One of the few problems Corey had with Tooley was that she was dense. Not in the psychological sense, but in the literal sense. Had Tooley been a human woman of the exact same height and build, she probably would’ve weighed about a hundred and ninety pounds, give or take. Instead, thanks to Sturit differences in muscle, bone, and fat density, she weighed about two-hundred and fifty. It wasn’t a problem most of the time, but it became a problem when she ended up lying on top of Corey as she slept. He didn’t want to bother her, but he also wanted to be able to breath normally again.

Thankfully an interruption came from an outside source. Kamak waltzed up to the door, opened his datapad, and pressed down on a button he’d prepared. The datapad emanated a low, droning hum that gave Corey a headache, and caused Tooley to bolt upright, hair standing on end.

“Quit screwing and start moving, losers, we need to get things done.”

Tooley stormed to her feet and got dressed, alternating between clutching her head and shouting curses at Kamak. Much the same way Tooley had set up a ship alarm that aggravated Kamak’s hearing, he had found a frequency that was especially agitating to the Sturit. He held the button down until Tooley stormed out of the room and snatched the datapad from his hands. She threw it against the wall hard enough to shatter the datapad, and Kamak pulled another one out of his pocket right away.

“Just remember I’ve got that on standby if you ever start to get feisty,” Kamak said.

“I can turn up the volume on the alarm, asshole.”

“And I can hook this thing into the ship’s speakers.”

“If I can interrupt,” Corey said. He’d let Tooley exit ahead of him, to make sure he was out of the warpath, but now that warpath was threatening the entire ship. “I assume you had a reason to wake us up?”

“Two reasons. This was, to be fair, reason number one,” Kamak said, as he held up his weaponized datapad. “But yeah. I got something about the case too.”

Kamak led the way back into the common room. A holographic map of the known universe dominated the air in the center of the room, with several points of interest marked and connected by blue lines.

“Oh look, you put actual effort into something,” Tooley said. “What’s this about?”

“A lead,” Kamak said. “Remember how I said I strangled one of your dad’s coworkers?”

“No.”

“We had this conversation last cycle, Tooley.”

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“And I kind of had a lot going on right afterwards, Kamak,” Tooley said.

“And you got drunk,” Kamak grunted. “Anyway, your poor memory aside, it got me thinking. Somebody wanted me to kill that guy so they could make a profit. Maybe somebody wanted your dad dead for the same reason.”

“What are you implying?”

“Well, look at most of the victims so far,” Kamak said. “Loback, that guy who bought the Hermit, Tooley’s dad, all well-connected rich bastards.”

“That’s certainly a pattern, but none of the other victims or attempted victims fit it,” Doprel said. Den Cal, Quid, and Khem weren’t rich or influential by any means.

“I know. It’s not a real pattern, but it’s enough of a pattern that we can put some pressure on the right people,” Kamak said. “Like, for example, EmSolo Aerodynamics.”

“Oh, right,” Corey said. “They’ve been popping up now and then.”

“Yeah, we were talking about it right before Khem showed up with the bomb,” Kamak said. Their representatives had approached Kamak for information, and had showed up to “guard” To Vo’s house right before the attempt on Den Cal’s house. “They’ve got access to the kind of tech needed to change their face, they had access to To Vo’s house, and I’m starting to suspect they have a motive.”

“The motive is threadbare at best,” Farsus said. “Their only incentive would be profit, and profits are already high due to tensions surrounding the invasion. This seems like a great deal of risk for very little reward.”

“I know,” Kamak said. “I doubt we’re going to find our killer there, but we can at least learn more about the kind of gene editing that lets people change their looks. That’s rich people bullshit, I don’t know shit about it.”

Recreational gene editing had technically existed for a while, but few people had the money necessary to perform it safely. For most, gene editing was for life and death medical treatments, not to have shinier skin. Only people as obscenely wealthy as Et-fe Lithrette could throw that kind of money around.

“Well, we need to do something to pursue that lead,” Corey said. “The Council police is still acting like Sindika attacked Den Cal on her own, even after she woke up and denied the whole thing.”

“In fairness to the common officer, Sindika’s alibi is not exactly ironclad,” Farsus said. According to what little testimony she’d been able to give in her barely-conscious state, Sindika had gotten jumped from the alleyway and had no idea what had happened after that. Pretty flimsy, as excuses went, but Corey was still sure that someone had been impersonating Sindika during the attack on Den Cal. Gene editing was their only lead on how such a thing could be possible.

“Who’s Sindika again?” Tooley said. “I’m losing track of shit.”

“Maybe you should try using your brain as something other than an alcohol sponge,” Kamak said.

“There’s a lot going on, motherfucker, I’m in the middle of my second life-or-death universal conspiracy in three years,” Tooley said. “Excuse me for losing track of shit.”

“Maybe we should get To Vo back on board,” Doprel said. “She was good at keeping notes.”

“You shouldn’t need to keep notes,” Kamak said. “It should be pretty easy to keep track of a life-or-death situation when it’s your life or death!”

The conversation quickly devolved into an argument, as often happened whenever Kamak and Tooley talked about things for five seconds straight. The addition of Doprel being on Tooley’s side was an unusual twist, but not enough of one to make the situation interesting. Corey looked to Farsus and handed him a drink.

“So, you keeping track of everything just fine?”

“Naturally.”

“Same.”