He appeared on the screen, engulfed in an electrical firestorm, peeking out the window as he dragged a helpless Simon by the neck. The recording zoomed in on his face, and he was clearly seen. There was no way to deny it, it was him.

“A hidden camera installed in the right place can be very indiscreet, don’t you think?” Hemdell said. “But you should know that, after all, it’s Homam Enterprises that provides this kind of equipment to agencies like Orbit, or am I wrong?”

No. The man wasn’t wrong. But damn it, how Uri wished he were! The company he worked for, supplied cameras and security systems to most of Proxima’s companies.

…Which made it easier for us to prepare an observation post in case it happened again, Hemdell had just said, that meant…

“You were watching me,” he accused. “That is a violation of my privacy. I’m gonna—”

“Sue us? What would you gain besides exposing yourself?” Hemdell said, but seeing how nervous Uri got, he clarified. “Take it easy. It’s the only footage that exists. If there was someone within a two-hundred-meter radius who tried to capture the fire in your apartment, I can assure you the signal got jammed at that same moment. Courtesy of my agents.”

Well, that explained why Uri had found no footage of what happened to his loft, while he had searched for strange incidents online. Still, his worst fears were coming true. In front of him was a video that could crumble any denial on the subject. There was no escape. His secret had not only been revealed, but it had been recorded and reproduced who knows how many times and seen by who knows how many people. Hadn’t the frenzy of the past weeks been enough? Apparently not.

Now he was under the scrutiny of an international agency that had compelling evidence of the insanity his life had become. What would happen if that filming fell into the hands of the public, of normal people? An uncontrollable commotion would be unleashed that would ostracize him forever; that would happen! And he loved being alone, but not being a social outcast.

An itch on his lower thighs and his ass came over him. It was anxiety.

The chair where he was sitting had just transformed into a padded version of a torture chair, and the sturdy, mustached man in black in front of him was the executioner who punished him with verbal lashes, more painful than any electric prod. The scent of coffee that filled the office, mixed with the smell of the varnished walnut furniture, fragrances that in a normal situation would have been pleasant, made his stomach turn.

Malin had thought of interrupting the talk and closing a deal with the Satellites to get out of there as soon as possible and thus avoid further getting muddled in the quagmire of evidence against which they had gotten themselves into. Faced with the District Chief’s offer to collaborate in the mission, coercing them with that filming, which at that point was impossible to dismiss as false, she needed a firm attitude and not to show fear; only in this way she could strike a more or less equitable pact and perhaps avoid deportation.

However, Uri’s attitude threw out any chance of getting it.

The poor guy had the damn sentence painted on his face, and he twisted in the chair like a slug that had been sprinkled with salt.

“On the afternoon of October 11,” Hemdell commented, “my agents were in the park’s vicinity, expecting one of your many energy expulsions, and they witnessed an almost epic fight. I inform you we’ve deported your attacker to Markabian territory, and we’ve handed him over to the relevant military authorities.”

The image of the agents taking Kitten into that zoo cage came to Uri’s mind, and he didn’t know if Hemdell’s words were true or just a fabrication to give him a little joy. That was a minor thing, though. He was in front of a guy who could ruin his life just by picking up a phone and showing the world that video.

Hemdell seemed to read his thoughts.

“Fear not. This is an agency that takes its job seriously,” he said with a more cordial tone, albeit as false as that of a gangster who seeks to reassure a debtor, aiming him with a revolver. “Your secret will not be revealed. What I mean by showing you this is that you know we are aware of your abilities. I want you to help us study the Ita-Hu, that’s all.”

This bastard knows which of us is the weak link, Malin thought.

