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  Jena touched one, bringing up dossier files. The images of various men and women flashed across the tilted glass surface, each accompanied by a short bio. “Oh there are lots of potential candidates,” she said. “Nearly two hundred locals have bonded Nassai since our arrival on Earth.”

  “But…”

  Pursing her lips, Jena tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “But they rub me the wrong way,” she said. “The Earthers chose their best and brightest for this program.”

  Raela frowned down at the surface of her own desk, shaking her head in confusion. “Why is that a problem,” she asked, wheeling her chair back toward the wall. “Wouldn't you do the same?”

  “I don't know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Funny thing about being considered one of the best and brightest,” Jena began, “it tends to leave you with a very high opinion of yourself. Keepers ought to come out of humble origins.”

  Her Nassai seemed to agree. The symbiont offered a burst of emotion that she could only interpret as a nod of approval. But then, they were very seldom of two minds on any issue. That tended to happen to Keepers who had been bonded a long time.

  “I'm not sure that I-” Raela began only to be cut off by the door chime. Well, that was the end of this conversation. Jena couldn't say she minded; she would be more than pleased to avoid an argument.

  “I have to go,” Jena said.

  The image of Raela upon her desk's flat surface winked away, the comm-app now closed. “Come in!” Jena said just before Jack Hunter strode through the open doorway with a scowl that could melt rocks into puddles.

  The kid stood before her in blue jeans and a brown jacket. His thin face was hard, his dark hair unkempt with messy bangs. “You wanted to see me, Ma'am,” he muttered, stepping through the door.

  Jena set her elbows on the desk, lacing her fingers and resting her forehead against her thumbs. “Jack Hunter,” she said softly. “The man who kicked up quite a stir by going against his superior's orders.”

  Chewing on his lip, Jack watched her with a pale face. “Is this a lecture?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because if it is, I've already got numerous voice recordings of Judge Judy letting me have it.”

  Jena smiled, a touch of crimson in her cheeks. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, Jack, it isn't,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “It's more of an… interview. I want to know why you did it.”

  The kid stepped forward.

  He stood in the middle of her office with his posture straight, head held high like a man ready to receive a medal. Arrogance or confidence? It was so hard to tell on a first impression. “Because it was right,” he said, “because people were dying, and I had the power to do something about it.”

  As simple as that, was it? Was he absolutely certain that some tiny smidgen of self-aggrandizement was not in fact the culprit? This man was the first Keeper from his world. That had a way of inflating one's sense of self-worth.

  Of course, a Nassai should have rejected him if such a defect were a major part of his character, but then Slade was still bonded. She would have to be careful. “Why was it right, Jack?”

  “No offense, Director,” he began, “but sometimes it seems as though Leyria is trying to manage us. To shield us from truths that might cast your people in a bad light or make us question the wisdom in maintaining diplomatic relations. The galaxy is a dangerous place, and now that our existence has been revealed, Earth is ill-equipped to deal with the threats that might crop up. I'm well aware of this.

  “However, Leyria consistently employs a policy of 'just trust us and don't ask any questions.' Keepers rarely cooperate with local law enforcement; instead, we sweep in, then shove the dirty details of each case under the rug. That's why Breslan was so angry with me after I brought down Petrov.”

  “Go on…” Jena prompted.

  “Breslan says he wanted to use Petrov to trace his supplier and figure out how these weapons were finding their way onto Earth's soil. Fine. I'm all for that. But we can do that just as well by interrogating Petrov and searching his wares for any indication of where they came from.

  “The real issue was media attention. I've had four different reporters requesting an interview, and I've had to turn them all down. When you make an arrest like that, it draws attention. Breslan was hoping that we could cut off the supply of weapons before they found their way to Earth. That way the problem would disappear quietly. Nicolae Petrov would remain a local problem only, and Leyria would keep its spotless reputation.”

  So he understood the situation.

  “Yes, you have a point,” she mumbled. “I'm afraid it only gets worse.”

  With a few quick taps on the surface of her desk, she brought up menus and then accessed one of the image files on her system. The contents of these files weren't exactly common knowledge among her people, but they weren't classified either. However, she was fairly certain no one had shared this information with Earth's governments.

  A hologram wavered into existence above her desk, a blue squid-like creature with long tentacles. It rotated about, allowing Jack to get a view from all sides. “What you're looking at is benign virus,” she said, “a bio-engineered life-form that was designed by Leyrian scientists some twenty years ago.”

  Jack frowned as he studied the image, shaking his head as though he could already tell where this was going. “These things never turn out well,” he muttered. “So what was the horrible fallout of this project?”

  “Ricky,” she said. “On a hunch, I asked Detective Carlson to subpoena a sample of his blood for analysis. The lab results just came back last night. There are trace amounts of this virus in his system.”

  “Come again?”

  Crossing her arms, Jena doubled over in her chair. She heaved out a breath, then spoke in a steady voice. “The virus was designed to give military personnel a range of abilities similar to those found in Justice Keepers.

  “It repairs damaged tissue, strengthens muscle and improves coordination. After a few days of steady dosage, many of the subjects who were injected with this virus were able to match some of our best Keepers in hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship.”

