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

— Willow McLeod, Beyond Lies, c. 2017 AD

14 Decem, 5249 PD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why bring it up?”

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

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

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

Could one of them be Dr. Grace?

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

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

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

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

Bloody…why does he seem familiar?

No.  No, it couldn’t be.

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

“Something the matter?”

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

Frederick Rose is dead.

Isn’t he?

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

Not unless it was a matter of life and death.

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

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

“I think you won the bet, Freder.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A dead legend.

Tim swallowed hard, then looked at the Speaker.

“You did this on purpose.  Arranged this.”

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

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

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

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

Tim blinked.  “Find what?”

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

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

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

The dead inspector began to laugh.

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