O'Malley's

Kikiya Haskie has been invited (i.e. ordered) to meet his local contact for an all expenses paid meal. There is no dress code, but there is a modicum of class required. Lionel Hargrave is sitting in a private window table, and has given orders to the host to direct whomever asks for him.

"Please. I already have a mistress." It didn't seem like a joke. There was something ravenous but mechanical about Hargrave that made him perfect for the corporate world. He had yet to even look up from his mobile holographic device, something that probably cost more than Kiyiya made in a year. As he moved floating icons about, "The Korean-style eel filet is especially tasty today."

Hargrave, still without looking up, snapped a finger and summoned the waiter. "Maître d'hôtel, je désire le '12 Dom Pérignon ainsi que le filet d'anguille de style coréen. Merci." He finally closed the device and looked up. "Fifty years ago, this restaurant was opened by a starving Irish immigrant. Today, the waiters speak French. Progress." This also didn't seem like a joke.

Hargrave spoke quickly, not because he seemed hurried or anxious, but because time was money. "I don't expect being half-Martian makes you an expert on wormhole tech, but I assume you're aware of Trustwell's interest in it. The situation in Washington remains... tenuous, but we are confident we can restart our multidimensional projects in five years if we can maintain faith with certain players. This means preserving the status quo as it were." He sipped his water before asking. "Do you know who Yorick Vaughn was?"

"That's right. Trustwell owes him a great debt, and even after the fallout, he kept his mouth shut per our nondiscolure agreements, when Willingham was calling us the Tower of Babel, and Ogami was spouting his rubbish. Unfortunately, his passing was a blow to our PR department. Anyway..." He tapped the table in contemplation a few times before continuing.

"He was spending a lot of time in Starcrown. A lot of charity events, some studies on Starborn residents... oneday, he asked us if we knew anything about functioning wormhole generators existing in the area. We said no, of course, but then he starts handing us these readings. The boys in R&D tell me its evidence of an active wormhole in the vicinity..."

He watched Haskie's reaction with a sense of academic curiosity.

"That is exactly what I want you to do." He called up the holographic interface again and selected a few icons. "I've just sent you the address of Dr. Vaughn's Ambrosia residence. Neither his realtor nor the local authorities have had cause to inspect the premises, so everything should be as he left. We're hoping you'll find some evidence from his investigation that might point you in the right definition."

He paused before stating. "I am not just a suit. I realize there is more at stake than just Trustwell's chances of recovering its stature. I remember the war like it was yesterday. Having said that, if you should locate the device, it is vital you dispose of any conceivable links to Trustwell if this is indeed one of our old generators. If you find you're in a position to remove the threat altogether, then do so. But your priority is protecting the company's interests."

"Our optimal scenario is noone ever learns it was ever here. And these machines are massive, so you'd be better off just destroying it. The equipment is sensitive enough, you shouldn't have difficulty disabling it."