Chapter 12

TWELVE

" Y ou expect us to believe that all of your intel was provided anonymously? Do we look like idiots, Mr. Wystan?"

"Yes. I mean no! Damn it, I'm telling the truth."

In the holo projected in the middle of the conference room, Lucas Wystan clenched his hands, wringing his fingers together hard enough that he was either going to crack the knuckles or dislocate the joints. There was no missing the sweat beading on his forehead, just like there was no way to miss that his hair was styled in much the same fashion as Zed's. Or that his left wrist bore a tattoo similar in theme to Zed's soliton, if not as elegant.

It was also really damned hard to miss that the leader of the Church of Omega was all of twenty-two, if he was a day. Zed wanted to groan. This was the guy who'd made his life hell over the past six months?

"I swear to God," Wystan said, his voice rising, "someone posted the human meeting info on the forums, like an anonymous tip, and I thought it would give us cred to ? —"

"To breach galactic security?"

"No! Damn it, damn it," Wystan whimpered. "Everyone knows that security is tight as shit. I didn't think mentioning that would do anything, you know? But then we picked up tons of chatter on the comms about switching the meetings around and—that was it. I swear. It freaked me out that we might've fucked something up and I didn't go looking for any other info."

The second AEF officer in the room leaned forward, her ash-blond hair glittering under the harsh lights of the interrogation room. "Tricalvanide hexogorite, Mr. Wystan. What do you know about it?"

"Tri—what?" Wystan blinked. "Nothing. Nothing! What the hell is it?"

"It's the substance that was used in the bomb on the stin vessel Gorekka, and the only place you can get it in the galaxy is Vorean." The blonde officer paused. "Where your ship, the Magdalene , was docked a Standard month ago."

"Oh shit. Oh shit. You're trying to pin that on me."

"Not everyone made it out in life pods. Ten stin died. Twenty were injured. One human died, another was critically injured." The first officer, a bald man with a dark goatee, leaned forward. "Do you know how long they'd throw you away for if this restarts the war? Or maybe they'd just give you to the stin for ? —"

In the holo, Wystan slammed his palms onto the table between him and the AEF officers. It didn't seem to be a move meant to be intimidating—his arms trembled. "I was visiting my girlfriend! She's a miner on Vorean. It's a part-time workplan thing. She's studying for her master's, or doctorate or something, I don't know what! Jesus God, I didn't—I just stopped there to have a quick fuck, all right? I swear I didn't—don't give me to the stin! I just wanted to be close to history, okay? I wanted to be close to him! Have you fucking seen him? He's hot and confident and…hot, fucking hot. I just needed to take the edge off or else I'd be walking around with a fucking boner all the time, reading about all the shit he's doing. Can you believe it? What he's done, what he's doing? It's amazing. He's amazing. He's going to save us all, he's going to redeem us. Because, dude, we need saving, we all need—" Wystan's voice cracked. "I just…I just…I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt him!"

"And why should we believe you?" the blonde officer asked.

Wystan swallowed, the bobbing of his Adam's apple clear even in the holo. "I didn't do anything but send him emails and talk a little to the press, I swear! Please don't give me to the stin. Please, please don't…"

One of the officers looked up at the camera as Wystan crumpled forward, his forehead pressed to the table. "Someone want to bring Mr. Wystan a change of clothes, please?"

With a grunt, the designated Speaker for the council governing Central, Devi Tamboli, pressed a key to switch off the feed. She'd arrived from Mars a few hours after Theo's discussion with her. "Either that was a very convincing act worthy of the highest awards," she said, her voice slightly accented, "or he is just a terrified child caught playing with matches."

Tamboli's aide tapped a few keys on her wallet. "The Wystan family is well-known for shipbuilding. Lucas is the youngest of eight children and, by all accounts, overindulged by his parents."

Zed figured "overindulged" was a polite way of saying "spoiled."

"His ship, recently renamed the Magdalene , was a twenty-first birthday present. He has a record of minor offenses, mostly drug-related or piloting his craft in an unsafe manner close to a station," the aide continued.

