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Chapter Fourteen

Susan’s feet touched down on the hotel’s ground floor outside the counter-grav shaft, and she cradled a small bottle in her left hand. She scanned the foyer, once again clad in her sharp Peacekeeper blues and feeling more comfortable in a public space because of it. Two receptionists were checking guests out while the distant clink of silverware and dishes drew her toward the hotel restaurant.

She followed the breakfast sounds through a pair of archways to a wide-open hall filled with small, circular tables. Guests occupied only a fraction of the room’s capacity, and a few stood near a row of food printers or requested custom orders from a trio of chefs. She spotted Isaac sitting at a table in the corner, private reports active around him as he scooped up a mouthful of scrambled eggs from his plate. His inactive LENS sat in the chair beside him.

She walked over.

“Morning, Susan.” He set his fork down and shifted the reports aside. “Sleep well?”

“Very,” she said, then hesitated for a moment. “And you?”

“Fair. Took me a while to get back to sleep.”

“Sorry about that,” she said with a frown.

“Don’t be.” He gestured to the seat opposite him, and she joined him at the table. “Little misunderstandings like that will happen. We’ll work through them.”

“I know, but it’s not just last night. I feel like I’m letting you down, like I’m not pulling my weight.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” He gave her a comforting smile. “I spent five years of my life training to be a SysPol officer and another five working as a probationary detective. I should be better than you after all that time and effort.”

“Still, I felt an apology was in order.” She placed the small, black bottle on the table. “Here.”

“Oh?” Isaac spun the bottle around until the skull-and-crossbones label faced him. “‘Flavor-Sparkle presents our all new Death Extract.’ Huh. I didn’t know F.S. made a hot sauce.”

“Apparently, they’re branching out. Cephalie mentioned you like food with a good kick, so I printed this out for you.”

“She did, did she?”

“You don’t?”

“Oh no. It’s not that. I do like it when my food fights back. I just think Cephalie is prone to exaggeration.”

“I see.” Susan grimaced. “Then, perhaps…” She reached for the bottle.

“Don’t be hasty,” Isaac cautioned with another smile. He picked up the bottle and twisted the cap off. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“But I wanted to.”

“And I appreciate the gesture.” He sprinkled the death sauce on top of his eggs. “Would you like to try some with me? Maybe grab a plate yourself and we can sample it together? I don’t know what those chefs are doing, but both the eggs and hash browns are very good this morning.”

“I’ll pass. Spicy food is one of the few ways I can still feel pain.”

“Really?” Isaac asked, sounding genuinely interested. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Yeah. And because of that, it weirds me out when I try to eat it. I haven’t enjoyed anything spicy since I transitioned.”

“That’s a shame.” Isaac set the bottle down and ate a bite of scrambled eggs. “Hmm. Sweeter than I expected. And with an unconventional, almost fruity flavor.” He chewed and took on a look of deep contemplation, then his brow furrowed. “And not quite as hot as ‘death extract’ would lead one to believe. In fact, I’m still waiting for it to hit me.”

“Cephalie said you’re accustomed to hot food, so I made sure I picked one with extra heat.”

“Yes. About that.” He picked up the bottle, scrutinized the label, then set it down and took another bite. He chewed it slowly and deliberately, staring off in thought.

“You don’t like it?” Susan asked, anxiety building in her. Had she goofed again?

“No, it’s something else.” He raised the bottle to his nose and sniffed it, then wrinkled his nose.

“What’s wrong?”

Isaac drained the dregs in his water glass, then tipped the death sauce bottle over and let the full contents glug into the glass. Golden brown fluid filled the cup halfway.

“Something is wrong, isn’t it?” Susan said.

Isaac raised the glass to his mouth and drank it all in one go.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” she asked, cringing.

He smacked his lips and set the glass down.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s apple juice.”

What?” Susan grabbed the bottle and sniffed it. She dabbed the moist rim with a finger and licked it. “Apple. But I swear I picked the right pattern.”

“I’m sure you did.” Isaac gave her an indifferent shrug. “But we live in apple-blighted times.” He licked his lips. “Wow. That may have been the best glass of apple juice I ever drank.”

“It was supposed to be death sauce!” she said, glowering at the bottle.

“It’s the thought that counts.” He glanced down at his eggs sprinkled with apple juice and pushed the plate toward the table center. “On a totally different note, the precinct’s forensics team must have pulled an all-nighter. We have reports on the contents of Delacroix’s tower and the gangster’s wearables.”

“Oh, good,” Susan remarked, eager for the change in subject. “Anything interesting?”

