"Baffler's on." Ajax steps from the countertop box and taps his ear. "We're good."

Sykora tugs her earmuffs off and tosses them onto the ornate, tea-stained table in the center of the meeting room. She climbs onto the boosted women's chair and grouses atop it. "I don't know what that hussy at the desk was telling you. But from the smug look on her face, I commend you for resisting the urge to gut her."

Grant sits next to her on the low-bottomed men's seat. They're far from eye-to-eye still, and he knows Sykora would prefer a lap to a chair, but off the Pike, decorum must reign. "It wasn't so bad. Just had to get a little testy."

Vora smirks. "He said that's an order, in case it wasn't clear."

"Grantyde. Gods of the Firmament." Sykora puts her hand over her heart. "Curse this kill phrase buffoonery for making me miss that. It sounds absolutely swoonworthy."

"I was just doing my best Sykora impression," he says.

Sykora taps his shoulder and pulls him in closer. "You're going to have to do a repeat performance later," she whispers, and her silky laugh fades as the door opens, and the first Taiikari Grant has ever seen who he'd call an old man shuffles inside.

"Majesty." Senior Clerk Askaro smooths the threadbare hem of his drab tan clerk tunic and bows. "It's my great regret that you were hampered in our lobby. An administrative misunderstanding. Clerk Isha meant no offense. I take full responsibility."

"No harm done, Senior Clerk," Grant says.

"My husband is considerate to a fault. I am not. But never fear; you have the opportunity for recompense." Sykora's tail quirks in the air. "We are here on the event of Princess Kanori's death, to bring petition over the sector she's left behind."

"We've received word from Cloud Gate's majordomo. Yes." Clerk Askaro tugs his chair back and settles into it with a creaky sigh. "No finger was pointed, and no cause specified. Would you have an idea of how Kanori died?"

"I have private suspicions," Sykora says. "Of varying propriety. Let's keep them set aside for now while we discuss the future of the sector. I've brought you a petition signed by myself, Narika of the Glory Banner, and Dantia of the Bright Covenant." Her chair creaks as she turns to Grant. "Have you brought the petition, dove?"

"It's right—" Grant glances around the legs of his chair. "Shoot. Were you carrying it, Ajax?"

Ajax's stance is a little too military-straight, maybe, as he shakes his head. "No, milord."

Grant laughs sheepishly. "I think it's back on the carrier. I can just—"

"Ajax," Sykora says. "Retrieve the petition, if you would."

Grant sees Ajax's hand twitch with the instinct to hit a salute. He bows instead. "At once, Majesty."

"My mistake, folks." Grant casts a gallant vacant smile around the table. "Sometimes I think I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on."

Sykora tsks and pats his wrist. "We'll see it taken care of, husband. Don't worry yourself."

Grant gives Sykora's ringed finger an affectionate rub. "Okay, honey."

They take a moment of eye contact and share the silent mirth of their dumb-husband routine. Then Sykora turns her attention back to their bemused host.

"We have time now, I suppose," Clerk Askaro says. "And space. If you tell me these suspicions of yours, I may be able to render more aid than I could sitting in the dark."

"What I'm about to tell you," Sykora says, "I charge you in the Empress's name to keep secret."

The last scrap of welcome drops from Clerk Askaro's face. He leans forward. "I swear it. Go on."

"Someone detonated her," Sykora says. "The kill phrase was broadcast from this building."

Clerk Askaro absorbs this with a slow exhale and a drumming of his fingers on the table. The representatives of the Black Pike try to hide the extent of their watchful scrutiny. "This is…" His rounded ears flicker. "This is a disturbing assumption."

"It's not an assumption." Sykora shakes her head. "I saw it with my own eyes. Kanori and I were in conference."

Askaro frowns. "What were you discussing?"

"That would be classified, I'm afraid."

"Classified." Askaro's frown carves deeper into his face. "Two Void Princesses discussing classified business, and then the kill phrase."

