The Cadillac ground to a stop at the mouth of the driveway. Three men climbed out of their cars simultaneously as Reginald jumped out of his cab to meet the new arrivals.

“This the guy?” Reginald asked, orienting himself towards the driver of the Cadillac.

Reggie’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and it was going to go just awfully for him if there was a fight. In the driver’s seat, he looked average but faced against the suits, he seemed shrunken and thin. They towered over him. Both had close-cropped haircuts that screamed military or police.

Either man could handle both Freya and the old cabbie with ease. They’d parked their car just at the end of Freya’s driveway, blocking the cab.

“I don’t know these people. Who are you?” Freya demanded before the men could speak. Her voice came out sounding half-strangled as she tried to ignite her fear into anger.

“Good afternoon. I’m Agent Rafael Vences. I work for the National Security Agency.” He produced a badge. “Are you Freya Jokela?”

Freya didn’t answer. Her little tiff with Lynn came back to her. SAY NOTHING. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the churning feeling in her stomach. Vences had a Castilian accent, security had come out as thecurity.

“I’m sorry, but my lawyer says I can’t talk to anyone without her present,” Freya said, giving a little open-handed shrug. “I can put you in touch with her.”

“This is just a few brief questions. Won’t take long at all. Inside would be easier,” Agent Vences said, pointing at her front door.

Freya narrowed her eyes at Vences, starting to be more angry than afraid. He’d ignored everything she said and presumed she would just let these two strange men inside her house. Freya immediately disliked everything about him, the flat haircut, the leather gloves, the sunglasses on a cloudy day. The other man just stood there watching like a golem. He hadn’t spoken, and Vences hadn’t introduced him. It all felt so weird.

“I have to do what my lawyer says.” Freya tried not to sound pissed-off. She remembered the way Garbuglio had prodded her into talking with all his little snips.

“We need to talk with you, Freya. It can be here, or it can be at the police station.” Vences took a step towards her.

The knives were out already. Her mind flickered ahead to handcuffs closing around her wrists. Their hands on her, searching, finding the gun, then the Starball. Taking it all away, shoving her in the back of the Cadillac.

Freya was certain if they got her in the car, no one would ever see her again. They would probably vanish Reggie, too. He was a witness. In hot arcs of panic, her mind leapt to the pistol. Were NSA agents armed?

She stared at their suit coats, trying to figure out if they were wearing bulletproof vests. The sun pierced the clouds again, and everything was suddenly aflame with light.

“Miss Jokela?” Vences needled, not giving her time to think. He was infuriating, and all she could think about was the gun. Body armor wouldn’t matter if she shot him in the face. The sun caught his mirrored glasses and glinted in her eyes.

“Are you well?” Vences pressed.

Eyes narrowed to slits, Freya slipped her hands into the pockets of her coat. Cold metal met her trembling fingertips, and she couldn’t tell if she was shivering or quaking from adrenaline.

It was all going so wrong, the air thrumming in her ears, tightening around her like a fist. The carousel had begun to spin, and she clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay upright. The light had an intolerable quality to it, an Arab glare.

“I’m fine,” Freya hissed. “Just back off, you’re scaring me.”

“You have nothing to be afraid of. Why are you being so evasive?” Vences asked.

Freya flicked off the safety with her thumb.

“Excuse me!” Reginald barked, interposing himself and getting uncomfortably close to the agent. “Are you fucking deaf? She just said you’re scaring her! Back the fuck up!”

Vences took a step back as Reggie bulldogged him.

“Who are you?” Vences demanded.

Reginald pointed to the SILVER STAR TAXI CO ballcap on his head.

“That’s my cab, Sherlock.”

“Go get back in it and stop interfering with my investigation,” Vences ordered. Reginald’s eyebrows raised.

“I got something you can investigate right here!” Reginald made a vulgar gesture. The other suit coughed in surprise, the first sound he’d made.

“Don’t worry, fella, there’s enough to go around,” Reginald said with a crooked grin.

Mr. College Football just told two federal agents to blow him. Their expressions were glorious. Vences fumed, and the mute agent looked so surprised Freya put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Out of nowhere, Radomir’s voice popped into her head.

“GO ONTO A DICK!”

