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  Ramir pushed his glasses back up his nose. He leaned back and resumed gesturing into the air. "It's not only a game, it's a ship simulation."

  "A lot goes into these negotiations, Ramir." Jack rubbed his forehead. "Sure, they're routine, but if you forget one little thing, you—"

  A sudden splash, a red flash, and the car rocked. Jack and Ramir were tossed onto the floor. Ramir curled up and covered his head with both hands. Jack raised himself onto his elbows. They waited. The car rocked back and forth. After a moment, the vehicle stabilized itself and continued to drive forward. Jack crawled toward the dash and pressed a button on the panel. "Dorsey, what the fuck?"

  The console spoke: Incoming instructions: Passenger unidentified. Request to halt. Warning shot fired.

  "Well, stop the damned thing!"

  The car slowed to hover in place and the console spoke again. Incoming gratitude: Thank you for halting. Please wait.

  Jack stood up and looked out the window. Clear water stretched out beneath a high-noon sun. They were almost in the shadow of the Sphinx. A white droid hovered in the distance, its red nose leering at them.

  "Ramir, get up. It's fine. There must be a problem with the bug-bots or something."

  Ramir braced himself on the dash and peeked over the panel. He slowly stood up and leaned back into his seat. His knees were shaking. "Does that happen each time? Fucking hell," he panted.

  Jack sat down and started tapping on his wrist. "I'm calling King."

  The console spoke. Incoming conference from Galactic Capital Security. Please accept.

  Jack powered down his watch. "Go ahead."

  Jack reached for his black glasses and donned them.

  A Capital Chief in a messy office streamed into their glasses. He was an older man with a thick, cyan flattop that rose nearly a foot from his scalp. "Officer Fisher Tzachi, Chief of Capital Security. You've been stopped for—Jack!"

  "Yeah," Jack crossed his arms and stared into the blue light on top of the dash. "It's me."

  The chief patted the pockets of his beige-and-blue uniform. "I-I, I'm so sorry. I'm not sure what happened." He finally produced a screen and brought it up to his nose. "Okay…It says you have an unidentified passenger in the car. Look, Jack, I told you before you don't have to give me the docs of every single person you bring in, but you have to at least let me know."

  "He's my aide. His biometrics were sent in three days ago." Jack crossed his right leg on his left knee. "Ramir Osaka. Figure it out."

  The chief rapidly swiped at his screen, mumbling. "The system isn't bringing him up…"

  "Where the hell is Melek? She knows what she's doing."

  "Officer Sepp resigned. She accepted a position with a private company…" His face scrunched into his nose. "I'm still not seeing anything. Are you sure you handed in the proper—"

  "Don't even fucking start," Jack powered on his watch and flashed it in front of the camera.

  The chief dropped his screen. "No need to call anyone, I…" He bent forward, his voice muffled. He popped back up and hammered his screen with his middle finger. "There!" The chief pinned on a service-industry smile. "You're cleared for entry, Mr. Cho-Rosenstein."

  "Pleasure." Jack turned off his glasses.

  Ramir glared at Jack, tapping his foot. "Why didn't Dorsey stop us? Why did you have the stupid thing on mute? "

  Jack pressed a few buttons on the dash panel. "Relax, kid. When you do this every day, that damned computer gets annoying. For future reference, our cars aren't on the Earth's Grid. If you want to brake outside of normal traffic routes, you have to let it know."

  Ramir sat back in his seat and scoffed.

  "Calm down," Jack stated flatly. "Things are gonna happen. You won't have time to puzzle them out emotionally. Remember your training. You need to act—to lead the situation."

  Ramir looked at the ground, chewing the thought. "These government technomucks. All that over a technicality."

  "Yeah." Jack chuckled. His chuckle persisted, and soon he was chortling. "By the way, I never sent in your biometrics." He waved his hand. "Whatever."

  Ramir stared at his boss. He blinked, looked down at the floor, then out of the window. In the distance, the buzzing droid's nose flashed green. The robot turned upright, folded its wings, and plummeted back into the lake. Ramir chuckled deeply: a slow laugh that grew with the roar of the engine.

