farther now.  He swallowed again, mouth sour with fear and nausea.  He hadn’t faced something like this in decades.

I got used to the lack of fear.  Now that it’s back again, now that the danger’s back, I’m about to freeze like I did the first time I set foot in a war zone.

A glance sidelong at the young man with him was enough to know that Winston’s thoughts were paralleling his own.

This was the crucible, and either they’d come out of it alive, or they were going to burn.

Brendan matched his smile, eyes sliding shut as he reached for Lindsay.  He felt her surprise as their minds touched, then relief flooded through him—relief that wasn’t his, but hers.

Where are you? She wondered at him.

On base, at Ops with Marshal Windsor. Is Rachel with you? Where are you?

            He saw through her eyes for a brief moment—they were in the shelter secreted in the caves beneath the Council House, and she wasn’t alone.  He caught a glimpse of Rachel, Mugabe, Marshal Rose, and a few others with them.  Safe enough, Lindsay’s voice whispered in his thoughts.  We were waiting for Kara to get here when the sirens started.  Is it bad?

Brendan glanced toward the displays.  We’re not sure yet.  Sent the lead on the CAP to be our eyes.  Sit tight and I’ll give you the all-clear when it’s safe.

Be careful.

He smiled.  Always.

Windsor was watching him when he came back to himself.  Brendan drew a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.  “They’re both safe,” he reported.  “They’re in the shelter beneath the Council House.  Marshal Rose is with them.”

“What about Freder?”  Windsor asked, then winced slightly, casting a quick glance around.  Though Frederick Rose’s survival was something now known to some of the Council and to Inspector Winston, it wasn’t common knowledge and they were still aiming to keep it that way—despite the man’s daily peregrinations.

No one seemed to have heard the question—and if they had, they ignored it.  Brendan frowned.  “I didn’t catch a glimpse and she didn’t say.  I could—”

“No,” he said.  “No, that’s not necessary.  I’m sure he’s found his way to shelter, too.  The Inspector?”

“Don’t know,” Brendan said. “But he usually—”  He stopped and swore.  “He goes down to the shore every morning to look at the ocean.  It reminds him of when he was growing up.”  He started heading for the door.

“Where are you going?”  Windsor called after him.

“To find the inspector,” Brendan said, already halfway to the lift.  “He doesn’t know enough.  He’ll get himself killed and then where the hell will we be?  Someone in Parliament will find a way to blame it on us.”  He held up his link as he climbed into the lift.  “I’ll be on comm.  Yell if you need me.”

Brendan’s heart thundered against his ribcage as the lift doors eclipsed his view of Windsor’s horrified expression.

This is bad and I’m not going to make it in time, am I?

            Well.  I won’t know until I try.

The lift hit the top ground level and he bolted out of it as soon as the doors sprang open, ignoring the startled looks of the staff officers rushing around.

There won’t be much time, either way, depending on what their plans actually are, how many they’ve sent—enough that it tripped the alarms, enough that they’re probably trying to hide their numbers.  He swallowed bile again.

How long can you keep up a dead run, Cho?

            As long as it takes.

“Who the hell are they?”  Adam Windsor snapped as he strode into his command center with Brendan on his heels.  They’d been going over revisions to training protocols when the alarm had been sounded and Adam, knowing he hadn’t requested a drill today, had known instantly that something untoward was going down.  Trailing in his angry wake, Brendan kept his mouth shut—though only for the moment.

Tomasi jerked around from her position next to one of the consoles.  “We’re not sure, sir.  They’re not broadcasting identities.”

“Bring up the sensor plot.  What are they looking like?”

“Nothing identifiable, sir,” one of the other techs said.  “There’s two dozen of them, mixed sizes, no fighters that we’ve been able to identify.”

Two dozen ships.  Brendan swallowed bile.  Was this the invasion he and Lindsay had seen?

He shuddered and Windsor glanced at him.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Brendan said.  “Just that there’s two dozen unidentified ships out there and we don’t know who the hell sent them.  Do we have birds in the air yet?”

Windsor cast a questioning glance at one of the techs.  The younger man swallowed hard.  “The CAP is on its way to intercept,” he said.

“Bad idea,” Brendan said, heading for the console where Tomasi stood.  “Give me a line.  Who’s got the CAP?”

“Captain Brenner,” she said as she got him a headset, handing it over quickly.