Suddenly, it was all so funny, the sunglasses and bad haircuts. Vences was trying to menace her by threatening to take her to the police station where half the cops had known her since before she could walk. Freya tried to hold back, but it only made it worse.

The next thing she knew, she was laughing right in their stupid faces until her sides hurt, and Reginald was laughing with her.

“This is serious!” Vences raised his voice, and it made her laugh even harder.

“THITH ITH THERIOUTH!” Reginald imitated in a lisping falsetto. Vences stomped over to him and got right in his face.

“SHUT UP!” Vences bellowed, expecting the old man to shrink away from him. But Reginald didn’t flinch.

“Make me, you blackamoor cocksucker,” Reginald shot back. He tapped two fingers on his chin. Freya wheezed for breath, trying to get control of herself.

Rafael Vences was about to murder Reggie. He was furious. The other agent grabbed his arm and hauled him backward. Freya was certain this was no good-cop bad-cop routine. Vences had lost it.

“Pussy.” Reginald smirked, and she saw the silent agent straining to hold onto Vences. With visible effort, Vences throttled his anger from enraged to merely seething. In her pocket, Freya flicked the safety back on. She’d been so close.

“Give me your lawyer’s number,” Vences demanded, taking out his phone.

“Her name is Lynn Harris. You can Google it,” Freya said. She wasn’t going to do any favors for this fool. Besides, her phone was dead.

“Fine,” Vences shot back. He pecked at his phone, and then made the call, his voice flat and emotionless. Lynn picked up immediately. They went through the preliminaries, and then was a long pause as Lynn must have been giving him an earful. Freya was sure his eyes rolled behind the mirrored lenses.

“She’ll be here in ten minutes. You can go,” Vences said dismissively at Reggie.

“How do you figure? You see any wings on this Buick?” Reginald sniped. He was still blocked in.

He stood in the driveway tapping his foot while Vences moved the Cadillac. Vences motioned for him to go afterward, but Reggie only waved at him, smiling at the agent’s exasperated look. Seeing Freya wasn’t about to invite them inside, the other agent climbed into the Cadillac to wait. Freya was left with Reginald, who looked inordinately pleased with himself.

“Thanks for hanging around,” Freya said.

“No trouble a’tall. That idiot almost decked me.”

“I’m really sorry about this.”

“Hah! Don’t be sorry. I was almost a rich man just there. Imagine that lawsuit! Intimidating you and socking a seventy-year-old veteran. All on video! We’d have been rich!”

Freya glanced at the windshield of the cab and, sure enough, there was the little red light from his dashboard camera. Her eyebrows raised, and his grin widened. He’d been goading them all along. She had a moment to smile at that before Lynn Harris’s Mercedes hurtled up the driveway.

* * *

Freya wondered if the agents could tell Lynn was furious with her. There were no death-glares, no snippy comments. Lynn’s fury was hidden in the momentary hesitation before she said Freya’s name, the way her eyes lingered after Freya spoke. There would be words after this was all over.

They were all sitting at Freya’s kitchen table. Lynn had her laptop out, and she was taking notes. Freya had plugged her phone in to charge on the kitchen counter. The silent agent had set up a tripod with a little camcorder to record the interview. Before that, she’d watched him walk around the living room, carefully looking at everything. Probably checking for security cameras.

Freya looked at Lynn, wondering if she could get them to conduct the interview without the camcorder, but Lynn didn’t notice. She was inspecting Vences’ badge and his ID and typing the numbers into her laptop.

“His too,” Lynn said after snapping a picture of Vences’ badge with her phone. Lynn kept her eyes locked on him until he produced his own badge and ID.

He was Special Agent Adamo Santonelli, Central Intelligence Agency. Freya stared at the sixteen pointed red and black star on the badge, then her eyes rose to Lynn.

“Why is the CIA investigating an American citizen?” Lynn asked, a note of tension in her voice.

“This case is international in scope and involves industrial espionage. It’s within our purview. That said, if you’re uncomfortable with me here, I am happy to wait outside until the interview is concluded,” Santonelli spoke for the first time. His voice was unexpectedly soft and high-pitched for such a large frame.

He must be self-conscious about it, Freya realized.

