Chesterfield's "scene", as it turned out, was a sidewalk in one of the local business districts. Serge hated big business; The white-collars inevitably turned their noses up at him, regardless of whether or not they actually needed his help. Serge could never shake the feeling that the suits knew everything that was going on in the world, and were always trying to hide about ninety percent of it.

The 914, however, changed everything. Serge had never seen so many people in one place, all of whom didn't know what to do next. It wasn't much of a surprise; Once Serge had realized the code's true nature, he didn't know what was supposed to be done next, either.

"Karanov," Chesterfield said. He had met them at the fore of a crowd of Force investigators and early media reporters, and Serge was grateful that Larton didn't seem to be anywhere nearby. The nature of the case was obvious from where they were standing.

"It's a suicide, Chesterfield," Serge said.

His one-time partner rubbed his eyes. They were still ringed with the same dark circles of insomnia that Serge had noticed during the neural-net transmission. Chesterfield, for that matter, looked tired. Everyone looked tired on a bright Sunday morning when some idiot suit decided to take a fifty-story dive out the window of his swanky office.

"It's a suicide," Serge said, almost in shock but not quite.

"Dammit, I know," Chesterfield told him, his voice strained.


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