2075 - Space Corps Central Command Office

The footage unfolded before them, and Harlow watched as the previous evening’s version of Victor entered the room, sat at his desk, and began sorting paperwork. Nothing seemed amiss, and the only movement came from the timestamp in the bottom corner counting as the seconds advanced.

“I left your quarters around midnight,” Victor commented from beside him. “You were sound asleep—I’d already moved you back to your bed—and there was nothing further to be done there. In the meantime, though, I’ve got a backlog of tasks in this office that seems to be piling up faster than I can address it, so I decided to do something productive.”

“You should’ve tried to sleep too,” Harlow said.

Victor shrugged. “I wouldn’t have been able to—not after what happened yesterday. I would’ve just tossed and turned for hours.” He nodded at the screen. “I’m glad I decided not to, though. Keep watching.”

Harlow turned his attention back to the recording, where Victor sat in the quiet, empty foyer outside the room they now occupied.

He seemed distracted. There were telltale signs of concerted efforts to focus—of a preoccupied mind and frequent lapses in concentration. Little things like the tapping of a pencil against the desk or idly fidgeting in the chair.

He’d been nervous.

And rightly so, it seemed, because Harlow heard a noise echoing faintly in the background. Distorted as it may have been through the playback, it was still unmistakable.

“Was that . . .”

“Yes,” Victor said. “The elevator.”

Harlow felt a sick feeling rising in the pit of his stomach. Nobody should’ve been visiting his office at that time of night. There were no appointments scheduled at such a late hour, and this floor was only accessible to those with the highest level of clearance.

He turned his attention back to the monitor and watched as Victor stood, craned his neck, and peered into the hallway.

Victor had never shown much appreciation for Harlow’s innate sense of intuition; he’d always regarded it as superstitious nonsense. But this seemed to be one of the rare occasions his own gut instinct flared a warning, because he stood up straighter and reflexively reached for the pistol that was still strapped to his belt.

And those suspicions were proven correct a few moments later when General Lin tore furiously through the entryway and stormed into the room.

Victor stepped around the desk in an attempt to stop him. “General Lin, Sir, you’re going to need—”

“Out of my way!” Lin shouted. “I’m here to see your boss, and I’m going in there, so don’t you dare try to stop me.”

Victor moved in front of the door leading to Harlow’s office, blocking his path. Lin seemed as if he might try to push past him and force his way in, but he stopped abruptly at the last second, and they stood there, just a few inches apart.

“He’d been drinking.”

Harlow jumped slightly at the sound of Victor’s voice and glanced at him, but Victor didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Up close, I could smell it.”

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After a few moments, Harlow turned his attention back to the monitor and watched as the two of them stared at each other.

Lin’s expression usually resembled an irritated scowl—that was nothing new—but this was different. There was a threat to that posture and a blackness in that gaze. His eyes were a dark void filled with rage and hate, perceptible even in the grainy, low-resolution footage. Harlow wondered if Lin had been fully in control of his actions, but he didn’t seem intoxicated enough to be in such a state. His voice was clear, and his movements were grounded. He didn’t sound drunk, nor did he look it.

But Harlow knew what that expression meant, because he’d seen it before. Those were the eyes of a murderer. He couldn’t be entirely sure of Lin’s intentions, but he suspected he’d consumed just enough alcohol to remove the inhibitions keeping such impulses at bay, and it clearly hadn’t taken much.

And Victor had stood there face-to-face with him.

He didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch.

Lin’s expression slowly transformed into a smile—a gesture every bit as threatening as the rest. “You’re defying an order, young man, and I suggest you move.”

Victor shook his head. “You’re not going to see him, because he’s not there. Go ahead, look. All you’ll find is an empty desk.”

Lin’s smile disappeared, but he glanced inside nonetheless.

“Where is he?” he asked sharply.

Victor didn’t respond.

“Answer me!” he shouted.

Victor’s expression remained unchanged. “He’s in his quarters, and he’s asked not to be disturbed. It’s yet another migraine. And the door’s locked, so I don’t suggest you try going in there unless you want to be charged with breaking and entering.”

General Lin leaned closer and stared at him. “I don’t care if he’s recovering from a gunshot wound. I’ve come here to talk to him, and I’m not leaving until we’ve discussed today’s incident.”

“Then you’ll be waiting a long time,” Victor said. “If you like, I can schedule an appointment for tomorrow.”

“What you’re going to do is unlock that door for me so I can speak to him.”

“Speak to him?” Victor asked. “Is that all you plan to do?”

Lin’s expression darkened. “Don’t you dare question my orders. I’ll break down that door if I have to. I’m going in there, and you’re either going to help me, or get out of my way.”

Victor returned that stare, and all pretense of respectful formality was gone. “You need to leave.”

Lin didn’t budge.

“If you knew what was best for you, you’d hand over that key,” he said.

Victor shook his head. “No, and I’d like to remind you that regardless of your current feelings on the matter, he’s still your commanding officer. You can take this up with Headquarters if you like, but if he doesn’t want visitors, that means he won’t be receiving them.”

“I don’t care what he wants.”

Victor shrugged. “Why bother electing leaders, then, if you’re not going to respect their directives?”

Lin stared back, and that murderous look flickered in his eyes again. His arm shot out, and he grabbed Victor’s jacket, drew him close, and stared down his nose at him. “It seems both of you need to learn a thing or two about respect—”

But then, his expression changed. He shifted abruptly, stood up straighter, and looked down at the gun Victor had wedged against his ribcage.

“Let go of me, General,” Victor said.

Lin held his gaze, and now his eyes made no secret of his intentions. “Lower that weapon, young man, or you’ll be spending the rest of your life in prison. I’ll make sure of it.”

Victor shrugged. “Let go, then.”

But Lin didn’t. Instead, his grip tightened, and his mouth curled into a sneer. “Drop it.”

Victor remained composed, and his hand was steady. “You’re in no position to negotiate, General Lin, because if you had means to retaliate, you’d already have done so. Now, I’m giving you five seconds to turn around and walk away before I pull the trigger.”

Neither moved.

“Four,” Victor said.

Lin returned a defiant smile. “You won’t do it.”

“Choose how you’re going to leave,” Victor continued. “You can either go on your own accord, or be carried out beneath a sheet. You have three seconds.”

Lin didn’t move.

“Two.”

That grip finally loosened, and he released Victor’s jacket and took a step backward.

“Good.” Victor nodded. “Keep moving.”

Lin retreated toward the hall while Victor kept the pistol trained on him.

“This isn’t over,” Lin said.

“I expect as much,” Victor replied.

He remained stationary, watching as Lin crossed the threshold and disappeared from sight.

Harlow heard the sound of the elevator departing once more, and only then did Victor move forward, peering cautiously into the hallway to ensure it was empty. When he was confident Lin was truly gone, he went back inside, sat down, and set the pistol on the desk in front of him. Then he propped his feet up next to it, leaned back in his chair, and exhaled slowly. And with that gesture, he smiled ever so slightly.

“Go ahead and try it, Lin,” he said to the empty room. “I’m ready.”