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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO



“Let me get this straight,” Noxon said once they’d all gathered on Pathfinder-Prime’s bridge. “You believe yet another one of our players might be involved in these crimes—in addition to the one still stuck in a cell—and you want me to authorize the use of one of our chronoports so you can take it back to the Admin to expand your investigation, starting with Byrgius University. Does that summarize the situation?”

“Yes, that about sums it up.” Isaac sighed. “I’m sure this request must seem—”

“Excuse me for a moment.” Noxon placed his hand on a PIN interface.

Isaac waited in silence on the bridge, then glanced over at Susan, who flashed a quick smile his way. He returned his attention to Noxon, who hadn’t moved.

“I’m sorry. What are you doing?”

“Calling to approve your requisition, of course.”

* * *

Director-General Csaba Shigeki didn’t like negotiations.

It wasn’t that he was bad at them. Quite the opposite in fact; he considered himself a skilled negotiator, since his natural talent for reading people allowed him to peer through the masks worn when arguing over finite pools of resources. He thought that personal assessment was accurate, because he had to be at least somewhat competent at negotiation in this line of work. How else could he have navigated and manipulated the levers of governance to form the DTI and ensure it had enough resources to thrive?

No, he wasn’t bad at negotiating. He simply preferred the more comfortable, pleasurable task of running the organization he’d created. There was simplicity in the arrangement—an elegant beauty to the hierarchy—even if the DTI’s tasks were anything but simple. He received directives from the chief executor, and in turn he gave directives to his underlings. Hierarchies were straightforward, and they worked more often than they didn’t. More than that, he enjoyed his job and the larger role it played in keeping the Admin safe and prosperous.

Negotiations were…messy, in comparison.

“No, I can’t accept that,” declared Commissioner Klaus-Wilhelm von Schröder. “If this is to be a joint venture, then it’s a joint venture right down the line. And that means both SysGov and the Admin contribute the same quantity of exotic matter to Providence.”

Shigeki put on a brave face, but inside his mind he wanted to scream. Negotiating with Schröder was like banging his head against a fortified malmetal barrier. Worse, in fact, because he could probably bust through the barrier eventually.

On the surface, one might believe Schröder lacked the duplicity to navigate a contentious negotiation. He wore no masks, for one. There were no falsehoods in his position, no scummy manipulations. He shot straight and he demanded the same from the other side of the table. If they’d been playing cards, his entire hand would be faceup. In theory, that should be a crippling disadvantage, but the man possessed an uncanny second sense for sniffing out the pressure points—

—and then jabbing them with a hot poker.

“I only suggested a modest reallocation,” Shigeki countered. “Sixty-forty with SysGov taking the larger share. Your exotic matter industry greatly outstrips our own, after all. Both in terms of quantity and quality.”

“A fair enough point,” Schröder admitted. “But what do I get in return?”

“I hold that sixty-forty is a reasonable distribution, given the differences in our production capacity.”

“Which I can’t accept. It’s either a fifty-fifty split or you make concessions elsewhere.”

Do you have any idea how expensive exotic matter is for us to produce? Shigeki thought glumly. Actually, you probably do, which is why you’re going to squeeze as much out of me as you can. There’s no way I’ll convince the chief executor to front fifty percent of the exotic material. Hell, I’m not even sure he’ll accept forty!

He glanced around the long conference table, across the assembled faces that made up both the Gordian Division’s and DTI’s senior staff, and his eyes paused on Doctor Andover-Chen, and then Doctor Hinnerkopf.

He let out a short, inward snort.

It’s not that the project doesn’t have merit, he thought. It has tremendous merit, but you technical types always fixate on one question and one question only: Can it be done? Well, sure, it can, but did you ever consider the limitations of time, budget, and personnel? No, of course you didn’t. You saw it was possible, and so you leaped forward at the opportunity.

But there’s a major problem someone has to deal with, and by “someone” I mean me. Our fleet won’t be back to pre-Crisis strength for at least another year. Securing the resources and budget for those new ships was a painful, grueling experience, but now you want me to go back in front of the chief executor with outstretched hands and say the equivalent of “Please, sir. I want some more.”