Brenner.  Brenner was a sharp pilot, a veteran of the Commonwealth Military, an expiate like him and so many others.  He’ll know how to get a look and then pull back.  “Who else?  Experienced, or otherwise?”

“Otherwise, sir.  Last month’s graduating class.”

Brendan grimaced.  That makes this slightly more problematic, then.  He took a breath and toggled the comm to active.  “CAP Lead, this is Home, come in.”

“Reading you Home.  It’s about to get messy.”

“So I’m seeing,” Brendan said, turning to stare at the sensor plot that Windsor was examining as if it held the answers to every question in the universe.  “Look, tell your wings to hang back.  We need to know what’s incoming and the sensor plots aren’t helping.  We need visuals.  Can you do that?”

“With my eyes closed,” Brenner said, his voice crackling over the comm.  “Are you scrambling the squadrons?”

Brendan grimaced.  “Hopefully, we won’t have to.  Get the visuals and hopefully this turns out to be just one really scary drill.”

The look Windsor gave him said that he hoped against hope that this would be just that—but that he wasn’t counting on it.

Neither was Brendan.

“Good luck, Lead.”

“Roger that, Home.  Starting my climb now.”

Brendan nodded, even though Brenner couldn’t see it.  He handed the headset back to Tomasi.  “Keep an eye,” he told her quietly.  “And let me know if he runs into any trouble.  Sound the alert and get as many birds in the air as we can—here and at the other bases.  Have them screen the cities.”

I’m giving orders and my commanding officer is in the room.  What the hell is wrong with me?

When he turned, though, Windsor was smiling.

“Anything else, sir?”  Brendan asked, hoping his voice didn’t betray how unsettled he suddenly was.

“I think that’ll do it for the moment,” Adam said softly.  “Ping your wife.  Make sure she’s safe.”

Brendan swallowed and nodded.  “And yours, sir?”

Windsor gave him a weak smile.  “Rachel will be where she’s needed, one way or another, whether I like it or not.”

“Why?”

Winston took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, trying to gather his suddenly storming thoughts.  “There’s a lot of pressure, for one thing,” Winston said softly.  “Knowing that she trusts me that much, more than she trusts anyone else.  She sent me out here alone to find the truth.”

Frederick leaned back slightly, tilting his face toward the sky for a moment, cane tapping lightly against his instep.  “The truth,” he echoed softly.  “That’s a thing that’s often lost in the galaxy today.  Few enough care what’s true, even though the truth holds more power than lies ever could, though lies are powerful and insidious.”

Winston stared at him for a moment.  “Are those your words, or…?”

He shook his head.  “The philosopher Edan McLeod, I’m afraid.  I read a great deal of his work when I was a much younger man.  I’m not sure how much of it I actually believed.  Some, I suppose.”

“What was she like?”  Winston asked abruptly.  “The Inspector General, before she was Inspector General.”  Before she started thinking you died.

A wistful smile touched Frederick’s lips.  “You want to know about Sephora?  Of all the things you could have asked me?”

Winston shrugged.  “Seems like no one really knows her.  Everything happening here, I’ll eventually figure it out without asking you a thousand questions.  But about the Inspector General…no one can really tell me much more about her than the man who taught her most of what she knows.”  Maybe that’ll give me more insight into what’s going on in her head—why she’s sent me of all people out here, why she’s so determined to get to the truth.

A silent shiver worked its way up his spine.  When did I stop caring as much about the truth as she apparently does, I wonder?  His lips thinned slightly and he stared at the shore.  “I thought all I cared about was solving the mysteries,” he said softly.  “Making things right.”

“You said that, yes.”

Winston snorted softly.  “How wrong I was.”

“Were you?” Frederick regarded him with a long, curious look.  “Are you certain?  The question about Sephora drives at a thirst for knowledge, a need for truth.  The fact that you’re here signifies that you’re more than a little curious, more than a little driven to uncover the truth, mysteries.

“I don’t think that you’ve given up on solving the mysteries or finding the truth, Mr. Winston.  You’re just starting to realize that the scope of all of it is far, far greater than you ever dared imagine.”

Winston shuddered but nodded.  Something whined in the distance, a noise he tried to ignore. “Tell me about the Inspector General.”

Frederick smiled.  “Bright, driven woman, Sephora Damerian.  She and my wife got along well enough, and I thought her husband was fascinating.”

Winston blinked.  “The Inspector General’s married?”

