17“DO YOU RECOGNIZE THIS?”

Asriel sets the small metal scrap on the desk before me with a soft clink. I raise my eyebrow in question, and at the DC’s nod, pick up the piece and examine it. Approximately four centimeters by one, the paper-thin plate is so scorched that its golden color is almost completely obscured. I trace my thumb around the edges, sensing something familiar about the piece, though I can’t put my finger on exactly what. After a moment’s consideration, I shake my head.

“Look closer,” Asriel advises.

Anxiety trickles through my gut at his stern voice. I flick my eyes between him and Archer, who stands just over his shoulder, but neither one’s expression gives me a clue as to what’s going on. Nothing that might tell me why I’ve been so summarily called into the DC’s office, with neither warning nor explanation, the morning after our return from Nomia.

I do as Asriel bids, lifting the plate to my face and peering closer. Now I see what he means. Though charring covers most of the plate, I manage to make out four letters glinting through the black soot on the right side.

NSON

My hand involuntarily goes to the left side of my chest as I realize what it is. It’s a nameplate from the breast of a uniform. Not just any uniform, but an R&D uniform. An R&D uniform for someone whose name ends with the exact same four letters as mine.

I gape at the little nameplate. “I don’t understand. Where did this come from?”

“Our maintenance crew found this last night,” Asriel says with a glance at Archer, “in the thruster core of the SkyRunner.”

The SkyRunner! That’s the shuttle we took to Nomia, the same one that almost grounded us in a city full of ghouls due to a thruster malfunction. A malfunction caused by an ignition regulator containing a data chip exactly like the one I found in the laser cutter.

My mouth flaps helplessly, my brain at a complete loss for words. When I’d found the chip in the ignition regulator, I’d almost had a heart attack. Especially after I’d uplinked with it to find, just like with the cutter, a single unidentified number.

*19L-287098-B3948*

Make, model, size—except for the number encoded inside, the two chips I’d found were exactly the same. Clearly the data chips were related, but as for the particulars—the who, how, and why—I hadn’t a clue. My first instinct was to bring the chip directly to my CO . . . until I remembered how that worked out the first time. The laser cutter incident was downright humiliating, my outlandish story about saboteurs and setups not only making me look like a child with an overactive imagination, but casting me as the proverbial Boy Who Cried Wolf. And since the generator blade wasn’t even sabotaged, I had no reason to think that the ignition regulator had been either. Asriel was probably right; the data chip was just a manufacturer tag of some sort. While the cutter and regulator came from different makers, both manufacturers were subsidiaries of TruCon, so it was certainly possible both companies followed the same equipment procedures. Still, there was something about that data chip that made me uneasy, and when I finally stowed the ignition regulator, the chip was safely tucked away in my pocket. Undecided on the right course of action, I finally decided to sleep on it, hoping everything would be clearer the next day.

Of course, that was before I knew I would get hauled into Asriel’s office the next morning to find that my nameplate had somehow ended up in the thruster assembly.

“Well, Sorenson?” Asriel raises an expectant eyebrow, clearly waiting for me to speak. “Do you have any light to shed on this situation?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him about the data chip I found. But if I do that, I realize with a sinking heart, it will look like I’m guilty of messing with the regulator, then trying to blame it on my imaginary saboteur. Besides, what do I actually have? A data chip with a single number whose meaning is unknown at best and nonexistent at worst? It’s not proof of anything—not another person’s guilt or even my innocence. Not to mention the fact that, technically speaking, I stole the chip out of a piece of classified R&D tech.

Yeah, if that doesn’t convince them I’m guilty, I don’t know what would.

Confused and torn about what to do, I finally go with the truth. At least, part of the truth. “I’m sorry, sir, but I have no idea how that nameplate got into the thruster assembly.”

“Did you ever approach or touch the thruster assembly in the SkyRunner?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you ever handle the ship’s ignition regulator in any way?”

