Kieran Haas was sixty going on forty. She wore a slim-cut pinstripe suit that accentuated her strawberry blonde mane and deep brown eyes. Her perfume preceded her.
“Come, Trevor. Aren’t we friends?”
OK. Here we go. The head of Requiem wants to play word games.
“I used to think we might be. The way you left things at our last security confab suggested otherwise.”
She laid a not-so-comforting hand on Trevor’s arm.
“Play along to get along. You’re still new at this.” She tightened her grip. “I’m tired of meetings. Let’s walk.”
“Sure. Madam President, I ...”
“Kieran.”
“Fine. Kieran. I’ll be straight with you. I want answers. We’re in wartime now. Don’t patronize or cherry pick. I’ve earned better.”
Except for the bit where I’m protecting my assassin brother and the alien lifeform inside both of us.
She motioned him to follow.
“I’ll do what I can, Trevor.”
They passed through the quiet lobby outside her office. This area teemed during IC sessions.
“I enjoyed your speech,” she said. “You struck the right balance. I’ll expect to see that same leadership style in the coming days. Amity will need it.”
Trevor’s keep-calm-and-carry-on remarks lasted three minutes. His Chiefs reported no initial disturbances.
“The delayed transmissions will be hitting the station soon. I can’t guarantee the peace will hold.”
“Hmmph. If there’s trouble, it will be short-lived. Trust me.”
He didn’t care for the implication. Haas told him not to ask.
“This way.”
She took him down a narrow corridor with small offices on either side. The Executive employed almost as many residents at peak as Central Administration.
Haas did not speak as they took a left, a right, then entered a stairwell. She led him up two levels and stopped at the landing inside a door bearing the giant label B5.
“Do you know what’s special about this location?”
“Not a clue, Kieran.”
“We’re in a blind spot. There are no secure cams or audio sensors on the stairwell from Levels 4 to 6. An aide discovered the flaw two years ago. She wrote up a lovely report detailing the necessary upfits. I buried it.”
Great. I’m hanging out in a stairwell with the President of the Collectorate. This can’t possibly go wrong.
“Why hold onto a blind spot?”
“It’s a private place in a public building. People rarely use these stairs. They’re a relic of the old Ark Carrier. Most prefer the lifts and the ramps.”
She was half-right. Few used them because most residents didn’t know they existed. Trevor and Connor chased each other up and down these stairs after they arrived. Haven and Episteme had none.
“Isn’t your office a private space?”
Haas tapped his nose, as if he were a silly boy.
“One would think. One would think wrong.”
“Wait. The Office of the President is being monitored?”
Haas shrugged.
“As is yours, Trevor. As are so many.”
Even his paranoia had its limits.
“What are you even talking about? We’re a secure facility. We have safeguards in place to prevent third-party surveillance.”
Trevor bit his tongue right away. Haas giggled.
“We track everyone’s LinkPass history. You use it to solve crimes, rescue people in crisis, and expel others from this station.”
“OK. Yes. You’re right. But that’s not what I’m talking about. We don’t use surveillance devices in homes or offices.”
“We don’t.”
