I turned to him with my most sarcastic grin. “It’s called fashion, corpo.”
He was about to respond when a large hand landed on his shoulder. I looked up into Maddox’s dark Vysor, his face completely unreadable.
“Meeting starts in ten. We should get moving.”
Cy scraped Maddox’s hand off his shoulder and pushed past me, grabbing my upper arm. His fingers dug into my bicep. “Don’t you dare embarrass me again.” His eye shone with power, and static traced across my skin, along with the threat.
I yanked my arm free. “Don’t worry, corpo. You’ll get your report.”
He slunk away without another look.
Maddox gestured, and I followed silently.
The great glass coffin that was the front atrium of the building swallowed me whole. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, mixing with the sterile florescence of modern fixtures suspended from the ceiling. Cy led us toward the elevators on the far side of the lobby. He shoved me into the first one that opened, ignoring the line of people waiting. No one complained. No one tried to join us, even as the queue stretched back several bodies deep. The doors slid shut with a whisper of air, and the elevator descended.
“This a perk of being in security? No waiting in line?” I asked. Neither responded. I glanced at the panel. B6 was the lowest level, and something about that calmed my racing heart.
The elevator slowed, and a feminine voice chimed, “Basement Six.” The doors opened.
It was all very…corporate. Rows of cubicles filled the floor, broken up by a few closed office doors. The drop ceiling sagged slightly in places, lit by solar-spectrum rectangular fixtures. It was clean, orderly, but nothing fancy.
I opened my mouth for another snarky comment when a man with deep olive skin and long dark hair, braided over one shoulder, approached. His serious gaze and aquiline nose shut me up instantly.
“So this is her, the contractor?”
Both Cy and Maddox nodded. Cy looked deadly serious—something that didn’t suit him. This had to be the “big boss” he’d mentioned. Not that it was hard to guess. The man exuded authority: his tetracarbon suit was all sharp lines and pressed seams, not a hair out of place. The POM logo glowed above his right breast pocket, and the high collar emphasized his long neck. A tingle went up my spine as I thought about all the hours I had spent combing through the POM Security database, and I had nevereverseen this man.
“My name is Chuck Texcucano. Please follow me.” He spun on the heels of his dress shoes, and I didn’t dare delay. He led us into a large conference room. Several people had called in remotely, their faces glowing across the wall of screens at the front of the space. I seethed but summoned DITA to connect to the presentation system.
“Maddox, perhaps you could introduce—”
I waved my hand, and data popped up on the screen. They might’ve dragged me in here, but I wasn’t about to play their corpo games.
“The Green data center explosion occurred at 2:34:58, but Neo Stellaris monitoring beacons caught a different signal 14.79 seconds earlier.” I spoke over Tex. I glanced between him and Cy. Cy’s face was tight, but to my surprise, Tex—though visibly annoyed—nodded for me to continue.
“At first, I thought the signals might be part of the explosion—maybe an earlier or smaller attack. But each one came in at a different amplitude than the blast itself, suggestingthey originated elsewhere. If the explosion hadn’t immediately followed, your systems would’ve flagged them.”
Tex’s frown disappeared. “An anomaly, perhaps from the signal that triggered the explosion?”
“That was my theory, but the amplitude variation didn’t make sense.”
I waved my hand again, and a new overlay appeared. “Using an advanced Fourier algorithm, I deconstructed each signal’s frequency signature and reconstructed the portion obscured by the blast. From there, I pinpointed the origin. Based on that, the signal had to have come from…”
“Renard’s apartment.” Tex’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “So, a secondary explosion? But there was no evidence of that.”
“I mean, the man was torn to shreds. But this signal doesn’t match a traditional explosive event, even one caused by Stellarium. It more closely resembles…”
I trailed off. This was the part that made the least sense.
Tex nodded. “Please. I would like to hear your theory.”
I flicked a glance at Cy. To my surprise, he didn’t look angry, just calculating.
“The signal resembles what I’d expect from an EMP.”
At that, something dark swirled in Tex’s eyes.
I pressed on. “Of course, that doesn’t explain Renard’s death. An EMP doesn’t damage flesh, but I believe this signal is the fingerprint of whatever really happened that night.”
