Kip nodded. “Yeah. Just some kids I met there.”

  Something in his tone felt off, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. Still, the data cube felt heavy in her pocket. This meeting with Steath seemed essential.

  “Not the ones who led you into that business at the Northern Drop.”

  “No. Most of them don’t hang around the Market Strip.”

  Every instinct said Kip was lying. But if she didn’t trust him now … when?

  “One thing. The enforcers have been busy out there. Several raids in the past two days. If you see them anywhere in the area, walk away. Slowly, head down. Just …”

  “Got it, Mom. I can ghost them to where they’ll never find me.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but you must be smart. Nothing to do with your other friends. Understood?”

  Kip broke into a beaming smile, too much to resist.

  “Promise.”

  She would not let him out the door like a reckless parent. Meera told him to wait a moment. She retrieved a pair of taggers from her field work and programmed them as reciprocal beacons.

  “This stays on. If I send you a tag, I’d best see you here within ten minups.”

  He crimped his lips at the palm-sized cube but accepted it.

  “Market Strip only,” he said. “Promise, Mom. I love you.”

  She hadn’t heard that addendum in months. It soothed her nerves, but only a touch. As Kip bounded from the flat, Meera wondered what else Arliss had promised their son. What other secrets were the men in her life keeping? She’d have to confront Arliss about this “pact” later, but for now, she had to prepare for the madness of a meeting she couldn’t have predicted.

  Meera slipped into her work coveralls, the ones stained with lubricant that never quite washed out. Perfect camouflage for traversing the lower maintenance levels. She smudged her face with bostite powder from her tool kit, dulling her complexion to match the tired pallor of nightshift workers. A service helmet completed the disguise; her hair tucked beneath it.

  No one paid her any mind as she ventured down. To well-dressed Tetonians, she belonged to the invisible army that maintained the Mega. She left the second lift at L24. Following instructions, she took a circuitous route through Blend-heavy residential units, a supply storehouse for tithium building rods, and around the east end of the Mega’s core fusion reactor.

  When she reached the maintenance shaft at Sec 24-94, its entrance obscured by steam venting from an archaic pipe, Meera wondered whether she’d taken a wrong turn. Clandestine was one thing, but this seemed beyond reason, especially for a legate.

  Meera traced the wall for guidance until she found a gap then pushed it in, revealing a narrow door.

  “Thirty steps forward, ten left, nine left,” she whispered, recalling Steath’s instructions. Pitch black soon gave way to a faint glow as she rounded the third corner.

  The small chamber surprised her. It wasn’t the sterile utility space she expected, but something transformed. Candles flickered in recessed wall niches, casting shadows across a simple meditation mat at the center. The air smelled of perfumed sandiawood and incense, a comforting combination.

  Legate Muryll Steath sat cross-legged on a second mat, dressed in a plain black bodysuit with no trace of his temple vestments. He looked smaller somehow, older without the ceremonial garb that had always defined him.

  “You came.” His voice carried none of the resonant authority he used during their meeting in the Sky Gardens. “And early. I doubted.”

  “The data cube was ... persuasive.” Meera remained standing, arms crossed. “Why now? Why me?”

  Steath gestured to the mat beside him.

  “Please.”

  She sighed but took her seat, the familiar position recalling memories of childhood meditation sessions under her father’s relentless gaze.

  “I get the feeling you’ve been down here many times before, Legate.”

  “Not everyone follows the faith in open spaces.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Steath stared ahead, but Meera detected a half-smile in the dim candlelight.

  “We are instructed by the Breath to administer to anyone who seeks to read the winds. Even those who were engineered.”

  Was he serious? She heard rumors from time to time …

  “Blends come to you for guidance?”

  “In times where desperation and a sense of futility set in, many who are lacking hope seek it wherever they can. But the few Blends I administer to choose to learn in the dark. They fear the same demonization by their own people that most Blends fear from the Breath and its … well, you saw an example today.”

  OK. The man had more guile than she realized.

  “Why risk coming down here? It’s against temple doctrine for you to walk the public sphere out of your vestments.”

  He chuckled, which caught Meera by surprise.

  “It’s not as bad as all that. As long as I’m wearing a variant of gray and my push collar, I pass the minimum standard.”

  “I’ll take your word, legate. I left the temple long ago. Why am I here?”

  Steath traced patterns on the worn mat.

  “I’ve been collecting evidence for years. Much of it inconsequential. Until recently.”

  “Those datasets about the degradation. How did you access them?”

  After a brief side-eye, Steath answered.

  “As I told your husband, most of us are moderates. I am not without friends. Beyond that, you’d best not know.”

  “You said I should come for the sake of my family. Why?”

  Steath sighed, his weathered face solemn in the flickering candlelight. His eyes met hers, then darted away again.

