“You’re from the Sapient Union, aren’t you?” Urle asked the woman across from him.

“Yes . . .”

She looked nervous and Urle could certainly understand that.

Her name was Sem Kassa, born, the records said, on Garden Ridge Station 137 in the quad star system of Gliese 282. Ten years ago, when she was 16, she had hopped a transport ship and disappeared. No one had known why, her family were still searching, but beyond Union borders they could not find any traces of her.

Kassa’s stress signs increased in the presence of any men, which he unfortunately understood, given that she had been ’employed’ as a prostitute in a no-holds barred brothel.

Kai Yong Fan leaned closer to her. “If you want, I can get a woman to conduct the interview,” she said.

“That would be fine,” Urle added calmly. “But I am second only to the Captain in authority and will have to be involved with the diplomatic side of this either way.”

“No, it’s okay,” Kassa said softly. “I’m just in shock still.”

“That’s understandable. I’m sorry to have to put you through this,” Kai said. “But we need to get the facts quickly to make sure we can keep you safe.”

Kassa’s eyes went wide and she looked up at Urle, then Kai. “You won’t send me back, will you? I can’t go back!”

“We’ll do everything in our power to prevent that,” Kai said.

“We will not be sending you back,” Urle told her. “If you feel your life would be in danger if you went back. Do you feel that way?”

“Yes!” the woman said, panic in her voice. “Daze will kill us!”

“Daze is dead,” Urle told her.

“He’s been shot before and not died, the man is a cockroach, he won’t die just from-“

“He is dead,” Urle said definitively. “His vitals went flat.”

While attempts to revive the pimp had been made on the dock, it had been too late. Kiseleva’s bullet had hit him in the heart and spine, leaving little intact. He’d been too far gone by the time he hit the floor.

He’d crossed a line, threatened a combat response officer, and paid the price. Perhaps he’d just made a mistake or maybe where he came from he thought he was untouchable, but it made no difference now.

Sem Kassa seemed more in shock, leaning back in her chair in silence.

“I can’t believe he’s dead,” she said in a hushed voice.

“He can’t hurt you or anyone again,” Kai told her.

The woman nodded slightly, but still seemed stunned.

“What happened for you to get to us?” Urle prompted gently. “Can you tell me? It will help.”

“Yesterday . . . Ozgu overheard Daze talking to Baro and Earl. They’re his guys, his . . . enforcers. He thought that I was getting too old and too much trouble. He told them to take me to an airlock later that night, that he’d already bribed the guards. It was less of a pain than selling my contract.”

Kai leaned in. “Too much trouble?”

“I . . . I talked back sometimes,” Kassa said. “And I heard rumors that someone was asking about me. I mean, I always hoped but I didn’t think my family would ever find me out here . . .”

“How did Ms. Uzun get stabbed?” Urle asked.

“She told us what she’d heard, and we got Baro and Earl drunk. When they came to . . . find me they left their guns behind. But they were keyed to their fingerprints, so when Uzun grabbed one they wouldn’t fire and Baro stabbed her.”

She drifted into silence a moment, and Kai and Urle waited patiently for her to talk again.

“But I grabbed a chair and I hit Baro on the head. I think the corner hit just right and he went down. Then Mae jumped on Earl, she was really tearing at his face since she was friends with Ozgu . . . He got his gun back, but I jumped on him too, and he was on the floor so we pushed it down and made it fire and . . .”

“You defended yourselves,” Urle said. “This was self-defense.”

“What happened after that?” Kai asked.

“After that we took their money and systems and left. Their systems unlocked the front and we were carrying Uzgu. We used their cards to hire some taxis and sent them off in other directions.”

“To throw off the scent?” Urle asked.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Yeah. Daze knew the owner of the company. So we knew he’d find out.”

“And did you just walk here?”

“We weren’t on Gohhi Main then. We hired a produce hauler shuttle to let us on and got here about two hours ago.”

“How long ago did you escape?” Urle asked.

“I don’t know . . . it feels like days. Maybe twelve hours?”

“All right,” Urle said. “Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Kassa. With your information we can move forward.”

“The others won’t have to go back, either, will they?” Kassa asked, her face pale. “They’ll be killed. Even if Daze is dead, we did something . . . I don’t know if Baro or Earl are still alive, but if they are oh god they’ll come for them, and even if they’re not someone else will just want to make an example-!”

“They won’t have to go back,” Urle promised. “We can keep you safe.”

Kai said nothing – despite what he’d said, there was a chance they could be sent back.

Because they didn’t know all the facts. She had just lied to him.

A Response officer, another woman, led Kassa out, and Kei turned back to face him.

“Ozgu Uzun was stabbed less than thirty minutes prior to them showing up on our doorstep,” she said.

“So she’s wrong about the timeline,” Urle said.

“If there’s any more surprises waiting, this could become an issue,” Kai said.

