According to the building registry the majority of the building's residents were engineers and pilots, the station's party crowd. A small gathering filled the first floor lobby, music and drinking filling the empty spaces between mingling bodies. No one looked up as Chillard and the felarnian agent walked through the front door and into the stairwell.

"What do I call you?" he asked as they reached the second floor landing.

"Patricia."

"Ah, yes. The name was popular for felarnian's your age who were born in EC territory." Chillard expected appreciation for his historical knowledge, not the scowl that slid across her face. "It's smart. Traditional felarnian names trip up the human tongue."

"I'm aware," she grumbled.

Chillard gleaned from her surface thoughts that her birth name hadn't been Patricia, but it was changed when she and her brother fled-

He pulled away before she noticed his mind-work. Mind Pacts opened the participants to each other's telepathy, allowing for easier sharing of thoughts. She was no mind-worker which gave him an advantage in their interaction. Chillard contemplated revealing this side effect in a show of full candor, but decided against it. Pact or no pact, he was an agent of the Armada, a Special Diplomat, and she was an unknown foreign intelligence operative. Caution was still his best tool.

"She lives on this floor," he said, grabbing the nob to the fourth floor exit.

The door opened and a group of young engineers filed down the steps, laughing and joking. Apparently, their project had been placed on hold due to a stationwide data node test and they were on paid leave until further notice. Patricia gave him a knowing look as they left the stairs and walked down the hall.

"Bringing Mastermind-308 online is tying up the station's data nodes and the system can't risk other projects interfering with the bandwidth." Patricia wrote a note in her datapad. "Interesting."

"How much processing power does CTRL need? A station this size should theoretically have more than enough nodes for three or four Core AIs."

"Usually this is for redundancy. A single super thinker is more than capable of running a station with the standard array."

"This is interesting."

Patricia was clearly a tech specialist, but the way she moved and her combat prowess far exceeded any information expert he'd ever encountered. It would have been impressive if his beak wasn't still sore from their confrontation in the service tunnels. Chillard was no neophyte when it came to hand to hand combat, but she made him feel like he was being schooled by the instructors back in training. He glanced over his shoulder. Chillard had to admit, she was quite the specimen.

"This is her apartment," he said, stopping in front of the last door at the end of the hall. "Her name is Hortensia."

Out the window beside it, transports and pedestrians move about the bustling station as if it were just another day, as if a fugitive were not on the loose and eluding the authorities.

Chilard pressed the intercom and stood in front of the door sensor. A moment later the small panel came to life with a woman's voice.

"Chillard?" The door slid open. "Chillard! My gosh, what are you doing here?" Hortensia stepped into the hallway and embraced him.

"Hortens, it's so good to see you."

Hortensia Zoraida was a little woman with poor hearing and an eye for symmetry. She had a talent for design and a small crush on Chillard he was careful to occasionally nudge. Special Diplomats were taught to cultivate assets early in their training. They were expected to get into people's heads with both mind-work as well as more traditional efforts.

"You're all over the newsfeed," she said, lowering her voice.

"I know... can we come in?"

Hortensia pulled away and turned, noticing Patricia for the first time. Her smile wilted at the edges and Patricia moved in and gathered her in a big hug.

"Chilly's told me so much about you. I'm glad we could finally meet."

"He has?"

"Hortens, please..." he cut in, gesturing inside.

She nodded and ushered the two inside. Closing the door behind her, Hortensia took Chillard's hand and guided him to the living room. Patricia followed closely behind them. Pressing a button on the datapad resting on her couch, Hortensia projected a news report on the large wall-mounted display.

A beautiful human woman with full lips and a disarming wink sat behind a news desk. Curly honey-tinted hair crowned mahogany skin. The graphic below read: O. Fwendi.

Even here at the Station-Z newsroom, we're susceptible to the string of random violence spreading throughout our station. Four dead and three wounded this evening when one of our surveillance drone technicians tampered with the controls of a full lift. Station security continues to gather information as this seemingly pointless act represents the sixth such event since the attack in Section H Park this morning.

Authorities still request information on Chillard Zwik in connection to this unprecedented situation.

Chillard's security ID image appeared in the bottom corner of the display. His feet carried him over to the wall display where his fingers slowly ran across his projected likeness.

"There've been more incidents?" Chillard couldn't believe it.

Hortensia paused the feed and turned to Chillard.

"That aired two hours ago." She used her datapad to change to a second vid. The reporter Onika Fwendi was part way through a report.

...twenty sectors have filed missing persons reports in the last fourteen hours. Station security chief, Yosef Austberg, has given no official statement other than urging residents to be vigilant as these reports are being investigated.

Muting the audio, Hortensia eased over and hesitantly took his hand. With no kind of mind blocks; her surface thoughts were loud in his head, a combination of confusion and fear. Hortensia wanted Chillard to allay her worry and suspicion, to quell her doubt.

"What's happening?" she asked, a slight quiver in her voice. "You don't really have anything to do with this, do you?"