“That’s not necessary,” Lynn said, and Santonelli gave a grateful nod.

“Okay. Let’s begin,” Vences nodded to Santonelli, who hit record, a red light on the camcorder lighting up.

“What is your full name, please?”

“Freya Kyllikki Jokela.”

For a few minutes, it was all more preliminaries, date of birth, social security number, other identifying things. She found her hand drifting into her pocket, but the Starball had nothing for her. For the thousandth time, she wondered why Dan hadn’t texted her back.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

For fifteen minutes, Vences asked Freya a series of questions about what she did online, what websites she went to, what email she used, who she talked with. Freya was impatient for him to get to the point and start asking things about Lassa, but he never came around to it.

“What school do you go to?” Vences asked.

“Grayson High School. I’m a sophomore.”

“Where were you on October 24th at 2:30 PM?”

“In class.”

“Which class?”

“Trigonometry with Mr. Manzinni”

“Do you have that class every school day?”

“Yes.”

“So, you were there October 25,26,29,30,31 and November 1st and 2nd? At that time?”

“Yes,” Freya said, feeling a ripple of discomfort in her stomach.

“Thank you. Where were you on November 5th at 2:30 PM”

“Also in Trigonometry class.”

“And on November 6th at 2:30 PM?”

“The same.”

“Are you certain? Please, think about it carefully.”

“Can I look at a calendar?” Freya asked, pointing at her phone on the kitchen counter. Agent Santonelli brought it to her.

“What’s this about?” Lynn interrupted.

“Grayson’s records show Freya was absent on November 6th.”

“That’s right. I’d forgotten I was out that day. Sorry, that was a while ago.”

“Why weren’t you in school?”

“I was sick.”

“Why is this relevant?” Lynn asked.

“During those dates, the network at Grayson was used to access a large number of protected computer systems. On October 24th, a number of computer systems at the school were rendered non-functional. We believe they were used as bots to compromise the remote systems. This activity occurred on school days from October 24th through November 5th, ceasing on November 6th when Freya was not at the school. When she returned the next day, it resumed.”

“And you think my client was involved?”

“I do. There are many factors in common with the breach at Hiidenkirnu.”

“Are you planning to charge her with a crime?”

“It’s a possibility,” Vences said, some of his anger leaking through his mask.

Startled, Freya began to speak, but Lynn’s eyes flashed, and she swallowed the half-formed word. Lynn nodded.

“What kind of systems were attacked?” Lynn asked.

“Mostly biomedical research data from universities and companies similar in profile to Hiidenkirnu. Three government facilities.”

“How did the attacker gain access?” Lynn continued. A flicker ran through Vences’ face, and Lynn’s focus became even sharper. Immediately, Freya knew what she was thinking.

He didn’t know.

“We’re still investigating the exploits used. We suspect state-level malware.”

“How many systems were compromised?”

“Forty-three we’re aware of. We’re still investigating.”

It was a ridiculous number.

“I’m starting to get a clearer picture here. You intend to convince a jury my sixteen-year-old client compromised forty-three networks during her trigonometry class? Without the instructor noticing. Freya, are you allowed to have your phone out in class?”

“Not at all, no. Mr. Manzinni wouldn’t allow that.”

“Okay,” Lynn said, coming to her conclusion. “So, that’s just a pretense to intimidate my client. A minor who you attempted to corner in spite of her request to have her attorney present. Was this before or after you threatened to beat up a taxicab driver?”

“Before,” Freya said.

“Look, this is serious—” Vences began.

“Theriouth” Freya mocked, her voice low, but the room fell silent. Vences and Lynn stared at her, exasperated. Freya glared right back at Vences. He was an asshole who’d tried to bully her and Reggie. She was going to do everything she could to get him fired after this.

The interview had clearly gone off the rails. There was a sharp intake of breath from Santonelli. He walked over and pressed a button on the camcorder, and the red light turned off. Vences looked up at him, and Santonelli stared back. Vences broke first.

“Thank you both for participating in this interview. You were very helpful. Would you mind taking the equipment out to the car, Agent Vences?” Immediately, the chain of command was clear. Vences broke down everything and packed it into the case, not making eye contact with anyone. Santonelli gave them the slightest shake of his head as he sat at the table.