  “These are fragile times, Meera. The balance we’ve maintained for generations is slipping away.”

  “Don’t dance around it, Legate. Just tell me.”

  “Some truths need to be approached carefully.” Steath’s fingers traced the edges of the meditation mat. “What happened to your husband was part of something larger than you realize.”

  There it was. She had dared to wonder if maybe …

  “He was innocent.” Meera pressed. “Tell me. Was my father behind it?”

  Steath’s shoulders slumped.

  “Wind Reader Keet was instrumental in what happened to Arliss. But he was not the instigator. Your father entered an arrangement which he wrongly hoped would bring you back into the fold.”

  “That, I can believe. What sort of arrangement?”

  “The Pure Breathers are strategic. They think in terms of small steps, each one all but invisible to the masses. Six years ago, Ennis Vega was a functionary from one of our oldest, most powerful families. He set his eyes on the Unified Council. He needed a campaign platform that wasn’t so radical it would scare moderate voters yet empathize with those who disliked policies of allowance toward Blends. Vega needed fodder.”

  A nauseous weight settled in her stomach. The candle flames blurred as tears threatened. How did she never put these pieces together?

  “He targeted Arliss.”

  “The plan focused on Blends they considered influential. Not powerful, you understand. Young men who were well-respected in their communities. Arliss was a hard worker, skilled, and he built a family that screamed of allowance.”

  She filled in the rest.

  “And he made criminal associations.”

  The legate swiveled his head, brow raised.

  “You knew?”

  “He made choices, but they were always about giving his family the best. I was still learning my craft and working my way up. Arliss told me about his connections in the black market. He wasn’t proud of the things he did, but he always came home, and he made a better one for us.”

  Meera did not expect to feel this sudden surge of pride. She and Arliss argued about it so often. She never knew how many people he hurt with the help of his combat servos.

  “Apparently, Vega’s many eyes were aware of his activities. They stacked the evidence for a crime Enforcement Q had not solved. They made him a straightforward deal: Admit guilt, and they’d leave you and your son alone. Otherwise, he’d never survive to see tribunal, and you two would be banished from Vandress. Given that Kip was one of less than a hundred Patchworks on the planet, I suspect your boy would have been taken away for scientific study.”

  Steath reached into his pocket and withdrew another data cube.

  “The documentation is all here, including your father’s signature on the indicting doc. You see, Vega would not have risked framing a Wind Reader’s son-in-law – Blend or otherwise – without the father’s consent.”

  Meera stared at the cube, its edges sharp against Steath’s palm. The physical evidence of her family’s destruction, contained in such a small object.

  “They ravaged our lives,” she whispered, “with the stroke of a pen.” Meera’s hands clenched into fists. “Why tell me now? After five years?”

  Steath’s eyes darkened.

  “Because Vega wields power on the Council, and he’s become bold.”

  “And my father?”

  “Is having second thoughts. Too late, perhaps, but genuine. Your mother’s death still weighs on him.”

  Meera laughed at the bitter pill.

  “It should. I never saw her after he banished me. He never even allowed a goodbye from her sickbed. He destroyed us and now feels bad about it?”

  “He wants to meet you.”

  Meera felt something crack inside her chest: Not quite pain, not quite relief.

  “Why should I care what he wants?”

  Steath leaned closer.

  “Because he has access to Vega’s inner circle. Because he can help us stop what’s coming. Or at the very least, slow it.”

  Meera stared at the flames, watching them bend and sway with the currents. Five years of Arliss’s life stolen. Her son growing up without a father. All because of a man who decided too late that forgiveness might be worth a try.

  “What exactly are you asking of me, Legate?”

  “To consider meeting him. To listen. For your family’s sake, if not for his.”

  The candles cast her shadow large against the wall behind her.

  “He’d break his own edict never to speak with the banished.”

  Steath’s gaze fixed on the flame.

  “You must understand: Your father thought an alliance with Vega’s coalition would solve a delicate problem. He badly miscalculated. I believe the Pure Breath faction is holding that indicting doc over his head. If the truth became public, Galen Keet would be ruined.”

  “How does that make your case?” Meera’s voice remained low despite the storm raging inside her.

  “He regrets many things. A man who sees the truth of a wayward journey must be allowed the grace to correct his course.” Steath’s fingers traced an old meditation pattern on the mat: Circles within circles, the symbol of renewal. “The Pure Breathers have grown from a fringe sect to a powerful voice in the wider temple. Their influence extends beyond spiritual matters now, and it verges on the unstoppable.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Meera said. “The EQ raids. The ‘random’ inspections. The way Tetonians turn their eyes when they see Blends coming.”

  Steath nodded.

