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

— Attributed to Erich Quizibian, c. 5065 PD

14 Decem, 5249 PD

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

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

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

She certainly agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could a conspiracy really survive that long?

Without a bloody doubt.

 

•           •           •

 

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

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

He was nowhere to be seen.

Do I even have the right place?

“Inspector Damerian?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think they’re in danger?”

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