“Of course.” Frederick’s brows knit.  “You didn’t—Mr. Winston, she’s married to Benjamin Israel.”

“The director?”

Frederick nodded, smiling faintly.  The smile faded.  Frederick cocked his head to one side, listening.  The whine that had been making Winston’s ears twitch was growing louder.

“What is that noise?”  Winston asked.

“Air raid sirens,” Frederick said, almost absently.  Then he was on his feet, tugging on Winston’s sleeve.

“Come on,” he said, voice quiet.  “We need to get to a shelter and quickly.”

“Are we under attack?”  Winston asked.

“I don’t know,” Frederick said.  “But I’m afraid that we’re about to find out.  The nearest shelter is at Gabriel Forester’s café.  Follow me.”

“Who would be—”

Frederick skewered him with a hawk-eyed gaze.  “Who would be attacking us is part of why you’re here, Inspector.  Now move.”

Winston shut up and tucked himself under the older man’s arm.  “You direct,” he said.  “I’ll make sure we get there in one piece.”

[Apologies for the short entry this week.  I am trying not to let the combination of allergies and a cold kill me.  I figured that something was better than nothing at all.]

Sometimes, the destination is all that matters.

— attributed to Ryland LeSarte, date unknown

 19 Decem, 5249 PD

Winston stared at the water for the third day in a row, seated on a rock near the shore.  Commander Cho would join him soon, as the man always did.  He had seen more of the colony’s workings, come to understand more about how the Foundation functioned, in a few short days than he ever had over the course of his life.

Though I’m afraid that I haven’t learned everything that Inspector Damerian wanted me to figure out.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of salt and sea.  It didn’t smell dirty here like it did on New Earth, didn’t smell strange and rotten.

“I understand that you’ve been out here every morning,” a voice said from behind him.  Winston turned, blinking.

Then he turned away to hide his sudden attack of nerves.  “Yes,” he said, forcing him voice to be steady as he addressed Frederick Rose.

“I suppose there probably aren’t many unspoiled places left back on New Earth,” Frederick said as he came around the rock to seat himself alongside of Winston on the slab of tumbled basalt.  “Have you ever been to New Lawrence Sound?”

“I was born in Peterstown,” Winston said quietly.  “I grew up on the Sound.  But I can’t ever remember it being like this.  The latitude’s a little further north for the Sound, but still.  That doesn’t really explain why this is so beautiful and the Sound…isn’t anymore.”  His lips thinned.  “Even in the pictures my grandparents had from when they were young, it doesn’t look like this.”

“Something to be said for living with the land rather than just on it, huh?”  Frederick smiled faintly, following the young man’s gaze out over the water.  “No one will stop you if you want to come back here after you’ve made your report to the Inspector General’s office.”

Every muscle tightened and Winston felt his heart give a strange double-beat.

“Is that what happened to you?” he asked without thinking.

What did you just say, Tim?  Holy shit, what did you just say to him?

For his part, Frederick Rose smiled.

“I wish it had been that simple, Inspector Winston.  I wish I had been that simple.”  The smile faded.  “I knew too much, saw too much.  That frightened people with connections, powerful people.  They tried to silence me and they very nearly succeeded.”

“But they didn’t kill you.”  Winston looked at him, his guts churning.  “You didn’t let them win.”

“Didn’t I?”  Frederick smiled faintly.  “They won the battle, but they’ll not win the war.  I made myself that promise a long time ago.  It’s a promise I intend to keep.”  He exhaled softly and shook his head.  “What about you, Inspector?  Are you fighting your own war?”

“I don’t know,” Winston said softly.  “I used to think that I joined the Inspector General’s office to find the truth or to make a difference or something noble like that.  Now I’m not so sure.  Now maybe I’m starting to wonder if I don’t mind getting dirty as I try to dismantle conspiracies and mysteries.”

“That’s the mark of a good investigator,” Frederick said.  “And Sephora asks for the best.”

Winston shivered.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No,” Winston said softly.  “I do.  That’s what scares me.”

Choose your words carefully, because you can’t take them back and who knows what will be made of them later.  Sometimes the most innocent of encounters becomes far more than it initially appeared once hindsight rears her fair head.

— Ryland LeSarte, circa 4857

17 Decem, 5249 PD

“This planet is beautiful,” Winston said as he and Brendan walked up the pathway from the beach back toward Nova Spexi proper.  “All of the file footage the Colonial Office has in the system doesn’t do it justice at all.”

