The room was small, bare, and brightly lit. The only furniture consisted of two simple chairs set facing one another. The only exit was a plain door in one wall. There were no windows.

Zeph sat uncomfortably in one of the chairs. One of a series of interrogators sat opposite him in the other chair.

“I’ve already told you,” he said wearily. “Several times, I’m sure. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never even heard of this underground whats-it group. I have no idea what their goals are. And it still makes no sense to me why this underground thingy would want to bomb either me or my dad.”

“I really want to trust you—” began the officer, in a voice so choked with sincerity that it made Zeph ill.

“If you want to trust me,” said Zeph, “then you should reach out to some of the names I gave you. They can vouch for me. I’m not a criminal.” He struggled not to sound impatient or angry.

The officer nodded, looking a bit annoyed at having been interrupted. “We certainly will. We have officers trying to reach them, now. But you need to understand that we can’t simply call the numbers you’ve given us. We need to verify that the numbers belong to the people you claim, and that your relationship to those people is what you claim. It’s not a trivial matter.”

It smelled like an excuse, but it was a plausible one. Zeph couldn’t refute it. He sat back in his chair and scowled. “So. In the meantime, I sit here and you ask me the same questions over and over?”

The officer smiled thinly and spread his arms, as if to say “my hands are tied, this is just how the script goes.”

“I don’t suppose it would help if you told me what answer you wanted from me?”

“We only want the truth, Mr. Massey. Nothing more.”

“And yet, you seem so disappointed when I give you the truth.”

“Humor us, Mr. Massey. Let’s rewind to your conversation with Secretary Marks, shall we?”

The entire thing would have been laughably ridiculous if Zeph hadn’t known his future depended on the outcome of these interviews. It was clear to him that the police were fishing for something. He’d seen enough police procedurals on the net to know that they were trying to get him to contradict himself, or to accidentally reveal too much in an umpteenth retelling of his story. He’d been half-joking when he asked the interrogator what answer he wanted…but only half.

He had no choice, really. He was at the mercy of the law, and the law in the UIS was powerful, long-armed, and humorless. If they ultimately thought he was up to no good, he would be found guilty.

So he told the story again, from reading the job posting on one of the numerous UIS public forums, to submitting an application, to being invited to interview with Mr. Marks himself. The interview itself had been brief, no more than ten minutes long, and Zeph freely admitted that his impression of Mr. Marks had been fairly positive. The man was an easy conversationalist, and seemed surprisingly comfortable chatting with someone so socially inferior to himself.

“And tell me again,” the interrogator said, “how you feel the interview went.”

“I mean, who can know, really?” Zeph said, exasperated. “I want to believe it went well, and that Mr. Marks was favorably impressed with me. I want to believe that he will offer me the job. I was, as I’ve mentioned several times, supposed to hear back from his office this evening. Hopefully they leave a message, and don’t just give up on me.”

The conversation went around and around like this for an hour, two hours. Three. Finally, the door opened and Officer Sapani stepped in. He gestured at the interrogator, who bowed and left.

“Mr. Massey,” said Sapani. “I apologize for the inconvenience you’ve suffered here. We have finally been able to confirm and speak with some of your references, who spoke glowingly of you. Further, one of your references apparently has…connections.” Sapani scowled. “We’ve been instructed to let you go, despite the objections of our office.”

Zeph raised an eyebrow. “Connections? Was it Lachlan?”

“It was,” said Sapani. “Mr. Pascoe apparently is a college friend of our department’s commander. You are fortunate to share such a friend.”

Zeph laughed. “Good ol’ Lachlan!”

“Indeed.”

“I’m free to go?”

“You are,” said Sapani. “However, if I may impose on you for just a few more minutes, I have a proposition for you.”

Zeph looked suspiciously at the officer. “What kind of proposition?”

“A business proposition. We have some reason to suspect that Secretary Marks may be involved in…hmmm…less-than upright dealings. He is very, very difficult to pin down, and as the Chancellor’s private secretary, he is dangerously powerful, besides. We would like to have someone inside, as we say. Someone close, to keep an eye on him.”

“You want me to spy on him?”

“In so many words, yes.”

“But how? I’ve had one conversation with him. I don’t even know if he’s offered me the job.”

“Sadly, we don’t either. Your home has received no message from his office.”

Zeph raised his eyebrow at this, but didn’t comment. It was honestly no surprise that the police were monitoring his communications. “But?”

“But, from your description of your interview, it seems like there’s a good chance he may offer you the job. And if he does, you would be installed aboard his private yacht. Perfectly situated for our purposes.”

“I’d only be the engineer.”

“Yes. Perfectly situated. You would have access to the ship’s communications, logs, travel records, all of it. You could even overhear conversations with his guests.”

“Why should I help you, though? You’ve hardly endeared yourselves to me.”

Sapani laughed wryly. “True, true. However, we’re prepared to offer you a generous stipend—”

“How generous?”

“Twelve hundred credits a month.”

Zeph whistled. That was generous. Hardly enough to make him wealthy, but enough to pay for a comfortable upkeep on Walberg. Not that he’d be on the island often, if he was working for Marks.

“We’d also make sure and remove any mention of this unfortunate incident from your dossier,” added Sapani.

Zeph nodded. “Ah, that’s more like it. The deal wouldn’t feel right without a bit of blackmail, would it?”

Sapani scowled. “You are far too flippant about this, Mr. Massey. That is our offer. We may have been asked to let you go, but I promise you that there is still plenty we can do to make life uncomfortable for you.”

“I believe you,” said Zeph, trying to appear contrite. “And I appreciate your offer.” He pursed his lips and thought quickly. “What happens if he doesn’t offer me the job?”

“Well, obviously, there would be no stipend in that case,” said Sapani.

“What about my dossier? Will you still keep it clean of this ‘unfortunate incident’?”

Sapani sighed, and nodded. “Yes. The dossier will be kept clean regardless.”

“Well, then, Officer Sapani,” said Zeph cheerfully. “I believe we have a deal.”