Mac and Anna were the last to leave. Oscar caught her giving Wilson a quick little shrug before the door closed.

“Drink?” Wilson asked.

“Yeah, thanks. Whiskey, with some ice, no water.”

Wilson gave him a slightly surprised look, but walked across the white office to the spherical drinks cabinet. “Well, you’ve certainly got me curious. An official and private meeting.”

“We have a problem,” Oscar said.

Wilson gave a distant grin as he poured the whiskey into a crystal tumbler.

“Houston.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Sorry, go on.”

Oscar accepted the drink, despising himself for needing liquid courage. “A little while ago I was approached by someone who was suspicious about various aspects of the Second Chance mission.”

“You, too, huh?”

“They talked to you?” Oscar found that incredible.

“Let’s just say there’s a lot of politics going on around here. What did this someone want from you?”

“It’s easier if I show you. Here.” He told his e-butler to access the log recordings directly from the secure navy database. The portal on Wilson’s desk projected the recording from the shuttle as it started its journey to the Watchtower.

“See the main dish?” Oscar asked as he froze the image. “Someone was signaling to the Prime homeworld.”

“Son of a bitch.” Wilson dropped into his chair, staring at the picture that filled half of his office. “Are you sure?”

“We both know the dish shouldn’t be deployed at this stage in the mission. I did some rough alignment calculations, and that’s the direction it’s pointing.”

“Son of a bitch. Who the hell was it?”

“I don’t know. Our records are quite comprehensive, but whoever ordered the dish to deploy was clearly circumventing our management programs. This is about the only proof we’ve got it ever happened.”

“I don’t understand: a traitor? Why? What possible motive could there be?”

“There’s a lot of fairly wild theories floating around in the unisphere,” Oscar said carefully. “We never did understand why the barrier came down as soon as we arrived. And I think we can be pretty certain now what glitched our communications with Bose and Verbeke.”

“Someone in the crew,” Wilson whispered in shock. “But I picked them all…we picked them. You and I.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said miserably.

“Christ.” Wilson was still staring at the picture of the dish as if it were some kind of physical threat. “This doesn’t make any sense. Nobody benefits from a war. In any case nobody knew what was inside the barrier.”

“The Silfen probably did.”

“No. Not them. I don’t believe that.” He turned to Oscar, eyes narrowing.

“Who asked you to look into this?”

Oscar held his gaze. “The Guardians of Selfhood. Someone I used to know was the contact.”

“Fuck, Oscar! Those bastards tried to destroy the Second Chance.”

Oscar nodded at the picture. “They might have had good reason.”

“The Starflyer alien they believe in? You can’t be serious.”

“Maybe I’m not,” Oscar said warily. “I don’t know. But somebody on board was acting against us in the most terrifying way imaginable. We’re fighting a war because of that flight, a war we might lose, and all that entails for us as a species. As you said: Where’s the motive? It’s not political.”

“No, you’re right, it’s not. There has to be some kind of outside influence. Whoever did this is betraying us as a species. Son of a bitch, that’s just so hard to accept.”

“I know.”

“Have you told the Guardians about this yet?”

“No, of course not. Look, I’ll make this easy for you; I’ll resign.”

“Like hell! We need to find out what the fuck is going on, and do it fast. We’re about to send our fleet to Hell’s Gateway; and God help us if that goes wrong.”

“You don’t think…”

“Somebody betrayed us before while we were flying the Second Chance. If they’re still around, they can do it again, and probably will.”

“Goddamn, I hadn’t thought of that. What do you want to do?”

“Get help. Paula Myo knows everything there is to know about the Guardians. I’ll consult with her.”

***

Mellanie broke her promise. They didn’t check into a swanky LA hotel; instead she found a cheap three-room apartment just behind Venice Beach. The building was old and worn down, its ground floor given over to small ultra-bargain stores selling T-shirts, handmade jewelry, secondhand domestic bots, powerskates, and sportswear, each of them blaring out tinny music late into the night. The windows on the two floors above had wooden shutters and rows of ancient air-conditioning radiators that whistled and hissed in the sun’s glare.

The apartment next door to theirs was taken by a couple who fought every time their shifts brought them home together; upstairs a hooker who sneaked her clients up the fire escape gave them their hour’s worth of non-TSI entertainment at high volume.

In their own rooms the water supply was erratic. The fridge was stuck on its coldest setting, freezing anything they put inside. Furnishings dated back fifty years. And the purple-painted floorboards creaked badly.

The building’s landlord was only too pleased to take cash. There was no accessible record that they were living there.

Strangely, for an environment that was so unruly, Dudley was at his most relaxed since they hooked up. When she got back from her visits to the Michelangelo studio offices she’d often find him cooking elaborate meals, or sitting outside the building with a beer watching the theater of street life going past. She suspected the fact that Morton was unreachable two hundred light-years away had a lot to do with his newfound contentment.

The evening after Mellanie received the recording of Randtown’s destruction, she slipped into a simple T-shirt dress and walked down to the beach. She carried her sneakers in one hand as she walked along the sand, heading for the Santa Monica pier.

When her virtual hand activated the onetime address, Adam Elvin responded at once. “I haven’t been able to find any trace of the three lawyers from Bromley, Waterford, and Granku,” she told him. “They certainly haven’t contacted their families. The monitor programs my friend installed would have detected that.”

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself, it’s a big Commonwealth out there,” Adam said. “The whole episode proves that the Starflyer funded Bose’s observation. We don’t need to take it any further.”

“But they must have some kind of connection to Baron. I want to find it.”

“We appreciate that, but Baron is more relevant to you than us.”

“I thought you wanted in on the Starflyer’s agents and their network. Does it matter where and who?”

“Ultimately, no.”

“Well then.”

She sauntered past one of the areas marked out with volleyball courts. Overhead lights on tall masts had been switched on, casting a yellow illumination on the two games being played. One of the guys called out to her, begging her to join their team. She smiled back regretfully.

“We still can’t help you with that,” Adam said.

“Okay, how about this: my friend Morton has made contact with an alien that has Dudley Bose’s memories, the ones from his time on the Second Chance.”

“Holy shit, are you serious?”

“Very.”

“Can you get us access?”

“Not directly, no. The SI won’t help me get them off Elan, and I don’t know how to get back to Ozzie’s asteroid on my own. I don’t suppose you have a working wormhole generator?”

“No, sorry.”

“Didn’t think so. If you have any questions for Bose, I’ll be happy to pass them on.”

“I’ll get on to Johansson right away. Does the navy know about this?”

“Not yet. I asked Morty to keep this private. So far, it is.”

“You’re doing a fantastic job, Mellanie.”

“It doesn’t seem to be getting me very far. I feel like a sitting duck waiting for Baron’s people to take a shot at me.”