  “Super soldiers.”

  “Yes.”

  “So much for Leyria's vaunted pacifism,” he said, taking the seat across from her. The poor kid looked so crestfallen you might have thought that his parents had just told him the Snow King wasn't real.

  “Don't be too hard on my people, Jack,” she admonished. “Most of them believe what they say, but our neighbours aren't so idealistic. The project was discontinued when it was discovered that anyone who stopped receiving injections developed severe health problems, but that didn't stop some industrious lowlifes from deciding to market it as a street drug.

  “Just think about it for a moment. Suddenly you have the ability to enhance your enforcers with combat prowess comparable to that of a Justice Keeper. Every crime syndicate on this side of the galaxy wanted to get their hands on it. In less than a year, the drug had a street name. Amps.”

  “And now it's here.”

  Hunching over, Jack pressed the heels of his hands to his eye-sockets. “Maybe I should just lead a crusade,” he mumbled. “Assemble a team of plucky underdogs and go clean up these mean streets.”

  Grinning into her lap, Jena closed her eyes and shook her head. “I like you, kid,” she said, getting out of the chair. “You've got spunk, and you stick to your principles. But you're as blunt as a kick to the face.”

  She turned on her heel, pacing over to the wall with hands folded behind her back. “You don't know how to play the game, and if you keep going like this, you'll alienate anyone who might sympathize with your point of view.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  So now they came to it; meeting the boy had given her some insight to his way of thinking, but she still couldn't say that she knew him. Still, he was honest and
unwilling to play games. That alone counted for quite a lot. “I need someone that I can trust on my team,” she began. “So far, I've got no one. You're not willing to play politics simply to advance your career, and that makes me inclined to trust you.”

  With her Nassai's assistance, she perceived him as a foggy cloud in the shape of a human sitting with his arms folded. “Didn't you just tell me that my inability to play the game was going to land me in trouble?”

  “It will,” she replied. “You don't have to play the game, Jack, but don't let the game play you. Work with me, and I'll show you how to navigate these choppy waters. We can make a difference.”

  She turned.

  Jack lifted his chin to stare at her with blue eyes as cold as ice. For a moment, she thought she might have offended him. “I'm in,” he said with a nod. “For what it's worth, I think you're someone I can trust.”

  “Good,” she said. “I have a meeting with Canada's Minister of Justice along with several high-ranking members of CSIS and the RCMP. The other department heads will be there as well. And Slade. I'd like you to join me.

  “Unless I'm very much mistaken, our fearless leader is going to try to convince your government that these shipments of Leyrian weapons that end up on your planet are all minor aberrations in an otherwise flawless system. And he'll almost certainly try to smooth things over. It would piss him off right and proper if your people found out about Amps and the danger it represents.”

  “So what are you planning to do?”

  “Well,” she said, “How 'bout we go tell them all about it?”

  Chapter 7

  The Gate Room was large enough to hold a few dozen people. Windows on the slanted wall to Jack's right looked out on a field of stars and black tiles stretched from corner to corner.

  A large control console was operated by a young man in a black uniform who frowned as he stared down at the screen. He tapped a few commands, and Jack could all but feel the SlipGate powering up behind him.

  He stood side by side with Jena.

  His new boss looked pensive, her lips pressed together as she stared off into space. “Well, this should be interesting,” she said with a nod. “It just isn't a party without some juicy piece of gossip floating around.”

  Closing his eyes, Jack let his head hang. He took a deep breath through his nose. “I hope you know what you're in for,” he began. “Bringing me along is sure to piss off some of the top brass.”

  The smile on Jena's face told him all he needed to know. She practically beamed up at the ceiling. “It'll be fine, kid,” she said, eyebrows rising. “Politicians need a good swat on the ass to keep them on the straight and narrow.”

  “Can't argue with that.”

  “Yeah,” she murmured. “The good ones'll thank you for it.”

  Crossing his arms, Jack grinned as well. He laughed despite his best efforts to stay quiet. “Well, at least I get some excitement,” he said. “And here I thought the highlight of my day would be euchre.”

  The technician looked up to stare at them with big brown eyes. “We're ready now,” he said, nodding to Jena. “I've set coordinates for Ottawa. Please remain still, and the trip will be over before you know it.”

  The very instant he finished speaking, a bubble of rippling energy surrounded Jack and Jena, making it seem as if the entire room had been submerged in a swimming pool. He could see the blurry image of the young man on the other side, head bowed as he studied the readout.

  Something shifted.

  For a moment, it seemed as though they traveled down a long, dark tunnel; then lights appeared and he found himself in another room that looked as though it had been swallowed by the sea.

  All he could make out were brown walls that seemed to ripple and pulsate and a couple blurry people. By the look of them, they all wore suits. After three years, he was still getting used to travel by SlipGate.

  The bubble popped.

  Green carpet filled every inch of floorspace between wood-paneled walls that were covered in ornate carvings. The window behind him cast light upon a bald man in a black suit and a young technician who stood behind another console like the one he had seen up on Station Twelve. “Welcome to Ottawa, Director,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  Jena stepped forward, blocking his view of the other man. She stood with her arms folded, no doubt glowering. “If you could take us to the meeting room,” she added. “I'd like to brief my colleagues on recent developments.”

