I’ve got good news and bad news—and worse news. Which would you like first?
— Unknown
12 Decem, 5249 PD
Adam stared at the starplot that hovered in front of him, brow furrowed and arms crossed. Behind him the newsnets droned on, lies spread about the colony, the Foundation, shot out across the dark depths of space to reach them even all the way out here, on the very fringes of humanity’s sphere of influence. A half-dozen members of the Marshal’s collective staff buzzed around, compiling intelligence reports independent of what D’Arcy Morgause had come up with.
He stared at the starplot without actually seeing it, his jaw set.
It’s worse than we thought.
“You asked to see me, sir?”
He took a deep breath and turned toward Brendan, nodding. “Aye. I imagined you’d want to know this as soon as possible.”
Brendan’s brows lifted as he joined him by the starplot. “What did you find out?”
“Two of the congloms have ordered us to quit our claim to the system and leave,” Adam said quietly, gaze returning to the starplot.
From the corner of his eye, he could see his younger colleague wince. “Which ones are they?”
“Idesalli and the Compact,” Adam said, shaking his head and looking vaguely regretful. “I imagine that Chinasia is soon to follow.”
“Does the Council know?”
“We haven’t told them yet. That’s what we decided was best for now.” He looked toward Brendan. “But we’ll have to tell them soon.”
“Do you think D’Arcy knows yet?”
“Possibly.” Adam crossed his arms, eyes narrowing slightly. “Probably.”
“What else is going on that you’re not telling me?” Brendan asked, turning to face his superior.
Adam killed a grim smile. Sharp. But he always was. “I heard something from one of our contacts at Mission Systems.”
“Is that going well?”
Adam was silently thankful for Brendan’s momentary distraction. “They’re in the process of moving all of their operations here. It’s going to take time, but that’s their plan. The Council agreed to it and I’m more than a little thankful they did.”
The pilot next to him took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Because it means warships,” Brendan said.
“Because it means we’re not alone. Because it means that there are people within the Commonwealth that may look more favorably upon us than they might have before Mission Systems threw in their lot with us.” He shook his head slightly. “There are hundreds of millions who don’t understand what the Foundation is all about. They think we’re crazy survivalist extremists out here, paranoids and psychics out of touch with reality.”
“And having a minor conglomerate throw in with us makes us somehow more credible?” Brendan grimaced. “I knew the galaxy was screwed up, Marshal, but I didn’t realize it was quite that bad.”
A wry smile twisted Adam Windsor’s lips and he shook his head. “I may be exaggerating. Marshal’s prerogative.”
Brendan nodded slightly. “Well, either way, having Mission Systems here couldn’t hurt, I guess. You said there was more?”
He nodded. “One of our contacts let me know that he loaded an agent from NeCom’s Inspector General’s office on one of his haulers about a week ago. He should be arriving here soon, barring any complications.”
Brendan glanced at him, brows knitting. “Is that supposed to be good news?”
“I’d like to think it is,” Adam said, crossing his arms and meeting Brendan’s doubt-filled eyes. “The Inspector General’s office should be objective, at the very least.”
“I wish I felt like I could trust anyone from NeCom these days,” Brendan said, looking at the starplot. He waved his hand vaguely at the systems it displayed. “But from the sound of things, it’s not doing a very good job of protecting anyone or keeping anyone in check. Extremists are ruling or just running roughshod over the works. Or am I wrong?”
“No,” Adam said. “You’re not wrong. They can’t control the congloms, but they never really could. We knew that back when Mimir died and when someone made Frederick Rose a target for retaliation when he started to get close to the truth.”
Brendan’s lips thinned as he clearly swallowed a question. Adam shook his head slightly. The boy had recognized Frederick after all.
I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me. He may have been isolated while he was in training, but he’s bright and they’d have known about Frederick’s supposed death even in Chinasian territory.
“We can talk about that later,” Adam said in a low voice.
“I’d rather talk about it now,” Brendan said quietly. “But I’m fully aware that this isn’t the place for it.”
Adam glanced around, then shook his head. “It’s not. Walk with me.”
Together, they left the cave and headed up to ground level, out into the chill sunshine of autumn. Both men stayed silent as they walked away from the command center and down a wooded jogging trail that wended its way out toward the base’s walls.
Brendan broke the silence once it became clear that they were well and truly alone. “How long have you been keeping his survival a secret?”
“So you recognized him.”
He nodded. “Though not from the newsnets or anything. It was from something I saw—or Lindsay saw—something. Who’s seeing what is becoming harder and harder to sort out.” He raked both hands back through his dark hair, leaving it in disarray.
A shiver shot down Adam’s spine, but he refused to let that show in his expression.
Brendan glanced at him. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“Since he was reported dead,” Adam said.
“So it’s been a long time.” Brendan shoved his hands into his pockets, head dipping, his eyes lost in shadows. “Why?”
“He’s my friend and someone tried to murder him,” Adam said quietly. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing if it happened to Ezra.”
Brendan winced. “I would.”
“I know.”
“So why has he resurfaced now? Seems like a crappy time to do it.”
Adam smiled. “I don’t pretend to understand why he does everything he does, but I seem to recall his mentioning that it was a crappy time to stay out of things when he felt like he could help.”
Brendan frowned, then shook his head. “That takes a lot of guts.”
“Yes, it does,” Adam agreed. “But I’m glad of it—for a lot of reasons.” His gaze slanted toward Brendan. “Not the least of which is the possibility of his intercession on your behalf and on Alana’s.”
Brendan winced again. “Are we really in that much danger?”
“For the sake of my niece, I certainly hope not.”
“I’m not leaving her again,” Brendan said. “I promised her.”
Adam shook his head, expression grim. “I’ll try to make sure you don’t have to.”
Unfortunately, I can’t give you a promise on that.
The look the pilot gave him told him that Brendan knew that, too—but it also promised that the day Adam Windsor asked him to leave their world again would be the day he got told exactly where he could shove his orders—right along with everything else.
The boy’s grit made Adam smile.
I made a good choice. I made a very, very good choice.