chapter twenty-one
Transtemporal Vehicle Kleio
Transverse, non-congruent
Benjamin Schröder sat at Kleio’s command table, hands resting on its surface, eyes darting back and forth between two sets of charts, jaw tense and lips fixed into a harsh line.
“You don’t look happy.” Elzbietá came up behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders.
“I’m not. It has to be here. It has to be.” He shook his head, eyes never leaving the charts. “I just haven’t found it yet.”
“You will.” She bent over and gave his cheek a quick peck.
“Don’t get all bent out of shape, Doc.” Raibert leaned back and propped his boots on the table. “H17 is a weird, frustrating mess. Take a break. Give your brain a breather. We’re almost back to Providence, anyway.”
Benjamin didn’t want to take a breather. He’d spent days on the ground in H17A and H17B, collecting historical data from each universe’s True Present, trying to zero in on the differences in their timelines, differences that would reveal the Institute’s activities in one universe or the other.
But all those efforts had amounted to nothing. Even assistance from Phoebe’s own ground team had turned up zilch. The two universes were divergent, both historically and chronometrically, but not in any way that made sense.
I should have known something was off when my two trips to the library turned up nearly identical records for 2941.
Those records hadn’t been the same, but they’d been close. Too close to account for a permanent fissure in the timeline. Something had split H17 down the middle, and that something had occurred forty years in the past. He could even pin the event down to within a day with a reasonable degree of accuracy, but that was as close as he’d come.
The divergence in newborn records had provided him with the most promising data so far. Any split in the timeline would inevitably introduce a ripple effect of causal change, and that would then manifest later as a sudden spike in births that panned out differently. The chances of the same two gametes connecting to produce the same individual were vanishingly small, which left him with a healthy evidence trail of differences. Trace those divergent pregnancies back to the earliest estimated point of fertilization, and he knew, roughly, when H17 ripped itself in two.
But what’s the trigger? he thought, frustrated and even a little angry at himself.
He knew the when, but he had no clue on the how. The Institute had fractured H17, but how had they done it? He’d studied the twin records until his eyes felt ready to bleed. There was nothing—absolutely nothing—so significantly different that it could account for the split.
It was like finding a shock wave with no explosion at the center.
How could they have possibly pulled this off? he wondered.
“Just remember something, Doc,” Raibert said. “We’re all stumped on this one. But don’t worry. I’ll talk to the boss and muster up some heavy-duty backup before we head out again. Maybe even see if I can rope Andover-Chen into this one.”
“It’s there,” Benjamin growled. “I know it is.”
“Doc . . . ” Raibert shrugged and gave Elzbietá a sad smile. “I gave it my best shot, Ella. This is your show now.”
Elzbietá hugged Benjamin’s shoulders from behind and gave his cheek another kiss.
“Come on, Ben. Time to step away for a bit.”
“It’s got to be there.”
Elzbietá reached for the screens, then swiped them closed. Benjamin frowned at the sudden blank space in front of him, then shut his eyes and let out a long, tired exhale. His wife gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze.
“Come on.” She tugged on him. “Let’s get some food in you. You hungry?”
“A little,” Benjamin admitted, rising out of his seat.
“How’s some leberkäse sound to you?”
“I could go for that.”
“Leberkäse it is, then.”
“Agent Kaminski,” Kleio said. “I have received a telegraph for you from Providence Station.”
Benjamin paused on his way off the bridge and, despite Elzbietá’s insistent nudging, turned to listen.
“Oh, good,” Raibert said. “What’d they say?”
“CHRONO Operations has issued a set of revised docking instructions. Would you like to review them?”
“Just give me the summary.”
“We are to proceed directly to Hangar Fifteen where a team of Gordian agents will inspect the ship.”
“An inspection?” Benjamin asked. “Is this because we’re coming back from quarantine universes?”
“No, Agent Schröder. The new policy was put in place by Consul Peng Fa following the assassination attempt on Director-General Csaba Shigeki and the—”
“What?!” Raibert blurted, almost slipping out of his chair. His boots stamped against the floor and he sprang up.
“The assassination attempt on Director-General Csaba Shigeki,” Kleio repeated, a rare edge of annoyance entering her voice, “and the sabotage of one of the station’s hot singularity reactors.”
“Exactly how much have we missed?” Raibert asked in wide-eyed disbelief.
“I do not know, Agent Kaminski. Would you like me to ask CHRONO Operations for more details?”
“You get right on that!”