“Yes, sir. Just once. On the trip home, I helped RC secure it in the hold so it could be properly recycled upon our return.”

The questions continue, all of which I answer truthfully, if not always completely. At last, Asriel asks to see my mission uniform from Nomia. I silently lead them down to my locker in the armory and show them my uniforms, each of which still has its nameplate neatly sewn onto the breast. Once again, I catch Archer and Asriel exchanging looks, though I have no more idea what they mean than I did their earlier one.

Back at Asriel’s office, I wait in the anteroom while the DC and my TL confer quietly in the room beyond. My feet tap furiously in my boots, and I wish more than anything that I had gen-amped hearing so I might have some idea what they’re saying. Guilt gnaws at me as I think about how I held back about the data chip. By admitting I stole the chip, I might very well end up on scut for the rest of my measly life, regardless of what they decide about the nameplate. Still, if there’s any possibility the data chip could be significant, isn’t it my duty to report it, whatever they may do to me?

By the time they call me back in, I’ve made up my mind to tell them about the strange chip I pulled out of the regulator. My mouth opens to speak, but Asriel beats me to the punch.

“I have just one more question for you, Tech Specialist Sorenson.” Asriel pulls out a helmet and sets it on the desk before him. My helmet, I realize after a moment. “Why did you lie to your Team Leader while on an official mission?”

“Sir?” I ask, glancing back and forth between the two men with a confused frown. Asriel looks stern while Archer simply looks disappointed.

Asriel makes a few motions with his chit hand, and a holo feed springs up from my helmet to hover in the air before us. It’s the feed from the Nomia mission, and standing smack dab in the middle of the holo is Shar.

“Sorenson,” Archer’s voice emerges from the holo. “Status report.”

“It was nothing. Just an animal like I thought.”

Shock ripples through me from head to toe as I hear myself damned aloud by my own voice. I should have realized they would check my helmet feed from the mission to see if I’d gone anywhere near the ignition regulator. Lucky for me, I wasn’t wearing my helmet at the time I helped RC stow the regulator and nabbed the data chip. Not the case for my meeting with Shar, though.

My cheeks flush as I remember our encounter, though it’s not the physical altercation so much as the heated words we exchanged that makes me burn with humiliation. Figures! Separated by months of time and countless light-years, and still Shar manages to come back into my life and frag everything up all over again!

“I’m still waiting for an answer,” Asriel says. “Why did you lie to your Team Leader during a mission?”

Because I didn’t want to have to explain Shar to anyone.

I couldn’t, because explaining Shar would mean explaining Lia, and I can’t talk about Lia, not to anyone. Not to the Division Commander, not even to my Team Leader. Even now, with both of them staring expectantly at me, I can’t seem to make myself speak. All I can do is stand here silently and watch as my career—my entire life—falls apart before my eyes. Strangely enough, it’s Archer who comes to my rescue.

“It must have been quite a shock to be attacked by a PsyCorp Renegade on a routine pickup mission,” he prompts, “especially considering that area of the city was supposed to be evacuated.”

“Yes, I—” My brain stops as his words sink in. “Wait, a PsyCorp Renegade?”

Archer nods. “Yes. We matched the image from the feed with the PsyCorp database, and it turns out she’s on the PsyCorp Watch List as a Class 5 Renegade. Although from the sound of your conversation, it appears you know her?”

“I encountered her once over a year ago,” I admit, “but I didn’t know she was a criminal or that I was supposed to detain her.”

Asriel shrugs. “Technically, you weren’t. A Class 5 designation is given to psychics who are considered too dangerous to be apprehended by regular military or law enforcement. That means anyone encountering her should inform PsyCorp of her whereabouts immediately but not attempt to capture or detain her in any way.”

