“What are you up to today, my friend? Making mischief for our beloved Trevor? He has his eye on you, Thomas. I wonder who will get to you first.”
Shad couldn’t help but feel for the guy. Thomas was a clever assassin in his prime. Now, he was a conniving shell of himself.
Worse, he was a wildcard. Shad disliked wildcards.
13
Amity Station, Haven Sector
THOMAS KNEW HOW TO APPROACH a sleeper agent without setting off alarms. He learned from experiences on Hansen’s Landing and Indonesia Prime. He put down both targets with relative ease. This mission required a nuanced touch since he did not intend to eliminate anyone.
Thomas piloted his rifter high above the residential blocs toward the rafters, focusing on the air recycling lattice. He spotted the team. Three men wore retro packs as they power-steamed the outer shell of the air recycling system. Two others crawled around inside, performing routine maintenance on the washer fans.
He dropped the rifter to hover speed so as not to intimidate the men with retros. They wore orange jumpsuits and protective masks.
The foreman, designated by the yellow star on her chest, silenced her sprayer and drifted toward the rifter. She lowered her mask.
“Something I can do for you?”
“Yes, please.” Thomas felt his heart flutter. Damn, what a beautiful woman doing shit work. So sad. “I’m looking for Niles Acasta.”
“He’s cleaning. What’s your business?”
She didn’t recognize Thomas Quinlan? Former First Deputy of Haven? Disappointing.
Thomas tapped his wrist plate and flashed his credentials.
“Department of Safety and Profiling. I’m looking into a matter of some importance. I need a brief word with Mr. Acasta.”
Her somber response said everything about the impact Shadow Gambit’s team made on the station. When one of these folks came around, people became uncomfortable in a hurry.
“Sure. I’ll send him over straightaway.”
She restored her mask, fired her retro, and drifted ten meters to a tall, gangly man. She tapped his shoulder. He silenced his spray and removed his mask. They whispered with a touch of animation before the man flew toward Thomas’s rifter.
“I’m busy,” he said. “Got a lot of ground to cover before my shift ends. What do you need?”
“To chat. I’m Thomas Quinlan, Deputy Researcher for Safety and Profiling. You are Niles. Yes?”
The target threw up his arms.
“So? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I never said you had. I’m interviewing associates of a resident under investigation. My questions will be harmless, and you’ll return to work in no time.”
Thomas wondered whether he presented a disarming smile. Did his tone reflect sincerity, or the usual verbal tricks one might expect from law enforcement? Niles coughed.
“Who are you investigating?”
“Someone you know in the engineering group. Please. Hop aboard. I’d like to steer away from the work site. The steam casts an unflattering odor, and I have no mask.”
Niles glanced back at his foreman, sighed, and complied. Thomas told him to hold tight and shifted the navigation arms forward into a considerable dive. He leveled off at the roofline of the tallest residential tower.
“This looks nice. We have privacy. I promise not to keep you.”
“Good. Like I said, I’m a busy man.”
So far, the target exhibited no sign of fear. He was a cagey one, for sure. One problem: If the man wanted to run, he could take a flying leap and set those retros to allow for a soft landing. Not that running ever made a lick of sense on a space station. Some tried anyway. One resident bound for expulsion led Thomas and three Episteme deputies on a wild chase for more than an hour.
This Acasta fellow didn’t look like much, but Thomas knew better than to trust appearances.
“Do you like your job, Mr. Acasta?”
“It’s work. They pay me well.”
“Interesting. A childhood friend of mine used to work the ARS in Episteme. EngSec9. You wouldn’t have known him. He left the station a month before you arrived.”
Niles rolled his eyes.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“He’s serving in the UNF these days. Or so I’m told. Unexpected, you see. This man was a wayward sort. A loser, if you will. No ambition, no goals, no particular skillset.” Thomas chuckled. “Perhaps he had exactly what the UNF wants, for all the use they serve. Am I right?”
Niles fumbled the mask between his hands.
“I wouldn’t know. Get to it. Every minute I’m down here, I’m losing credit points.”
“No worries, Mr. Acasta. I’ll call you Niles. Credit points won’t be a factor much longer. You see, my theme is the unlikely journeys we take. For instance, I haven’t always been a lawman. For several years, I specialized in mathematics. Specifically, subtraction.”
