Tilly glowered. People loved to use “the cloud” as a whipping boy, as if it were any more nebulous than “space” on a hard drive the size of a thumb or “visiting” a web page.

Rick jumped in. “Okay, sure, this satellite has some unique circumstances, but in terms of personnel, who is capable of this? Do you have a watch list or anything? Particular countries, organizations, individuals?”

“Yes, but that’s classified.”

Tilly sighed. Was this what big cases were like? Evasions on top of elisions on top of elusions? Maybe she should have been a journalist. Then she’d at least be able to get away with a write-around, using the gaps as an indictment.

“Are there any recordings from the night of the incident?” she asked him.

“No, unfortunately.”

“Are there any technical logs or digital signatures that you can provide?”

“Not that I can provide, sorry.”

“So, what can you tell us?” Tilly finally relented.

“All I have for you two is career advice. For cases like this, you just have to roll with what you’re given. I understand that you care about your job and that you have values and want to get out here and solve this, but the people who stick around aren’t the people who solve every piece of the case. The people who stick around are the ones who take the little they got and make something from it. So don’t look at me like I’m the reason you don’t have any perps. The play don’t care who makes it.”

Before Tilly could respond, a dull knock drifted through the room. The balding man rose immediately, gesturing at the door. Tilly shot up just as quickly, exiting without a word. The hallway was filled with people, but Tilly avoided their eyes, making a beeline to the parking lot.

Rick joined her soon after, oddly stoked.

“Why are you smiling? Did you finally get that asshole to open up?” Tilly asked him.

“Nah, Angela Bassett was in the hallway. You walked right past her. She’s working with some screenwriters on a script for a Stella reboot.”

Tilly chortled. At least the man had been honest about the conference room. That didn’t explain why the parking lot was still empty, but there were more pressing problems.

Silently, Tilly and Rick sauntered to her car, both of them opening the doors and lingering outside to let the hot air filter out. The tan leather would still be molten, but that couldn’t be fixed. After a spell, they slid in.

“Within certain limitations,” Rick said as they exited the base, “I think we’ll be all right.”

“You listen to too much Kendrick Lamar. We’re fucked.”