“We’ll smooth them out. The biometrics are very, very hard to fake without some nice tech that she doesn’t have. She was legitimately terrified for her life – and those of her friends.”

“Yes, she was genuinely scared, there’s no doubt. But what did the biometrics say about her story?”

Urle’s voice was grim. “She lied about a lot of that.”

“And it also matches what the last woman said,” Kai agreed.

“So they got their story mostly straight, but it’s not the whole story,” he said. “We’re going to have to find out what the truth is.”

----------------------------------------

“My dear, let me tell you how extremely sorry I am for all that happened to you. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to make sure that this never happens again.”

Romon Xatier was an excellent liar, Y thought.

He was watching the interaction between the man and Ensign Peony Vale through a camera, one of many public cameras that lined most areas of the ship.

He often took time to watch through a few dozen cameras at the normal interactions and movements of people. For some time it had been essential research, learning how humans interacted in a naturalistic way. It helped him to act in a way that made them feel more at ease.

But it had become something he simply enjoyed.

He could not say he was pleased right now, however.

Ensign Vale was blushing slightly and looking downward. She seemed to believe the man, which he found disappointing.

But she did not know much about Xatier beyond this one meeting. And the man, while retaining something of his aloof, vaguely aristocratic bearing, certainly passed off his words as true.

Perhaps on some level he even believed them, and Y wondered if perhaps he was becoming a cynic. If asked to prove why he thought the man was lying, he could only have ascribed it down to a ‘feeling’. The biophysical signs existed to some degree, but were muted and muddled enough to render confidence low.

Hardly enough to write a report on.

“Thank you,” Vale told him. “I admit I’d never gone onto Gohhi, I’d heard some stories and this made them all seem true . . . but I’m glad to know there are decent people here.”

Smiling in a way that seemed at once intimate and casual, Romon leaned in, tapping his lips to her hand. “You flatter me,” he said.

A few moments later, after bidding a farewell to the smitten Ensign Vale, Xatier passed the two Response guards at the doorway and entered the brig.

“Good day to you, Romon Xatier,” Y said, not looking up. “Jan Holdur is presently asleep, but if you wish, I will rouse him for you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Xatier said. “I will simply wait.”

Y said nothing to that, merely offering a mechanical nod and continuing his work of monitoring Holdur’s restraint suit. Even in his sleep the man fought.

It did not require his full attention, but he was happy for the moment without distractions anyway.

He allowed himself a sense of glee. Romon Xatier had come back, as he had predicted.

“Would you perhaps like a refreshment while you wait?” he asked. “I imagine the Sapient Union’s chef machines will not compare to the fare you are used to, but they do make a very good Hetharian eel pate.”

Romon Xatier’s head tilted slightly. “Very well, machine. I am curious to try what your kind thinks passes as food.”

“For an appetizer we have Yangshan peaches – they may not be Norobian in taste, but I believe you will find them similar enough to be pleasing.”

This time, Romon stopped. “You seem to have a very good idea of what sort of meals I prefer, machine.”

“Yes, you frequent the restaurant Harth’s, one of the finest establishments on Gohhi, with some regularity, although only when the famed chef Haznar is present. He is famed for his Hetharian eel pate, after all.”

“My, it seems you have been paying attention. But I doubt Haznar has come onto your ship, so I do wonder if your chefs can even make the pate edible,” Xatier commented, smiling slightly.

“It is a difficult dish to make, by human standards, requiring just the right level of understanding of the eel’s biology and the chemistry of cooking to render the poisonous flesh safe to eat. This is why I had to program in the instructions myself, to my standards. I had never tried it before, but you can be certain it is safe, as I tested it repeatedly.”

He inclined his head to Xatier. “You have attempted the dish on at least three occasions, haven’t you? Though it seems you were unsatisfied with the results from the fact that the eel cannot be stored at home for more than six hours, and you ended up eating out those three nights.”

“Someone’s done their homework,” Xatier replied. “Do you truly find me that fascinating that you can devote so much time to my study?”

“Oh, you need not worry about my time being wasted,” Y replied. “This was a cursory glance of mine at the public databases. For as long as humanity has been in an information age, they still do not seem to quite grasp how informative the accumulation of such data can be.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. You believe yourself a recluse, but you do go for walks. You do look at things. You do make micro-expressions. Many things you purchase are through hidden channels, but many times their movement is open and publicly viewable. Are you ever curious how much cologne you use a day? Based on your frequency of buying your various kinds I can tell you. You used more today, as a matter of fact, and one of the kinds you use less often than others – you prefer it when meeting people you wish to manipulate, such as Ensign Vale outside. Do you feel it makes you more relatable? I am sure with your refined tastes you came to this conclusion not because you have been manipulated into that feeling but purely through your own high-class tastes.”

“So what is your point?” Romon asked him. “That we are all unwitting pawns? I find the idea that we are all aware – whether crafted indirectly, uncaringly by nature or by the calculated and thinking hands of a designer – to be the greatest lie we have ever told ourselves.”