"No...No!" He said the second with far more conviction. "I was there when Jacob went crazy, but so were a dozen other people. I left the scene because I didn't know what was going on. I ran because I was scared."

Chillard eased Hortensia away from the display and to the kitchen. She studied him in the more intense lighting. Glancing away from her searching gaze, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the QuickHeater. Chillard looked like a disheveled mess.

"What happened to you, Chillard?" Hortensia peeked out of the kitchen at Patricia. "And who is she?"

"She's a friend." He rubbed his hands across stained feathers. "She helped me when I really needed it."

Half-truths made deceiving Hortensia much easier. Chillard took her hand and squeezed it gently. Her eyes widened for a moment as her surface thoughts were drowned by romantic musings. Chillard used mind-work to strengthen Hortensia's emotional response. A sort of thrill ran through him. This was his arena, the battleground of the Xnean Xnarn Special Diplomat. Despite combat and flight training, he and his peers were experts at psychological warfare.

Glancing up at Patricia, Chillard had a burst of insight. She used violence to keep him out of his element and on the defensive. Her clear understanding of the nature of his training and skill set gave her a dangerous edge that led him to hastily bind them in a pact.

While Chillard stood with Hortensia, Patricia covertly scanned the room with her datapad. Despite their connection, she was a formidable opponent he'd need to learn as much as possible about if he was to avoid any more missteps.

"You still haven't told me what happened." Hortensia stared into his eyes. "I want to help."

Chillard told Hortensia a tale of mistaken identity and happenstance where he and Patricia were forced to hide in the underground maintenance tunnels to avoid capture. The entire ordeal culminated with the two arriving at Hortensia's building desperately seeking help. He embellished quite a bit, but left in tidbits of truth in case he needed to utilize her testimony later. If interrogated, the information she provided would add another layer of confusion to the investigation.

"I can't believe something like this is happening." She hugged Chillard, resting her head on his shoulder. "What do you need from me?"

"Can we stay here, just for the night? Give us a few hours to catch our breath and figure out how to clear things up with the authorities." Chillard pulled away, just as her weight settled, keeping her off balanced. "I understand if you can't take the risk, but I don't think there's anyone else I can-"

Hortensia leaned in and kissed him, a strange mingling of lips and beak unlike anything he'd ever felt before. His surprised reaction was genuine. He suddenly felt a twinge of guilt. Involving this woman could result in her capture, torture or termination. The manuals, lectures, and training didn't prepare him for the human element. He thought of the Armada and the mission. Chillard had spent his entire life training to be a special diplomat, spying for his people was all he knew, but, in that moment with her warm body pressed against his, he realized just how much knowledge of the universe was still out there to learn.

"Of course you can stay... I know we've merely flirted here and there back in the office, but I've always felt a connection between us."

Much of that connection had been nudged by Chillards mind-work, assisted by the strategic smile, and reinforced occasional innuendo-laden conversation.

While the two spoke in the kitchen, Patricia monitored the streets from the window.

"Are the two of you hungry?" Hortensia asked. "You can eat while I patch you up. I have a medic kit under here somewhere."

"That would be wonderful," Patricia called from the window, her tone friendly and conversational.

The two refugees ate a simple meal of noodles and roasted protein while Hortensia cleaned and bandaged his wounds. She employed an anti-inflammatory gel to reduce the swelling around his eye. Thus distracted, she didn't notice Patricia crack her datapad and use the device to access the building's network. By the time they were ready to call it a night, surveillance from the apartment building's outer security cameras was being routed to the two spies' personal datapads through Hortensia. Without her knowledge, Hortensia had become an accomplice with a digital trail to follow.

Eventually, Hortensia offered Patricia the couch with access to the linen closet and a pillow. Chillard gave Patricia a fleeting look as their host guided him to her bedroom. She gave him an apologetic smirk and a thumbs up. Once they were alone, Hortensia confessed her excited and lustful desires. Chillard didn't need to be told, her emotions radiated off of the woman in waves.

Hortensia had expectations attached to providing them sanctuary, even if she didn't consciously realize it. To keep up their little dance, Chillard knew he'd need to deliver on some of the promises implicit in their year long game of cat and mouse. With no relevant experience, he fell back onto his training and let her emotions act as guide posts.

The next morning, Chillard woke up more than physically cold. Easing out of Hortensia's sleepy embrace, he quietly made his way to the kitchen. Seated on the floor in the living room and leaning against the closet, Patricia typed away at her datapad.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, sensing her restlessness through their bond. For an instant he saw the face of a human male smoking a cigar, but he vanished as she closed off her thoughts.

"I couldn't get comfortable," she said without looking up from her work.

"I understand."

He went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. Memories of the night before flooded his mind. Hortensia's feelings for him were real and raw, and his for the taking. The sensation of flying through her thoughts was a pleasure like nothing he'd ever felt, dwarfing even the physical aspect of their coupling. If he wanted to, he could relive the entire experience, enjoying both of their emotions simultaneously. For a moment in time they'd been one.