"One Void Princess, Clerk Askaro." Sykora's lips thin. "The Empress has seen fit to make me Princess Margrave."

"Senior Clerk," Askaro says. "If we are speaking of titles the Empress has awarded. And you are not a Princess Margrave yet."

The two Taiikari exchange death-stares across the table.

"I'm present in person because I want to investigate this," Sykora says. "Without bringing undue attention to it. Who had access to Office 7-Thule at the time of the call?"

Askaro's reply is clipped and sharp. "You misled us, then. To the nature of your visit."

Sykora calmly meets her reflection in the clerk's anticomps. "I withheld, out of the requirements of my station."

"Yes, well." Askaro adjusts his goggles. "I'm not at liberty to divulge our staffing information like this, Majesty. The clerks use floating desks for a reason. I am more than willing to speak with the clerk in question myself and provide you a report within the week on my findings." He rests his elbows on the carved armrests of his seat and steeples his hands under his chin. "But we answer to the Empress, not to her servants."

"As do I, Clerk Askaro," Sykora says. Her tail snakes under the table and gives the circumspect tap to Grant's knee that indicates Plan B is in effect. Her voice sharpens. "And I assure you that the Empress, when she's made aware of this attempt at obfuscation, will want many answers indeed."

"Is this an attempt at intimidation?" Askaro's nostrils flare. "You have done quite enough of that. I am not a receptionist."

"Majesty," Vora murmurs into Sykora's ear. "We won't get anywhere by—" As Sykora turns into the majordomo, she lowers her voice further into a furious whisper.

"I'm gonna go help our manservant locate those papers." Grant pats Askaro's thin shoulder. On the other side of the table, Sykora's whispered retort is stiletto-sharp and on the razor edge of illegibility. "I hope you'll pardon my wife's insistent nature. We have great respect for the college of clerks. But we're under a lot of pressure."

"Hm? Of course." Askaro is only half-paying attention to the goofy husband as he glares across the table, trying to make out snatches of the conversation between Sykora and Vora.

Grant steps outside and nods to the guard at the door. "Front entrance, please."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Out of the campus, and the humid heat slaps into him. He sticks the cooling hat back on his head and jogs to the shuttle. The door opens, and he hears Ajax speaking with the additional member of the Pike's landing party, the one who didn't come out with them. "I'm hoping one boy and one girl," he says.

"That's a good configuration," Waian says. "Classic. Good to have both. It helps everyone realize they're just people." The chief engineer is playing a block-breaking game on a flip-out screen attached to her arm. Her boots are up on the shuttle console. "Don't tell Vora I said this, but if her son had a sister, it would have been easier for him. She and Oryn were pretty adamant about avoiding parental compulsion, too. And the kid took a while to get over his fear of compulsion once he went off to academy. Couldn't be alone in rooms with girls, that sorta thing."

"All respect, Chief Engineer. But most boys learn the same." Ajax taps his anticomps. "Never be alone in any room with a girl you don't know. Not if you can help it."

"Sure. Sure. I get that. But there's something to be said for a few early flashes in the family. Otherwise, it's this whole scary mystery. I'm not advocating for sibling flashfights or parental overcompulsion or anything. Heya, Majesty." Waian flicks her arm shut again and pivots in her seat to give the incoming Grant a brief bow. "But back when I was growing up, if you compelled your brother a couple times to eat dirt during some dumb argument, it was understood that you were just being idiot kids. Part of growing up. These days, it's a whole thing. Counselors and such."

"My litter was three boys," Ajax says. "Mom compelled us all the time."

"There's a balance to strike. You and Meena will find yours." Waian chuckles. "Or you'll have two girls and spend all your time refereeing their challenges instead." She inclines her head to Grant. "You get it?"

Grant digs into his pocket. "Yep. Simple enough." He passes the keycard to Waian, still on the lanyard he lifted from Senior Clerk Askaro's pocket.

She slots it into her tablet. "And… done." She hands it back. "Credentials copied. Good shit, kiddo. Good lift." She holds her fist out.