I can already hear his answer.

Shigeki returned his attention to Schröder.

Fine, he thought. I need him to agree with sixty-forty. Time to figure out what we can spare.

To his right, Jonas cleared his throat, and Shigeki gave him a nod to proceed.

“There’s a piece of tech we could potentially put on the table,” he suggested.

“You mean in addition to your impeller designs?” Andover-Chen asked.

“It’s something we have in development. We recently started practical tests, and the tech shows a great deal of potential.”

Damn, not that, Shigeki thought. He knew exactly what his son was about to propose, and a part of him wanted to cut him off right then and there. I’d hoped to keep that technology to ourselves. But Jonas probably sees the same problem I do. The truth is what else can we offer that’s worth enough to offset the exotic matter costs? We can’t afford to let the negotiations fall apart, not with SysGov’s counter-grav tech as the all-too-tempting prize. They may not realize how much that piece alone is worth to us.

“What are you offering?” Schröder asked.

Jonas looked to Shigeki, and he waved for his son to continue.

“Go ahead. Give them the project brief. Let them have a good look at it.”

Jonas placed his hand on the conference table, and an abstract diagram materialized, showing the slender spike of a chronoton impeller. Though this one thickened near the base. The diagram began a cycling animation, and the base widened until it resembled a cylindrical exhaust port with a thick spike down the center.

“A new style of impeller?” Andover-Chen asked, smiling with the glee of a child who might soon receive a new toy.

“More of a refinement to our existing designs,” Hinnerkopf clarified. “The impeller is a rotating type, same as all of ours, but we’ve injected some SysGov-inspired features into the design, most notably through active changes to the exotic matter’s permeability.”

“This morphing section at the base.” Schröder pointed to it. “What’s it for?”

“Think of it as a jet engine’s afterburner,” Jonas suggested. “It allows us to temporarily exceed the impeller’s maximum speed.”

Shigeki wasn’t sure why Jonas had chosen that analogy, but dealing with Schröder was always an adventure. The man had been plucked from the Admin’s 1950s, after all, and sometimes archaic comparisons worked better, which seemed to be the case this time as Schröder nodded his understanding, visibly intrigued by the offer.

“This can go faster than ninety-five kilofactors?”

“Oh yes.” Jonas grinned like an eager salesman. “And at almost no cost to maneuverability.”

“Why not have it active all the time, then?”

“The modification places significant strain on the impeller,” Hinnerkopf explained. “It’s not suitable for extended cruising. Also”—she continued indignantly—“it’s not an afterburner.”

“But what about—”

A priority alert blinked in Shigeki’s peripheral vision, and he expanded it to see an incoming call from Noxon. He checked the time.

“Everyone, sorry to interrupt,” Shigeki began. “We’ve been at this for almost two hours today, and I think we’re due for a lunch break. Besides, Klaus, I’d like to give you and your team some time to consider our latest offer in private.”

“Sounds good,” Schröder said, rising from his seat. “Meet back in an hour?”

“An hour it is,” Shigeki agreed.

The meeting began to break up. Kloss and Jonas headed over to one end of the room, where a wall panel split open and a massive catering shelf extended out, laden with drinks, snacks, and do-it-yourself sandwich materials. Both of them picked up plates and began assembling their lunches.

Shigeki placed his hand on the table and established a link with Noxon.

“Nox. Shigeki here,” he began, his real lips not moving. “Sorry it took me so long to answer.”

Noxon didn’t respond for a few seconds.

“Not a problem, sir.”

“Where are you? There’s some delay on the call.”

“I’m on Luna.”

“What are you doing all the way out there?”

“Your son sent me here,” he answered dryly.

“Oh.” Shigeki shrugged. “Is this about the gaming tournament he was talking about?”

“It is. I have a related requisition that needs your review. Transmitting it now.”

“I see it.” Shigeki opened the file and began reading through it. “One of our investigators needs to use a chronoport?”