  The car rushed forward, setting a steadfast pace toward Nile Island. As they approached, the shadow of the Sphinx fell upon them. Once in the shadow, Ramir gazed upward. The sun was hidden behind the colossal Guardian of the Capital. The Sphinx held its arm high into the sky: on its palm rested nothing.

  Chapter 2

  Amy: Shakeup

  Low Earth Orbit, Galactic News: Editorials Station

  Hundreds of white desks were sprawled across a broad chamber. Scores of human and AI voices jabbered back and forth. Raconteurs, unkempt and stressed, dashed their hands wildly in front of their screens, lights sparkling from their luminal keyboards. Some podchairs were closed, resting like still white eggs, while others retracted their canopies: raconteurs hatching from their slumber.

  "Your staff looks flustered," a brusque voice emitted. A large man wearing an orange-and-teal coat was staring down at the flurry of frenzied correspondents through a one-sided transparent ceiling. His right arm bore a patch—NIS, arched over a star-speckled shield with wings.

  "Between Mars and Earth, and whoever the hell is on Europa, there's sixteen billion people all communicating simultaneously." A woman with frizzy hair stood behind a desk, her back turned to manipulate a screen that was continuously cycling images, clips, and soundbites. "You'd rip your hair out, too, if you had to scan the Hub for hours to come up with a modicum of useful material." She snapped her fingers and the screen deactivated.

  "It doesn't need to be useful. It needs to be compelling." The man turned his frame toward the woman and stamped his foot. She spun her chair to face him. His dark gray skin clashed with his fiery-orange goatee. It fluttered like a ring of flames as he spoke. "Amy, I'm going to need your full co-operation for the next several months, until the election is over."

  "Listen, Dolph," she slid her fingertips across her desk, eyes toward the floor. "I'm not sure I can do this anymore. I'm trying to make a career here. I can't by doing these…deals."

  The man took three large strides toward her. He stood, two heads over her, glaring down at her blond scalp. "These deals are exactly how you'll make a career. You—" The woman blinked, and then slowly brought her eyes to meet his. She whipped her chin up, whirling her hair. Her scent flicked off her bangs and drifted upward. Dolph's nose twitched. His pupils widened, his cheek bones relaxed, and his lips began to curl. He caught himself, and snapped back into a fierce scowl. "You'll have access to a network of Nexus' personal servers, by the gracious gesture of our client. Of course, there is an expected interpretation of the data you find. It'll be big. You'll move up to Chief Editor, our client will be happy, everybody wins."

  "The people don't. We already make up half the current events section—how many times has a dog saved a child drowning in the Nile?" Amy shook her head. "I can't do that to the rest of the blogs."

  "Don't make this personal, Amy," Dolph spoke flatly. "This is business. It's the way it gets done, the way it will always get done."

  "I can lead these raconteurs with my own stories. I don't want to do this anymore."

  The man glowered, and his tone became ice. "Fine. But they'll have to do it on their own. Without our leads. Without any of the toys we've given them." He waved an arm across the sea of reporters down below. He then nodded at a door in the back of the room, locked with a biometric panel. "And you without yours."

  Amy gripped the edges of the desk. She pushed herself up and slammed a drawer. "Fine. You'll get your damn story, Dolph. Hook up the shit and I'll have the team run the headline. Just…get out of here." She braced herself against the desk, and held up a shaking hand.

  "Glad you're remembering how this works." As he walked away, he looked over his left shoulder and said, "See you in a few days."

  "See you in Hell, Dolph." Amy spat.

  "Still into that shit, huh?" The door slid open and he stood in the frame to face the editor. "Glad you're seeing sense, Amy." The ice in his voice had thawed, and he was back to a state of professionalism. "Ms. Blackstone, one more thing..."

  Amy sat at her desk, shaking with adrenaline. She clinched her eyes shut and shook her head. "Sands below. What, Dolph?"

  "My title, and my name, is Prime Communicator Dolphus Odcizeny." His voice went cold again. "I am addressed as Communicator. Do you understand?"

  Amy stared at him, eyes narrowed yet hands quivering.

  The Communicator stared.

  "Okay," she said. "I fucking get it,"

  The Communicator lips spread into a fiery grin.