* * *
Raibert stepped out of the counter-grav shaft and hurried into CHRONO Operations. The chamber bustled with activity: both Gordian and DTI agents hunched together at their workstations, calls going out, people rushing back and worth or passing abstract diagrams to each other. It was all low-key action, but it filled the room like a quiet yet frantic dance.
Raibert hustled up the stairs to Klaus-Wilhelm’s office. He palmed the door and walked through, only to stop in his tracks when he realized he was barging into a tense discussion.
“I know, Klaus. Trust me, I know.” Peng held up his hands across from Klaus-Wilhelm, both men standing beside a map of the transverse.
“Then why do you keep antagonizing them?” Klaus-Wilhelm demanded. “We’re in the middle of a crisis that could blow up at any moment, Muntero’s first instinct is to hoard all the chronoports for defense, and you keep spouting snide remarks! They’re not helping! We should all be grateful Peacekeepers are a thick-skinned bunch, otherwise they might take your verbal diarrhea seriously!”
Raibert winced at the venom in his superior’s voice.
Klaus-Wilhelm caught Raibert’s eye and waved for him to come in.
Raibert sidestepped all the way in and let the door seal shut behind him, but only that much. He had zero desire to be sucked into this one.
“Look, I get that they rub you the wrong way,” Klaus-Wilhelm continued, planting hands on hips. “The Admin isn’t the neighbor any of us wanted, but it’s the neighbor we have, and we have no choice but to make this work. CHRONO, Providence, all of it. Because the alternative to cooperation is the two of us sitting in our respective corners of the transverse, growing increasingly paranoid about what the other side is doing. Do I need to remind you it was the Admin that came to our aid when the Dynasty had our backs pressed against the wall?”
“You don’t,” Peng said.
“Then why are you making my job harder? The DTI shed blood to defend us. If you can’t respect anything else, at least respect that!”
“Klaus, you’ve made your point,” Peng said, his tone firm but conciliatory. “I admit I’ve probably been . . . more confrontational than I should have been.”
Klaus-Wilhelm waited in silence, then made a “give me more” gesture with one hand.
“Especially given this new role,” Peng continued. “Look, I get why the President—and their Chief Executor for that matter—both wanted some civilian oversight on what you and Shigeki do out here. But I only accepted the position because the President kept courting me. I initially turned her down.”
“Why’s that?” Klaus-Wilhelm’s expression softened ever so slightly.
“Because even I saw the problems of putting me in this position.” Peng’s blue eyes dimmed. “But here I am. And you’re right. Hell, you’re more than right. Both our side and the DTI helped us sniff out those operatives. And save the station.” He began to nod. “You know what? Maybe I should tell Muntero how much we appreciate the DTI’s help there.”
“It certainly won’t hurt.”
Peng’s eyes brightened.
“I think I’ll go do that right now. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
The consul vanished from the room. Klaus-Wilhelm blew out a breath and turned to Raibert.
“What was that about?” Raibert asked.
“Not a problem you need to worry about.” Klaus-Wilhelm waved him over to the transverse map. “I managed to skim your report, but only just. So far nothing definitive from either H17A or B.”
“That’s about the size of it, sir.”
“What’s your gut tell you about the two H17s?”
“That they’re still our best lead. However, we’ve hit a wall trying to find the branching event using standard methods, which is why we came back. We’d like to take another crack at the H17s with more and better resources.”
“Such as?”
“A few extra TTVs and Andover-Chen, if you can spare him.”
Klaus-Wilhelm slipped his thumbs into his pockets. “Andover-Chen and Hinnerkopf are busy with the station’s new array. I’d hate to slow them down even more.”
“Then how about the extra ships and maybe peel off some specialists from Andover-Chen’s team.”
“That sounds more doable. How many ships are you after?”
“Four if you can spare them, assuming the Phoebe sticks around, too. That should give us enough arrays to really zero in on the branching event.”
Klaus-Wilhelm consulted the map, then highlighted TTV icons on approach.
“Four it is, then. TTVs Hyperion, Mnemosyne, Linus, and Alcyone are yours as soon as they get back. I’ll talk to Andover-Chen to see who he can spare.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Hyperion and Alcyone are both coming at Providence from nearly the opposite direction of the H17 pair, so you have some time until you can leave.” Klaus-Wilhelm pulled up another list over his palm. “Free for a little errand in the meantime?”
“I suppose that depends on what you need.”
“It’s not me, but Themis Division. Two of them need a ride back to Argus Station, and it’s either you or Phoebe who gets to play taxi.”
