All these minor details were a matter of record, available to any officer. But that officer would have to know what she was looking for across different departments. That was how the Armer Immersion Chamber Project had been hidden in plain sight. Terese had lived in official secrecy too long to not recognize the signs.
Show me the way, she’d prayed of Sumad weeks earlier.
A Seeker was sworn to do what they thought right. To admit they were limited by their own knowledge.
‘Quiet moments’, the Seeker’s Charter said. Quiet moments allowed one’s inner voice to speak, to guide one to do what they thought right. Being good, according to that ancient scroll, was doing right things, even in the face of superiors doing wrong things.
She bared her teeth. It would be so easy to let her suspicion rest. To pretend Sumad Reach had nothing to do with the Immersion Chamber. To pretend Jools was in no danger of being fooled into something evil. She just had to replace the three folders at their respective desks, go back to her apartment and have some wine.
Since returning from the Wastes, she no longer slept with a figurative eye open. Just as she’d wanted, the chapterhouse had forgotten her. But she’d asked Polis what to do and He’d shown her a thread to pull. And now she’d started, she couldn’t turn her back on Him.
Few choices in life came so neatly defined. Do something, do nothing.
Finding the make-up of Jools’s days would not be difficult. All she needed was the central office keys in Mr Tapper’s desk. No one would notice her walking to the central admin chamber with folders under her arm; hundreds of officers entered with folders every day. With what was mentioned and unmentioned in requisitions forms, personnel records and profile details, perhaps Terese could unravel Sumad Reach’s secret.
Or, she could do nothing.
The longer she pondered, the louder her inner voice spoke through layers of doubt.
Distant footsteps echoed through the corridors. The sun warmed her forehead on the glass.
She decided, and picked the folders from her desk, rifled through Mr Tapper’s desk drawer and marched toward Sumad Reach’s admin block.
Armed with keys.
12
Terese found Toornan in a small corner of the officers’ courtyard, sitting on a towel and reading a book. Her satchel thumped down beside his head, and he started. She lowered herself to the ground, resting her back against a slender palm tree.
“Lovely day,” she said.
“I’ve never seen so much blue as here in Sumad,” Toornan said, putting down his book. “There’s so little rain it makes me nervous, but I’ll miss the blue skies when we get home.”
She pointed at his small pack. “What’s in there?”
Toornan took her meaning and shook his head. “Another book, a banana, some nuts and some clothes.”
She closed her eyes and checked. There were no vibrations nearby. “We’re safe.”
Toornan exhaled heavily. “Well, we’re alive. That’s good, right?”
“What can you tell me about Jools? What do you know about her life, recently?”
He blinked as he thought. “She’s struck up a romance with a Head–Kedden. You know him?”
“I’ve seen him, never spoken to him.”
“She seems taken with him,” said Toornan, “and I suppose it’s mutual. She was transferred into another complement—not his. I don’t know which came first, the romance or the transfer.”
She must have frowned because Toornan swore quietly. “What’s Jools gotten herself into, and how do I explain it to her?” He rolled his shoulders unconsciously, and a passing dark-eyed Sumadan girl in a two-piece swimsuit took a longer look than necessary. The man was good-looking, although not Terese’s type. Too much talking in public might set tongues wagging, but there’d be even more gossip if they were spotted meeting in secret.
“She’s part of something that’s happening off-record,” Terese continued. “I couldn’t find her on the normal rosters, so I went hunting.”
He raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Terese, you have to know some Missionaries can’t be rostered regularly because their rotations fluctuate.”
She lowered her voice further. “How many of those Missionaries get undisclosed discretionary funding? Why isn’t she actually in a head’s complement, but instead in a specialist squad? What particular skills does she have that would be useful in Sumad Reach?” She reached into his bag of pistachio nuts, in the hope that eating would make her look more relaxed.
Toornan frowned. “Well, I’ll admit it sounds odd. But crime? Isn’t that a bit unlikely for Jools?”
“No, she’d never do anything wrong. But why are there no apprentices or assistants in her squad?”
“Only missionaries and higher get dark ops,” he said, eyes widening. “And it’s rare.”
“So why place someone who’s leaving in under a year on a dark ops squad?”
Toornan bit his lower lip and looked around. The nearest sunbathers and swimmers were some way off, and the courtyard windows were too far for anyone to crouch and listen.
“And why does she deserve a priority pass to the artifact storeroom?” Terese persisted. “Why does all official correspondence to and from her—and some others—have to go past Keeper Makkdarm, and not through general mail services like everyone else?”
“It’s odd. I’ll give you that. But none of this proves wrongdoing.”
“But it stinks to heaven. Jools just isn’t that brilliant to get picked out for dark ops duty, not even two years after making Missionary. Her two useful traits are superb gullibility and wanting to impress.”
“All right. All right, that’s true. But why are you telling me?”
“I have no one else I can trust, Toornan. Daraam and Gember are good Missionaries, but they’re also looking for career advancement. You? Your ability is mentoring younger Seekers, and having a conscience. Where Jools clicks her fingers and points, you ask a question and give hints of the big picture. Also, you’re not ambitious, and I can tell you that as far as Holder Moorcam is concerned,
