??? after the imperial ambassador’s murder.

???

Devan awoke to a soothing melody. He kept his eyes closed and listened to the sounds of his surroundings. There was no movement, nor any breathing except his own. Wherever he was, he was alone. He carefully felt what he was lying on. A bed. Good quality, too. This was no hospital or medical ward.

A red ceiling greeted him as he slowly parted his leaden eyelids. The room was bathed in a soft yellow light cast by paper lamps, and pale blue light bleeding in through the window shutters. The melody was coming from behind pieces of vintage furniture.

The calm seemed surreal.

He took a deep breath, feeling the weight as his chest heaved upwards. Gravity’s around or above the standard for stations. The light seems natural so this must be a planet.

He peered into the gaps between the shutter slats. The white-hot flash of the explosion shot up from his memory. He sprang up to a half-sitting position on the bed, a jolt of panic gripping his heart. Frantically, he looked around the room. Nothing changed. He let out a long breath. Then the headache settled in. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the wave of pain to pass.

I need to figure out where I am, he thought. Obviously, someone – probably Raid – had rescued him and brought him to a planet in a nearby star system; now that he was sitting, the gravity seemed appropriate for a mid-sized world. Devan had paid for a trip to Radaar – which fit the bill – but with the imperial military on the way, Raid might have taken some liberties, and done several more jumps. This place looks like a hotel. The staff will fill me in on the basics.

He winced as the searing white light came to mind again; the pain of overexerting the Gift was still genuine. He began replaying the events that had happened on the station: the bar, the augment, the droid, the battle, and saving Mannock’s daughter. That woman… why was she on the ghostship – stupid question – she was there because of her father’s death. Is it the inheritance?

The ambassador only had one daughter, and the only information Devan had on her was that she was living and last seen in As’al’Zahn. Considering the relations between the Empire and the Kingdom, he’d have dismissed that piece of information as a joke if it hadn’t come from a reliable source. Not to mention that for a highborn, she was staying uncharacteristically low key. He winced. He’d need to do something about this headache.

Seconds ticked away as he sat on the bed, propped up on his elbows. The slow melody eased his tension, and his mind quieted. His ears perked up at several jarring notes, and as he listened more carefully, tuning out everything else, those notes began to unfold into words. The door had been left ajar, and through the opening, the soft mutter of voices had drifted in.

Shifting about, testing how well his muscles worked and if the fatigue would make him fall – it wouldn’t by the looks of it – Devan staggered out of bed, then trudged to the door. The view of a larger room expanded with every step.

On the left side, where a kitchen was, Raid was sitting on a stool, propped up on his left arm as he leaned over the island table. He held a glass close to his face, poring over it intently, all three-quarters of the clear golden liquid swirling inside and diminishing with the occasional sip. I’m in luck. Raid can fill me in on what’s happened. Devan paused. The kids… Maybe he knows about that, too.

“—since the case was closed, and they’re still searching for the killer,” Mannock said. “What in the Ascendants’ names is City Security doing? How hard can it be to find a single man?”

“They’re certainly not incompetent,” Wicker said. “Your father was a great man, ma’am. A powerful man. His killer can’t be any less, but we will catch him. We just need some time to find a lead.”

Mannock slapped the armrest of her chair. “And I should sit on my ass while that scumbag finds a ship and disappears into the fringes? We don’t have the time to wait, Wicker. It’s been almost five weeks since the murder. Someone is bound to slip up, and when they do, we’ll lose him for good.”

So, she’s looking for the killer, too. Devan had to make use of that. He glanced at Raid one more time, then shook his head. The mission came first. Everything else would have to wait.

As he stepped into the room, the old wooden boards sank ever so slightly under his weight.

Raid swivelled his head towards him at the creak of the floor, a disapproving frown on his face. He looked just like a father ready to scold his son for not taking care of himself.

Across the room, in the lounge area, Wicker stared at Devan quietly, something between apprehension and determination swirling in his eyes. Eventually, he shifted his gaze towards Mannock.

She crossed her legs, held her head erect and her back straight; the lip of her boot tapped on the rim of a glass table in a relaxed manner. Her bright blue eyes scrutinised Devan’s every move, and the struggle each step made. “I extend my gratitude to you for your timely intervention at the station. You’re well enough to walk?”

Devan eased himself into the chair opposite her. “I am. Where are we?”

“A hotel in the undersurface of Radaar,” Raid said. He moved over behind a chair on Devan’s left, leaning on the top rail of the backrest. “After the explosion, we hauled you onto Starrunner and hightailed it to this place. Good thing, too, since Bellos should be buzzing with imperial marines just about now.”