“Let’s talk,” Santonelli offered.

Vences shut the door too hard as he departed.

* * *

“Would you mind putting your phones on the table and turning them off completely in front of me? Also, could you power down that laptop and remove the battery from it?”

HE KNOWS.

Freya felt the hair on her arms rising.

“Yes, I would mind very much,” Lynn said.

“I’m asking because, if they remain on, there’s a good chance I need to collect them after our conversation. Some aspects of this investigation may touch on classified data. I cannot be recorded while we’re discussing matters of national security.”

Lynn shook her head.

“Work with me here, please. I’m not going to try and pull anything on you. I was a lawyer before I joined the agency.”

“What school?” Lynn asked, sounding unconvinced.

“UCB, dual major in law and biochemistry,” Santonelli said, a note of pride in his voice. Lynn’s eyebrows rose.

“Why on earth are you working for the government?”

“I got rich. Patent law is boring, and this is much more my speed.”

Lynn accepted this with a nod. Freya followed her lead when she set her phone on the table and shut it off. Next, Lynn spun her laptop around so Santonelli could watch her shutting it off.

“It’s an internal battery,” she explained.

“Totally fine. Thank you both. Let me start by saying I’m not interested in prosecution. That’s not my scope. We have already been through the phone and internet records…” Santonelli trailed for half a beat. Long enough to imply he knew about Lassa and Lynn, short enough to say he didn’t care, “and I can’t see any indication of Freya’s involvement. It’s much more likely your mother infected your phone with the malware without your knowledge.”

Her relief that Santonelli didn’t know about the Starball was gone as quickly as it began.

“What? No. She didn’t do that,” Freya blurted, and then she turned to Lynn, who silently beseeched her to shut up.

“Why would she use Freya’s phone? Even if you ignore the fact she’s putting her daughter at risk, it makes zero sense to use the network at Grayson for the attack. Why not some bot farm in China?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense, and that’s one of the reasons I’m talking with you. One thing I’m hearing from everyone I speak with is how erratic her behavior has been. Potentially, someone is taking advantage of her emotional state to manipulate her.”

“That’s not possible. Have you talked with her yet?” Lynn asked.

“I’m going to Northern Light Hospital tomorrow. I intend to interview her as soon as she’s released from the psychiatric hold, which should be tomorrow morning. I assume you’ll both be there?”

“You’ll understand when you talk with her,” Freya said. “Nobody’s manipulating her, and she’s not stupid. If she wanted to steal data, she would have done a much better job covering it up.”

“Is she talking with anyone new? Is there anyone at all that you think might be involved?” Santonelli asked.

Freya wondered if she could pin this on Paul, but if they involved him, they would find out about the work Lassa had done at NorDx. The CAT scans could lead back to the Starball.

“For a few months after Randall’s death, Lassa was drinking heavily and staying out. She could have come into contact with a lot of people,” Lynn said.

“Do you think she had another phone? There aren’t a lot of calls during that period,” Santonelli said, and Lynn shook her head.

“That was a polite way of saying she would screw anyone with a pulse at last call. I doubt many numbers were exchanged.”

“Wow,” Freya said, surprised at Lynn’s acidic tone.

“I’m sorry,” Lynn said. “That was a bit much.”

“I mean, it’s accurate,” Freya agreed. “She was coming apart, but not at her work. She wouldn’t ever put me at risk. When our home internet got messed up, she legitimately had no idea what was happening. You know about the call to the cable company?”

“We know. We have Karhu’s images, too, but the Ø process he described isn’t on them. Either it erased itself before he could complete the image, or Karhu was mistaken. We’re still investigating his involvement.”

“I saw that process myself. It was there. And my phone was acting weird for almost a month before that,” Freya insisted. “It can’t be Lassa.”

“Let me save you both some time. It’s her,” Santonelli said. “The unauthorized research she was performing was definitely informed by the stolen data. She has to be in on it.”

At the same instant, Freya and Lynn inhaled deeply. No more poker faces now. The jaws of the trap had closed. Freya watched the change in Lynn’s face, her jaw muscles tensed, resignation settling into her eyes. She was reconfiguring from flight to fight, from defense to damage control.