"And other than a girlfriend on Vorean, there is nothing to suggest a connection to the tricalvanide hexogorite. The inspection of the Magdalene showed no traces."

After seeing Lucas Wystan for himself, Zed didn't find the lack of connection surprising. Neither Wystan nor his organization were sophisticated enough to plot a complicated operation—unless, like Tamboli said, Wystan was a hell of an actor.

It would take a lot of dedication to piss yourself, though.

Tamboli sighed. "We shall keep him in custody for the evening, see if a night's accommodation in a cell encourages him to open up further."

Zed gritted his teeth. A cell would only encourage Wystan's bowels to move, most likely. He was a little boy playing a game that had gotten very serious, very unexpectedly. Frustration made him tighten his fists and he forced them to relax. When they'd found that the Magdalene had docked on Vorean, he had thought that it was the piece of the puzzle connecting Theo to the planet in a more immediate, recent capacity. Even if the timing didn't make sense. Even if they couldn't find a single digit of contact between Theo and the cult.

There are no coincidences.

"Two people with connections to Vorean were in this system when tri-hex was used." Zed managed to keep his voice pitched above a growl, but it was difficult. "At least one of them has to be involved."

Tamboli watched Zed for a moment, then waved him to a seat. The imprecise motion gave away the fact that she likely hadn't slept since the explosion happened more than twenty-four hours ago.

Hell, none of them had.

Amelia settled into a chair beside him but remained silent. Her wallet was out and she was taking notes—notes he'd never review, but he appreciated the gesture.

"Emissary, I understand your desire to assign blame for this act?—"

Zed's hackles rose. "I really don't think you do."

"You've lost sight of the big picture," Tamboli said, her voice just as sharp as Zed's. "If you ever had it in view to begin with."

If Zed gritted his teeth any harder, he was going to crack a molar. "So, educate me," he said, knowing his words and tone were not as respectful as they should be.

He wasn't surprised when Tamboli's expression shuttered. "I will keep you apprised of the progress of the investigation, but I would ask that you recuse yourself from further involvement." She flicked through screens on her wallet, making it clear that Zed was dismissed.

"No."

Tamboli looked up. "I beg your pardon?"

"Ma'am, I am not in your chain of command. After my recent experiences with the AEF and Central, I don't have a great deal of faith—or confidence—that the truth will come to light."

"Mr. Anatolius, are you suggesting?—"

"Admiral Saito planned to kill me in order to keep Project Dreamweaver a secret," Zed said, one brow raised. "Are you prepared to tell me that the AEF or Central would not bury evidence that proves humanity was behind an attack that could renew the war with the stin?"

"That will not happen on my watch."

"Forgive me if I'm not interested in taking your word for it." Zed rose from his seat. "I will continue my own investigation, ma'am."

Tamboli rose slowly, her amber eyes gleaming with anger. "Your job , Emissary, is to act as translator for Species Four. Not to be a junior investigator. If we didn't have need of your… skills ," she said, her lip curling, "I would see you and your crew off this ship so fast you would think you had entered j-space."

"I answer to a higher authority than you, Speaker," Zed growled. "Do not try to separate me from my partner."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, ma'am. Just a statement of fact." Zed inclined his head and left the conference room.

Fucking political bullshit. He was going to find out who was responsible for this. Who had cost Flick his arm. Who had created a situation where Flick was unconscious and showing no signs of waking.

And they were going to pay .

After stopping by the hospital deck, finding no change and being scolded by Nessa to go get some rest, Zed's feet carried him off on autopilot. He blinked at the familiar walls of the quarters he shared with Flick on the Chaos , unsurprised that he'd retreated here and not to the guest suite on the Jitendra . This was home. This room was filled with reminders of Flick—his kick bag in the corner, the desk with stray bits of wires and circuits he used for tinkering. Fuck, even the lube stashed on the shelf above the bed reminded him of Flick.

The bed coverings probably still smelled like him, too—metal and electronics, the scent of a station rat. God, he wanted to just fall on the bed and press Flick's pillow to his face, breathe him in, wrap himself in the blankets and sheets and just…hide.