“I suppose we can manage that. Who’re the passengers?”
“You remember Cho and Cantrell from the Delacroix murder?”
“Those two rascals!” Raibert’s face lit up. “How the hell are they?”
“They’re the reason we still have a station.”
* * *
“Thank you for giving us a ride, Agent Kaminski,” Isaac said, the LENS keeping pace behind his shoulder.
He and Susan followed Raibert up the ramp to the Kleio’s three-story-tall cargo hold while a conveyor drone hauled Susan’s crated STAND equipment. Most of the chamber’s volume was taken up by two massive guns stacked all the way to the ceiling. Isaac and the others filed through a path to the right of the weaponry, and the conveyor secured Susan’s equipment against the wall and then floated up to its charging rack.
“Oh, don’t mention it.” Raibert made a shooing gesture. “Always happy to lend a hand to you two. And please, it’s Raibert. We keep things casual on this ship.”
Isaac and Susan trailed him to a grav shaft at the end of the hold, took it up one level, and followed the corridor back to the TTV’s bridge. Isaac had expected the rest of the crew: Agents Benjamin and Elzbietá Schröder, whom he’d only heard about in passing, along with Raibert’s IC Philosophus. What he hadn’t expected was the large sandwich spread on the command table: fresh rolls cut in half, a cluster of jars with several kinds of mustard, a plate stacked with a wide variety of cheeses, various other sandwich fixings like lettuce and sliced tomatoes, and lastly . . . some sort of pink, homogenous meatloaf?
Both Benjamin and Elzbietá stood with plates in one hand and half-eaten sandwiches in the other.
“Kleio,” Raibert said, resting his hands on the command table’s railing, “do we have departure clearance?”
“We do, Agent Kaminski,” announced a smooth feminine voice over their shared hearing.
“Then let’s not dawdle. Take us out.”
“Yes, Agent. Departing Providence Station and setting a course for Argus Station, SysGov, True Present.”
Raibert picked up a plate with a fully assembled sandwich.
Elzbietá swallowed a mouthful and set her sandwich down. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“I was about to.” Raibert gestured to his IC. “I assume you remember Philo.”
“You better believe it.” Cephalie popped into existence beside the sandwich spread. She strolled up to the pink loaf and poked it with her cane, then gave Philo a fierce eye. “You staying out of trouble?”
“Not really,” Philo said. “But, in my defense, I’d have to quit Gordian to do that.”
“Not without me, you’re not.” Raibert waved a hand toward the Schröder couple. “Over here we have our two best agents from the twenty-first century, Elzbietá and Benjamin Schröder.”
“We’re the only agents from that century,” Elzbietá pointed out, her eyes laughing.
“Still counts.” Raibert turned to their passengers. “Ben was a history professor and Ella a crack fighter pilot.”
“Still am,” Elzbietá said with a bit of swagger. “My ride’s just bigger nowadays.”
“That she is,” Raibert agreed warmly. “Her flying has saved our lives plenty of times. Meanwhile, Ben is our resident analyst, both for historical and chronometric strangeness.”
“When I’m not banging my head against a wall,” Benjamin groused.
“Chin up, Doc. We all have bad days.”
Benjamin grunted something under his breath.
“Over here we have Detective Isaac Cho,” Raibert continued, “and Special Agent Susan Cantrell, both of whom helped us sort out Delacroix’s murder.”
“That was certainly an unusual case,” Isaac said, and Susan nodded in agreement.
“But you two cracked it in the end,” Raibert said. “That’s the important part. And I understand you even figured out who tried to off Shigeki.”
“Technically, we’re not done with that case. We’ll be heading for Luna after you drop us off.”
“Either way, glad to have you two aboard,” Elzbietá said brightly. “Even if it’s only for a little bit.”
Benjamin nodded toward them, his expression momentarily less grouchy.
“Glad to be here.” Isaac’s eyes flicked over the sandwich spread, and his stomach chose that moment to let out a faint grumble.
“Help yourself.” Elzbietá swept an open hand across the lunch spread. “I called up the leberkäse to help cheer Ben up, but then I started getting hungry myself, so I ordered the works.”
Isaac eyed the pink loaf suspiciously. “Leberkäse? I can’t say I’m familiar with it.”
“Oh, it’s great. You should try some.”
“What’s it taste like?”