A PsyCorp Renegade. I frown, still trying to wrap my mind around that particular revelation. I hadn’t known Shar well, but I’d certainly never suspected that. No wonder she ran out on us. We’re just lucky she didn’t put us all in psychic comas first. Although as I recall, Lia did mention something to me about a near-death experience with Shar. It never occurred to me she meant it literally.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened, starting from the moment she attacked you,” Archer suggests, his expression strangely encouraging. “When you told her to get out of your head and tried to counter her psionic attack with a physical one.”

When I told her . . . ? I frown, unsure what he’s talking about, when suddenly it hits me. They think it was Shar who attacked me! That I yelled at her to get out of my head because she was hurting me, and that my subsequent shoving her through a vending machine was merely self-defense against an attack I had no real defense for. A logical assumption, considering she’s a dangerous PsyCorp criminal.

It all makes sense now. If they believed I’d actually assaulted a civilian, lying to my Team Leader would be the least of my worries right now. Instead, my only real crime seems to be that I lied to my TL and hid the fact that I was attacked. A much lesser crime, and one I might actually manage to scrape through with my skin intact, if I play my cards right.

“I—I’ve never felt anything like that before,” I finally stammer, which is the absolute truth. I’ve been angry plenty of times, but the sheer rage I felt when meeting Shar was something else entirely.

I go through the rest of the incident as best I can, playing up my shock and confusion at encountering Shar and intimating that my subsequent lie was a result of my brain getting scrambled by her psychic wallop. Judging by their occasional nods, the story is pretty much what they expected. Though I phrase my responses in such a way as to avoid any actual lies, I feel terrible about the deception. I’m not a liar. But the truth would be the end of my career and, strange as it may seem, the more I think about the encounter, the more I have this nagging feeling that it wasn’t my fault. As though I was somehow forced into the situation by powers beyond my control, though for what reason I can’t even begin to guess.

My story apparently passes muster, because there’s no talk of bringing me up on charges for assaulting a civilian. What’s more, Asriel absolves me of any wrongdoing concerning the ignition regulator. While the plate did look suspicious, with only four letters it couldn’t truly be connected to me, especially when my helmet feed and uniforms said otherwise. As for the lying, Asriel delegated my punishment to Archer, who assigned me a two-square of garbage detail in H9 along with a med session with one of the PsyCorp Specialists to ensure Shar caused no permanent damage.

I take the punishment gratefully, fully aware it could have been much, much worse. As Archer strides down the hall to his office, I can’t help calling out.

“Team Leader!”

Archer stops, one eyebrow raised in question.

“I’m sorry, and . . . thanks.”

He acknowledges my comment with a curt nod. “I won’t lie, Sorenson. I expected better from you.”

I look down, heart sinking at his rebuke, though I know it’s nothing I don’t deserve.

“That said, you’re a good soldier. You just made a mistake is all. Keep your nose clean from here on out, and you’ll do fine.”

With that piece of parting advice, he disappears into his office. As I stand in the empty corridor, still reeling from everything that happened, my mind goes back to the data chip, still secreted inside my jacket pocket despite my earlier resolve. With the revelations about Shar, I completely forgot about it. Not that I could have revealed it, not after they caught me in a bold-faced lie. With my credibility shot and my career on the line, they certainly wouldn’t have believed me about the chip, even if I had told them. Not to mention that with the blade revealed to be nothing more than a defect, I have no real reason to believe the chip is related to the damage in the ignition regulator.

Pursing my lips, I cast my mind back over the strange events of the laser cutter and now the ignition regulator. Asriel’s supposition about the cutter being a laundry mix-up or an accidental grab on my part made sense . . . all the way up until that nameplate showed up in the thruster assembly. Individually, the two instances could be construed as random happenstance, but together? This is no coincidence. Lack of evidence notwithstanding, someone did plant that cutter in my locker, I’m sure of it. As for the data chips—I don’t know if they have any significance to this whole mess, but I do know one thing.

Someone in R&D tampered with that ignition regulator, and unless I miss my guess, they tried to set me up to take the fall.