“Quite a bit, actually.” He sent her copies of the files. “The information we received from Yang Zhao turned out to be accurate, so I forwarded a recommendation of leniency to the SSP. I have a feeling that, with the right approach, they might be able to pull him out of the gangs before it’s too late.”

“He did seem less…hardened than some of the others,” Susan observed.

“That he did. Anyway, I was skimming the reports over breakfast, and a few details stood out. First, as we assumed, the Fanged Wyverns are acting as the agents for an as-yet-unknown individual or group. Both Fuller and Hao received messages from someone named Ōdachi.”

“Do we have any information on this Ōdachi person?”

“No, unfortunately. It’s an alias the NFPD has encountered before, though they’ve never been able to track it down. They’ve seen it used to pass orders to the Fanged Wyverns and, occasionally, receive reports back.”

“Would SysPol have better luck tracing it down?” Susan asked.

“Maybe, if we can catch one of the transmissions while it’s happening. But what we have right now isn’t enough. The message from Ōdachi, like any other, has a routing record attached to it as it bounces from one infosystem to another on its way from sender to destination, but that record is as fake as they come.”

“Useless to us, then.”

“Pretty much. But it’s confirmation the gangs aren’t the real problem. Someone wanted Delacroix’s apartment cleaned out. If we can figure out who, we’re one step closer to finding the murderer, and I bet that person was afraid of what we might find on Delacroix’s hardware.”

“Speaking of the tower…”

“Yes, that proved to be well worth our efforts yesterday. First, we have some very angry messages between Delacroix and a few different people at Negation Industries, all concerning the ‘defective’ impeller. I get the impression matters became a bit more heated than Ortiz let on.”

“Heated enough for murder?”

“No, the Negation Industries angle still doesn’t look viable to me. But it does reinforce how irregular they found Delacroix’s demands.” He tapped one of the reports and smiled. “Especially when combined with the other little nugget.”

“Which is?”

“Delacroix and the Trinh Syndicate manager, Melody Quang, were in a relationship.”

“What sort of relationship?”

“The horizontal kind.”

“Oh my.” Susan’s eyebrows shot up. “She never mentioned that.”

“Yeah, and I can see why. Besides the obvious business conflict of sleeping with your customers, of course. We have multiple mail threads and calendar entries corroborating the relationship, and with that, Quang’s involvement with Delacroix places a lot of suspicion on his impeller edict.” He leaned toward Susan. “Here’s what I’m wondering. Did she put the idea in his head? Was the vulnerable man who’d just lost his wife being used for the syndicate’s financial gain?”

“The apartment job would benefit her as well,” Susan noted. “No tower, no evidence of this relationship.”

“Exactly.”

“Then Ōdachi could be a Trinh Syndicate alias used to send orders to the Fanged Wyverns.”

“A distinct possibility.” Isaac sat back in his seat.

“But”—Susan raised a cautionary hand—“we still don’t have a motive.”

“Also true,” Isaac conceded with a quiet sigh.

“Who would benefit from either Delacroix’s or Andover-Chen’s deaths? It doesn’t seem to be Quang. At least with the information we have.”

“And that’s bugging me. Quang might not be involved in the murders, despite what we found last night. Perhaps she’s only interested in covering her tracks on this shady impeller deal, and maybe she did order the apartment burglary as a result. If that’s true and she’s not involved in the murder, then we may be unduly zeroing in on Delacroix. We need to keep Andover-Chen on our scopes as well, at least until we have solid confirmation of who the actual target was.”

“So, what are our next steps?”

“Two things.” Isaac held up a finger. “One, we need to have another chat with Quang, and this time we’ll be treating her as a potential suspect rather than an investigative lead.”

“And two?”

“Something reeks in the Gordian Division.” He shook his head. “I have no idea what, but we need to look into—”

“Hey, kiddos!” Cephalie appeared on the table as the LENS levitated off its chair. She peered at the death sauce bottle. “Oh, good grief! Did you use all of it already?” The LENS picked up the bottle with a pseudopod. “You did! What is wrong with you? Are you trying to burn a hole in your stomach?”

“It’s not what you think,” Isaac defended.

“Well, I guess you liked it.” Cephalie nudged Susan’s hand with her cane. “Can I pick them or what?”

“Yes, Cephalie,” Susan replied blandly. “You did great.”

“As I was saying,” Isaac continued, “we need to dig deeper into Gordian. Find out where this stench is coming from.”

“Then you’ll love this bit of news,” Cephalie said. “I just transmitted back from the precinct, and guess who’s in town and wants to talk to you?”