Grant bumps it. "You're a fucking godsend, chief engineer."

She grins. "Now we gotta compliment Ajax or he'll feel left out."

"You did a great job at pretending to be a meek little civilian, Ajax," Grant says.

"Thank you, Majesty." Ajax retrieves the suitcase full of petition from its place in the back seat.

"And your goggles don't look dorky at all."

"I hadn't presumed they did, Majesty."

Waian points to Grant's belt pouch. "Gimme your communicator."

Grant hands the little box over and watches Waian swipe the card along its underside.

"This thing's your skeleton key now," Waian says. "Everything the Senior Clerk has access to, you do too. Aaand here's your datawafer." She passes the strip of hole-punched metal to him. "Watch for the floor pressure sensors in the office, remember. Big hop in the doorway. Use those Maekyonite legs. Put that in the slot on the console, leave it in for a five-count, and you're good."

"What about cameras?"

"You don't worry about them," Waian says. "The alarms are all for invisible people. You're just waltzing in. Guy on a camera doesn't trigger an alarm; the guard watching the cameras does. And nobody's gonna be watching here."

"Why not?"

"Clerk College has two kinds of people in it." Waian counts on her fingers. "Clerks, and people pulling shit duty on Planet Armpit assisting the clerks. This ain't the kind of place they've got a crack team in place on the banks. They'll check the camera feeds after the fact if there's any suspicion, which if we do our jobs there won't be. Be quick, be efficient, and then we'll be gone. On the off-chance you're caught, Sykora can bullshit her way out."

"What about after? Will they review the recordings?"

"We worry about after once we get to after," Waian says. "We just kiss the Empress's feet hard enough, she'll let it slide."

"Unless the Empress is the one who wants us dead," Grant says.

"Well, then we're fucked regardless, and camera footage of a little data theft isn't shit. Nothing to worry about either way." Waian's tail taps his shoulder. "Big smiles."

Grant gives her a broad grimace and slips back out the shuttle door.

Another spell in the soup with Ajax and he's back into the college, striding past the mean-mugging clerk receptionist and into the meeting room where the Princess and the Majordomo stall.

"Here we are." He holds the case up. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all, dove." Sykora takes the case with a kiss planted on Grant's cheek. Askaro's keycard is under it, tucked into her palm to conveniently drop somewhere believable. "Very well, Senior Clerk. If you insist on requiring the Empress's say-so for a simple staffing information request, let's get the paperwork signed and we'll be out of your hair."

Grant jerks a thumb to the hall he came in from. "May I excuse myself a moment? Restroom?"

Askaro nods. The man's face has soured further in the interim. "Two lefts through the hallway and it'll be on your right."

Grant taps Sykora's back. "Could you code me, hon? I've bothered the employees around here enough for the afternoon."

"Of course." Sykora slips his anticomps up his head. "Do you have a code ribbon, Senior Clerk?"

A shake of Askaro's wispy head. "You're welcome to use your own, Majesty."

Sykora slips a red ribbon from her hair and shakes her locks out. She ties it around Grant's wrist. "To the bathroom and back again, dove."

Grant gives her a wink with the eye that their host can't see. "Right back."

She lowers his anticomps back on and winks back as he strolls from the room. He flashes his wrist to the guard just outside. "You heard all that?"

The man provides a jerky bow and a "Yes, majesty."

Grant hums a Waylon Jennings song to himself as he takes a left out of sight and then a right into an overhead-lit, door-lined hallway he is not supposed to be in. He power walks past 5-Thule, 6-Thule, and here's 7-Thule. The call that tried to kill his wife either came from here or routed through it. Either way, Waian's got him covered.

He passes his communicator across the lock on the door, which beeps and lights a blue diode. The unlit office beyond is bare of all creature comforts but a lumpy yellowish succulent perched atop the console's beige divider. A step back and then a brisk leap gets him over the pressure sensors on the threshold. He slips the wafer into the console's drive and counts one-Kei'na Terokai, two-Kei'na Terokai, up to five. He puts thumb and forefinger around the red plastic tab on the wafer and yanks it back out. It's warm to the touch.

