This Isn't About Reya

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Michel did not take the teleporter back to Ozero; instead, he was taken to Vlad's office.

He stood there, examining the mess of information: hardlight and paper documents scattered about the room, the desk overflowing with reports, loose ends, dead leads. A screen with every Nixan disappearance queued up and represented as a node. Worn uniforms and empty coffee mugs piled on top of each other. 

No connections. No information. No idea where to start.

Michel took a deep breath. Vlad had devoted himself to finding the source of the kidnappings. He was a father; the victims were all children. 

"Maybe that's why he worked so hard," Michel said to the office.

His office now.

He ran a hand through his hair. It was a mess, too.

Michel walked behind the desk and sat down. He stared at his fingers for a moment, interlaced on top of the mounds of papers as they were. After a while, he realized he was actually staring at the air in front of his face. He breathed a deep sigh, looked around the room again, and tried to shake himself awake. His hand rubbed dried sleep out of the corner of one of his eyes. He tried to cross his legs but gave up after his knee bumped painfully against the edge of the desk. Somewhere in the back of his head, his mind was registering the gentle hum of hardlight.

For the first time in the many years of his career, Michel Petrushev did not know what to do.

He looked again at the tabletop full of documents, mysterious unknowns imprinted on shimmering diamond sheets. With a tired blink, he began reading.

As he shuffled through the papers and hardlight, he heard a knock on the door.

"Enter," he commanded, looking up.

It was one of the junior officers. Michel could not remember his name.

"Sir," the officer said, "we just received a transmission from one of our colonies in the outer belt of Veritas." He held a shimmering hardlight sheet out to Michel.

Michel took the sheet wordlessly and waved a hand in dismissal. He heard the door close behind the junior officer.

The transmission started off normally enough. "Resources limited," Michel read aloud. "Requesting additional plutonium shipments and personnel to replace last quarter's disappearances."

Michel blinked twice at the hardlight, trying to dissuade the exhaustion from permeating his mind. The letters seemed to hold their form; he was not hallucinating.

His brow furrowed. That meant he was really reading what he thought he was reading. 

"Last quarter's disappearances..." The words emptied themselves from Michel's mouth and into a room already crowded with questions. 

He read the colony's name and pulled up the most recent transmissions that had been sent to NSU requisitions. 

They all requested additional personnel.

Michel read back as far as he could. The personnel requests only began a year ago. Before that, the colony was operating at peak efficiency as a protomaterial transforming outpost. No prior incidents, no reports of raiders or Redeemed terrorists. No reports of missing colonists or requests for additional personnel.

That gave him a starting point. 

 Michel cracked his knuckles, repositioned his legs once again, and began looking for reports from other colonies.