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wonder …”
    â€œIf she could be someone you know?” Kutzko tapped the temple of his visorcomp. “Identity card: Bellwether outzombi.”
    I grimaced at the word. Braced myself …
    â€œName’s Calandra Paquin,” Kutzko reported, reading from the visorcomp’s head-up display. “Sound familiar?”
    I shook my head, the knot in my stomach easing fractionally. “No.”
    â€œUm. Let’s see … originally from Bridgeway … murders occurred in the Outbound capital of Transit City.”
    Some of the Watchers from Cana settlement did occasional business in Transit City. Could her killings have included someone I knew? “Do you have the names of her victims there?” I asked Kutzko.
    â€œNo. Sorry.” His eyes focused on me again. “That’s right—you’re from Outbound, too, aren’t you?”
    â€œI grew up there.” I hesitated … but if the ship’s records didn’t have that information, there was only one other person besides Aikman himself who might. And I would rather talk to a murderess than ask Aikman for such a favor. “Do you suppose I could go in and talk to her?”
    Kutzko studied me. “Why?”
    â€œI’m not entirely sure,” I admitted. “I just feel like I should, that’s all.”
    â€œWell … by the book, you know, only my shields and the HTI people are supposed to have anything to do with her.” He scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “On the other hand, I was going to check on her soon anyway; and if you just happened to wander in to keep me company …” He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
    I nodded. “I owe you.”
    â€œForget it.” Turning, he busied himself with the lock. “I’ll go first,” he instructed me as the mechanism tripped. “Stay out until I give you an all-clear.”
    Rapping twice on the door, he pressed the release. The knock was typical, I thought as the panel slid open—for someone in his particular line of work, Kutzko was unusually polite. A man, I’d sometimes thought, who would apologize for the inconvenience as he broke your neck.
    For a moment his back blocked my view of the room beyond. Then, taking a step forward, he moved off to the side. “All right,” he said over his shoulder. “You can come in.”
    But for that first moment, I couldn’t move. Beyond him, the woman—the murderess—was seated in front of the stateroom’s reader, her face turned questioningly to Kutzko. Her eyes met mine … and in those eyes, in that face, in that whole presence, there could be no mistake.
    Calandra Paquin was a Watcher.

Chapter 4
    S LOWLY, I STEPPED INTO the room. The woman watched me, and I could tell that she too had recognized our common heritage. “Mikha,” I said carefully, “I’d like to speak to Ms. Paquin alone for a moment, if I may.”
    He half turned to frown at me. “May I remind you—?”
    â€œIt’ll be all right,” I cut him off. My knees were beginning to tremble with a tangle of contradictory emotions. “Please.”
    Kutzko looked at Calandra, back at me. “All right. But just for a minute.” Slipping past me, he left the room. The door slid halfway closed, and I heard him move to the opposite side of the corridor, where he could see but not really hear us.
    I took a deep breath. “Gilead Raca Benedar,” I introduced myself. “Cana settlement, Outbound.”
    Her face might have flickered at the mention of Outbound. “Calandra Mara Paquin,” she nodded in return.
    â€œFrom … ?”
    â€œI was raised in the Bethel settlement on Bridgeway. If it’s any of your business.”
    I felt cold. Bridgeway: Aaron Balaam darMaupine’s world. For a brief, unnerving second I wondered if she might actually have been involved in that perversion … but another second and