  The door slid closed as he stepped out. Amy curled over in her chair, resting her cheek on the desk. Her body jerked as she sobbed. Whimpers turned to wails. Her stomach twitched as tears pooled on her desk. Everything is hopeless, she prayed. Please, let this nightmare end.

  Chapter 3

  Senator: The Vote

  Cairo, Earth

  Senator of Public Interests Alabastra Paige-Zuckerberg stood on a disk-shaped node in her office surrounded by floating screens. On each screen was a member of various institutions, chattering on. Even though the beacon was broadcasting her image to several other prominent members of society, the Senator had no shame in appearing visibly bored: crossed arms and pursed lips, accented by the occasional eye-roll.

  "Lez," she said to one screen. Her entrance into the conversation was a mighty gale that dissipated the cloud of babble. "I'm not seeing the point to this. You make the call ultimately, but, if I were you, I'd give them two earmarks in next week's District budget—throw a couple hundred thousand standard on top of some digital trading stock—and see if they'll at least give you a complementary provision for this year's R&D. They get a new center in Argentina, you get to be responsible for a generation of new microtech for the poor and disenfranchised. Oh, what's that?" the Senator held her right ear as if listening to an audience. "Oh, she promoted private interest while modernizing healthcare for the poor?" She put a hand over her face and batted her eyes at the screen. "Well, hello, next Minister of Social Solutions!"

  The Senator switched to another screen on her right. "Chancellor, the answer is a very frank no. Not even a hell no. In fact, it's more like a hand-wave and a casual nah. Nah, because, like a pestering child, you're asking for the same thing over and over." She smacked the back of her hand. "I'm a mother, Chancellor: don't think that I won't give you a proper spanking. You wouldn't want the people to see your chaffed, red ass half-way into your first term, would you?" She shook her head and clicked her tongue tsk tsk. The screen clicked off.

  She spun around to a screen behind her. "Valima, I wasn't sure whether or not you were serious about trying to run against me: but just in case you were, I took precautions. How did that townhall go?" The Senator didn't even attempt to restrain a smile. "Let it be known. If you're going to beat me, you're going to have to actually be better than me. Not just at the politics, Chairmember, but at the actual governing. The people remember."

  Alabastra strafed around in a circle, pointed at each screen, and made blaster noises. Pew! Pssh! Pssh! Pew! She returned to her beacon, raised her hands high, snapped both fingers, and bowed deeply as the screens turned off. She snickered all the way back to her chair.

  Not nearly a second after she rested her feet on her desk, her desk light flashed blue. She tapped it with her foot. A small projection appeared: two men in suits: one tall, lanky and familiar; the other as young as he was short. You have a shakedown with Kingmaker Industries…three minutes overdue the comm squawked. "Send 'em in!" Alabastra rubbed her hands together.

  Her office door slid open and the two men from the projection made an entrance in the flesh. They were met by a snide applause. "Jack. To what do I owe the nuisance?"

  "Greetings, Senator," Jack Cho-Rosenstein and Ramir Osaka stood respectfully in front of the Senator's desk, straightening their jackets.

  "Who's the new Kingsman?" Alabastra nodded toward Ramir.

  "This is my Shadow, Ramir Osaka. He's learning the ropes. This is his first shakedown. Ramir, Alabastra Paige-Zuckerberg, SPI. District Seven, in Central America. Very prominent, very passionate."

  "So charming, Jack." Alabastra rolled her eyes.

  Jack beamed with gracious professionalism. "Now, Senator, I know that you usually request we skip the small talk. So, with your permission, I hope to—"

  "He's never like this," Alabastra said flatly, addressing Ramir. "Not to me, anyway. I guess he's treating me like one of his more… cooperative clients."

  Jack rolled up his sleeve. "Alright, Peezee." He adjusted his black glasses. "No mood for formalities? You know why we're here. We're here to make sure that you vote to stop the override."

  Alabastra swiped her finger across her datapad, feigning distress. "Help me out. I can't seem to remember what it was I was supposed to be voting against."

  Jack approached her desk. "The Ban on Commercial Cloning and Copyright Act," Jack laboriously stated. "Ethics Measure—clever maneuvering there—716." When he got to her desk, he placed both his hands on its surface and slowly slid them apart, lowering his face to meet the sitting Senator's. "Do you need it spelled for you, too?"

