“You said you had something for me. Let’s hear it.”

I won’t say I made record time coming back from Epsilon Cassiopeia, but it was close. It took me three transfers, hitchhiking on unsuspecting ships, but I’d pulled it off without being discovered. We now sat in a nondescript office, one intentionally designed to be bland and generic. It lacked windows, decorations, or even so much as a faux plastic plant in the corner to break up its austere lines. Chris and I sat across a round conference table, her fingers interlaced as she looked at me expectantly. It was her “No nonsense” business office, and the message was clear: this meeting was about her gathering intelligence, and nothing else.

For once, I wasn’t even remotely tempted to play court jester.

“When I started this investigation, I didn’t expect to find anything,” I told her. “I was certain the Troika were behind those deaths, and to be perfectly honest, I did it mostly to humor you.”

She cocked her head. “And now?”

“Now,” I said quietly, “... I think you were right.”

A dark expression came across her face as she nodded in bleak recognition. “Tell me.”

“I tracked down the Katabasis,” I explained, “and after vacuuming the data banks, I found this.” Pulling out a digital device from my pocket, I set it on the table and pressed an icon on the screen. Mallus’ recorded voice began singing, and she reacted just as I had, wincing at his awful caterwaul.

“What is that?” she demanded.

“A code.” I paused the… well, technically you could call it music… and pulled up the comparison I’d fed into the computer. “I don’t know what Mallus’ reasoning was, but he recorded that song and then hid the file, I suspect in order to warn someone who was behind the deaths. Decoded, it reads ‘Brotherhood of Shadows’.” I leaned back in my chair as I regarded her. “Mean anything to you?”

Chris shook her head. “Never heard of them,” she answered. “What else?”

“That’s it so far,” I shrugged. “I’m still digging, but if I learn anything else, I’ll pass it on. I just thought you needed to know about this as quickly as possible.”

“You’re absolutely correct,” she agreed, sighing unhappily, “though I’d hoped I was wrong about this one.”

“You’ve always had good instincts,” I reminded her.

“Perhaps,” she said, shrugging it off, before fixing me with a flinty stare. “Where do you go from here?”

“I’ll run down the rest of those names, and see what else turns up,” I informed her, “and start putting out feelers for this Brotherhood. Something might bite.”

She considered that for a moment and then nodded. “Do it,” she ordered, before reaching out and touching my arm. “I know I don’t need to tell you to exercise caution, but I’m saying it, anyway. Whoever’s behind this… they’re playing for keeps.”

“We can’t let this one go, no matter how risky it might get,” I told her point blank. “Ever since the second mission to Earth, events have taken on a life of their own. We’re committed, Chris. The other clans are already making their own moves to support the cause, but we’re still vulnerable. If the Troika takes the gloves all the way off?” I gnawed on my lip for a moment before finishing my thought. “Even with this new Alliance, they could still crush us any time they wanted.”

“Which begs the question why they haven’t,” she replied. “I’ve heard a hundred theories on the subject, and I’m not sure if I believe any of them.” She paused, struck by a sudden thought. “What do you think?”

“There’s much about the Troika’s inner politics we know nothing about, but if I had to guess, I’d say they’ve recognized the inherent danger of attacking a coalition like the Alliance. On the one hand, they don’t dare let us continue drumming up support, but on the other if they do attack, governments still on the fence might decide to join us for fear they’ll be next. It’s a lose-lose proposition, which is why I think they’re treading lightly, at least until they have a better handle on the situation.” I shrugged. “Say whatever you like about the Troika, they’re not stupid.”

She nodded slowly in recognition of my argument. “No, they’re not,” she said finally, “but until we know for sure, our best bet is to keep looking for evidence we can use against them. If we can find something to present to the galaxy at large, something that exposes their plans, hopefully it’ll drive more of the Undecideds into our camp.”