“When was the last time the Colonial Office sent a survey team here?”  Brendan shoved his hands deep into his pockets, watching the inspector carefully.  Marshal Rose still had a team trying to crack the encryption on Timrel Winston’s official file, since their previous query through regular channels hadn’t given them anything.  Rachel was willing to trust the inspector, but the Marshals—particularly Daci—wanted to verify as well.

“Not all of them are like you, Frederick.  We know that they’re corruptible.”

“Sephora picked him herself.  She knows what to look for.”

“Not even Sephora Damerian is infallible.  I’ll have a look for myself, thank you.”

They were well-matched, those two.

Just about as well-matched as Lindsay and I.

Winston’s voice startled him from his thoughts.  “You know what?  I don’t think I know.  At least fifty or sixty years ago.”

“I’d guess longer ago than that,” Brendan said, shaking his head slightly.  “More like a century and maybe more.  I don’t know that a survey team’s been here since the Foundation staked its claim and started settlement.”

Winston shook his head.  “That doesn’t make sense.  Claims have to be inspected every fifty years to ensure—”

“Not if they’re a perpetual claim.”

“But they—”  Winston stopped, staring at Brendan for a long moment.  “The Foundation has a perpetual claim to E-557?”

“To the whole system, in fact,” a voice said from behind them.  Brendan tensed up, barely suppressing the shudder that wanted to race through him.

What the hell is D’Arcy doing out here this early in the morning?  I didn’t know that he even knew what the dawn looked like.  “Good morning, D’Arcy,” Brendan said, forcing himself to be as pleasant as possible.  What’s he up to this time?

“Good morning, Commander Cho.  If you have duties essential to our defense to attend to this morning, I would be happy to play tour guide to our guest.”  D’Arcy studied Winston for a moment.  “I assume that this is our esteemed visitor from the Inspector General’s office.”

Brendan swallowed a sigh and nodded.  “Inspector Winston, this is D’Arcy Morgause, one of the members of the Rose Council.  D’Arcy, Inspector Timrel Winston of the Commonwealth Inspector General’s office.”

“I’m honored to meet you, Inspector,” D’Arcy said as he extended his hand to the other man.  “It’s not every day we receive visitors from the  Commonwealth proper.”

“From what I’ve seen it’s not that often at all—mostly refugees looking for asylum.”  Winston smiled briefly as he shook D’Arcy’s hand.  “Having seen what this world looks like and the way you people seem to live, I can’t say that I blame any of those refugees coming here, either.  It’s amazing.”

D’Arcy gave him a thin smile.  “What’s amazing is that there are refugees at all.  I had heard that things were improving in Commonwealth space since the last wars ended.  Was I mislead?”

Brendan’s stomach dropped.  What the hell is he talking about?  Things have been getting worse since Mimir fell and that war ended.  Who would be telling him—unless he’s playing games.  He eyed D’Arcy for a long moment and wondered if maybe he’d underestimated the Council’s spymaster.

“Ah, things are better than they used to be, that’s for certain,” Winston said carefully.  “But I wouldn’t say they’ve improved wholesale, not from my perspective.  There are efforts to go even further with the reforms that began thirty years ago, but the politicos that are spearheading those efforts are running into some significant resistance these days.”  Winston stole a glance at Brendan, one brow arching slightly.

Brendan shook his head slightly, struggling to keep his expression impassive.  He couldn’t very well stop D’Arcy from talking to the inspector if he wanted to.  The man was a member of the Rose Council and had every right to speak to Winston—as long as Winston wanted to continue the conversation.

Dammit, why didn’t Marshal Windsor give me orders to keep Winston the hell away from D’Arcy?

He had to smother a smile.  Probably because they want to see if Winston’s got the same calibration on his bullshit meter that we do.

“That’s unfortunate,” D’Arcy was saying.  “We were hoping to be able to send some representatives to Parliament in the future, but it seems like the political climate might be unfavorable.”

Brendan frowned.  “When was that brought up in Council?” he asked.  Lindsay would have mentioned that.  That’s not the kind of thing that’s brought up and then vanishes from the conversation as quickly as it rises.  He crossed his arms.  He’s up to something.  First backing down when Rachel was put forward for Speaker, now this.  He’s up to something and it’s probably not good.  I just wish I knew what it was.

