The office was a uniquely Spartan environment, clean nearly to the point of sterility. It was large, covering an area that in most parts of the city would provide living space for at least twelve families. Except that it was empty, save for a simple white desk with a large but rarely used chair behind it. The floor was perfectly smooth, and the walls bare.

All that occupied the room did so unobtrusively in what the technomancers called the Illusion: paintings were projected on the wall, and potted gold-leaved plants sat in some corners of the room. Several pieces of furniture were apparent, as well as tasteful abstract sculptures. A set of metals sat framed on the back wall. The majority of light in the room came from this source, so that it could only be mentally perceived. In reality it was dark.

Of all the things in this room that were illusionary, the only main feature of its architecture that stood out was the only real one: the view. One entire wall consisted of four inches of optically pure synthetic diamond and looked out from the top of the precinct into the staging areas below and beyond it the complicated systems of roads that served a sector that was largely infrastructure. Below that there were new developments, a growing portion of the city where people had elected to take advantage of the security offered by proximity to the Aetna-Cross Enforcement Center.

Standing in front of this window was a man. His height was much greater than that of an ordinary human, but not unreasonable for those individuals who had been custom designed in prestigious and expensive laboratories for more wealthy parents. His entire body was covered in armor that consisted of elegant white-and-blue plates, each with their edges rounded in a way that made them look almost organic.

The man was facing the window and away from the room’s main door when it opened. He did not need to turn to see who had entered.

“Lieutenant Shining Armor,” he said.

Hexel stopped and saluted. “Commander Nikolosov,” he replied. At the same time, he checked his chronometer, more out of compulsive habit than any specific need. He had been summoned to arrive “as soon as possible”, which he begrudgingly did in lieu of a set appointment.

“At ease, lieutenant. As much as I enjoy being saluted, we cannot have a proper conversation with your arm up like that.”

Hexel assumed an at-ease position. “It is an honor to have a conversation with you in person, sir. Although I must admit, I am not exactly a fan of unorthodoxy. It bodes poorly for me.”

Nikolosov let out a low sound that might once have come across as laughter. He turned slowly. He wore an operator mask, but as he turned the mask appeared to become transparent. A face was projected outward as an idea: a perfect, symmetrical, handsome face. Hexel knew that it was an illusion. No one really knew what Nikolosov’s real face looked like, but injuries he had sustained in his long career had long kept him from being as beautiful as he chose to project himself.

“You’re asking me if you’re in trouble. The answer is no.”

Hexel was surprised, but he took some solace in the fact that Nikolosov had not called him in to bring up Lynnette’s current mission. The whole thing still gave him a bad feeling, though.

“Then what would you like to talk about?”

Nikolosov began to walk around the room, his heals clicking on the marble floor.

“Lieutenant. Tell me what you know about one Morgana Twilight Sparkle.”

Hexel controlled his expression perfectly, even though he realized that his initial hope that he would escape this meeting without being yelled at- -or without being demoted- -may have been misplaced. He quickly summarized his memories on the subject.

“She is a licensed private detective third class based out of the Old Shelton district. She also appears to be a technomancer, although her rating or even school are unknown. She currently employs one worker, a Blossomforth unit. She was formerly in a relationship with one Roxanne Rainbow Dash, also a resident of Old Shelton.”

“The prostitute, you mean.”

“A remarkably ordered prostitute, yes. Her paperwork and tax information as always filed honestly. Her record is clean.”

“Let me rephrase.” Nikolosov stopped walking and leaned toward Hexel. “A prostitute you were involved with.”

Hexel sighed. “Are you accusing me of violating company policy? Because I assure you, I did not.”

“Of course you didn’t. If you had, I would know, and you would be dead. But I appreciate your honesty, even if you are being…deft.” He started walking again. “I’m more concerned about your relationship with Morgana.”

“There is no relationship. I find her profoundly unattractive and infuriating.”

“That is not the sort of relationship I mean.” Nikolosov sat in the large chair behind his desk and the cylinders underneath it hissed from his weight. He leaned forward and motioned for Hexel to stand in front of the desk. Hexel did so, even though the top was level with the tip of his horn.

“Then what do you mean, sir?”

“I’m referring to her role in your work.”

“She has no role in my leadership of my investigative team.”

“No. I mean your prior work. When you were on the beat. Tell me, Shining Armor. How many times did you go to her to help you do what you could nevermanage to do with company resources?”

“That would be against company policy.”

Nikolosov smiled. “Exactly. But that’s something I’ve noticed. I’m not very old. Only a little older than you, actually. But I’ve seen a lot. And I’ve found a paradox in our system.”

“Sir?”

“How many times have I watched young officers try to rise through the ranks by sticking exactly to policy, to orthodoxy, to every little rule, or worse by forcing it on their entire teams? Do you know what that leads to? It should lead to promotion, but instead they end up retiring as a first-lieutenant and getting a gold-plated watch.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir?”