  "A swindler and a grammatist?" The Senator grinned. "Almost a triple threat. What else do you, do Jack? Is it music? Hot-shot gambler? Fighting, I bet. I'm a sucker for a spiffy pugilist."

  Jack slammed his fist on the table and blustered a retort. Ramir, standing off to the side of the office, was standing completely still, twitching his fingers, trying to move his hands as inconspicuously as possible. On the inside of his black glasses, he was dashing through G-Hub articles. Finally, he found a relevant one: his eyes scurried from word to word. Galactic Proposal 716, Ethics Measure. Originally intended as Economic and Property Measure before being rebranded, after seventeen attempts, by Alabastra Paige-Zuckerberg. Passed by the Public Senate, the bill was rejected in the Council of Private Affairs. Senate ruled to overturn the rejection and succeeded. The Council motioned for a Stop-and-Review Committee. Five Liaison Trustees from each Legislative Chamber sit on the Committee and rule based on expert opinion. All Trustees must vote unanimously for or against the Senate's override. According to current speculation, vote count against the override is 9 to 1. Ramir turned off his glasses and returned his focus to the clamor.

  "Or you'll do what exactly, Jack? Name one ounce of leverage you possess." The Senator now had fury in her wit, like a cunning hunter with cornered prey.

  Jack backed away from the desk, tense. His eyes, hidden, darted back and forth as he attempted to regain his footing.

  "Blackmail? Why not try that, Jack?" The Senator shot. "That's right; you've got nothing on me that I haven't already disclosed to my constituency. They know my flaws, they know my accounts, they've seen the damn dirty shit I've done with an ex-spouse of mine, thanks to your company's tricks. And yet, they elect me every year!" The Senator threw her arms and stamped her feet, articulating each word. "I double-down and do a good job. Nothing can beat that."

  Jack clutched his jacket, scrunching the fabric.

  "Want to take away my money? I've spent the last two-years weaning my entire district and all of my sponsors off of your venal teat!" She pointed at Jack, jabbing at him from afar. "You wheezing, belching beasts. You decrepit, rickety rats! You and your King are beached whales, moribund, drowning in the open air!" She stood. "I am untouchable," she taunted. "Name one way you think you can get to me." She spoke the words as a matador tantalizing a bull.

  Jack piqued. He charged. "You high-strung slug! There are plenty of solutions for people like—"

  Ramir walked over to Jack and touched his back. They locked eyes and Ramir slowly shook his head.

  Jack clenched his bottom lip with his teeth. His limbs were tense and the veins in his neck bulged. He rolled up his sleeve and pressed a thumb into his left elbow. After a few seconds, his limbs calmed, his veins receded, and he regained composure.

  "Still waiting for that solution there," the Senator badgered. She walked around to the front of her desk, and leaned back on it, arms crossed. "Jack, even if you were foolish enough to think of an idea like that, I have fortunately accounted for such foolishness." She pulled out her datapad and swiped her fingers a few times. She then pinched the image with her index and thumb and made a flicking motion at Jack's face, then Ramir's. A document popped open on their glasses. "Those are the special provisions of this Liaison Committee. You'll notice that the 'unanimous' requirement has been changed to 'ten votes of favor.' They need all ten, baby, if they want the override to fail. If I were to die in an unfortunate ship crash, or something of the like, my bill still passes."

  Jack inhaled deeply. He leaned his head back and clicked his tongue. He shook a bit, but as he moved his body grew more relaxed. He stretched, then shrugged. "How's that daughter of yours doing?" He grinned.

  Alabastra snorted. "She's still an Operative in the Galactic Enforcers. Nice try, though."

  "Oh, no. I was genuinely asking. See," he gestured toward his colleague, "Ramir here just had a nasty breakup. He kind of has the hots for those forbidden types of relationships, you know. And I remember that cop-daughter of yours being an absolute nymph." He cackled.

  "You've been at your career quite some time, haven't you?" Alabastra asked, talking past her rival. "Have you ever heard of a fiddle, Jack?"

  "Can't say I have."

  "They're ancient instruments, made from wood and everything. There's that Old Earth Revivalist band that plays one—what's their name?"