“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.”