“It’s—”
“Pardon me,” Cephalie interrupted with a flourish of her cane. “I don’t wish to be rude, but I should probably handle this.” She cleared her virtual throat and faced Isaac. “From the perspective of your unsophisticated Saturnite palette—”
Isaac frowned at his IC.
“—you’d be best visualizing leberkäse like a big loaf of hot dog meat.”
“Oh?” His eyes widened hungrily. “That does sound good.”
“Smells good, too,” Susan said.
“Help yourselves,” Elzbietá urged.
A microbot swarm dropped off two fresh plates, and Isaac set about constructing his sandwich. Susan finished first, since the choice of mustard stalled him, and he spent over a minute consulting each jar’s abstract label. Eventually, he settled on the spiciest mustard available, finished constructing his sandwich, and joined the others.
“Did you say dinosaurs?” Susan exclaimed, eyes lighting up.
“Yes, but that’s just shorthand for what we actually found,” Elzbietá said.
“Did I miss something?” Isaac asked.
Susan turned to him with a gleeful, almost childlike smile. “Ella was just telling us about the time the Kleio found an Earth full of dinosaurs.”
“Their descendants, really,” Elzbietá said. “Turns out the L26 Earth doesn’t have a Chicxulub crater, so it seems like the extinction event at the end of the Cretaceous Period never happened. Or perhaps the impact was much less severe. Either way, our survey spotted some true monsters down there. All worthy of the title ‘thunder lizards.’”
“You wouldn’t happen to still have the video, would you?” Susan asked hopefully.
“Sure do!” Elzbietá set her plate down. “Here, let me pull them up for you.”
Isaac circled the table for a better angle, which placed him beside Benjamin.
“Detective,” Benjamin said around a bite of leberkäse.
“Hello,” Isaac replied. He paused, then turned toward the man. “I don’t mean to pry, but you seem a little out of sorts.”
“It’s because of H17,” Benjamin grumbled around his food, then swallowed.
“What about it?”
“There are two of them, and I can’t figure out why.”
“Two universes?”
“Yeah.”
“Where there used to be one?”
“Uh huh.”
“That sounds like a rather large deal.”
“It is. But it’s worse than you think because the Institute may be hiding in one of them.” Benjamin narrowed his gaze, staring at nothing. “If I could only figure out—”
“Now, Ben,” Elzbietá warned from across the table. “What are we doing right now?”
“Taking a break from work.”
“Right. And that means . . . ?”
“No talking about H17. I know.” Benjamin sighed, then glanced over at Isaac. “Mind if we talk about something else? Before I get into trouble, that is.”
“Not at all.” Isaac paused for a moment. “I suppose I could talk about my work.”
“That should be safe.” Benjamin set his plate down. “You said you two were off to Luna next?”
“That’s right.”
“What do you expect to find there?”
“More information on the Institute, we hope. We believe a professor named Xenophon may be involved. An Institute prisoner reacted rather forcefully when we mentioned his name, right before he self-deleted.”
“Ouch.” Benjamin winced. “This Xenophon character live on Luna?”
“Taught there, but that’s not why we’re interested. We found coordinates for a spot in the Lacus Oblivionis. Seems the location was used to transmit a connectome from the moon to Scaffold Delta, which the Institute was in control of at the time.”
“Sounds like a good lead.”
“We’ll see when we get there. It may turn out to be nothing.”
“Won’t know until you check it out, though.”
“Exactly.”
“Hmm.” Benjamin grabbed his plate again. “Well, I hope you find what you’re . . . ” He trailed off, and his eyes grew distant, staring out at a blank spot on the far wall. He stayed like that for long seconds, eyes intense but unfocused, jaw tightening.
“I’m sorry,” Isaac said, “but is something wro—”
“How could I be so stupid?” Benjamin snapped, loud enough for Isaac to flinch.
Everyone paused and turned to face him. Benjamin dropped his plate onto the table, where the top bun bounced off and the plate rattled to a halt. He huffed out a breath, planted his hands on his hips, and met their expectant gazes.
“The reason we didn’t find anything,” he explained heatedly, “is because the branching event didn’t happen on Earth!”
* * *
“And that’s roughly the shape of it,” Klaus-Wilhelm told CHRONO’s leadership.
“So,” Muntero murmured thoughtfully as she sank back into her chair, “the Institute’s base is on Luna.”
“Not just any Luna,” Jonas added, “but one of the H17s.”
“That’s our conclusion,” Klaus-Wilhelm said.
“It would certainly explain why we failed to pinpoint the divergence in H17’s timeline,” Peng said, his eyes glowing a bit brighter. “And it fits with the transceiver coordinates we’ve recovered. The question now becomes what to do about it.”