  “We were told you'd be coming alone, Director,” the man said, stepping around her. A withering glare fell upon Jack as he did. “Agent Hunter's records are somewhat less than exemplary.”

  Jack thrust his chin out, holding the man's gaze. “Seems nothing ever changes,” he said, shaking his head. “Even in the twenty-first century, there's still a snooty old butler to oust the riffraff.”

  The man sniffed.

  Jena stood with hands on her hips, staring him down. “Agent Hunter is on my staff,” she said with a bob of her head. “If you'd like, I could start forwarding you copies of my personnel reports.”

  The old guy went red, lowering his eyes to the floor. “That will not be necessary, Director,” he mumbled at a barely audible volume. “I was merely pointing out that new additions to the list of Keepers in attendance need to be cleared with Security and issued an identification badge.”

  He went on to mutter some protests about the difficulty of creating a new security ID at this point in time along with several other objections, but Jena managed to convince him to play along. One thing Jack noted about his new boss was the fact that she could be quite persuasive when she needed to be.

  A quick walk through long corridors with vaulted ceilings brought them to a room where a rectangular table stood in afternoon sunlight. Perhaps two dozen men and women were seated there, all dressed in suits or skirts or jackets. Except the Leyrians, of course. They had their own fashions.

  Both male and female Keepers wore pants and long coats that fell to mid-thigh and sported high collars. Many of them cast furtive glances in Jena's direction. She walked in the door in basic cargo pants and a t-shirt.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “We have news.”

  Jack recognized Director Breslan sitting on the far side of the table with his mouth pressed into a thin line. The man gave him a wary stare but refused to so much as open his mouth. Good.

  “This is most inappropriate, Director.”

  Grecken Slade stood. The head of all Keeper operations wore a long red coat, his dark hair falling back to frame a face that could have been carved on a statue. “To bring someone into these proceedings despite all protocol,” he went on. “Worse yet, Agent Hunter's recent actions have soiled his reputation.”

  Jena stood with arms folded, a frown on her face. “Hunter has a point,” she said, shaking her head. “Focusing on the young man's reputation hardly seems prudent in the light of our larger concerns.”

  Slade's face was a mask of stone, perfectly expressionless. He lifted his chin as he stared at Jena. “Is that so, Director?” he asked. “Then perhaps you can enlighten us as to the nature of these larger concerns.”

  “Amps.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Jena lifted her forearm, studying the tiny silver disk on her gauntlet. “Multi-tool active,” she ordered. “Display image 457-B.”

  The same hologram that Jack had seen in her office rippled into existence over her forearm: a blue squid-like creature. It thrashed about, convulsing as though swimming through deep waters.

  Every face in the room wore a wary expression, and Peter Tombs, the Minister of Justice, scowled as he watched the image flit about. Jena explained the nature of the virus in much the same way that she had back on Station Twelve.

  Jack took a seat.

  He found himself focused on a rather large man who sat across from him. The small guest badge he wore clipped to his pocket indicated that he worked with CSIS. Just what would Aamani
Patel think of all this?

  Two dozen people sat perfectly still, bug-eyed gazes fixed on Jena like toddlers at a Sponge Bob marathon. “This drug has indeed found its way to Earth,” Jena concluded. “I have one confirmed user in holding with the Ottawa PD.”

  Glistening with sweat, the large man wiped his face with a napkin. “This is really quite disturbing, Director,” he said. “Are you honestly telling us that anyone who takes this drug can mimic the abilities of a Justice Keeper?”

  “Only the physical skills,” she said. “They can't bend space-time.”

  “Thank Heaven for small mercies.” That from an older woman who wore her silver hair up in a bun. Her face was all jagged lines with sharp cheekbones and a pronounced chin. “What are your recommendations?”

  “Senator Mills, please,” Slade cut in.

  He shot a glance over his shoulder at the old woman, his eyes narrowed to slits. “We have yet to confirm Director Morane's analysis,” he said. “I assume that Agent Hunter is the one responsible for finding this man.”

  Jack bit his lip, then lowered his eyes to stare into his lap. “I arrested the man,” he said, creases forming in his brow. “And I have complete confidence in the lab techs that we employ.”

  He looked up to fix his gaze on the other man, then squinted. “The real question is why you're so willing to doubt these findings,” he went on. “Do you really think the boys in Forensics have a hidden agenda?”

  Slade's cheeks were a deep crimson, and that was more of a reaction than Jack had ever seen from the man. “I simply want to be thorough,” he said coldly. “We certainly do not need any more mistakes made in haste.”

  A little voice in the back of Jack's mind warned that he was skating on some very thin ice. Publicly humiliating his superiors was a good way to find himself hip-deep in a pool of wrath. If the lab results corroborated his story, he would come out looking like a diligent public servant who had been willing to rock the boat in the name of keeping the people safe. If, however, they somehow didn't reveal the presence of Amps, he would be nothing but a loose cannon who could not be trusted to work within the confines of the regs. Either way, Slade would remember this.