Unfortunately, the District Chief’s words had planted seeds of questions in Uri’s mental soil, seeds that were already bearing fruit: How much more did Satellites know about him? Hemdell hadn’t mentioned Juzo, but they surely knew of his existence, and Broga’s, and they knew what had happened in Liberty Park. Having mentioned that the first energy detection had occurred on Saturday, September 22, it was quite obvious they had started an investigation, just as he and Malin had theorized before. Did the agents also handle other data from the Binary project? And if so, how much did they know? Could Thomas Hemdell answer the mystery of who had been part of The Order, the project’s masterminds? What did he know about Broga and his intentions? He had just announced that they had caught Kitten; had they also caught the other one, the one who smelled bad?

Uri was about to ask one of those many questions, the first that came to mind, but his twin’s voice silenced him.

Don’t you dare open your mouth, Juzo warned him.

On second thought, asking Hemdell about the project was not the right way to evacuate his doubts, but the wrong step to fall into a trap. He settled for knowing that the Satellites were aware of his powers and drop the matter there. Just play along, was a phrase that Juzo might well have told him.

“What makes you think my powers will pierce the rock’s shield?”

Hemdell puffed out his chest again, breathing out as if he were expelling smoke from his cigar. I hate answering questions, that expression said.

“That both, your powers and the rock, emit the same type of radiation,” he clarified. “But if you wanted to evacuate your doubts, my scientists would be happy to explain it to you in more detail.”

“If it’s because of the similarity between the radiations, you could use the one originated by those Geysers,” Uri said.

“Mr. O22, if you know how to drag a Distortion Spot to the Ita-Hu, or how to duplicate Lavra-type radiation, please explain it to us, so we won’t bother you.”

Goddamn it! The guy had a freaking answer for everything!

“So? What do you say, Mr. O22? Will you?” With the firm position of a bull, Thomas Hemdell demanded an immediate—and of course—positive reply.

Uri glanced quickly at his partner.

He’s a very, very skilled trader, Malin thought, clenching her teeth.

“Hey, I’m honored, but it’s a dangerous task,” Uri said, rubbing his hands. His hands were sweating the way they did when a good deal slipped through his damn hands. “You see—you mentioned that the rock’s radiation reaches such a high scale that it has shocked your scientists, that sounds dangerous. What if it’s harmful?”

“We’ve run the corresponding tests, and it’s not more harmful than the radiation you get from the sun when you go to the beach,” Hemdell said. He stood his ground.

Thanks to that attitude he must have reached the position he has, Uri thought.

“Either way,” the District Chief continued and raised the index as if saying: And now, pay attention because I have something to offer you. “Since the amount of radiation emitted by the Ita-Hu is a mystery to us, and we prefer not to take any chances, we will supply you with an insulating suit, designed for radioactive and biological hazard operations. All to make you feel safe!” And he accompanied that last sentence with a gesture of his hands that said: Who else can offer you a better deal?

…And now, he intends to gain my trust, Uri thought. It was good to know that, despite the nervousness, he was able to think straight. Flattering someone, and giving that someone the materials necessary to achieve a purpose that that same someone wasn’t searching for in the first place, was a ruse he had resorted to several times to close a deal for the company, or even to get a date with a woman who thought she was unattainable.

Unfortunately, here it was he who was on the receiving end, the side he wasn’t used to be. Here, he did not attack. Here, he was the target. His lack of verbal artillery to defend himself against such a knot of proposals was shameful. He had to retreat, and he had already seen traces of that same idea in Malin’s eyes. Oh, yes, had he seen them!

“I’m sorry to reject your proposal, sir,” he said, and ready to say goodbye, he stood up. “I can’t do it. I don’t have full control of my powers, y’know? I’m not trained enough.” Training? Was that his best excuse? “I will gladly be at your disposal for anything else you need.”

The sturdy man smiled again under his thick mustaches. Was the scene amusing him?

“No, Mr. O22, I am the one who regrets that I cannot accept your refusal,” he said and, glancing at Malin, who was still seated, opened the first file in the pile on his desk. “This is the deportation order for Miss Malin Marie Viveka.”

There it is! Uri cursed.

I’ll be deported. I’ll be deported and imprisoned. Malin imagined herself handcuffed. Damn it! I’ll be deported and imprisoned!