“Of course you do. The orthodoxy is shit. You know it, and I know it.”

“For the record I never stated that, sir.”

Nikolosov laughed. “Of course you didn’t. Because that’s how it’s supposed to work. You keep the guise that everything is in order, everything within policy, while in reality you’re getting stuff done ahead of time and underbudget doing things that the company shouldn’t let you do. It’s why I’m on this side of the desk, and why at the rate you’re going you’ll be a department head in a matter of years. Maybe even have my job if a rival doesn’t put a round in your processor before then.”

“Thank you, sir. But I have to ask: what does this have to do with Morgana?”

Nikolosov’s expression fell. “Because Shining Armor units are known for loyalty, honor, nobility, and dedication.”

“That is profiling.”

“Yes. Our job is to profile. For humans and ponies alike, deviance is hereditary.”

“Then you are accusing me of deviance.”

“No.” Nikolosov held up two fingers and an image appeared, projected directly into Hexel’s eyes. It was a single plate of text. “Here,” he said, flicking it across the table toward Hexel. “I am issuing these orders as we speak. I wanted you to be the first to see them.”

Hexel quickly scanned through. If he had possessed a heart, it would have accelerated drastically.

“These are medical euthanasia orders,” he said.

“Yes. Directly from Corporate. Morgana Twilight Sparkle has been deemed terminally ill and due to extensive pain has been approved for immediate termination. Maximum priority.”

Hexel looked past the document. “She’s not part of our care network. This is very unusual.”

“It is, but our collective hands- -or hooves- -are tied here. I need to know your opinion on this.”

Hexel measured his words carefully. “I believe that Morgana Twilight Sparkle is a valuable asset to Aetna-Cross, even if Corporate- -and Morgana herself- -do not know it. I think some controlled dissemination could lead her into a state of exile. That would be preferential.”

“Not possible. Look.” Nikolosov tapped the air and another image appeared. Hexel looked it over. This time he was unable to contain his surprise, and a smile crept across Nikolosov’s face. “It’s not just Aetna-Cross. Ion, Goldman-Sachs, Ford, Ruger, Hi-Point, Scholastic, Bank of America, Monsanto…” His red irises locked onto Hexel’s blue. “…Geico.”

“Our direct competitor.”

“Ah. It is good to see you actually know that. But also…disheartening.”

Hexel did not let falter, even though he now understood the course this conversation had taken and the one it had been meant to take since the beginning. “And thirty seven other corporations in North America, Europe, Africa and the Caribbean. All incorporated in North America, and half of them direct competitors.”

“And all that issued the same warrant. The others don’t necessarily have a euphemism for it like we do, but it all means the same thing. They all want her dead.”

“That’s absurd!” Hexel pointed at the documents. “There are international terrorists, war criminals, embezzlers that we can’t even get extradition out of! And now you tellme nearly every corporation suddenly wants a private eye dead?”

“It’s not your job to question it, is it?”

Hexel stiffened. “No, sir, it’s not.”

“Like I said. These orders came from Corporate. Honestly I have better things to do. Something took out two of our mid-range drones, and now I hear that somebody’s making a mess up on the Roof. But no. All resources required are to be used to eliminate your friend.”

“I never stated that she’s my friend. In fact, I rather hate her.”

“Yes. You do. And in this case, you’re a liability.”

Hexel’s eyes flicked up toward Nikolosov’s. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I can overlook some bad behavior, Hexel. But not here. Not when my reputation is on the line. The talking heads down in statistics tell me that you’re at a high risk of, well, unbecoming behavior. So you’re going to take a vacation.”

“A vacation? Or house arrest?”

“Call it what you want, I can’t risk you on this case. And O’Toole? I have no idea what you have her doing right now. She hasn’t checked in in half a week and I don’t see any orders submitted for her. So I’m guessing I’m not supposed to know about it. And I don’t care to know about it. But keep her away from it, too.”

“Of course, sir.” Hexel replied without hesitation. “Morgana may be a valuable resource, but not that valuable. And I have a number of reports to do. Might I request to do them from home?”

“You may,” said Nikolosov, smiling. “Always working. And very understanding. Who knows. If this op gets me promoted, maybe you’ll get this chair sooner than you think.” He leaned back, and his pupils seemed to narrow. “And while you’re there, say hello to that young wife of yours. Remember that a good career means a good life for both of you. And a long one.”He smiled. “Dismissed.”

Hexel saluted once more and exited the office. He could almost feel himself dripping sweat beneath his uniform. He was afraid, but not broken. Carefully, he reached out with his mind. He was no technomancer and never had been, but time with both Morgana and Lynnette had taught him how they worked and what they were capable of. Hexel picked up one of the threads that Lynnette had left for him.

“Lynnette,” he said, speaking through a channel so encrypted that there was almost no chance he would be overheard. “I have orders…”