“Sheen, I’ll call you back.”

“Okay, do that. I’ve got more to tell you.” His voice went quiet, the call finished.

I twisted my wrist over to see the screen of my WaComm, doing a quick search to see if Sheen was pulling my leg or not. Immediately, my eyes confirmed what my ears had told me; Robert Chetland had been found dead in his home.

Soon, but not soon enough, I arrived at my apartment. A flick of my wrist sent my car off to park itself while I ran inside, panic and urgency pushing me to turn on the wallscreen. It was one thing to see it on the WaComm, another thing entirely to hear it on the reputable news source that was constantly airing. I barreled into my apartment, barely even noticing the door shutting behind me. I didn’t bother turning on the lights, instead rushing to turn the power to the wallscreen.

I waved to switch it to the news, my heart rate increasing and my breathing short.

Banners along the screen repeated the same message: Prime Minister Assassination?

The newscaster spoke solemnly. “...he was found dead in his home. No other victims have been identified at this time. Here’s to you, Chief Phillips.”

The camera switched to the chief of police. “Thank you. These are dire times, in the interest of catching this killer, we are not disclosing any further information. If you have any knowledge of this murder, please call the Aurga Police Department directly.”

The camera switched back to the newscasters. “Well, I guess all we can do is speculate,” the newscaster said, turning to her colleague. “Tifani, what are your thoughts?”

“Well, one can only assume this is the return of this local rampant serial killer, someone who’s clearly unsatisfied with the state of the Ministry. It seems they have taken even further steps this evening.”

“I hope the recent stop-and-search law will reveal some answers,” commented the first newscaster. “We cannot afford to be too generous with criminals and non-citizens.”

“Right you are, Sandra,” Tifani said, nodding grimly. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” She shuffled her papers, her mouth a tight line. “Sandra, what’s your opinion on whether it’s assassination or murder? It’s still speculation until we determine the culprit, of course.”

“Tifani, the difference is the motive, as you know. If it’s a political motive, then it’s assassination. But my question is, why else would someone murder the Prime Minister if not for political gain?”

“I suppose the next question is, who would gain from such an act?” Tifani questioned. “The Nari’e?”

“There has been a surge in Nari’e related protests and arrest violence in the wake of this new stop-and-search law that the late PM enforced. Regardless, we won’t know until we catch the killer and find out for sure.”

“Of course, Sandra. Again, citizens, a reminder to call the Police Department if you’ve heard or seen anything. No detail is too small. Now, for what happens next - I know all of you are concerned about the continuation of the Ministry. Have no fear.”

“Vice Prime has been sworn in as acting Prime Minister just a few hours ago, in the hasty transition of power shortly after Robert Chetland was found in his house. He will take over operations until the election next fall.”

“Yes, it’s going to be a cutthroat election year, what with the extreme power upset here and unforeseen circumstances. Vice Prime I’m sure will be a big contender, what with his extra year of experience. If he handles this well, he will have quite a lead on the other campaigners.”

“There are sure to be quite a number this year, but one rookie has caught the attention of the media already - and he hasn’t even announced his intention to run yet!”

“I’m sure you all know who we’re talking about; the handsome, freshly sworn Lord Torven Montgomery. We expect to see a rivalry erupt between him and the Vice Prime.”

I turned off the wallscreen. It was all too much to hear. Robert Chetland was dead, leaving a power vacuum in his wake, and a fearful public. A part of me felt excited, being named as a potential favorite in the election I hadn’t even announced being a part of yet, while the rest of me felt guilty. Was I taking advantage of Chetland’s death? He was a man respected by the nobility of Aruga, and now he was dead. Murdered by the hand of a stranger.

They had mentioned the recent displeasure of the Nari’e, and I knew it held merit. The Nari’e had been trampled by the government as of late, a fact Mea had been telling me about since I’d met her. I remembered how Ha’ana’s daughter had even been arrested under the stop and search law, and I’d pulled strings to get her free. Was the law helping any - had we caught any criminals - or was it just creating a larger and larger divide between the native Arugans and the Nari’e?

Ping.

It was my WaComm again, but it wasn’t Sheen this time. It was Tork, my campaign manager, and both Zack Bateman and Jakob Mentel, a conference call. I answered, swiping up to hear it through the speakers of the wallscreen instead of the usual WaComm sound. This had to be important; I instinctively knew it was related to the breaking news I’d just watched.