“That’s correct. We have two over here right now, Defender-Prime and Pathfinder-Prime. With your permission, I intend to take Defender-Prime back to the Admin, where it will serve as a support craft for the investigator. Pathfinder-Prime will remain here as our command center for event security.”

“What’s the chronoport needed for?”

“Two of our visiting civilians have received death threats, and the root of these crimes might be back home.”

“Got it. You heading out or staying?”

“Heading out. I intend to leave the original lead, Agent Miguel Pérez, in charge of event security. Unless you want me to stay.”

“No, that’s all right. I trust your judgment.” Shigeki traced down the virtual document with a finger then paused at a line near the bottom. “What the hell?”

“Sir?”

“Did you know we had a rank called ‘junior provisional investigator’?”

“I don’t pay much attention to what Kloss does in Espionage.”

“Hmm.” Shigeki took another look at the form then shook his head. “Hold on. I need to confirm something. Be right back.” He muted the call and twisted in his seat until he faced the catering table. “Kloss!”

His subordinate looked up, plate in one hand, half-eaten sandwich in the other, his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk.

Shigeki beckoned him over with a stern finger.

Kloss hurried to his side, balancing the plate atop his fingers while also trying to jam the second half of his sandwich into his mouth. Pieces of shredded lettuce fluttered down to the floor, and sub dressing dripped down his fingers.

“Ea, osh?” he mumbled, which Shigeki assumed translated into “Yeah, boss?”

“Mind if I ask you something?”

“Ea?” He chewed and swallowed before taking another large bite in an effort to inhale the meal as fast as possible.

“What, pray tell, is a ‘junior provisional investigator’?”

Kloss froze, the sandwich partially shoved into his gaping mouth.

“Kloss?” Shigeki raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

The man held up a finger with the sandwich braced in his jaw. He grabbed hold of it again, took another bite, and began to leisurely masticate the food. Behind him at the catering table, Jonas became utterly enthralled by the dessert selection, a change in disposition his father did not fail to notice.

“Because,” Shigeki continued, “as far as I know, there’s nothing junior or provisional about any of our investigators. They’re all lifers with ten years’ field experience, minimum. That’s a requirement you set, by the way.”

Kloss set his plate down on the conference table, unfurled a napkin and began to methodically wipe down each finger, all while chewing in slow motion.

“I’m still waiting.” Shigeki leaned away from his subordinate and draped an arm over the chair back.

Kloss swallowed, then proceeded to inspect the front of his teeth with his tongue. Once satisfied he’d scoured them clear of debris, he cleared his throat and spoke up.

“It is a…new rank.”

“How new? Within the past year?”

“Yes.” Kloss gave him a few deliberate nods. “We did add it within the past year.”

“What for?”

“We discovered an…administrative gap in Espionage that needed to be filled. The…new rank fills that gap.”

Back at the catering table, Jonas seemed to be having a hell of a time deciding between the chocolate pudding and the vanilla pudding.

“Kloss?” Shigeki sighed.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Why are you bullshitting me?”

“I’m not—”

“Never mind. Hold that thought.” Shigeki reopened the call with Noxon and expanded it to include Kloss. “Nox, you there?”

“Right where you left me, sir.”

“This ‘Isaac Cho’ person. You trust him?”

“I wouldn’t have forwarded his request to you otherwise.”

“And you.” Shigeki pointed a stern finger at Kloss. “You trust him?”

“Well…”

“He is one of your investigators.”

“Yeah, but”—Kloss shrugged his shoulders—“there’s no way I can keep track of everyone who works in Espionage.”

“I see.” Shigeki drummed his fingers on the table. “Nox, who’s captain of the chronoport you want?”

“That would be Jason Elifritz.”

“Elifritz…” Shigeki repeated, considering the name. “Ah, now I remember him. Solid. Dependable. Has a very sweet Martian for a wife. He’s on the short list for one of the new Hammerheads, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That would be him, sir.”

“Okay, I’m going to authorize this one, but only because both you and Elifritz are on board. Support the investigator, but know that either of you can take over on a moment’s notice, understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

“Otherwise, keep to our normal operating parameters. Nothing too far into the past.” Shigeki annotated the requisition and approved it. “There. Done.”