Another loping hop takes him out of the room, data secured. He pauses at the door for a moment to cough and swallow some moisture into his throat. The baking heat is doing a number on his Maekyonite pipes, he guesses.

He shimmies his shoulders in victory as he strolls back down the hallway. He pats his satchel and the precious cargo inside it, and returns to the meeting room, where Sykora and Vora are sighing and squabbling and acting as though they haven't just gotten everything they need from their stuffy, stultifying hosts.

Waian is waiting for them on the shuttle with a celebratory bottle of effervescent amber wine. They listen to Tremorlocc on the flight back, and toast to the mission's completion as the comforting dark of the firmament chases the queasy sky of Chassak away.

Hyax is waiting for them on the deck, with another, bigger bottle. Her ears droop as she sees the rest of the command group ambling off the shuttle with glasses already in-hand. "Ah. My, uh—" She lowers her libation. "My mistake. I appear to be late."

"You are just in time, Brigadier." Waian boosts the bottle back up in Hyax's grip and tinks her glass against it. "Let's get to the bridge and get round two motherfuckin' going."

Hyax blushes. "Very well."

Waian throws her mechanical arm around Hyax's shoulder as they head for the lift. "You're so blushy lately, girl. We're gonna get you buzzed and talk about it."

Hyax shoots a beseeching grimace back Sykora and Grant's direction. "We need to debrief."

"We need to debrief." Waian puts on a gravelly impression. "You don't fool me. You broke out the Marine Reserve. C'mon."

They exchange salutes with their marine escort, who's clearly itchy to get back, either to his HAK suit or his bubblegum-colored girlfriend; Grant's not sure. Then, the command group decamps to the deck and breaks out the second bottle of bubbly.

Waian spins the datawafer on a finger and plugs it into her console. "Our Prince strikes again. Unflappable and uncompellable."

"It's really not a big deal," Grant says. "I just walk places."

"You were right to stay here, Brigadier." Vora fills Hyax's glass. "Chassak was a sticky nightmare."

"I am so goddamn glad to be back on the Pike," Sykora says. "I might poke my head into vacuum for a second to cool off."

"I am so bug-bitten." Grant examines his arms. "Is that a bruise?"

"Those swamp beetles have serious chompers," Waian says.

Grant clears his throat and scratches his neck. Hyax is frowning quizzically at him. "Do you need a medtech, Majesty?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Just need to wet my throat a bit after that heat, I think." He takes another sip and lets the conversation drift around him. Waian and Hyax gossiping about Ajax, Vora telling Sykora about the Gravitas daemon's opening gambits.

He leans into his wife's ear. "Hey," he whispers. "I'll be right back, okay? Something I gotta do real quick."

"Hmm?" Sykora glances at him. "What is it?"

"Little surprise." He squeezes her butt out of sight under the table. "Give me a couple of minutes."

She giggles. "Okay."

Grant walks with a spring in his step to the lift and returns the salutes of the two marines on guard outside it. He scratches the bump on his neck again and hums that same Waylon Jennings song to himself as the lift engages. Aryushor Hank Dunnit Thiswae, that's the name. Something like that. You never know when a song'll worm its way in and just get stuck in your head.

He pops on the turbo and lets his feet drift from the floor. It's lovely, sometimes, the zero gravity. He'll miss it. He reaches into his satchel and feels around until he finds the bomb inside it. There we are. Snug as a bug in a rug.

There's a funny little piece of his mind telling him not to do this. Pleading, even. He chuckles to himself and shakes his head at the screaming passenger in the back of his skull. It's a shame, he supposes, that he has to blow himself up. But some things you just have to do, and it's no use asking why.

The lift doors open onto the engine deck. Grant whistles his way toward the Black Pike's membrane manifold.

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