D’Arcy dismissed the question with a wave of his hand.  “It’s been our hope as an organization for some time that our image as isolationist could be somewhat improved.  We are, after all, trying to set an example for how human society can exist in harmony with the planets that house us rather than simply exploit them—and ourselves—to death.”

Winston snorted humorlessly.  “I doubt that approach would earn you many friends in government these days, Councilor Morgause.  The question these days is how to feed everyone without bankrupting corporate structures and how to manipulate the tax codes to benefit the largest congloms, not sunshine and rainbows and how to save our planets.”

Winston caught Brendan’s gaze with the corner of his eye.  The Inspector was starting to look vaguely uncomfortable, though he schooled his expression into one of careful, vaguely disinterested but polite curiosity.  “Who are your contacts back home these days, Councilor?  I can’t imagine that cultivating resources like that would be very easy, considering how far out you are and how rarely people from the colony leave to go traveling the Commonwealth, especially given the apparent hostility some of the congloms feel toward you people.”

“Oh, just some old school friends,” D’Arcy said with a faint smile.  “I was educated on New Earth, at Rigel University.  Senator Milligan was still teaching there at the time and he took me under his wing.  We still correspond regularly.  His daughter is hoping to visit soon.”

Brendan stared at D’Arcy.  The way he talked about the senator’s daughter visiting tripped a synapse in his brain that sent alarm bells echoing through his skull but didn’t quite trigger anything else—though he did catch the barest fleeting glimpse of a slender woman with black hair and a big smile hanging on D’Arcy’s arm.  “It sounds like you’re very much looking forward to that eventuality, D’Arcy,” he said, trying to keep his tone even.

D’Arcy smiled broadly.  “Oh, I am, Commander Cho.  Believe me, I am.  I would welcome the opportunity to show more citizens of the Commonwealth how well we’re doing here.  It can only help us with the troubles that we’re facing, don’t you think?”  His gaze flicked toward Winston.  “Don’t you think so, too, Inspector?”

“If you’re talking about the external threats the Foundation and the colony are currently facing from unknown entities, you could be correct.  Swaying public opinion in your favor could help.”  Winston paused, clearly choosing his words carefully before he continued.  “But at the same time, considering how unknown and possibly widespread the threat to you may be, it could be that all your efforts will do is fuel the fire of resentment, and we all know where that leads.”

“Violence, hate, and war,” Brendan said softly.

The inspector nodded.  “Exactly.  I would tread lightly, Councilor.  These are dangerous times, as we’re learning more and more each day.  One misstep could spell a lot of trouble for more than just the Foundation—violent trouble and worse.”  He closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled softly.  “Welcome to the flashpoint,” he murmured, as if he was momentarily unaware that he wasn’t alone.

Brendan touched his arm.  “Inspector, I believe we were headed up to the base so you could see the CAP launch?”

Winston opened his eyes and smiled.  “We were, weren’t we?  And then perhaps you could show me a decent place to get some breakfast?”

Brendan nodded.  “I’d be more than happy to do that.”  He glanced toward D’Arcy.  “Have a pleasant morning, D’Arcy.”

The smile that D’Arcy gave him was razor blades and ice.  “You as well, Commander.  My best to your wife.”

The way he said it made Brendan shiver.  His feeling of unease didn’t go away until he and Winston were halfway to base and D’Arcy had long ago passed from his sight.

Winston’s lips thinned.  E-557 and the Foundation really are the major target, aren’t they?  It’s the same as it’s always been.  Someone wants to get rid of the people who want to change the rules to benefit the whole of humanity.  His gaze drifted back to the water.  Is this why you sent me, Inspector Damerian?  So someone else would see what you already knew?

“There’s another base on the other side of the ocean,” Brendan said.  “About two hundred thousand people out there, too.”  He crossed his arms.  “There are a lot of people depending on a very small military force to protect them.”

“High stakes,” Winston murmured, suddenly feeling out of his depth.  Inspector, where did you send me?  Why the hell am I here?  Why me?

Because she couldn’t come herself.  That’s why.

“They always have been,” Brendan said.  “They always are when it’s the fate of worlds and species at stake.”

“Of course,” Winston murmured.  “Of course.”

•           •           •

“Something tells me that I’m not supposed to be in here,” Padraig hissed as he followed Sephora down the narrow access corridor.  “Though that might have been the passcode and the authorized personnel only sign giving me that impression.”