Isaac shrugged his shoulders.

“None other than Gordian’s finest. Agent Raibert Kaminski.”

“Kaminski?” Susan exclaimed with a start.

“Yep,” Cephalie continued. “The TTV Kleio docked at the New Frontier Airport an hour ago. Kaminski’s at the precinct now.”

“You’ve heard of him?” Isaac asked Susan.

“I—” She cut herself off before she revealed anything…awkward.

Yes, she knew who Raibert Kaminski was. Everyone in the DTI knew. It had only been eight months since the Gordian Division agent had shown up in the heart of the Admin to deliver a dire warning to Director-General Csaba Shigeki. Kaminski and the Kleio had been the first SysGov representatives anyone in the Admin had met, and the DTI, being full of people who liked to prepare for the worst, had shifted operations to safeguard against the worst-case scenario: a transdimensional war between SysGov and the Admin.

Susan, for her part, had participated in numerous war games designed to test and refine DTI tactics against the technologically superior SysGov forces, and the Kleio had featured heavily in those early simulations. The Admin had possessed little else to build its abstractions with, at the time, and so Susan had participated in dozens of mock SysGov infiltration attempts at the DTI tower as well as mock boarding actions on an abstract version of the Kleio, with the goal of seizing the vessel intact.

Not every simulation ended well, and more than one concluded with the Kleio detonating a nuclear failsafe device (which the real version turned out not to have). Susan had also been gunned down by the crew a few times, and she’d blown up the simulated version of Kaminski once or twice, as well.

“Yes,” Susan said flatly. “I’ve heard of him.”

Best leave it at that, she told herself. This way, there’s less chance of my foot-in-mouth disease kicking in.

“I’m not surprised,” Isaac said. “The Kleio is well known, even outside SysPol circles.” He let out a long, slow sigh. “Let’s head for the precinct and meet up with our Gordian colleagues.”

“Why the long face?” Susan asked.

“Because we’re not dealing with civilians here, but a coequal division of SysPol. That relationship blunts some of our investigative authority.” He grimaced. “And I don’t think Kaminski will like what I have to say. Not one bit.”

* * *

Isaac’s first impression of Raibert Kaminski was one of size. The man possessed a hulking synthoid body: ripped muscles, broad shoulders, and thick neck leading up to a scowling face with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail. The grayish green of his Gordian Division uniform fit him well, though, and the eye-and-sword flash at his shoulder glinted in the NFPD conference room’s light.

Isaac’s second thought was that Raibert Kaminski knew an Admin uniform when he saw one, and the big man’s jaw visibly tensed at the sight of Susan. A seething undercurrent of animosity abruptly permeated the room around him, and Isaac saw the conversation ahead become even more difficult.

“What’s she doing here?” Kaminski asked pointedly with a nod toward Susan.

“Agent Cantrell is part of the new officer exchange program,” Isaac replied evenly. “She’s acting as my deputy.”

“Does she have to be here?” Kaminski crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, eyeing Susan suspiciously.

“She does.” Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no, of course not,” Kaminski dismissed with all the thespian aptitude of a middle grader. “Just strange to see someone from the fuc—” He grimaced, then cleared his throat. “From the Admin out here on Saturn, is all.”

“Hello, Philo,” Cephalie said with a sly smile from atop the LENS.

“Cephalie?” The avatar of Kaminski’s integrated companion materialized beside him. Philosophus took the form of a huge, red-headed, red-bearded Viking with a peculiar helmet. The helmet came with a pair of horns, as Isaac would expect from someone emulating an ancient Viking, but the material looked more like plastic than metal, and a tab ran down the center. Perhaps for a retractable visor?

Isaac gave the odd ensemble an inward shrug; he’d seen stranger getups on ACs plenty of times before.

“You two know each other?” he asked Cephalie.

“You could say that.” She winked at Viking. “Isn’t that right, Philo?”

“Uhh, yeah.” Philo rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. “We know each other.”

“Friend of yours?” Kaminski asked.

“Not…precisely,” Philo said.

“Philo and I go way back,” Cephalie explained. “About eighty years back, actually. I arrested him once for pattern theft.”

Philo slumped his shoulders, bowed his head, then gave everyone a brief nod.

“Really, a pointless crime, if you ask me,” Cephalie continued. “More about the thrill of the act and the bragging rights for pulling it off.” She flashed another sly smile. “Almost pulling it off.”

Great, Isaac thought. More personal baggage cluttering the room.

“You staying clean, Philo?” Cephalie asked.

“Trying to.”

“Staying out of trouble?”