Devan looked his hands over. The scars from the burnout were mostly gone. With everything else going on, checking his own condition had been pushed to the very end. That can’t happen again, he thought.

“You can thank Wicker for that,” Raid said. “He knew enough to pull you away from death’s door.”

“My guard,” Mannock said, inclining her head towards Wicker without breaking eye contact, “has been adamant in explaining the severity of the consequences of your act.” She gave Devan a studying look. “It appears he underestimated you greatly. You were supposed to be out for a week.”

“I was lucky.”

“Does luck involve you being at your rank in the military?” she asked.

Devan didn’t flinch. After his display on Razan station, it had only been a matter of time before someone asked that question. The amount of power he had used was far above what a regular adept could wield. Yet, the flicker of vagueness in Mannock’s words perplexed him. Why hadn’t she been more direct? Is she trying to get a confession out of me? For what? Blackmail?

Reporting his information would surely grant her a boon from the Emperor. Regardless of her current circumstances, that would open all doors for her. If that was her goal, things would become unpleasant. With Devan’s entire world on the line, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill a highborn – the High Law be damned – but he couldn’t solve the case quickly without her. And he only had until the war started. Past that point, it wouldn’t matter. Hold on, something’s not right.

Highborn or not, a Hand stood above her in both power and influence. No matter the situation, she wouldn’t have acted so casually with him if she was actually aware of his position within the military. It was a shot in the dark.

“Well, I guess you now have two soldiers, lass,” Raid said. The chair he was leaning on creaked as he shifted his weight. He served? Devan’s head was still in a spin from the headache, but the words made sense given the man’s skills. “Though, if you wanted to get technical, I’m ex-military.”

Mannock turned her gaze back to Devan, expectant.

Although he could toss out any lower rank, there was a chance his lie would be found out. It was always better to weave a story with half-truths than to use lies. Mannock had danced around the specifics; he could be vague, too.

“You’ll have to ask my superior,” he said.

She frowned.

She really doesn’t know. That made sense. You wouldn’t expect a Hand of Ascion to pop up in imperial space just prior to a war, after all.

“Let’s talk about your father,” Devan said. “I heard already; you want to investigate the murder. I’m here for the same reason. Help me, and we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Oh?” she asked, smiling. “I’m quite thrilled at your suggestion. I really could use one of your expertise, but you’ve got one thing wrong. I’m the one running the show here.”

Devan stared blankly at her. Wicker nodded – what else would a bodyguard do? – and Raid shrugged in agreeance.

Really? She would be leading? After hearing her earlier outburst, Devan could see the veiled anger she had buried beneath a mask of confidence and composure. From what he had heard, the Empire’s highborn weren’t shaken too much by death, but that was reserved for when it happened during matches in the colosseum, not a back-alley murder. And no matter how low key she had lived on Ascion, she was a highborn – pride was part of who they were. It was natural that she’d push to be involved in the investigation. But that doesn’t mean she should be leading it.

“This isn’t a game,” Devan said. “No matter how much you want to be at the forefront of your revenge, playing leader will only be a detriment.”

“It’s already been decided,” she said.

Did he have to work with her? Raid or even Wicker would have been better choices – anyone but a civilian. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me,” he said, “and I won’t have your hubris slowing us down to a crawl.”

She smirked. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”

Bewilderment wrestled with anger in Devan’s expression.

Raid coughed. “She’s right. Spaceport security almost took you to medical when they saw the burnout damage. The lass pulled some strings and they finally let you go after that.”

They would have found the matrix on Devan’s palm, not to mention his being an Earthborne from his blood. Everything would have gone to hell then.

“Even so,” he said, his voice not losing any of its vigour. “This is no place for—”

“Good,” Mannock said, ignoring his words. “Now, since I hate wasting time… Raid.”

Devan threw his hands up, slumping into the chair.

“Yes, ma’am,” Raid said jokingly, then began typing on his phone.

The top of the glass table split into four rectangular parts. Four mechanical arms holding onto the edges of those parts rose from their hidden compartments, then brought a glass rectangle in front of each person. An interface appeared on them.

Devan looked over it carefully. There was no point in arguing. Evidence came first, then he’d figure out what to do about Mannock.

There were three files on display: Camera footage, Crime scene photos, and Reports. Each video in the first file had a word and number at the end of its name.