“And you think these deaths will do that?” I said skeptically. “No offense, but I can count on one digital hand the number of races out there who have ever cared if we lived or died, and still have most of my fingers left over.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. “The only way we’ll win this war is in the court of public opinion. What’s kept the other species from fighting back on their own before now is fear. A reasonable fear, granted, which is why we need to show the non-aligned worlds how much better their lot will be with us.”

“Understood,” I nodded, rising to my feet. “Guess I’d best get back to it.”

“Keep me apprised, Al,” she said tersely. “A lot’s riding on this.”

“Don’t I know it,” I answered, as I stepped out of the bubble.

The next name on my list was Pièrre Ngô, captain of the Katabasis. Sixteen years ago he’d died in a shuttle accident, along with half a dozen other Corsairs. He was sitting in the pilot’s seat when the small craft had impacted an uninhabited moon at several thousand kilometers an hour. By some miracle they recovered the Black Box with the data intact, and the culprit was soon discovered. The software governing the engines and thrusters crashed, sending spurious signals to the affected systems and causing the ship to tumble violently out of control, while simultaneously locking them out of the CPU. Based on the telemetry of the out-of-control vessel, the crew were likely dead long before cratering the rocky satellite.

Terran ships are old and require constant maintenance to keep them flying. They break down with depressing regularity, not surprising considering some of them like Freya date back to Task Force Odin, two centuries ago. Two hundred years is a long time to keep a ship flying, especially given the dearth of spare parts. It’s the reason a skilled Tinker is so highly prized in any clan. Among the Corsairs, they’re worth their weight in antimatter.

It was also the reason the investigation was resolved so quickly. Once they found the data recorder, it answered all of their questions. Captain Ngô was an expert pilot in his own right, with over twenty-five years’ experience under his belt, but locked out of the system like he was, there was literally nothing he could do. Case closed.

Neat, logical… and I didn’t believe it for a second.

Our mystery assassins had already shown incredible skills in altering Mallus’ program and doing the same in this case would be child’s play. The more I studied the files, the more impressed I became. These guys were good, and if it weren’t for the single connecting thread of the first mission to Earth, no one would have ever been the wiser. Granted, the evidence I had collected so far was thin, but there were simply too many coincidences involved for me to believe it was all mere happenstance. And once again, I couldn’t prove any of it. Maybe if I could locate the data recorder a more rigorous examination might tell me something, but there was no way I’d ever be able to track it down. Either the data had been wiped years ago before being installed in another ship… or far more likely, the Brotherhood of Shadows had simply arranged for it to disappear.

I was back in my noir detective’s office, my feet propped up on the desk and sipping a glass of rotgut while I pondered what little information I had. Finding Mallus’ recording on Longjump had been a fluke, and I doubted our enemies would be so careless a second time. If I was going to find this furtive Brotherhood, then I needed to use my wits. If I waited until I had enough evidence to convict them in some interstellar court, I’d likely be waiting forever. No, I had to out-think them.

So let’s start with who they were.

Well, they weren’t Terrans, that was obvious enough, and I’d already crossed both the Troika and Oivu off the list as well. That only left the rest of the entire Perseus Arm as suspects, though the more I thought about it, the more I realized it didn’t have to be any single entity. The Brotherhood of Shadows could be a faction rivaling our own Alliance, drawn from many worlds. Without more data, there was no way to know.

And just where was I going to find this data? We didn’t have it, and I had a sneaking suspicion the Oivu didn’t either, or even if they did, I doubt we could afford it. They’d informed us that others had sought the Precursor planet and tried to warn us off the search, but that was all they’d shared. Considering they’d purged the planet’s location from their own memory and told us it was one bit of information that even they considered too dangerous to keep, I couldn’t imagine them keeping tabs on the deluded fools still trying to find it. They’d washed their hands of the matter and moved on.

So who did that leave? I’d already surmised the Troika didn’t know, narrowing a few options, but that still left me with the bulk of the galaxy to search. I needed to narrow it down, perhaps find some other source of information. The Oivu weren’t the only game in town, merely the most notable, and there were areas where their competitors held an edge. What I needed was someone who had access to information and was willing to part with it for the right price. Someone who knew the players and kept their ear to the street. Someone with connections to… less reputable segments of the populace, shall we say?

