Marguerite led Stacia around the workstations. The captain traced Paki’s steps, skimming the actual projects. Her true interest was in who was watching her. She didn’t look over at any who gathered to watch the captain at work. She had no idea who might be watching remotely; but she knew if she kept banging on walls long enough, something, or someone, was bound to scurry from the shadows.

“By the way, how’s Bek doing?” Marguerite asked.

Stacia’s chest tightened at the mention of his name, like an icicle had been plunged into her. “The doctors have him resting.”

“Can you let him know that we miss him?” Marguerite twisted her necklace and then straightened it. “That I miss him.”

“I … will.” Stacia recognized that look in her eye. The puppy dog eyes of the first blush of friendship deepening. She hadn’t expected to encounter this, nor the idea that her son’s friend was blossoming into this area of adulthood. Because that meant he was, too. But that was a path she couldn’t afford to wander right now.

What did Paki find? What trail was he on? Who did he threaten? The obvious suspect, Zenith, was a mercenary in a suit. He moved only if his masters ordered him. There was a piece missing. And she needed to rattle more cages to shake something loose.

Stacia had been up all night. She retreated to her rondavel. Her head hit her pillow, but sleep didn’t come. She curled into a ball, not bothering to toss or turn, letting the warmth from her arms seep into the parts of her she held, hoping to at least warm herself through by the time she chose to rise again. She had gone over holovids, ship’s diagnostics, reports, and communication logs for Paki’s investigation. She’d talked to the scientists on Titan, the Dreaming City, even on O.E. for updates on Bek’s condition. She avoided staying still, on the off chance that Yahya might track her down. The thought of him left her feeling cornered. Until sheer exhaustion caused her to collapse onto her bed, even if her mind raced too much to actually rest. She was alone with her thoughts and no one to parse them with.

“Maya?” she tried again. Nothing. She’d assigned her best techs to inspect their system. Well, the best techs after Paki. Or Bek. She sent a communiqué inquiring about the status of the patrol of ships at the Orun Gate. She rolled one hand into the other, absently popping the knuckles of each finger joint before reversing hands and repeating.

Stacia wasn’t one for conspiracy theories. Facts guided her. Hard, demonstrable, repeatable evidence. Invisible forces, bed partners of politics and deep entrenched business didn’t interest her. She was an experienced scientist, researcher, and critical thinker. She thought her way out of situations.

She needed answers.