“Okay,” Bob said as Jax wrote the number on a scrap of paper. “Hey, there’s a bombball-cast tonight. You guys want to come down to the lounge and watch with us? Have a few drinks? I can introduce you to some other people – other maintenance and cleaning staff and whatnot. Other folks that might be able to help you find your asteroid detector.”

“Sure, Bob,” Jax said, smiling. “That would be great. Stan here loves bombball.”

“Sirius Series!” Runstom said, his mood lifting suddenly.

“Hell yeah,” Bob said and the two men slapped hands. “Okay, see you tonight,” he said cheerfully and jogged out of the break room.

Alone, Jax and Runstom stood in silence for a moment. Then Jax couldn’t take it any more. “I have admit, I thought you’d be better at this undercover stuff.”

“Better?” Runstom shot him a glare. “What’s that suppose to mean?”

“Well, I mean, you just need to act a little more natural, that’s all. Didn’t they ever teach you how to go undercover?”

He frowned and dropped his shoulders. “No. I mean, I tried. I volunteered for the training. But I’m not qualified.”

Jax wasn’t sure what he meant by that and decided not to probe. “Well, don’t sweat it too hard. I don’t think these people care all that much.”

“I think they have no reason to be suspicious.”

Jax laughed. “Yeah, I guess living on a ship like this, you’d have to be more naïve than domers.”

Runstom’s mouth opened and closed awkwardly. “Look, Jax, I didn’t mean that—”

“No, it’s okay,” Jax said, putting his hands up. “You don’t have to tell me how sheltered life is in a dome. Gotta be even more sheltered on a giant cruise ship.”

Runstom nodded slowly as though digesting that statement, perhaps along with the rest of the situation. “Right. It’s good that people won’t be on guard. We’re going to need to talk to a lot of people if we’re going to find that transmitter. If there’s a transmitter to find.”

Runstom couldn’t get the question of undercover training out of his head. He’d done what he could independently, but when it came to getting more advanced training, he was shut down. It wasn’t because of his abilities or anything. Anyone with a relative who’d done undercover work at ModPol was automatically disqualified.

These were the thoughts that were distracting him as they tried out their asteroid-detector story on a few more souls around the cruise liner. They were in one of the common dining rooms that were designated for the least expensive ticket-holders; not that these people were lower or even middle class, of course; they were just at the bottom of the extreme-upper-class population that could afford a cruise of any kind. They didn’t seem to mind the presence of a couple of government employees in their dining hall, and Runstom suspected it was out of a built-in humility they felt at being the bottom of the economic barrel for once.

“It’s the Rogue Celestial Object Detection Center,” Jax was saying to a couple of men who were at the silver-topped bar that ran along one side of the dining hall. They were pink-skinned B-threers and wore matching blue slacks and shirts. They weren’t as dressed up as some, which made starting a conversation with them easier.

“Where is that?” one asked.

Jax looked at Runstom, who jumped in. “We’re with the Barnard-4 Planetary Government. Of course, our center is jointly funded by the B-3 and B-4 governments.” Every time he had to describe their fictitious employment, his skin prickled. The center they were talking about was real – Runstom remembered seeing a news story about it once and looked it up so he could remember the name – and so his biggest fear was that they would run into someone who actually knew something about rogue celestial objects.

“Oh right,” the man said. “That would make sense.”

“What makes sense about that?” the other said, taking his drink from the bartender. “Rogue Object Whatdjacallit?”

“Celestial objects, Tommy,” the first said, giving his partner a nudge. “You know, like meteors and asteroids and shit.”

“Oh, oh, like that flick Meteor Hailstorm,” Tommy said.

“Right, like that,” Jax said.

“Ugh, that was terrible,” the first man groaned. “So far from reality.”

“You know something about asteroid detection?” Runstom asked in what he hoped was a casual manner.

“Kender loves all that space shit,” Tommy said with a wave of his hand. “That’s why we’re on this cruise. They got all kinds of beaches and nightclubs and he keeps dragging me to the observatory.”

“It’s a beautiful universe,” Kender said wistfully before taking a pull of his cocktail. He swallowed and his face perked momentarily. “Hey, can I take a look at you guys’ setup?”

Jax and Runstom looked at each other. The drinking story was fine for telling workers on the superliner, but probably wouldn’t go off as well with passengers.

“Sure,” Jax said.

“We’re going to be setting it up on various parts of the deck,” Runstom said, trying to think on his feet. “Wherever there is a clear line of sight into space.” He handed the one called Kender a card. “If you see it, just pop us a call and we’ll come by and let you take a look.”

“Great,” Tommy said. “Now you’ll have him looking on every deck for some kind of space-detector equipment. Fellas, it was a pleasure, but Kender owes me a dance.”

They said goodbye and once the men were out of earshot, Jax leaned in to Runstom. “I feel like we need a better story.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”

“We’re getting a little better though.”

“We just have to try a few different angles and see what sticks best,” Runstom said. Then he smiled and shook his head. “I don’t even know how you’re managing this.”

Jax laughed. “Yeah, me neither. I think I’m just so thankful for not being in prison. Or shot. Or blown up. Or sucked into space.”

Runstom joined in with a laugh of his own. “Seeing the glass half-full. That’s so B-fourean of you.”

“Oh sure,” Jax said. “Well, keeping me out of prison and from getting shot and all that stuff is every uh – what do you like to be called?”

Runstom’s laugh turned into a sigh. “Space-born, I suppose. My mother was from Sirius-5, if that helps.”

Jax peered at him thoughtfully. “You were telling the truth to those workers earlier. About not knowing your father?”

“It helps to sprinkle the truth into these conversations,” he said. “While undercover, I mean. Makes it easier to get into the flow if it’s not one hundred percent false.”

“I see. So, your mother?”

“That part I made up.” Runstom looked down for a moment and then back at Jax. “I’m sorry. I know you lost your mother when you were young.”

Jax shook his head. “It’s okay.” After a moment of silence during which they nursed a pair of drinks, Jax changed the subject. “Do you think we’ll find it? I mean, is it even here?”

Runstom blew the air out of his cheeks. “There’s a chance. And we better take it. We were lucky to make it out of that attack alive.”

He stopped suddenly, his voice catching in his throat. They had been lucky, and many others had not. Fellow ModPol employees. Convicts who weren’t innocent but didn’t all deserve to die. And people like his friend George Halsey. He had to take another sip of his drink just to swallow. It was weak and cheap, as they had been at it all night and needed to stay sharp so they could talk to as many people as possible. But in that moment, he wanted the strongest drink they made. It was as though he hadn’t even realized that George was his friend. His only friend. And now he had none. He had an association with an alleged murderer. Maybe he believed Jack Jackson was innocent simply because the only other option would be for Runstom to be completely alone.

“I believe it’s here,” Jax said. “Because if it’s not, I’m fucked.”

Runstom smiled and slapped the tall, thin man on the shoulder. “Yeah, you are. Probably me too, when my bosses find out I’m helping you. So come on. Let’s get deeper into trouble while we still can.”