Instead of joy and wonder, all he felt was shame. He was using her for a safe perch during a storm. Manipulating her love. It made him feel dirty.

"It's going okay," Patricia said, joining him at the sink and patting his hand. "This is part of the job." She smirked at the look of surprise on his face. "You're projecting. I assume it's a side effect of the pact."

"How bad is it?" He had a sinking feeling.

"I enjoyed my first time far less than you did," she offered.

Chillard tried to read her, but her stoic expression and the numbers rapidly ticking through her mind revealed nothing. He shook his head as the memories returned. Protocol would be to debrief with his Special Consul, who would act as analyst and therapist. So far from the Armada, he had no such support... except for the felarnian beside him.

"Enjoyment isn't the issue-"

"I know. I was along for the ride, no pun intended."

Chillard felt embarrassment crawl across his skin. He forged ahead.

"Enjoyment isn't the issue, it's the connection. I was in her head, sharing in her emotions throughout the whole exchange." Reading Patricia's expression, Chillard knew she'd felt that part too. "It was far more intimate than most people would consent to. I feel like I violated her boundaries and exploited her... feelings."

Chillard pressed his palms heavily into the countertop and swore.

"This is what special diplomats are trained to do, Chillard." Patricia rested a hand on his shoulder. "Don't fight it. Your unique skill set is an invaluable asset in the field."

Chillard studied the felarnian as he mulled over her word.

"You're right, but... it's hard."

She glanced down and they both laughed. He needed to laugh. His own emotions in his own head. It helped to ground thoughts in self, an anchor to keep from getting lost.

He sensed Hortensia coming before he heard her.

"Good morning!" she sang, walking around Patricia to wrap her arms around Chillard's waist.

"Someone is cheerful," Patricia chuckled. "Good for you two."

Hortensia grinned and nodded.

"Thank you." She kissed the nape of Chillard's neck, sending a thrill through him. "It was a long time coming, but so worth it."

The last came out as a mix of sigh and purr. Chillard blushed and Patricia looked away to hide her enjoyment of his predicament. Hortensia's hand snaked around and down into her pants and Chillard gasped at the intensity of her desire, no the intensity of her need. His limited experience in carnal encounters left him woefully unprepared for the primal hunger he sensed. The woman had been terribly lonely and clung to him in desperation.

The buzzing of the intercom made everyone jump as it cut through the building sexual tension like a felarnian plasma blade.

"Who would that be so early in the morning," Hortensia asked, tightening her robe and exiting the kitchen.

Patricia and Chillard shared concerned looks. She went for the window as he followed Hortensia to the door. He sent out tendrils of his mind-work and instantly pulled back in alarm. He let Patricia feel a small portion of what he'd detected and grabbed Hortensia just before she opened the door.

"Chillard, what is it?" she asked, frightened by his tight grip.

"I– You..." He looked across the apartment at Patricia for help, but she was focused on activity outside.

The intercom buzzed again, this time longer and more persistent.

"Coming!" she called, all habit and automatic response.

"It might be security," he whispered.

Her face suddenly became concerned. "I hope not. Did someone see you come here?"

He doesn't tell her about the security guards in the hallway, ringing at each apartment. She'll panic and want explanations, he didn't want to divulge.

The intercom released a long and irritating buzz. If the apartment's resident had been asleep, it would have been impossible to remain so. Chillard raised his hands and backed away, using mind-work to make Hortensia relax. She yawned as she answered the door summons.

"Hello?" she said with another involuntary yawn. She activated the wall sensor, revealing the security guard standing outside. "How can I help you today, officer?"

"This is a Security Corp Lockdown. Station policy requires you to state your name and designation immediately." The security officer's tone was aggressive and matter of fact, lacking their normally polite professional approach.

"Hortensia Zoraida, Digital Engineer 2. What's this about, why is the building on lockdown?"

"Ms. Zoraida, the lockdown is normal security activity. More information will be shared momentarily. In the interim, are you the only occupant of your domicile?"

Through the wall sensor, Chillard watched the security guard read from a predetermined script. As Hortensia had said, nothing like this had happened before. Even the security personnel didn't know exactly what was expected of them. Their lack of experience would work in his favor if he acted quickly.

"Yes. I am alone," Hortensia said with the barest of hesitation.

"Noted."

A second guard joined the first, this one wore a holstered pistol on her hip. She consulted a datapad then cleared her throat.

"Ms. Zoraida, we need you to exit your domicile and join us in the hallway for a security scan."

"O... Okay." Hortensia glanced back at Chillard and Patricia, who had both gathered by the far wall.

He smiled and nodded, using his mind-work to mitigate her building anxiety. She took a steadying deep breath and pressed the release. Her door slid open with a hiss and she stepped out into the hallway. As the door closed behind her the guards roughly took hold of her arms.