He pulled out his wallet instead. "Distract me," he said to Marnie when the holo flickered into view. She'd know what he meant—Qek had been keeping her and Ryan in the loop about Flick's condition.

"You look awful," she said, her voice soft.

"That's not distracting me."

"What do you need to be distracted from?"

Zed hesitated, but this was Marnie, one of his oldest friends. In the past six months since she and Ryan had become part of the Chaos crew, they'd grown close again, into much of the same sort of easy camaraderie they'd enjoyed at the Academy. It wasn't quite the same—they weren't the same kids they'd been—but it was good. Needed.

"Lying down on our bed just so I can be close—" His voice gave out unexpectedly.

Marnie's expression melted. "Oh hon. And why shouldn't you?"

"He's not dead."

"No. Thank God. But needing to be close to him—there's nothing wrong about that. Are they still limiting the time of your visits?"

Zed swallowed, nodding. "Until he regains consciousness, yeah."

"And you're probably filling up all the other hours of the day with work, knowing you."

"Yeah." He was in regular contact with the resonance—but the tone of their communications was somewhat different now. Less formal, more…almost family-like. It wasn't really work, not like the investigation side of things.

"Are you sleeping?"

"Right now?" Christ, of course not right now. He rolled his eyes. "Clearly, no."

Marnie chuckled, then sobered. "You're not going to be of help to anyone if you make yourself sick."

Yeah, yeah, yeah. But was sleeping really worthwhile when you relived the moment you cut off your partner's arm whenever you closed your eyes? Fuck, maybe he should've called Dr. McMann. Thing was, he wasn't really feeling up to that level of analysis. He felt…fragile. Really fucking fragile. Now that the adrenaline of the meeting with Tamboli had worn off, muting his anger and dulling the drive to find those responsible, other stuff was rising up, threatening to overwhelm him.

"Elias hates me," he whispered.

"Zed—"

"I mean, he's right. I don't blame him." He sat on the bed, his entire body weighed down as though gravity on the Chaos had doubled. "Their lives were good before I showed up."

"Don't do this."

"Don't do what? Face the truth?"

"You're tired. You're not thinking clearly. Elias probably isn't either."

Zed dragged his fingers through his hair, noticing for the first time that the strands felt greasy. Had he showered since the escape aboard the shuttle? He remembered stripping off his bloodied pants, his shirt already sacrificed as a makeshift bandage, and giving himself a quick wash to get the blood off—but an actual shower?

"I never meant for any of it to happen, though," he said quietly.

"Elias knows. We all know. He's stressed, lashing out. I bet Nessa has already dressed him down for it."

Zed grunted. Unless Ness harbored the same sort of thoughts. Back when he'd first joined the Chaos , she'd threatened him with bodily harm should he hurt Flick. Should he be expecting her retaliation too?

Not only that, but the crew of the Chaos depended on steady work to keep funds flowing and the ship running. Elias and Flick had refused to allow Zed to dip into his legacy account after his initial investment, insisting they didn't need access to those sorts of funds. Every day spent sitting at the Hub was a day they weren't earning anything.

"How long can I expect them to put up with this shit? Elias, Flick—they're running a business, and this?—"

"Do you really think either of them would pass up the chance to be there with you, seeing history being made?"

Flick would stick with him—unless he woke up blaming Zed for the loss of his arm, which was entirely possible. Elias, though…

God, his words hurt .

Without intending to, Zed found himself stretched out on the bed, on his side, his wallet lying on the pillow beside his head. The bed did smell like Flick, tangy and…wonderful. He inhaled deeply, drawing the scent into his lungs. He watched Marnie's expression, wondering what she was seeing in his to make her brown gaze grow watery. "Wish you were here," he murmured. Then maybe he wouldn't feel so alone.

"God, me too, big guy. That's it, close your eyes, Zed. Sleep."

He tried to summon a denial, that he couldn't sleep, but thought slipped away from him before it could form.