“I’m the Inspector General,” Sephora said.  “I can bring anyone I want down here and right now, you need to see what I’ve found.”

Padraig frowned slightly, but kept close to Sephora as she shouldered open one of the doors that lined the narrow hall.  “What is this, anyway?  Some kind of archive?”

“Something like that,” Sephora said.  “This is where the Inspector General’s office buries our dead.”

Padraig looked at her sharply and she gave a weak little laugh.

“Not literally, but this is where we file away things—files and evidence from investigations that are closed, files that may never be fully concluded, evidence that’s too dangerous to leave in another storage area, personal effects that have never been claimed, that kind of thing.”  She sobered.  “The contents of Frederick’s desk and locker are down here, among other things of his.”

“Research?” Padraig guessed.

“That too.”  Sephora snapped on the light and led him back through a warren of shelving units.  “Almost no one comes down here.  I can tell who the great ones will be by paying attention to who does.”

“Winston came down here, then?”
“All the time,” Sephora said.  “He reminds me of Frederick in some ways.  I hope he doesn’t suffer the same fate, but I’m afraid that I’ve sent him to just that.”

Padraig squeezed her shoulder briefly and she shot him a weak, wry smile.

“Thanks, Padraig.”

“Anytime,” he said softly.  “How have your staff been faring?”

“Tia and Leon booked passage off-world.  Karen is hoping to stick it out a little bit longer and I was able to get Victor and Zeke reassigned to postings off-world, closer to the fringes where I’m hoping they’ll be all right.”  Sephora shook her head slightly, leading him into a quiet rear corner of the storage area where the boxes from Frederick’s desk and locker were secreted away, along with the green suitcase that he’d inexplicably left behind on his last trip off-world.  “What about yours?”

“Miriam has been doing a bang-up job of getting everything pulled together,” Padraig said.  “She volunteered for the job.  I want her to go with them, but I don’t think she’ll do it.  I might have to find a way to trick her into going.”  He smiled wryly.  “I’d hate to lose her, but I’d also feel better if she was off-world and safe.”

“As if anywhere is going to be safe, my friend.”  Sephora forced a smile and squeezed his arm.  “Not with you getting ready to rock the boat.  When do you appear before the committee?”

“I blow the whistle in three days,” Padraig said.  “All hell breaks loose after that.”

She nodded.  “More than likely.”  She knelt down amidst the boxes, next to the suitcase.  “I found something you need to see before you go before that committee.”

Padraig frowned, nodding slightly and sinking down to his knees nearby.  “What is it?”

“What got Frederick killed,” she said, her throat suddenly tight.  “And the breadcrumbs that lead toward who had him killed.”

“You’ve figured it out?”

She felt sick.  “I have my suspicions, anyway.  I’m not quite at the point where I’m ready to start making accusations, but that moment is coming and coming fast.”  The minute I come out regarding what I’ve learned, it puts everyone I’ve ever cared about at risk—regardless of the distance they’ve put between themselves and I over the years.  She cracked open the suitcase, where she’d secreted away the most important pieces of evidence she’d uncovered.  “I’ve been spending a lot of time down here, working on unraveling the clues he left me.”

“Frederick?”

She nodded.  “Yeah.  I found a holovid that he left for me a few weeks ago.  That’s why I sent Tim Winston out there.  It’s why I’m worried now.”

“What did he…”  Padraig’s voice trailed away and then he started again.  “Seph, what did he have to tell you?”

She choked back a laugh.  “He gave me the warning that you reiterated.  Something’s rotten in the Commonwealth and I’m starting to see exactly where all the worst places are.”

She lifted a palmtop computer out of the suitcase and balanced it on a corner of it, tapping a few keys.  “Have a look at that.”

“What am I looking at?”  Padraig asked quietly as he peered at the palmtop, starting to slowly scroll through the data that had consumed her for the past few weeks.

“The truth,” Sephora whispered.  “God help me, god help us all, you’re looking at the truth.”

“This looks like a lot of who was trying to buy who back in—wait a second.”  Padraig’s brows knit and he leaned a little closer.  “Senator Milligan.”

Sephora closed her eyes and nodded.

“He’s still in the legislature,” Padraig said.  “I voted for him once.”

“A lot of people did,” Sephora said quietly.  “But he’s done a lot of things that aren’t necessarily on the level.  Look at how many people he’s tried to buy.”

