Grimthorn sat alone in his office, his scanner lying on the desk before him. He'd like to have had Kinnit with him for this call, but SOP for encrypted calls was that the office had to be empty. Doubly so, since was technically still on suspension.

  Besides, the Cryptographers' deal was only with him. Better to keep her out of it, if he could.

  The call connected, and the ethereal voice of Broca Brangwin came through his scanner,

  "The Cryptographers speak with the Admiral Stonefist again once again," he said breathily. "What news do you bring us?"

  Admiral Stonefist took a deep breath and began outlining the excitement of the last few weeks in every particular. The pirates, Kinnit's adventures on Techterra, all of it.

  He'd thought about holding some of the information back, but if the Cryptographers wanted to cause him problems, they'd hardly need to find infractions of Navy protocol to do it. The Cryptographers worked with data, and if they were going to help him, he was determined to give them every bit of it he could manage, as accurately as possible.

  Broca listened silently while Grimthorn spoke. At last Grimthorn finished.

  "This has all been noted," Broca said. "Thank you again for your wealth of information. Have you found Rax Daggoth?"

  "Yes, I had my Infographers track him down. He was easy enough to find. CEO of VoidTech Industries. We ran a full background check. There was some questionable behavior, but we didn't find anything exciting. He just seems like a typically amoral executive. Why did you have me look him up?"

  "We-- the Cryptographers-- drew his name from our interrogation of Captain Denth."

  Grimthorn sat upright.

  "Denth the traitor? I was wondering why you lot hadn't gotten anything out of him yet. I had expected he'd spill his guts as soon as you had him in hand."

  "He had a... special treatment that has made extracting information very slow. Though the Cryptographers have been very diligent and relentless in drawing information from him."

  Grimthorn grimaced.

  "I bet. Hmm." Grimthorn tapped his chin. "You said that one of the conspirators was an industrialist. Could this be him?"

  "That is unclear. All we know is that Captain Denth knew Rax Daggoth when he had no reason to."

  "Then we will follow up with a careful and very circumspect investigation. Thank you for this information." He cleared his throat and paused, considering his next words carefully. Asking favors from Cryptographers still made him very uncomfortable.

  "So," Grimthorn said. "You've seen the photos of the wire in Commander Ordren's office? Do you have a recommendation how we can deal with this? I'd... like to get my Assistant cleared as soon as possible."

  "As well you should," said Broca. "Have you decided to retrieve the Arcturan detachment?"

  Admiral Stonefist's brain locked up. The Arcturan detachment who'd been lost in jumpspace twenty years ago? Why was he bringing that up? And why wasn't he answering the question Grimthorn really wanted him to?

  This young Lieutenant Brangwin had been spending too much time around the Cryptographers.

  "Ah... right. Well, I have thought it over. It is a very difficult choice. Those men..."

  Grimthorn's mouth tightened. He wanted to ask for more time, for an easier solution, but he knew there wasn't one. He'd made his decision.

  "First, I want to thank you for the offer. Your... unconventional negotiation saved me from making a terrible mistake at a time when I wasn't thinking clearly." He took a deep breath. "I can't stand the thought of the Arcturan detachment trapped in jumpspace. It horrifies me. But if the only way to save them is to kill a Cryptographer... well, it's simply not conscionable. I won't do it. I can't kill so rare a creature, even to save my men."

  "I see." Strangely, Broca's voice sounded strangely disappointed. "It is the loss of a Cryptographer that stops you?"

  "Yes. Please don't give me any moral justifications. I don't want to hear how the 'chosen' Cryptographer wouldn't mind, I don't want to hear about the needs of the many, or any of that nonsense. I've made up my mind."

  "We understand. Your thinking is very... linear, very firm. It is part of your strength. We will see to it that the issue with Commander Ordren is handled. You will not need to do anything. Your Assistant will be cleared shortly."

  "Wh--" Grimthorn frowned, dealing with the mental whiplash. "I don't understand."

  "The situation with Commander Ordren will be handled."

  "Right, I just-- never mind. If I get Kinnit back, I'm happy. Regardless of you guys and your corkscrew thinking. Is there anything else?"

  "We are satisfied. We look forward to seeing you soon."

  "Seeing me? What do you mean? I'm not--" But the line had already disconnected.

  Grimthorn spat an oath. That young man had definitely been spending too much time with the Cryptographers.

  Lucy the Velspyn was tidying up the kitchen behind the mess, setting things to rights before shutting down for the night. Her spider-like form move smoothly through her kitchen routine as she stowed the food, set up the menus for the morning, and cleaned off all the counters.

