After so many failed attempts, Will knew it just couldn’t be done. If it could, it would have happened a long time ago. No way around it. And yet, he couldn’t sway his friend.

“There is a first time for everything, isn’t there?” said Jack.

“Not unless something succeeds.”

“But that’s my point...”

“No, actually,” said Will, “it’s mine.”

“Does that mean we agree?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.”

Will looked up at the sky—streaked with strands of violet and sand—where ships hovered, ready to land.

“You think he’s on one of those?” asked Jack.

“He promised.”

They fell quiet as they entered the spaceport. It had been four years since they’d seen him—Zermond the Hermit, as others now called him. They had kept in touch through TriVid, and holovisor calls, but he had been traveling continuously throughout the Weld.

The man at the security check scanned their retinas, keyed some codes in, then let them pass with a curt nod.

As they approached the large plexiglass screen that showed the debarking passengers, Jack became restless.

“If anyone can do it,” he whispered, “it’s him.”

Will sighed. He was growing weary of the argument and was reluctant to answer. The camera saved him the trouble when it caught the distant silhouette of their friend, walking through the crowd, and straight toward them.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

***

“Homicide? I thought John’s death was a suicide?”

Detective Ward was a short, dark-haired man with unsettling green eyes and a thick Giccurri accent. He leaned over his partner’s shoulder to look at the victim’s friend.

“We found new evidence,” he said as he stepped into the room without waiting for an invitation. He glanced around, considering the velvet curtains, the gold-rimmed mirror, the antique and exotic furniture... “The autopsy report revealed he took drugs just a few minutes before his death.”

“Well, then it must have been an accident!”

Ward stopped in his steps and turned to face the younger man. He quirked a brow as he studied him, then asked: “And how do you figure that?”

“The drug most likely drove him mad. He must not have known what he was doing, and just jumped off the balcony...”

The detective started for a nearby door and reached for the knob.

“May I?” he asked, but did not wait for an answer. As it swung open, he noticed from the corner of his eye that Brown was entering another room. He continued before the man could raise any objection—or notice his partner’s activity: “Did he often take drugs?”

His host seemed about to answer, but paused and blinked, then frowned. “Well... Perhaps it was his first time. That could just as easily explain how it all got so out of hand. Hey, what exactly are you looking for here?”

The new room was smaller, though as lavishly furnished as the previous. Obviously an office, with a dark ebony desk set against the far wall—covered with piles of books, trinkets, and a doctor’s paraphernalia.

“His arms and legs were paralyzed.” Ward turned to face the victim’s friend and smiled. “Care to explain how he could have walked to the balcony and jumped off?” As no answer came, he stepped out of the small office and considered the paintings on the walls. “Do you have any drugs in your house, Dr. Wilcox?” he asked of the still stunned man.

“Only legal ones. And for medical purposes, of course.”

“Of course. And can any of these provoke the type of symptoms I have described?”

“I’m not sure I like what you are implying, detective.”

“I am not implying anything. Merely doing my job.”

“I think you should leave now...” Wilcox tensed as he looked around. “Hey! Where is your partner?”

A calm voice came from behind him: “I am right here, doctor.”

The man jumped and turned to face the tall blonde detective. “If you have any more questions, please refer to my lawyer. I will have his contact information sent to your office.”

The two detectives smiled as they walked out.