“Okay,” Lynn said, recovering quickly. “Well, at least you were honest about prosecution.”

Santonelli nodded in agreement, and he noticed Freya’s questioning look.

“If I wanted a conviction on your mother, I would never tell her lawyer that before discovery. I’d let her waste as much time as possible. But I don’t care about that. I honestly just want to get to the bottom of this. Did she speak with either of you about what she was working on? Even a passing comment, anything whatsoever?”

“She never talks about work,” Freya said, and Lynn agreed.

“Wait. Have you not figured out what she was doing at Hiidenkirnu?” Freya asked.

Now, it was Santonelli’s turn to sigh. In his face, Freya saw they were all tied into this together, tangled in Lassa’s mess.

“What she was working on doesn’t make any sense to me,” Santonelli admitted.

“Would you need to be a specialist to understand?” Lynn asked delicately. She was trying not to insult Santonelli.

“I’ve consulted with specialists. No one gets it. Unfortunately, her notes are very sparse. It almost seems like she doesn’t understand what she’s doing either.”

“She told us she was getting the ideas out of nowhere.”

“Was she actually sleepwalking?” Santonelli asked.

“Yes,” Freya said. Both adults bored through her with their eyes, and Freya fought to keep from looking away.

“What do you think it is?” Freya asked, trying to get their attention off her.

“I think it’s a weapon,” Santonelli said. ”That’s the only way I can reconcile all the strangeness. Someone is taking advantage of your mother, positioning her to look like a mad scientist and absorb any potential blame.”

Freya felt like a trapdoor had opened beneath her. Santonelli and Lynn continued to discuss the point, but they were a thousand miles away. Freya’s hand was in her pocket, gripping the Starball. It was hot.

Interstellar.

Pest.

Control.

Freya could stop this, stop everything. She could set Lassa free. All she had to do was walk into her room and clap the orb in the two halves of the meteorite. This would all end. They could reveal everything, turn the Starball over to Santonelli. She tried to picture herself, biting down on her mouthpiece and bulling her way through the starsickness, but she couldn’t get the image to form. All she could think was, And then what?

Then the river.

When she was gone, the feds would rise like black water and swallow everything. Lassa, Lynn, Karhu, everyone who knew would wind up in some secret prison forever. Everything about her would be erased. If they found out about Dan, they would take him, too.

Running her tongue against the back of her teeth, Freya tried to tell if they were her thoughts or the Starball’s. It had been a long time since she had felt its imprint. Maybe there was no difference any longer.

“You okay, kid?” Lynn asked, both she and Santonelli stared at Freya.

Freya blinked, trying to perform that old trick from class, where she pulled together all the tidbits she’d heard passively and build them into some idea of what was said. But she’d been too far from all this, lost in her head. She tried to think of what to say. Instead, the words just fell out of her mouth with no intent or artifice.

“I’m sorry,” Freya said, her voice barely a whisper.

Santonelli gave them nothing else useful, and they made arrangements to meet at Northern Light the next morning for Lassa’s interview.

“Bring something to read,” Santonelli advised her before he left. “It could take a while.”

Freya had almost forgotten to get another book. If not for the warning, she would have been stuck with Anna Karenina. Freya scanned Randall’s shelf, looking for something long enough to get her through the morning. She eyed The Wanderer by Fritz Leiber, but a little further down the row her eyes were drawn to the scuffed-up paper dustcover of a thin volume, black with white script. She pulled it down carefully.

Freya was surprised to find it wasn’t science fiction. It was a book of prose poetry: At Grand Central Station I Laid Down and Wept, by Elizabeth Smart. The cover was a blue woman, collapsed before yellow buildings with a red sky aflame behind it, all done in an abstract expressionist style. It spoke to Freya at once.

She flipped the page open, looking for the copyright page. This was the first UK printing, 1945. On the recto page was Lassa’s handwriting.

For Randall.

Beneath, Lassa had drawn a tiny perfect heart with an L inside it, so exact it reminded Freya of the imprint on a pill. Freya’s breath caught. Handling the book as delicately as nitroglycerin, she removed the thin paper dust cover and set it carefully on top of the row of books so it wouldn’t get damaged. She ran her fingers over the orange fabric of the cover, wondering how bad this would hurt.