“Thank you, sir. We’ll be heading out soon.”

Noxon closed the call.

Shigeki glared up at Kloss, who tried to put on a brave face.

“Have a seat, Kloss,” he said with a mirthless smile. “Let’s talk.”

* * *

“There you have it.” Noxon took his hand off the PIN interface.

“I get the impression my ‘investigator’ status isn’t exactly official,” Isaac noted.

“It’s official enough.”

“I’m surprised we received time travel authorization, too,” Susan said.

“Excuse me?” Isaac blinked. “Time travel? Did I miss that part?”

“It falls under ‘normal operating parameters,’” Susan explained. “Which nowadays means we can go back up to negative-one year from the True Present.” She shrugged. “Might prove useful.”

“Let’s not get carried away here,” Isaac cautioned. “Agent Noxon, thank you for pushing the requisition through. When will Defender-Prime be ready to depart?”

“I’ll need to coordinate with Pérez, and Elifritz may need to recall key personnel back to the ship, but other than that nothing comes to mind. We sent Defender-Prime out recently, so I don’t expect any surprises. Give us half an hour to sort everything out, and we should be good to go.”

“That’ll do nicely, though before we leave…”

“Yes?”

“In addition to Agent Cantrell and myself, I’d like Specialist Cho to join us as well. Her expertise could prove useful, depending on what we find.”

“Of course. She’s welcome to come along.”

“I’d also like Encephalon to join us, though I’m aware this is a more sensitive request.”

“Ah, yes,” Noxon said, a measure of stiffness infiltrating his tone. “Your AI can come along, but it must follow the approved restrictions. Its connectome must be limited to a synthoid body, and that body cannot be capable of connectome transmission.”

“I understand.” He glanced over to his shoulder where Cephalie’s avatar popped into being. Her connectome remained outside the hangar, but her connection to his wetware allowed her to watch and participate when needed. “Well?”

“You’re going to make me switch to physical, aren’t you?” Cephalie moped. She flopped down onto her butt and kicked out her legs.

“I’m not making you do anything,” Isaac protested.

“You know how long it’s been since I strutted around in a body?”

“No. I’ve known you for five years, and I’ve never seen you in a body before. Unless you count the LENS.”

“Which I don’t.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “Seventeen years. I’ve enjoyed a seventeen-year bodiless streak, and you’re telling me to break it by going to a place that is…less than friendly to my kind?”

“I’m not telling you. This is completely your decis—”

“Fine, you talked me into it.” Cephalie stood up. “I’ll go see what LSP has in the way of spare bodies.”

She vanished from his shoulder.

“Well, that was easier than expected,” Susan commented.

* * *

“There’s one last problem we need to address before we leave,” Susan said ten minutes before their scheduled departure.

She’d brought Isaac to a large maintenance bay through a door near the chronoport’s boarding ramp. Printers and storage lockers lined the walls of the brightly lit room, and the Peacekeeper blue container holding Susan’s combat frame sat against the back wall. Crimson Flower logistics had delivered the container a few minutes ago.

One of the printers hummed with quiet activity.

“I already said I’m fine with you bringing the frame,” Isaac protested. “I don’t see the point, but it hasn’t delayed our departure, so it’s a nonissue.”

“No, that isn’t it.” She sighed. “Noxon brought this one to my attention. Though honestly, I should have seen it coming given the whole investigator thing. You’re not going to like this.”

“Will I like it less than us lugging around your Admin death machine?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“All right.” Isaac sighed and waved for her to continue. “Hit me with it.”

“This isn’t coming from me, you understand? Please don’t get upset.”

“Susan, just tell me what’s wrong. I can’t fix a problem if I don’t know what it is.”

“Hey, kiddos!” A fresh-faced woman with freckled cheeks and blonde hair cut high and tight waved as she entered the bay. She wore a dark gray state trooper uniform with the cap stuffed through her shoulder strap.