“I believe the answer should be obvious.” Csaba Shigeki placed his splayed hand on the conference table, and a ledger of nearby Admin ships sprang into being. “We use this information to go for the Institute’s throat. Our forces are already assembling nearby. I say we take the bulk of those chronoports and reduce their base to plasma.”
“And leave our outer wall undefended?” Muntero shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“We would leave a modest rearguard behind.”
“Modest?” Muntero scoffed. “Not good enough.”
“Consul, we can’t not seize the initiative here!” Shigeki said.
“There are too many unknowns, Csaba! How big is the Institute’s TTV force? And, more importantly, where is it? At their base? Maybe, but maybe not. Perhaps it’s hiding out elsewhere in the transverse, and when they see us move out, they move in. We don’t even know how they intend to hit us!”
Shigeki opened his mouth to respond, but Peng cut in with a loud throat-clear, and Shigeki paused, then nodded to the SysGov consul.
“She does have a point,” Peng conceded, sounding like he didn’t enjoy agreeing with Muntero. “We’re still at a severe deficit when it comes to intel on the Institute. Sure, we all think they’re hanging out in H17A or B, but we don’t know, and that’s the problem. If we’re wrong and we move out, then all we’ve done is shift your ships out of position.”
“A situation I will not accept,” Muntero added firmly.
“Then what would you accept?” Shigeki demanded, his eyes on Muntero.
“That’s not my role here.”
“Clearly!” Shigeki shook his head, then turned to Klaus-Wilhelm. “What’s your take on all this?”
“As much as this may surprise you, I find myself agreeing with Consul Muntero,” Klaus-Wilhelm informed them, his voice cool in an effort to bring the temperature in the room down. “She’s right that we can’t leave the Admin undefended.”
“But we can’t do nothing.”
“Of course not. We’re confident we’ve narrowed the Institute’s base to two locations, but we need more information before we can act decisively. Until we have a better handle on what we’re up against—and how large and capable it is—a short-term defensive approach makes sense.” Klaus-Wilhelm summoned a much smaller vessel tally next to Shigeki’s. “I propose we ascertain the precise location and strength of the enemy through reconnaissance in force.”
“Six TTVs,” Muntero said with an approving nod.
“Which will be ready to leave—or in position to rendezvous along the way—within the hour.” Klaus-Wilhelm met Muntero’s gaze. “I’d also like to request Admin support for this strike squadron.”
“What do you need?” Shigeki asked before Muntero could object.
“All six TTVs are our lighter Aion-class. I’d like to include one or two Windfall-class heavy TTVs, but the logistics don’t work out for a timely departure.”
“And you’d like us to make up the shortfall in heavy firepower,” Shigeki finished.
“I would.”
“Let’s see.” Shigeki pursed his lips as he consulted the list of nearby chronoports. “Hammerhead-Seven and Eight are both near Providence. Their presence would certainly add the punch you’re looking for, and their nukes may prove useful in cracking open whatever fortifications the Institute has set up.” Shigeki turned to Muntero. “Do you find that acceptable, Consul?”
“I do.”
“We’ll need to make sure the chain of command is clear,” Klaus-Wilhelm said.
“Who did you have in mind to lead the squadron?” Shigeki asked.
“Agent Kaminski.”
“Works for me. I can place Captain Elifritz in charge of our two ships. That way they can act as a division under Kaminski’s overall squadron command. That should allow us to avoid any cross-organization hiccups.”
“What about their mission scope?” Peng asked. “We have no idea what they’ll encounter.”
“Which is why I intend to give Kaminski broad leeway to act on his initiative,” Klaus-Wilhelm said. “The Institute hasn’t shied away from lethal force, and I see no reason we shouldn’t return the courtesy. If Kaminski spots an opening, I want him to take it, with the understanding his primary mission is to gather intel.”
“Then we should be prepared for possible ground engagements,” Shigeki said. “Either within Institute TTVs or a moon base of sorts. Can your forces support that contingency?”
“Not as well as I’d like. We’d have to strip Providence Station of its security drones to put together even a respectable ground force.”
“Then let us handle that aspect of the mission.” Shigeki opened a personnel roster. “We can transfer any available STANDs to the two Hammerheads, and we have enough combat frames on site for all of them.”
“Then it sounds to me like we have a plan.” Klaus-Wilhelm looked around the table. “If there are no objections . . . Very good. Then let’s get to work.”
