Watching the factories become residential complexes, Chillard stared out the window of the mag rail transport. His shift ended an hour earlier. According to the Combine Standard Clock it was evening time, but on Station Z, with no sun and no sky, it was impossible to tell. He'd grown used to the artificial midday lighting. He looked forward to the seemingly random yet meticulously coordinated cool breeze from the station's environmental systems. Jake Vis had the right idea, it was time to go.

The accident in the park had been two days ago. Despite the passage of time, the psychic echoes of Jake's victims still bounced around in Chillard's head. Pain relievers and meditation lowered the volume, but neither stopped the noise. Chillard had never been so afflicted. The alieness of the situation left him bewildered and hindered his ability to carry out his mission. He didn't dare approach shift leader Bloch in such a condition.

Chillard closed his eyes and walked his mind through the Five Steps of Quiet. In a matter of moments he was able to narrow his thought to a fine point, focused on completing the mission. Once he had access to her files, he could complete his report and broadcast to his superiors within the Armada. Weighing his options, Chillard concluded he would need to physically attain access to Irena's data node. From there he could crack her security measures and take what he needed. To pull this off, he'd have to analyze the security of her facility.

With a burst of inspiration, he realized he might be able to use Irena Bloch's canamarian romantic interest as a way to get close to-

Someone's thoughts invaded Chillard's quiet-state. They were so fixated on him, it was impossible for his mind-work to ignore. Casually, Chillard used the transport window to scan his surroundings. Across the isle was a man dressed in tunic and slacks, carrying a briefcase and wearing an ID badge clipped to his pocket. The ensemble screamed data analyst, but the man's build and the hawkish way he studied Chillard was more in line with station security.

Outwardly, Chillard remained calm, but inside he was filled with panic. Pain lanced through his mind, the agony of Jake Vis striking him repeatedly with a metal waste bin. Chillard jumped to his feet, frightening the woman seated beside him.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said breathily. He massaged his temple in an attempt to quell the sensation. "This is my stop."

The woman nodded in understanding.

The transport slid to a halt and the doors slid open. Chillard stumbled out and leaned against the safety railing. Down below was the pedestrian walkway. The emotions of those around him threatened to breach his mental defenses and Chillard quickly shut himself off. Effectively he was locked inside his mind with the feeling of the couple he witnessed murdered in the park. The fear and confusion was disorienting. Chillard smiled and assured concerned onlookers he was fine and made his way down from the mag rail platform. He walked home with slow deliberate steps.

At the corner he noticed his stalker following at a respectful distance. Chillard might have missed him if the man's surface thoughts weren't so doggedly concerned with surveilling the suspect. Chillard was a suspect... he didn't believe his cover was blown, but it was only a matter of time.

Under the guise of dealing with his headache, he studied the crossing signal, letting it change twice. Just before the third change, Chillard invaded the security guard's thoughts. Insinuating his own construct, the man jumped as he heard the crying of human babies behind him. The security guard turned around in a panic, frightened and concerned. Chillard rushed across the street, just as vehicle traffic was spurred into action. Mind-workers who were sent into Human Space were taught early about human's predisposition to run and help young in distress.

Losing his tail for a few minutes, Chillard rushed to his apartment.

Slipping into his second floor single bedroom, Chillard went straight to the lavatory and removed a bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet. He swallowed two pills and drank a glass of water from the kitchen sink. There wasn't a lot of time. His building had three Xnean occupants, both of the others were of different feather patterns and ethnicity. It wouldn't take long for his stalker to determine where to find him. Moving quickly would be his only hope.

Chillard grabbed his shoulder bag, preemptively packed for just such an occasion, and went into the living room to wipe his company datapads. There was no concern of his activity being detected by the Core AI, he made sure of that, but a competent analyst might be able to glean what he was after. It was best to scrub everything.

The entertainment and news display came to life as he triggered the motion sensor. A recording of last cycle's top VR vid, Blood and Fur 5, reached its conclusion on Station Z's main movie station. Chillard paid it no mind, though he had hoped to finish the video in the next few days. He remotely logged into his data node via his datapad with the intent to delete his search footprint. Unfortunately access to his own root systems was denied. Trying multiple times, he only succeeded to exacerbate his headache.

"What is happening?"

The movie was abruptly interrupted by an urgent news bulletin.

This is Onika Fwendi for Station Z11221 News. Security Corps are currently searching for a suspect in Sunday's senseless assault in Section H Park. Authorities are conducting interviews with anyone with information on this man, Chillard Zwilk:

A picture of Chillard, taken by a recon drone on that day at the park, appeared on the display. Chillard swore.