“More than some of the congloms, based on this,” Padraig murmured, the glow of the palmtop lighting his face.  His gaze flicked toward her.  “Seph, how long have you known?”
“Only since I found the suitcase,” she said.  “Ever since I found Frederick’s message to me and I realized that I’d fucking abandoned my promise to him to figure out what happened to him and why.”

“Seph—”

“Don’t try to tell me I couldn’t pursue it, Padraig.”  She shook her head, staring blankly at the shelves that sheltered them from the rest of the world.  “I should have.  I didn’t.  That was a choice that I made and it’s a choice I regret.

“It’s one I never should have made and now humanity’s going to pay the price.”

We see the world in ways we wish to see it until some great calamity opens our eyes to the truth behind the illusion.

— attributed to Erich Quizibian

 17 Decem, 5249 PD

Winston stood at the edge of the rocky beach, staring out at the shallow bay.  The sun was rising, painting the sky pink and gold, sunlight sparkling on the water.  The sight was almost enough to take his breath away.  It was hard to find vistas like this back home.

If I needed one shred of proof that these people are doing something right, it’s staring me right in the face right now.

“Enjoying the view?”

Winston stiffened slightly and turned toward Brendan Cho’s voice.  His brows knit slightly as he studied the pilot, garbed in his undress uniform, as if he was on his way to the base and stumbled upon Winston purely by accident.

That’s probably what he wants it to look like, anyway.  Winston nodded slowly.  “I haven’t seen anything like it back home.  It’s beautiful.”

Brendan nodded slowly, wandering down the path and onto the gravel that ended where the sand of the beach began.  “Lindsay and I used to come down here when we were teenagers to watch the sun come up.”  A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  “We weren’t like most teenagers.  She could never sleep because of the nightmares, I couldn’t sleep because I’d never been allowed to sleep past 0430 since I was eight.”

“You two grew up together, then?”  Winston crossed his arms against the chill coming off the water.  “I’m surprised.”

“Why’s that?”  Brendan asked as he drew abreast of him, staring out at the water with an almost wistful expression.

“I just didn’t think you’d been here for that long.  Not long enough to grow up with her.”

“We were teenagers together,” Brendan said quietly.  “I didn’t say we’d grown up together.  You did.”  He jerked his chin toward the water.  “I crashed there.  I was piloting a Corp dropship and we came down hard, cartwheeled through the bay until we stopped in the shallows.  That was the first time I ever stabbed myself in the implant.”

Winston blinked at him.  “You what?”

Brendan shrugged slightly.  “It was either that or die.  It wasn’t really a choice.”  His gaze grew distant for a moment.  “I was the only one that survived.  I wouldn’t have if Lindsay hadn’t kept Alana from killing me off.”

Winston whistled low.  That’s certainly not what I expected.

Brendan shrugged again.  “That’s life,” he said softly.  “A series of events that you can’t predict until they happen.”  He looked at Winston.  “Did you ever imagine you’d end up here?”

“Not in my wildest dreams,” Winston said.  “Just meeting Frederick Rose alone…”  He shook his head.  “I never would have imagined that he could somehow be alive and in hiding out there.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by it, but I am.”  He studied the pilot sidelong.  “Shouldn’t you be reporting for duty?”

“I’m already on duty,” Brendan said with a faint, wry smile.  “Ezra hasn’t cleared me for flight status and my students are going up on practice runs today.  One of my colleagues is leading the squadron, which frees me up for special duties.”

The plot thickens.  “Like shadowing me,” Winston guessed.

“I believe the term ‘babysit’ came up in the briefing.”  His grin broadened out and Winston couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Because someone with your skillset shouldn’t be,” Brendan said.  “And even if you are, you shouldn’t admit to it.”

“Well put,” Winston said, still staring at the water.  “You’re correct in that assessment, I’m afraid.”

“It is as it is,” Brendan said.  “Was there anything in particular you wanted to see?”

“You mean other than more evidence regarding what happened at the Whispers?”  Winston smiled humorlessly.  His meeting with the Marshals and representatives of the Council had raised more questions than it had answered.  “I’m not sure what to tell you, Commander.”

“You’ll see what there is to see at the Whispers soon enough,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “The footage and everything else.  There’s rumblings of sending investigators of our own.”  His gaze slanted toward Winston.  “We want to know who killed it, too, Inspector.”

“Because you’re probably the real target.”

Brendan inclined his head.  “You said it.  I didn’t.”