“That’s…been a little harder. But at least it hasn’t been my fault this time.”

“Look, you two can reminisce later,” Kaminski cut in. He looked over at Isaac. “The main reason the Kleio’s here is to support the impeller tests, but our commissioner is very interested in tracking down who killed our agents. Is there anything we can do to help out?”

“Yes,” Isaac said. “As a matter of fact, there is.”

“Name it.”

“First, what’s Andover-Chen’s condition? Has he returned to duty?”

“Yeah, though I hear he’s somewhat disoriented. You likely have more experience dealing with the temporary dead than I do, but his condition sounds typical for what he’s been through.”

“Is he well enough to travel?”

Kaminski furrowed his brow. “Why do you ask?”

“I need him to come out to Saturn to be interviewed.”

“What the hell for?”

“Because right now the motive for these murders is unknown,” Isaac said firmly. “We have a few indicators that Delacroix was the target, but they’re hardly conclusive. Nothing more than dubious business deals.”

“I’m sorry.” Kaminski blinked. “What dubious deals?”

“Your chief engineer was in bed with one of the impeller companies.”

“The hell he was!”

“Would you like to review the evidence?”

“Well…I,” Kaminski stammered, unbalanced by the news. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Isaac continued in an unwavering voice. “Your chief engineer was in a sexual relationship with Melody Quang, a manager in the Trinh Syndicate. It would have been best if Gordian had never signed a contract with the syndicate, but you did, so here we are. On top of their unethical relationship, I have reason to believe Delacroix conspired with Quang to flunk one of the Negation Industries impellers, resulting in losses for Negation Industries and the Trinh purchasing the raw material at a significant discount.

“So yes. Something is very wrong here, and it includes the Gordian Division. Since Delacroix is dead, Andover-Chen is the next best source of information I have within your division.”

“Hold on here,” Kaminski warned. “You want the doctor—a guy who was just murdered by transceiver—to transmit out to Saturn?”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little cold?”

“We’re trying to track down his killer,” Isaac countered.

“Okay, yeah, granted,” Kaminski agreed, relenting somewhat.

“Is access to a witness too much to ask?”

“But he’s missing the last six months of his life. What do you think you’ll get out of him?”

“I don’t know,” Isaac admitted. “But that’s the nature of our work. I can’t know until I’ve had a chance to speak with him. He recommended Delacroix for the position of chief engineer; that, by itself, is a lead worth following, especially given Delacroix’s questionable actions here on Janus.”

“You don’t think Andover-Chen was up to no good, do you?”

“I haven’t seen any evidence both of them were involved in dubious behavior, but I can’t discount the possibility. Not until I know why two Gordian agents were murdered. Which, again, brings us back to why I need to talk to him.”

Kaminski let out a long sigh and nodded. He turned to Philo.

“What do you think?”

“Seems reasonable to me,” the Viking replied. “Plus, the doctor has to come out here eventually. We’ll need him for impeller trials.”

“All right.” Kaminski faced Isaac again. “Is the doctor the only person you want?”

“Not quite. If you could help us track down Delacroix’s former IC, I’d also like to interview him.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Philo said. “Komuso and I spoke before he left Gordian. Their breakup hit Komuso pretty hard, and he made sure Delacroix had a way to reach him if he ever wanted to talk again. We only need to check in with Argus Station and forward an interview request his way. I’d wager he’ll transmit over as soon as he receives word from us.”

“Good,” Isaac said. “That’ll help.”

“Anything else?” Kaminski asked.

“Not at the moment.”

“We’re due to head over to Negation Industries, anyway,” Philo said. “Ortiz wants to get the first round of tests rolling.”

“Then we’ll leave you gentlemen to it,” Isaac said, and started for the door.

“Oh, actually, there is one more thing,” Kaminski said.

“Yes?” Isaac turned back from the door.

“You from these parts?”

“I’m Saturn-born, if that’s what you mean.”

“Know any good places to stay around here?” Kaminski asked. “You see, Gordian set us up in the same apartment complex Andover-Chen and Delacroix used, but it’s…well…” The big man shrugged.

“A dump?”

“I was going to say ‘shithole,’ actually.” Kaminski held up a hand. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Isaac sent him the address and contact string for the Top Shelf Hotel. “I think this one will be more to your liking.”

“Thanks. I’d rather sleep on the ship than that other place.”

“We’ll send your requests back to Gordian right away,” Philo said.

“And we’ll make sure they’re taken seriously,” Kaminski added.

“Right,” Philo said. “With luck, we should hear back from them in about three or four hours.”


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