* * *
“Have a minute, Klaus?” Peng said once the others had filed out of the CHRONO conference room.
“A minute is about all I can spare,” Klaus-Wilhelm said, stopping by the door. “What do you need?”
“Just wanted to pick your brain about something. You remember those contingency plans all us then-commissioners had to put together? You know, the ones for all-out war with the Admin?”
“Yes,” Klaus-Wilhelm replied carefully. “What about them?”
“Well, it was something that detective brought up. About how the Institute might be basing their plans on what I and the rest of Arete Division put together back then.”
“I suppose anything’s possible. They’ve infiltrated Gordian. Who’s to say they don’t have their tentacles in Arete, too?”
“Right, right. But just suppose for a moment they are using those plans. That could actually give us an unexpected edge.”
“How so?”
“Because we have those plans, too.” Peng’s eyes brightened. “And I have an idea on how to counter them if they try to carry them out.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What did you have in mind?”
“Just something in the way of insurance. For us and for the Admin. But before I go any further, understand this has to stay between the two of us. No sharing with the Admin because what I have in mind would”—he flashed a dark smile—“upset them. A lot.”
“Then we absolutely should tell them.”
“We can’t. Trust me on this one, Klaus. If we want to help them, then we need to go behind their backs on this one. This is absolutely one of those ask-for-forgiveness-rather-than-permission moments.”
* * *
“Where’re you off to next?” Jonas asked his father as they stopped by the grav shaft. Vassal’s avatar appeared beside them, visible in their shared virtual vision, his mind running on Jonas’ wrist wearable.
“Back to the Admin,” Shigeki replied. “I understand everyone’s arguments about caution—hell, I wouldn’t have gone along with Schröder’s plan if I didn’t—but at the same time I can’t shake the feeling we’re about to kick a hornet’s nest.”
“Then you want to make sure our fleet is ready?”
“In person,” Shigeki stressed. “Whether for offense or defense, we need to be prepared.”
Jonas gave his father a wry smile. “Hopefully no one gives you any grief about having been killed.”
“What a blasted inconvenience.” Shigeki shook his head.
“Better than actually being dead.”
“It’s just another sign of how much we lag behind SysGov. And not just technologically, but with our laws and culture, too.”
“We’ll catch up. It’s only a matter of time.”
“But in the short-term, we need to make sure the Admin gets that time.”
“We’ll get through this.”
“Sirs,” Vassal said. “If I may make a recommendation?”
“What’s on your mind?” Jonas asked.
“I suggest both of you return to the Admin to take command of the DTI fleet. For two reasons. First, as you’ve noted, former director Csaba Shigeki’s ambiguous citizenship status could prove problematic at an inconvenient time.”
“He’s got a point there,” Shigeki agreed.
“And the second reason?” Jonas asked.
“I’d like to join the fleet as well,” Vassal said. “I believe my skills may prove useful in analyzing any potential attack by the Institute, and aiding in the development of countermeasures. Especially if the Institute targets our infostructure, which seems likely given their obvious skill with invasive software.”
“Hard to argue with that.” Jonas smiled to Shigeki. “What do you say? I can have Hinnerkopf fill in for me if anything comes up on the station.”
“Sounds fine to—”
“Director!”
Jonas and Shigeki stopped and turned as Agent Noxon hurried over, still in his combat frame.
“What is it, Nox?” Shigeki asked.
“Sir, I saw the order mustering all available STANDs.”
“That doesn’t include you, Nox,” Shigeki said. “You’re exempt.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’d like your permission to join the squadron.”
Shigeki made a disapproving face, one Jonas had seen many times before but from a different body. He found the expression an uncomfortable mix of foreign and familiar.
“I need you with me, Nox,” Shigeki said at last.
“Sir, these are the people who tried to kill you,” Nox replied stiffly. “Who succeeded, in a certain point of view.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was responsibility. Is my responsibility. Sir, the squadron is where I’m needed most. Of all the STANDs on Providence, I’m the one with the most combat experience.”
“By a couple decades, too,” Jonas noted, eliciting a stern look from his father.
“I’m the best choice to command the ground team, and you know it,” Nox continued. “Please, sir. I don’t ask for much, but this is something I have to do.”
Shigeki hesitated for a moment.
Just a moment.
“All right, Nox.” He met Nox’s yellow eyes. “You’ve convinced me. Report to Hammerhead-Seven immediately. I’ll let Elifritz know you’re coming.”
“Yes, sir!”