Probably address abbreviations. The police would’ve tried tracking the killer through the camera system, but it had apparently failed. Regardless, Devan needed a starting point, and knowing more details of what had happened would aid him in using his Sight. He glanced at his hands. Could he use his Sight? I’ll need to do a thorough check later.

He opened the first video. The view of an intersection filled the screen. A good amount of static and shadows obscured most of the details, but there was just enough light coming from somewhere up the street to discern what was happening.

A ragged man prowled around the intersection, nervously glancing in every street’s direction every few seconds. His distance from the camera and the quality of the video didn’t allow for any details of his face to be seen. He stuck to the shadows, never coming anywhere near the light.

Then, he saw something, and stopped in his tracks, neck craning to take a closer look. Startled, he scurried over to a niche in a wall, a spot even more deeply enveloped by shadows, and waited.

The ambassador, though he was barely recognisable from the video, appeared from between the building where the camera was and the adjacent one, and staggered across the street and into a back alley, his figure disappearing behind a wall.

The prowling man followed. He fumbled with something at the back of his belt, hand tugging awkwardly at it. When his hand jerked up, having taken the object, he swiftly moved it to his side, a pistol now apparent in his grip. He, too, went into the alley.

Around thirty seconds had passed by the time the man appeared again, staggering as he held his side. He disappeared up the street in a stumbling dash.

Two more cameras had captured footage of him, though there was nothing significant in those videos. His trail had vanished afterwards.

Devan looked over at Mannock. Her eyes were glued to the screen in front of her.

Does she even have any crucial information? She hadn’t been part of his plans prior to Razan station. Not to mention, using his Sight, he could accomplish more than by working with her.

Overexerting his power had likely damaged his ability, but that would heal in time. The question was how much time. He was no detective after all but had accompanied those that were during many investigations. Even so, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t overlook an important detail if he was alone; and the killer might slip through his grasp then. It’s better to work with a team.

If he revealed that he was a Hand, no doubt, those three would obediently follow his orders. Was it worth it? Every additional person that found out would be multiplying the risk. All it took was one slip-up, and if he couldn’t catch wind of the rumour spreading or outright being reported, he’d get swarmed by the Val Tairi, or the Emperor himself might come to kill him.

Not to mention that even if he was the acting leader, he still wouldn’t be able to use his Sight. No matter the advantage it offered, protecting that secret was paramount. Taking that into account, along with the added risk, and really the risk outweighed almost everything else, the differences between who led the group became negligible. Should I accept her ridiculous offer then?

“Can augments act?” Mannock asked.

Raid looked at Devan, his gaze lingering on him for a moment, then turned towards Mannock and Wicker. “I’ve heard they can to an extent.”

“They can’t express emotion properly,” Devan added.

“Then why is this man displaying perfect nervousness, even unwillingness?” she asked. “Everything in his body language suggests someone had forced him to do this. Only his eventual decision to go through with it, and the way he stalked into the alley shows his anger at my father shed his fear of him.”

“Maybe you should ask the Hand that,” Raid said.

Mannock scoffed. “If you want to argue with the Lady Hand, be my guest, and tell me how it went. As far as I know, her Sight was never wrong, and it cannot be wrong in the first place. And yet…”

Maybe working with Mannock won’t be so bad? Devan thought. Even if she didn’t directly help the investigation this time, her skill at reading people seemed impressive enough.

Closing the file, Devan opened the second one where the photos of the crime scene were. He leaned back into his chair, pressed the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth – the way he preferred to sit while thinking – and let the slideshow of images run its course.

The photos showed as much as he had expected: the place of death, the ambassador’s body, the damage done to the alley, and a trail of blood leading to the street. The ambassador had suffered two gunshot wounds, one to the chest, the other to the stomach; a blotch of blood surrounded both. The trail of blood must be why they’re so certain it was one of my people.

Although Earthborne and the people of the Colonized Worlds looked the same, there were minute differences in their genetics. The person behind the ambassador’s death either stole blood, or one of my people is really on Radaar.

As for the damage to the alley, only two curving furrows were on the pavement. The proof of a short battle. Devan turned his gaze back to the bloody trail. It couldn’t have been an augment, he thought, not if it was an Earthborne.

The method of creating augments was one of the greatest secrets held by the Scarlet Void assassination guild in the uncharted regions. A runaway couldn’t have gotten his hands on it. Not in under a month. Hell, maybe not ever. Yet the Empire’s Hand claimed it was so.

Devan began drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. He had carefully inspected the images multiple times, scrutinised every detail until he had burned it into memory, and yet he couldn’t shake an itch in the back of his mind. A feeling of having missed something. I need to see it in person. He opened the third file. It contained only the report of the Empire’s Hand.

