I wrote last month I thought I’d finish Fains I last month.
Well, close. I finished it a little over an hour ago as I type this, roughly 1pmET on 1 Sept 2025, and only because I did a six hour push of writing today after being up half the night realizing I’d left some logic holes in the timeline.
And now it’s done.
The sad news is you’ll get some more chapters of Fains I through the end of this month before I start posting whatever I’ll work on next starting next month.
Tony pulled an oversized tacklebox and two oddly telescoping flyrods from the back of the Tactical while Martin unlocked the store. “You’re sure your stockboy’s gone?”
Martin checked his watch. “Long time now.”
“But he’s got his own key?”
“I vetted him. He’s harmless.”
“Really? We haven’t caught UNABOM.”
“UNABOM rejects all forms of technology. This kid’s got crazy tech skills. I’ll put him in touch with Croydon when we’re done here. Either that or leave him the store.”
“But you did say you’ve heard a scratchy sound when the Cone is active?”
“You ready? I’ll show you.”
Tony attached the odd flyrods to the oversized tacklebox and they walked through [[STORE’S NAME]]. “Your infiltrator. He got past Croydon’s locks and logged into GrapeVine without activating the Cone?”
“He was either Houdini or a close relative. You done down here? Ready to go upstairs?”
“How come you didn’t call Croydon, get a team up here?”
Martin waited for Tony to sweep the staircase before opening his apartment door. “Two reasons. First, a team would be too obvious no matter if they showed up as lost hikers coming down from The Dragon’s Spine trail. Second…”
“Second?”
“Second, he didn’t seem a threat.”
Tony began to sweep Martin’s apartment. “Your StatAnalytics, Larry. You studying Behavioral and not telling me?”
“There was nothing threatening about him. He sat and we talked. He knew about Triple-I.”
“The Interstate Identification Index is public record. He reads a lot.” Tony looked down and away.
Martin glanced at the oversize tacklebox in Tony’s hand. “Pick up something?”
Tony shook his head dismissively and continued his scan. “No. He just reads a lot.”
“He knew what we we’re doing and made up some math mumbo-jumbo, probably something he heard and misquoted. Said we’d figure out what the weapon is by studying 20th century military history. He mentioned some names, too. Didn’t make much sense, really. Talked about the moon at the end. And he knew your name. Your real name. Could’ve got that going through my files and printouts, I suppose.”
“He knew my name and talked about the moon?”
“Said to say hi. Mean anything to you?”
“What were the names?”
“Gary, Madelyn, and Michael.”
“You check the names against the class list?”
“More Garys, Madelyns, and Michaels in that generation than you’d think. It’d take us a week to work our way through them all.” He offered Tony the Class of ’73 yearbook.
Tony turned off his equipment and placed it against the wall. “This place is clean.” He took the offered book. “What am I looking at?”
“I marked out the vics and their locations. They’re spread all over. No geographic pat – ”
Tony activated The Cone of Silence. “Just checking a box in the procedure manual.” He noticed Martin staring blindly at the screen. The cursor blinked, waiting for instructions. “Is this another time I have to nursemaid information from you, Agent Martin?”
“Your friend, the magician. He said recognize geographic dispersion but we hadn’t recognized the reason. He said mobility was a dimension. I thought he meant the UNSUBs mobility.”
Martin gathered some paperwork from his desk, made some notes, pulled a Mercator projection map from a drawer, and appeared to doodle on it. He checked his notes before each doodle, and finally spread the map out on a coffee table[[WHERE DID THIS COME FROM??]]. “Take a look at this, Tony.”
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