Chapter 8

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Early on Saturday morning, Galen Thompson rushed around his tiny apartment in Richmond, Virginia, as he got himself ready for work. He squeezed past the tightly jammed furniture in the tiny Earth apartment he called home. All he needed were his shoes, but he couldn't remember where he'd left them. Last night was a blur after an intense two-week shift. At least he still remembered his own name.

Galen moved into the bedroom just as his communication device shrilled in his ear. He activated the earpiece and spoke into the microphone that unfolded to his mouth.

'Hello?'

'Galen. It's me.'

'Dad, I'm a little busy. Can this wait until later?'

'Are you alone?'

'I'm at home and I don't really have time to talk.' In his rush, he stubbed his toe. 'Shit.'

'What's the matter?'

'Nothing. I just kicked the bed.' He rubbed the pain away and got down on all fours to check under the bed for his shoes. They weren't there. He cursed and returned to the living room. His father's silence bothered him. 'Dad, I'm in the middle of something. What do you need?'

'Are you on your way to work?'

'Yes, and I'll be late if I don't find my damn shoes. The train's leaving in ten minutes.' The silence stretched between questions. Galen knew what was on his father's mind.

'If you don't say it now, I'm hanging up.'

'Your mother and I were talking...'

He knew it. Conspiracies, double agents, secrets and lies—the subject matter of every conversation they had lately.

'Before you ask, no, I haven't found any evidence of suspicious activity.'

'Tell me, how well do you know your overseer?'

Galen worked as an Air and Space controller out of the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta (HJA) docking station. The former airport was the largest in the world at the beginning of the twenty-first century. Defunct airports had become the ideal locations to convert into docking stations. Seventy-five in total had been built on Earth.

'Stuart?' Galen laughed. 'Well enough to know he's not mixed up in anything like you're suggesting.'

'Okay, maybe not him, but the others.'

He felt around for his shoes under the sofa. His hand touched one, then the other and he pulled them out. 'Well, I don't know all of them. Only the ones on my shift.' He graduated from Air and Space Control Academy at thirty-one and, for the last two years, he had been a trainee at the HJA docking station.

'Who do you know?'

'Maria, Paddy. Why?' Galen pulled his shoes on, still not remembering having taken them off twenty-four hours earlier. The last thing he could recall was heading straight for the bedroom to sleep for a solid eighteen hours. He didn't even remember undressing, but he'd been naked on awaking that morning.

'Your mother says Daphne Gilchrist is showing an interest in your docking station, that's why. She seems to think it might be connected to a higher-level matter, possibly to do with the transfer programme to Exilon 5. The ESC keeps secret files in another part of the building that even her Level Five status won't allow her access to. She thinks one of your colleagues knows about the information, just not who.'

'Interest in my colleagues, why exactly?'

His father sighed. 'I don't know but tampering with records usually grabs Deighton's attention, and Gilchrist's, on the back of his order. I know it's not much to go on but your mother and I can't ignore any leads. We've waited too long for proof to expose the ESC and World Government's extracurricular activities.'

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