Bateman’s distinctive voice came through first, his words sharp through the silence. “You see the news, son?”

The endearment made me bristle, false on his lips. I swallowed it. “I did, sir. Chetland has been murdered.” I took a deep breath. “No suspects yet.”

“Yes, but more importantly,” Tork interjected, “you’ve been named a favorite. We’ve high hopes for your campaign.”

I closed my eyes, pressing them shut as I took in their priorities. I should’ve known this was how they would react, more excited about the opportunities this created for us than the solemn severity of the ex-Minister’s death.

“Of course, prayers to his family,” Mentel said when I left the silence to grow between us.

“Of course, of course. This is truly a tragedy,” Tork added. “But there is no doubt it is also a great opportunity for the entire country.”

I nodded, even though I knew they couldn’t see it. My silence must have been enough of an answer, thankfully. A blessing, because I had no idea what to say.

“Your fight to be elected might be favored, but it will still be a tough one. Sharpen your claws, son. Mentel, Tork and I will begin preparations immediately.”

The line clicked dead, the others following suit quickly.

I sighed again, suddenly burdened with what comes next. There was never a moment’s rest, it seemed, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with all of this new information.

All I wanted was to call Mea, to see her, my rock, anchor, the calm in the storm. She would know how to handle this, what I should do. I wanted to become Prime Minister for her, after all, for the benefit of her people as well as myself.

I twisted the WaComm to begin to dial her number when another call came in.

Sheen. I answered it quickly, swiping haphazardly, nearly missing. Here was another source of reason phoning in, another lifeline. I would gladly take any one that was handed to me.

“Hey, Tor. We gotta talk.” His voice was rushed, hurried, as if he’d just been running.

“Yeah man, did you see the news just now?”

“No, but this is more important than that -”

“Dude, Chetland’s been killed,” I interrupted. “Murdered. Assassinated, I don’t know.”

“Oh wait, no shit? Fuck.” He was silent for a moment.

I could hear his breath come slower and slower as he stopped to process my words. I sighed, my fingers pressing to my temples. “What did you need to tell me?”

“Uh, I got into your dad’s WaComm. But don’t get too excited. That’s as far as I got.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?” My heart beat faster and faster, catching in my throat. Did he just say what I thought he said? Did he really crack the code?

“The ID of the caller is still encrypted, and that’s even more locked down than just getting into Ralen’s WaComm. But that still helps us.”

I furrowed my brows. “Most people don’t have their ID encrypted…” I said, puzzling the new information over, grateful for the distraction from what I’d just been bombarded with. Most callers want their identity known, so that their intended audience would know and answer. It didn’t bode well that the caller was secured, but it did add to my evidence. “But I suppose if you’re trying to commit an indirect assassination, you’d be careful. So that’s not very helpful.”

“True, but it does narrow it down some. Confirm the intentions. You wouldn’t go to those lengths to conceal your identity if you had nothing to hide, right?”

I sighed. “This proves nothing, Sheen. We’re still nowhere.”

“That’s not true!” he insisted. “It’s progress. And, with the level of encryption here, it’s somebody with an insane amount of resources. Access to this kind of software is pretty rare, I imagine. It’s something I’ve never seen before, which is why it’s going to take so long to crack into. I’ve had to dig into the forensics of the whole software, down to the binary lines of code.”

“Damn, Sheen. That sounds...fun.”

“Heh. It normally is, but the pressure behind this one makes it a bit less lighthearted of a puzzle.”

I chewed on my lip, worrying at a piece of chapped skin. “Sheen… Thank you. You’ve given me some hope.”

And he had. Now, we were getting closer to some sort of an answer, and maybe I’d be able to make sense of one aspect of my life these days. If anything, this glimmer of information was a thread of hope, something I could maybe use to sew back together my sanity. As always, Sheen was a shining light, a helpful distraction, and a great friend.

“I’m your friend, Tor. I’m just trying to do what’s right. And for what it’s worth? I hope it’s not Cerise behind this.”

“Me too, buddy. Me too.”

I could do this. For me, for Mea, for the Nari’e, for justice. I would become Prime Minister, solve the murder of my father, and make those responsible pay for their heinous crimes. I would do anything to get there. I vowed it.