Anyone with information is encouraged to tap the display screen immediately and Security Corps agents will arrive shortly at your location for questioning.

A tab appeared on the bottom of the display.

Station security hadn't seen through his cover, but they somehow linked him to Jake and the murders... happenstance would ruin years of work and any chance of Chillard starting his own wing. Clicking his beak, he grabbed his bag and went to the door. The time had come to cut his losses. Capture was not an option. Anything that endangered the ineffable dignity of the Armada would result in his immediate exile and likely execution.

Chillard Swaxnea would not disappear down that path.

A sharp burst of emotional echo wracked his brain, causing him to see spots. Fighting through the disorienting pain, he hurried to the lavatory to pocket the bottle of pain relief pills. At the door, Chillard gave his room one last look and clicked his beak again. He pressed a preset series of numbers on his pad and left the apartment for the last time. A fire would start in his bedroom display and quickly spread through to the other rooms, burning any physical evidence of his presence and true identity.

Taking the back stairwell, Chillard exited the apartment complex on the side street and walked. He'd need to get to the docks on the other side of the station and steal a shuttle. His superiors had trained Chillard and the other recruits in a long list of clandestine arts, piloting was one of them.

A mag rail transport whizzed by overhead. Municipal transportation wasn't an option. The station's Core AI would be monitoring the network. Anytime he synced to pay for use of the mag rail or a corvette, his location would be recorded. Chillard would need to walk. Fighting through a blossoming headache, he began his trek.

Four blocks from his apartment, the feeling of being followed was a niggling sensation he couldn't ignore. Chillard crossed to an outdoor market and joined the crowd of evening shoppers. Sliding in between two stalls, he scanned the crowd. A man and two women entered the market, their thoughts on searching the crowd for any Xnean. He recognized the male as the security guard who'd followed him off the transport. The women, a felarnian and a human, were both dressed in security uniforms. They were no longer focused on surveillance, but apprehension.

Chillard snatched a drab colored rag from a barrel beside him and wrapped it around his head as he slipped into the stream of shoppers. He walked, stopping at random intervals to window shop for a moment or two, easily blending in with the crowd. He couldn't do anything to hide his species, but he was skilled at appearing inconspicuous. The female security guards moved past as he examined a set of protective datapad cases. Chillard declined the vendor's offered price and doubled back the way he'd come.

As he stepped out of the market, his mind-work warned of danger. With only a split second to act, Chillard dashed for the ginger-furred felarnian woman standing near the curb with her attention on her datapad.

"Station security, Freeze!"

Chillard wrenched the woman's arm behind her back, drawing out a tiny energy pistol from inside his sleeve. Pressing the weapon against the woman's head, he turned to face the man from the transport.

"Don't move." He directed his order to both his captive and the guard. Easing back into the street, he pulled the woman with him. "Drop your weapon and walk away."

"I can't do that."

"Please don't shoot," the woman pleaded.

"Why are you after me?" Chillard asked.

"I was given orders from Chief Austberg."

Yosef Austberg. Head of station security.

"Why?"

"The park murders." The guard raised his taser. "Please release the hostage and lower your weapon."

"I had nothing to do with those attacks."

"I'm just following orders."

"Please..." whispered the felarnian.

A corvette skidded to a halt. Chillard pointed his pistol at the driver.

"Get out, now!"

"Mr. Zwilk, I can't let you leave."

"You will," Chillard said, with cold assuredness. He focused on the security guard, dropping his mental blocks. "Toss the taser to me and run into the crowd, don't stop until your feet are sore."

The guard furrowed his brow as his eyes grew cloudy. He tossed the weapon at Chillard's feet and bolted into the market crowd. Onlookers screamed, confused and frightened. Chillard pulled his captive towards the corvette, snatching up the taser in one deft motion. The driver climbed out, hands raised high.

"You're the bird they're looking for."

"Forget you saw me."

The man's expression turned slack and he nodded dumbly.

Chillard slid into the driver side door, pulling the woman in with him. Thankfully she didn't fight back. The Xnean were not a strong species and he couldn't hope to over power the felarnian woman with brute strength. No matter how uncharacteristically short she was.

"Drive," he ordered. The pounding of his headache was too strong for him to try and manipulate her mind. He erected his mental walls once more.

"What? Where?"

He prodded her with the barrel of his weapon. "Please, just drive."