“Hi, Cephalie,” Isaac replied, almost automatically.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Cephalie pouted, putting her fists on her hips. “I thought you’d take at least a few seconds to figure out it was me.”

“Cephalie, you’re the only person I know who says ‘hey, kiddos’ when greeting us. And besides, which other strange woman was going to walk in here?”

“You’d better not mean me.” Nina strode in wearing a heavy backpack. She unslung the pack and put it on the floor.

“Hey, Nina,” Isaac said. “And no, I wasn’t talking about you. What’s in the backpack?”

“Forensics gear. Because someone”—she shot Isaac a fierce eye—“insisted I leave my drones behind at the station.”

“The rules are the rules.”

“Says the guy who doesn’t have equipment to lug around.” She rubbed her left shoulder.

“This feels so weird.” Cephalie stretched out a hand and wiggled her fingers. “How do you meat sacks stand it?”

“We manage somehow,” Isaac replied dryly. “I’m surprised you picked one that looks so young.”

“Why do you say that?” Cephalie asked, now inspecting her own legs.

“I thought you’d try to match your avatar more closely.”

“I did, but this was the only female synthoid they could spare on short notice.” She shook out her arms and bounced up and down on her toes. “I suppose I could have gone with one of the guys, but that would have been even weirder. Not that gender matters a whole lot to me, but I like my avatar’s aesthetics. Besides, men have all that unnecessary crotch baggage.”

Isaac put a hand to his face. “If I ever hear the phrase ‘crotch baggage’ again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Hey, she’s your IC,” Nina said.

“I know.”

“You should have stuck to the single life like me.”

“I’m considering it.” He looked over to find Cephalie’s new body grinning like a shark. “LSP okay with you running around in one of their uniforms?”

“They removed the insignia and badge before lending me the body.” Cephalie ran both hands down her chest. “Which, I have to say, has some nice torso baggage.”

“That’s someone else’s spare synthoid you’re fondling,” Isaac pointed out.

“I’ll return it in good order.”

“Not what I meant,” he sighed.

“Speaking of uniforms,” Susan cut in. “The ‘issue’ we were discussing?”

“Right. What about it?”

“Do you recall a conversation we had when I first arrived in SysGov? You said detectives don’t have a strict uniform code.”

“Sure, I remember that. Why?”

“Admin Peacekeepers don’t enjoy the same level of flexibility, and that includes investigators. Our dress code while on duty is very strict.”

“But I’m not a Peacekeeper.”

“Well…” Susan glanced away. “You are a DTI investigator, and DTI investigators are Peacekeepers, so…”

“But I’m not really an investigator either.” He paused, beginning to doubt his own answer. “Am I?”

Technically,” Susan said, “you are.”

“But this is temporary.”

“‘The rules are the rules,’” Susan echoed with an apologetic smile. “Even for junior provisional investigators.”

The lone active printer stopped humming and beeped. The output tray extended, revealing a freshly printed Peacekeeper uniform folded into a square with a peaked cap resting on top.

Susan retrieved the uniform and cap.

“You’re serious,” Isaac said, “aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” Susan lowered her head and presented him with his new uniform.

“I have to?”

She nodded.

“It’s the rules?”

She nodded again.

Isaac took hold of the uniform and frowned at it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this. He’d spent the past ten years of his life in SysPol, with five years at the Academy and another five in the field as a probationary detective. He’d dedicated a third of his life to earning the right to wear his uniform, and now someone was telling him he had to don the colors of a foreign power because of rules?

It made him uneasy and didn’t feel right, almost like wearing an Admin uniform was a betrayal of some kind, though a betrayal of what, he couldn’t say. But despite his discomfort, one guiding principle shone brighter than all others in his mind.

“Whatever it takes to solve the case,” he said at last.

“Glad you understand,” Susan said.

“What about us?” Nina put a hand on Cephalie’s shoulder.

“You’re not Peacekeepers,” Susan replied, “so you can wear whatever you like.”

“Nice!”

“I miss my hat,” Cephalie groused, rubbing the loaner body’s head of short blonde hair.

“We’ll print one out for you!” Isaac snapped.


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