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“Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.”

- André Malraux

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October 14, 2361 AIA

P5

Devi Kumar allowed her eyes to idly rest on the window of her limousine. Blinks and streaks of yellow and red-orange light penetrated the tinted glass as they drove along, creating a silent show for a distracted audience.

The phone rang beside her. When she glanced down at it, her eyes showed as little interest as when she’d been staring at the window. Then she rolled them back. She didn’t groan, but she did let out a whisper of a sigh.

She would have to take the call.

“Good morning, Cooney.”

Night for her. Morning for him. Most other politicians didn’t bother with niceties, but her phone displayed the planet-time for the person calling, and courtesy cost nothing.

“No, it’s not a good morning!” It would have been an unremarkable voice for pitch and accent, but Cooney had a peculiar whine to his tone that made it sound as if he lived at the end of his frayed nerves. “I didn’t sleep at all. I’m sick with worry.”

“I presume you’re talking about our interview with Gardner?”

“You mean the hostage situation? Can we call a spade a spade?”

“If you want to do that, you’ll have to forgo your dramatic metaphor. He didn’t threaten us.”

“Not in so many words—”

“On the contrary, if you think back, you’ll realize that he didn’t even blame us. He took his chance to put in a big, fat ‘I told you so’ and then diplomatically dropped the entire subject. He only asked for our help. I was pleased.”

“You’re praising him?”

“I’m admiring his technique. I’m glad the man has no ambition. He would’ve made a fantastic senator.”

“The man’s a brute! He has a knife at our throats!”

Kumar hummed for a moment. She’d been doing it for years. It was an inoffensive way to keep the other party from talking while she gathered up a translation for her actual thoughts. The more cynical of her comrades had nicknamed it her “bullshit buffer.”

She said, “It’s easy to feel threatened by the unexpected, but it’s important to act carefully in those moments, don’t you think?”

“I damn well do!” Cooney said. “We have to do something about him, or we’ll all hang!”

Kumar put a hand to her forehead. “Do you have a recommendation, Cooney? Or did you want me to sympathize with you?”

She knew he hated when she said things like that. No doubt he felt emasculated by the suggestion that he only wanted someone to listen to him talk about his feelings. Kumar wondered if he’d yet realized how often that was the case.

“Listen, Devi.” His voice was sharper now. “You’re in this as much as I am, but you have so much further to fall. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. It’s not as if the general is blackmailing us. I’ll do what I can to get him the interview with Sipos. It’s not an unreasonable favor to ask. He only wants to assure himself the trouble is over.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

There was a short silence.

“Is that really what you think?” Cooney asked. He went on when she failed to answer. “They’re all dead, but our troubles don’t seem to be going away.”

“I know this is a strange concept for you to try and wrap your head around, Pace, but what if Gardner is telling the truth? What if he just wants to know for certain?”

“And once he gets his interview, you think this’ll all be over?”

“I hope so. He’s been a gentleman, all things considered. When he called me in his darkest hour, instead of lashing out in a panic”—(it’d be too much to hope Cooney would see the parallel)—“he politely mentioned that he needed to talk to me, and if I’d rather do it in private, as opposed to a Supremacy prison, I might want to see about making sure he didn’t get arrested.”

“And you arranged it.”

“I did. That’s what I do. I arrange things. It makes things neater. My point is that Gardner doesn’t seem like the type of man who would do something stupid on a moment’s whim.”

“As long as he’s alive, we’re at his mercy!”

“I hope you won’t do anything”—she hummed—“impetuous. Let’s get a hold of Fable and see what he has to say. He knows Gardner better than either of us.”

“I called him first. It took me a while to track him down. He’s trying to negotiate for passage to some god-forsaken corner of space.”

“Does it have anything to do with our situation?”

“Yes! Which means he’s nervous too! And if he actually manages to find someone willing to take him, he’ll be in velox, so we won’t be able to talk to him for at least three days.”

“Is that all? We can wait.”

“Are you sure?”

Pat him on the head. Reassure him.

“It’s a perfect certainty. It would make no sense for Gardner to do anything while I’m arranging to get him what he wants. And if he does decide to try and use the information against us, he’d have to explain about his own involvement. I’m sure he’s as desperate to avoid that as we are.”

“Then why did he make the backup?”

That was a disturbingly astute question. Was Cooney getting smarter?

Kumar struggled to find something to say. “He doesn’t have as many tools at his disposal as he used to. He needed our attention, and he got it. Hopefully, he’ll soon understand that it isn’t necessary.”

“And if he doesn’t get rid of it?”

“Then I’ll arrange something.”

“Yes. You’re good at that.”

A smile unfolded on Devi Kumar’s face. “That’s why you called me.” She rushed him through a curt goodbye and cut the line. Once again there was blessed silence in the car. Then Cooney’s words came back to her.

Is that what you really think?

What did she really think about Gardner? About Cooney? About any of it? The question blazed in her mind.

Cooney was a reckless coward who could be unpredictable when he was afraid. Fable knew too much and couldn’t be easily influenced. And Gardner? She had assumed she understood him, but considering what he’d done, she was forced to admit she might have misjudged his character. Apparently, the former general wanted something so much, he was willing to put them all at risk to get it. That was an alarming amount of passion. Especially coming from him. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit, she didn’t know how far he’d go.

It had been so simple when everything was going well. It’d been interesting and useful. Then the worst had happened, and now it was dangerous.

Her eyes were drawn up to the front of the car. She saw that her driver watching her through the open window between them. Their eyes met briefly in the rearview mirror.

Of course, he would be interested.

Her long French-manicured nails beat a staccato rhythm on the portfolio beside her.

“Carter.”

Her driver answered instantly: “Yes, Ms. Kumar?”

“You were listening?”

“Of course, Ms. Kumar.” They’d been together long enough her business was his business.

They were perfect for each other. She’d always been attracted to his ice-blue eyes and impeccable self-control. It was the dignity and dispassion she treasured in herself, mirrored back with broad shoulders and a black striped suit.

But three months ago, when she’d told him what had happened, his face had been terrible to see. Ever since that day, his composure seemed like a death mask. Even now she didn’t know what he was feeling.

“Carter, this may become a problem. If I need it handled, would you be willing to help me?”

Silence.

“Yes, Ms. Kumar.”

“Thank you, Carter.”

That was a first. Not that she said the phrase—after all, courtesy cost nothing—but now she felt it. Those heavy little words held over a decade of depth in their syllables.

The rest of the ride to her in-town apartment was quiet. When they arrived, Carter Levin personally opened the limousine’s door for her. The valet, who was used to their routine, waited until they were almost to the building before taking the car around. Kumar returned the greeting from the doorman, calling him by his first name. In the elevator Levin waited only a second before glancing at her. Noting her exhaustion, he gave the computer instructions to take them up to the floor of her suite.

Devi was three steps in the door before she realized someone was already there.

She stared at the figure in the chair.

“Ms. Kumar.”

“Oh, my god,” Devi whispered. “Harlan.”

The man smiled. “Not your god. Not yet. And not Harlan. Not exactly.”

“How did you…” When her ears dimly registered the double click of her door’s locks engaging, she turned to look at Carter. He stood in front of the door, his hands folded together and his face impassive.

Kumar felt a trickle of fear carve its way down her spine.

“Yes, Mr. Levin was kind enough to help me get here,” the man said.

Kumar swallowed and turned back to face whoever—whatever—was in the chair.

The man stood up and walked toward her. “We have a problem, Ms. Kumar, and you’re going to help me.”