I needed an information broker.

Luckily, I knew a guy. Well, heard of a guy, I should say. Our paths had never crossed, but we keep a database of potential contacts and sources of intelligence. Other Avatars had noted in his file that he was… and I’m quoting here… “a duplicitous, deceitful, two-faced scoundrel and rogue”. He liked money and what it provided, would gladly peddle the same information to as many clients as possible, and had been known to sell out those he’d dealt with in order to save his own hide.

In other words, he was perfect.

Look, I’m not an idiot, and I haven’t survived as long as I have by taking foolish chances. I assumed from the start he’d try to double-cross me, so obviously I’d need to take precautions. That was old hat for someone in my profession; I never entered a new system without having my escape route already well marked. Besides, one benefit of being an electronic personality is never having to physically interact with anyone. To him, I’d be nothing but an image on a screen, and I could cut the connection the instant things went south.

I just needed to get within range and forward a message telling him to expect my call.

“Ser Plessis, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. How may I assist you?” the Limodrian asked from the viewscreen.

I took a moment to inspect my contact before answering. The Limodrians were an unusual race, one that defied easy classification. Some might classify them as insectoid, based on the eight eyes, each on long stalks that flitted in every direction, making it difficult to decide where to focus one’s attention. Others would probably guess reptilian, based on the scaly hide and endoskeleton. It was as if an Eleexx and Aggaaddub had made babies together, with the poor creature inheriting the worst attributes of both races. But then, what do I know of Limodrian beauty standards? Maybe on his world he’s an Adonis.

“I’ve been told by those I respect you are someone who comes across interesting scraps of information, Ser Vurgaiqaunx,” I answered. “The sort of tidbits other, more highbrow sources, might miss.”

If my choice of words offended him, he didn’t show it. “It’s true I strive to keep current with the comings and goings of those sorts of individuals other agents may overlook,” he agreed. “Was there someone in particular you had in mind?”

I double-checked my security software before responding. Currently, it was showing a false image, one belonging to a Bamidh pseudo reptilian. They were a minor merchant race themselves, so it was likely no surprise to Vurgaiqaunx. And just to be safe, I had an additional fifteen layers behind that, in case they penetrated the first dozen or so. If he got that far, I’d pull the plug and move onto my second choice, though I was loath to do anything so drastic. It had taken me the better part of a month to get here, hundreds of light-years from where I’d started, and going to my next option would mean yet another long journey.

“Something has come to my attention,” I continued, “an uptick of unusual events. A name has reached my ears, some type of syndicate bent on mischief it seems. They are unknown to me, though perhaps not to you.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed, though promising nothing. “What is the name of this organization?”

“... The Brotherhood of Shadows”, I said casually, watching and waiting to observe his response.

“Hmmm…” he considered, his eyestalks writhing and weaving in intricate patterns. “Brotherhood of Shadows, you say…” It looked as if he was attempting to recall that bit of information, though his expression was all but impossible to read. After a few moments he relented and logged into a nearby terminal, punching up the requested data. Several minutes went by as he hunted for the information, before finally turning back to face the screen.

“I regret to say I have nothing on a consortium by that name,” he explained, admitting defeat. “Was there perhaps another designation this faction is known by?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” replied. “You’re certain there’s nothing?”

“Quite certain, I’m afraid,” Vurgaiqaunx explained. “If you like, I can keep your request in our database, should any new data surface.”

“Please do,” I agreed. “Thank you for your time.” The screen went blank as I mulled over our conversation.

Although he was as alien as any being I’d come across in my travels, I was certain down to my bones that Vurgaiqaunx was lying. That wasn’t merely intuition talking, part of my security suite worked to ferret out the truth from even the most paranoid. It was screaming “LIE” at me, in big red letters. If even a fraction of what I’d learned so far was true, I can’t say I blamed him.

Well, then.

I’ll simply have to get… creative.