“I take it they still haven’t found out who’s missing from the Kingdom?” Mannock asked.

“No,” Devan said, shaking his head. “Jagda’s lagging behind. The damage done during the insurgency made it difficult to locate all the dead.”

“Wicker, give me a basic plan of action,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Wicker said. “We’ll need the autopsy report to be certain, but I believe we should focus on the why and how, rather than the who. City Security is already pursuing the killer and adding our efforts to theirs won’t drastically change anything. On the other hand, I know for certain they haven’t tried tracing back the ambassador’s movements. The highborn don’t like regular police snooping around the oversurface after all.” His gaze, as he looked at Mannock, suggested there were more reasons than he’d stated for his thinking – something more personal – but that wasn’t something that concerned Devan.

What did matter, was that she had shown great skill in reading people, better than Devan could, and she hadn’t hesitated to ask for advice. He tapped his chin in thought. Ironically, people who lacked experience or knowledge tended to ignore others and try to solve problems with their own lacking ability. They also usually bit off more than they could chew. She, at least, didn’t appear to be that way.

Mannock as leader… Could he trust her? No, but, in the end, they only needed to work together. So long as she permitted sufficient freedom for him to do his own investigating, it would be better than wasting time waiting for his Sight to return.

If she didn’t allow it… He’d still stay with her. Even the fact that he was military was enough to summon the Val Tairi. She wouldn’t condemn someone trying to solve her father’s murder to such a fate, but accidents happen. He had to keep an eye on her; the only other option was killing her to prevent a possible leak, but that would cut too many options for the future.

He looked up at her.

She was staring back at him, a smirk on her face, amused. “You’ve decided then?”

“I’ll join,” he said, “but don’t expect me to just follow along.”

“I know well that you and Raid will go off and do your own thing, and I don’t mind. That is, so long as you listen when I do say something.” She offered her hand. Devan shook it. “Once more, I am Seyleen Mannock, and that is my guard, Cass Wicker.”

“Bale, Bale Merewyk,” Devan said.

“Great.” Raid clapped his hands. “With that out of the way, I’ll ask what’s been bugging me from the start. Why was the ambassador in the undersurface? As far as I know, highborn have it all up there.” He nodded his head upwards. “Do his actions make any sense to you?” he asked Mannock.

“Not in the slightest,” she answered. “That sphere never interested him.”

“Castwick?” Wicker said.

“Yes… Castwick might know,” she said absently. “Sheela Castwick. My father’s secretary. She used to manage his schedules and was generally the go-to person for whatever one needed of him.”

“Can you contact her?” Devan asked.

“If the number’s still the same.” Mannock took out her phone and called. A minute passed. “This isn’t like her. She should have answered by now.”

Wicker glanced out the window. It was night. “Ma’am, she could be asleep.”

“She’s diligent to the point of obsession. She’d answer the call. She’d answer my call if nothing else.”

“Think something might have happened to her?” Raid asked.

“If they wanted to clean their trail,” Devan said. “The more loose ends, the more chances of someone finding one.”

“Then let’s hope they weren’t too thorough,” Raid said. “Do we know her address?”

“I think…” she said. “Father mentioned it once, but… It was… It was the west zone of the Thi district – no, the east – or was it west?” She sighed. “I can’t.”

“Easy now,” Raid said. “You just keep calling her. Maybe she turns up; maybe we’re just jumping to conclusions here. Someone’s bound to know where she lives. You might not, but your father’s staff will surely know.”

“Right. You all should rest up then. We’ll leave tomorrow,” Mannock said, gazing at everyone in the room, but her eyes settled on Devan in the end. “Your condition doesn’t seem as dire, but I’m no expert. Can you handle it?”

He nodded. “I’ll be fine.” And he would have to be. The highborn were often in one of their belligerent and implacable moods, and unaccepting of anyone but their own kind stepping in their sanctum: the oversurface. If a fight brakes out, they’ll need me.

Heading back to his room, Devan laid eyes on a cupboard beneath a mirror. He wrenched open several of its drawers, the old mechanisms needing a few tugs to get them going. There were many items inside: a sewing kit, a pen, tea and coffee bags, several towels, a small notepad—

He took the notepad out – the rest was irrelevant – and flipped through the yellowed pages. Empty. Perfect. The pen needed a few vigorous shakes before the ink started flowing. Then, he scribbled down what they’d likely need to check out.

NOTES:

Secretary

Crime scene

Ambassador’s house