Titan Song by Dan Stout (top 10 ebook reader .txt) 📕

in a seminary. I’ll probably end up trashing that poor kid’s career.”

“I seriously doubt it. If anything gets trashed, it won’t be done by you. He wants to work big cases?” Hanford shrugged. “Bad press comes with the territory.”

“It’s not the tabloids I’m worried about.” I set my pita down. “We’re brushing up against powerful people. The kind of influence that goes past stopping a promotion. The kind that can get you locked away in a psych ward.”

Hanford whistled, his inner conspiracy nut awakened. “Now you’re talking my language! That sounds like big government. But then, Paulus is AFS. And she’s the princess in the tower who you’re trying to rescue.”

“That is absolutely not what is happening,” I said. “And fairytale princesses generally aren’t amoral powermongers.”

“I see you haven’t met many princesses,” he said.

“Fair point.” But there was one thing I’d never forgive Paulus for. I cleared my throat and said, “She went after Talena.”

“Jenny’s kid?”

I nodded. “Paulus framed her. Not out of spite, but because it was more convenient. The truth would have rocked the boat.”

He was quieter. “I can see why you’d like to let her hang.”

I didn’t respond.

“Anyway, you might not be able to do anything, right? You got any friends in those rarefied political circles?”

“No.” I crumpled my napkin, thought of Gellica, and flattened it again. “Maybe. There’s one person. She might care about the truth. She’s . . .” Visions of Gellica blending into her shadow, the cat shape emerging. “She’s special.”

“Oh yeah? Is she single?”

I gave him a sour face. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah? Let me guess, she’s out of your league and not interested in a cop? Hate to break it to you, man, but that’s the kind of woman you like. It’s safer to love from a distance when you know there’s no chance it’ll be returned.”

That was the trouble. There was nothing even remotely safe about Gellica.

“Save the pop psychology for one of your call-in shows,” I said.

“Okay. Go ahead and tell me all about your inaccessible crush and how she might care about the truth.”

I chewed my pita, searching for the right way to tell him as much as possible, without telling him everything. Before I could answer, he held up a hand.

“Hold on.” He went back to the mic, unleashing the distinctive WYOT coyote sound cue before informing his listeners what tracks they’d been listening to, and what to expect coming up. His on-air voice practically thrummed with excitement about the next songs, hooking his listeners and pulling them along with him. In his own way, Hanford lived in a different city than I did. He looked out the window and saw things improving, science and technology helping people. For him, it was a world of wonder and magic, and mysterious objects in the sky. I suppose that’s what comes from spending your days isolated in a glass booth. He still lived as though he were that same kid in high school, open and accepting and always dependable. By the time he turned back around, I had a new question for him.

“You’re a confident guy,” I said. “How do you know when you’re on the right track?”

Hanford blinked, and cracked his neck. “I listen to my inner song.”

An innocent comment, but still, my blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“I’m forty-two. I’m not the same person I was at thirty-two, twenty-two, or twelve. I’m an echo of who those people were, and they all sing in a different key. And when I’m doing the right thing, they harmonize in me.”

“Ah.” My heart slowed. “A moral compass isn’t enough. Compasses don’t win battles.”

“No, but they get you to the battlefield.”

I chuckled. “Problem is most battlefields are a losing scenario for the people in the trenches. Like Flifex and his Paulus dilemma. If he wins, he’s made an enemy of the AFS. If he loses, Paulus will be back in power and looking for revenge. Same thing with this rash of murders—” I cut off, not wanting to wade into details.

“You mean the buzz killers?”

I winced, not liking to use press nicknames for tragedy. “Yeah.”

“Oh, man, that’s dangerous business,” he said, tapping the magazine cover. “You’ll definitely want to read this issue. It sheds light on the cabals behind all kinds of weird phenomena.” I must have made a face, because he hurried on, adding, “Look, the manna strike changed everything, baby. People are outright desperate to be part of it. One way or another.”

I thought about the size of the potential manna revenue. “Big money makes people do stupid things,” I admitted.

“Carter, Carter, Carter . . .” Hanford gave an exaggerated shake of his head. “The money isn’t the key, man. Haven’t you learned anything after talking with me all these years?”

“I learned to never say I’m paying before you order at a restaurant.”

“Cute.” He ran a hand over his forehead, pushing back curls that hadn’t existed for the better part of a decade. “This is what they warned us about way back in high school economics. Manna was all but gone, the oil wells were running dry, then boom!” He snapped his fingers. “It’s all coming back.”

“Discovering a massive resource is a bad thing? I may have missed that class.”

“You were there, you just were asleep.” He smiled. “If things that are precious become commonplace, everyone who matters will be upended. The rich will be terrified, the powerful desperate. When you’re messing with the fundamentals of supply and demand, it’s the powerful who have the most to lose. That’s a lot of pressure to make those resources precious once again.” He leaned forward. “The powerful need the status quo, man. It’s the desperate and disadvantaged who are willing to rock the boat.”

I considered that for a while, popping my elbows over the back of the chair as I stared up at the ceiling, the only part of the room not plastered over by autographed posters of pop stars. The station must have sent away for them. No major names ever played a concert in Titanshade.