  She walked out to the mess hall to turn off the lights, but spied a young man sitting at one of the tables. He had a cup of coffee in his hands, staring deeply into it.

  Staring at it was better than drinking it; by this time of the night it would probably be chewy.

  She emerged from the kitchen and approached him.

  "Lieutenant Baric?" she asked. "I thought I recognized you."

  He started, meeting her eyes.

  "Sorry," he said. "I'm in your way."

  "You're not in my way, hon." She fetched her own cup of coffee and sat across from him. "You okay?"

  "M'fine," he muttered.

  "Well, maybe it's none of my business, hon, and if I'm being nosy you can just tell me to butt right out, but you don't look fine."

  Sol looked at her for a long moment.

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  "Lucy... if you knew someone... and you respected them, like, like they were practically your hero, but then you found out something terrible about them... what would you do?"

  Lucy cocked her head quizzically.

  "Well, it would depend on what kind of terrible thing I found out, I guess."

  "Like, if you found out... they had a relationship with an SS."

  "Oh, you mean like Admiral Stonefist and Kinnit?"

  Sol twitched, nearly knocking his cup of sludge over.

  "You know?!" he cried.

  Lucy laughed.

  "Oh, hon, everybody knows." The put her head thoughtfully in her hand. "Well, everybody on board, anyway."

  "But... the law!"

  Lucy made a dismissive hissing sound, laden with a degree of contempt that only a Velspyn could manage.

  "It's a stupid law," she opined. "It's just to keep pencil pushers on Techterra happy."

  Sol frowned deeply.

  "So everybody's just... okay with it, then?"

  Lucy shrugged.

  "Mostly." She reached across the table and laid a slender pale hand on his. "Is it the species thing that bothers you, hon, or the law?"

  Sol's mouth twisted.

  "It just feels wrong."

  "Oh, well, feelings," Lucy said flippantly.

  "This is serious!"

  "Is it, hon? Or is it just you tying yourself in knots about something that's not even your business?"

  "I..." Sol struggled to come up with a response. He shook his head. "It's just wrong."

  She patted his hand.

  "Well. See if you can figure out why it bothers you so much. Once you've understand that, I'll be happy to talk with you again."

  Sol nodded, tight-lipped.

  "You stay here as long as you need, hon. Just do me a favor and turn the lights off on your way out."

  "Y-yes, of course."

  Lucy withdrew, leaving Sol staring into his cup of coffee.

  Jagen Zaine waited in the seedy parking lot, trembling. The abandoned, run-down building he leaned against, the street beneath him, even the people passing on the street nearby, were all cold and dead in his senses. Nothing in the entire city of Techterra could reach him. Not food, not women, not drinks, nothing. Nothing could penetrate the fog surrounding his mind except stimtrons. The electric pizzazz that zipped across his nervous system was the only thing that made him feel alive any more.

  What had started as a boost for parties had become the central pillar of his life. He needed-- well, he didn't need stimtrons, they weren't addictive, everybody said so. Everything was just better through the lens of electrical enhancement: clearer, sharper, more real, more there.

  He shivered. Problem was, those chips were only good for a few uses. Even with exceptional care, they'd short out, or crumble. Many were the times he'd tried to coax one more use out of a dead chip. He'd even tried to rewire one that had gone bad, but he'd spent hours afterward vomiting and hallucinating and seeing nothing but static filling his vision.

  Well, no more. Today he was done with stimtrons. He was done with the flaky chips, the unreliable readers, done with them altogether. He'd never need a stimtron again.

  Because today Jagen was getting a neurotrode.

  Easy-peasy. Plug 'em in, and as long as you had electricity, you had all the stim you needed. From what he'd heard, the zip from a neurotrode was more intense than anything you could get from a stimtron.

  He couldn't wait.

  A rattling, rusted car pulled into the seedy parking lot. The driver rolled his window down. Jaden jogged over. A grinning lizardman sat behind the wheel.

  "H-hey," Jaden said. "Hey." On the passenger seat was a disposable bag, wrapped around something bulky. "Is that it?"

  The lizardman opened his mouth to speak. A large, steel-gray, slab-sided van rolled by slowly on the street. The lizardman's mouth locked open, his face twisting in terror.

  Jaden's mind was suddenly filled with dread. All the deadness, all the suppression of his ability to feel over the last couple years of stimming, all rushed in on him at once. The world around him turned ashen-gray, void of meaning or feeling or life. Then his nervous system flipped over, and the world was full of light and color, unbearably full and bright, like the greatest stim ever. Then it flipped again, and the world was meaningless and thin.

  Jaden sank to his knees in the parking lot, a warbling moan escaping his throat. The lizardman was gagging and drooling in in car.

  Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the sensation went away. Jaden came back to himself. He was lying on the gritty concrete, staring at the tire of the lizardman's car.

  He scrambled to his feet. He grabbed his head with his hands, but everything was back to normal. He looked around. The slab-sided van was gone. He and the lizardman looked at each other.

  Jaden turned and ran. The lizardman slammed the accelerator, tearing out of the parking lot.

  The heavy, angular van slowly navigated the streets of Techterra, its engine humming low. As it passed, people nearby stopped, paralyzed with an inexplicable fear, or animated by an existential terror, their minds filling with horrific images.

  The van left a trail of terror and disruption wherever it went.

  The van drove to the center of the city, the heart of Techterra, to the very gates of Central Command. It pulled up to one of the entry gates. The barrier was up.

  The gate guard's face was filled with panic. The jet-black tinted window on the driver's side of the van slowly rolled down.

  Broca Brangwin leaned out.

  "I have someone here to see Commander Ordren," he said. "On authorization of the Cryptographers."

  The luckless guard, one hand unconsciously on his holstered pistol, slapped at the button to lower the barrier. It took him three tries as his nerveless arm flailed at his console.

  The barrier ground down until it was flush with the asphalt.

  "Thank you," Broca said.

  The slab-sided van rolled slowly forward and disappeared into the parking lot below the complex.

  Commander Ordren sat at his desk, typing up reports. He relished the neat rows of properly filed reports that filled his console. It was evidence of his value in the Imperium, proof of his indispensability. He hummed as he filed one report after another. The list of reports on his console grew.

  A frown creased his brow. A sudden, inexplicable wave of sadness swept over him. He shook his head and kept typing. The sadness grew, became more poignant. His tapping fingers slowed, then stopped. A sigh escaped him.

  What was going on? This wasn't like him. He wondered if he shouldn't make an appointment with his physician, make sure everything was all right.

  He sat back. His sadness grew, gaining a tinge of unease. He wrangled a smile onto his face, trying by force of will to banish the invasive feelings, but they continued to grow. He looked at his reports. The neat, orderly rows mocked him, sneered at him. They represented his whole life, wrapped up in meaningless non-work that nobody would ever see, that meant nothing, that only ever served to slow down and burden the real do-ers of society.

  Commander Ordren pushed back from his desk, and stood, shaken. Relentless visions of his ineffable inadequacy sleeted through his mind.

  He sank to his knees. The last time he'd felt like this...

  "Help me," he whimpered.

  Three steady knocks sounded on the door, slow and sonorous: rap, rap, rap.

  Commander Ordren squatted on the floor.

  "Go away!" he cried.

  The knocking again: rap, rap, rap.

  He knew the feeling now.

  The handle of his office door twisted. The latch clicked as it disengaged.

  He knew the feeling. You had to deal with it from time to time, in the Navy. He recognized the feeling. But not here. Never here. Cryptographers were supposed to stay in space.

  The door swung open. A pale young man wearing Lieutenant's stripes stood there. Behind him was an unmistakable silhouette. Seven feet tall, dressed in a flowing cloak, writing facial tentacles moving unnaturally through space and time, and round reflections from glassed goggles gleaming from deep within its hood.

  "Commander Ordren," the young man said. "We have come for an investigation."

  Ordren scrambled to his feet, and backed away pressing himself into the corner of his office.

  "What are you doing here?" he wheezed, barely able to get his voice out.

  "We have come for an investigation," the young man repeated. He stepped into Ordren's office. The Cryptographer followed on silent feet.

  Even in the midst of his panic, Commander Ordren's eyebrows knitted in confusion. Cryptographers exclusively wore black cloaks. It was the one thing everyone knew about them. But this one, this one was in a blood-red cloak. And the presence of Cryptographers was never calming, but this one seemed to carry an extra edge of menace.

  Those round goggles pointed directly at him, never wavering. The Cryptographer in red moved in smoothly. Without breaking eye contact, it reached under the edge of his desk. There was the sound of tearing tape, and the red Cryptographer lifted its hand, one taloned claw holding Koro's wire.

  "We have found the leak that has threatened the Solution," Broca said.

  "Wh-what is that? Why have you come?" Ordren was nearly babbling by now. "You can't be here! Cryptographers are supposed to stay in space! Cryptographers are supposed to stay in space!"

  The red creature moved over to Orden, moving so smoothly it nearly seemed to float. Ordren shrank further into the corner as it towered over him.

  It was impossible to make out an expression on that tentacled face, but Commander Ordren could almost swear it was smiling.

  Its raspy voice pressed itself onto the Commander's consciousness.

  "I... am... no... longer... a... Cryptographer," it said.