  “I’ve been told Vega has new legislation coming before the Council at its public intake this week. It will tighten Blend employment restrictions. It will be a hardship for men like Arliss, but it’s only the current step in their agenda. Afterward, they’ll focus on ‘atmospheric preservation zones’ … restricting where Blends can live based on supposed environmental impact.”

  The faked datasets. Of course.

  “What is their endgame?”

  “Complete segregation leading to forced migration. Once passed, such a proposal would provide legal authority to relocate Blends from any area the Council designates as a preservation zone. When the other cities come around, they’ll collectively declare the entire Southern Platte a preservation zone.”

  “The holla? They’re creating a legal framework for expulsion.”

  “Precisely.” Steath leaned forward, his voice dropping. “Your father sits on the Temple Advisory Board that provides spiritual endorsement for any legislation. Without the Breath’s blessing, many councilors would hesitate to move on these proposals.”

  Meera’s mind raced. If what Steath said was true, this went beyond personal grievances. This threatened every Blend and Patchie in Vandress.

  “What does my father want from me? A return to the temple?”

  Steath hesitated.

  “I don’t know his full intentions. He requested a meeting. Neutral ground, no conditions.”

  Bitterness spewed through her response.

  “Convenient timing for his conscience to awaken.”

  “Yes.” Steath made no attempt to defend the Wind Reader. “But timing aside, the information could be valuable.”

  Meera stood; she hated those fringing mats. Meeting Galen meant reopening wounds that never scabbed over. Yet refusing might doom their community to something far worse.

  “There’s more,” Steath said, his voice almost a whisper. “The EQ crackdowns aren’t random. They’re testing response patterns, documenting Blend gathering places, mapping evacuation routes.”

  Meera stopped pacing.

  “They’re preparing for something bigger.”

  “I believe so, but I’m not an expert on these matters. I have a friend in EQ. A woman of faith who still believes in compassion.” Steath’s eyes held genuine fear. “Whatever your father knows, whatever his motives … this may be more important than your justifiable anger.”

  The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft hiss of distant steam vents. Meera thought of Arliss, home but still haunted. Of Kip, struggling to find his place. Of her crew at Silar Engines, all depending on jobs that could vanish overnight.

  “When and where?”

  “I have no information. He won’t arrange it until he knows you’ll attend.”

  Meera stared into the flickering candles. Steath’s offer was impossible to ignore yet dangerous to accept. Her father, reaching out after thirteen years of silence? After missing Kip’s birth, after letting Arliss rot in prison, after ignoring her pleas during those first desperate months as a teenage mother? After not allowing her to attend her own mother’s dissolve?

  “Why approach me in the gardens?” Meera was unwilling to accept that this wasn’t an elaborate ruse. “With my family present. Why not send a message? A proper contact?” She held up her tagger. “It’s not hard. We’re not savages.”

  Steath flashed embarrassment across his worn features.

  “I’ve been ... aware of your movements for some time.”

  “Watching me.” The realization settled like a stone.

  “Not spying,” Steath clarified, his hands spread in a placating gesture. “Your father asked me to look out for you. To be aware. Nothing more.”

  “For how long?”

  “Years.”

  Meera’s laugh held no humor.

  “My father exiles me, then assigns a guardian. That’s rich.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” Steath’s voice softened. “He never asked for reports. He simply wanted someone to ... be there. Galen can be a mystery.”

  “Those Pure Breather thugs gave you the perfect opening.”

  Steath nodded.

  “I intervened because it was the right thing to do, not because of any obligation to your father.”

  “There’s more going on here than my father’s conscience, isn’t there?”

  Steath’s shoulders slumped. He looked every one of his sixty years, the candlelight deepening the lines around his eyes.

  “My faith is flagging, Meera.” She didn’t see that blasphemous admission coming. “I’ve served the Breath for forty-three years. I’ve interpreted the winds, counseled the faithful, upheld the doctrine. But lately ...

  “The Pure Breathers speak with such certainty. They claim the planet rejects the Blend, that our salvation lies in purity. But I’ve studied the ancient texts, the original environmental data. We were lost before the Blend were engineered. Their efforts gave us time to slow the Collapse.”

  Meera posed a challenge.

  “You’re saying the doctrine is wrong?”

  “I’m saying I fear we’ve misinterpreted doctrine.” Steath briefly buried his face in his hands. “The Seventh Wind Reading states: ‘The planet speaks through those who serve its balance.’ For generations, we assumed this meant natural Tetonians. But what if the Blend are also servants of balance? What if their modifications were part of our adaptation, not a violation of it?”

  His voice gained heft.

  “I believe there will be a movement to excise them from Tetonian life, and this terrifies me. What if we’re wrong about the planet? What if there is no destiny, and the degradation will only accelerate without the Blends working on our behalf?”

  Steath reached into his robe and withdrew a data tablet.

  “I’m not just a theologian, Meera. I’m a student of history. Did you know some of our ancient ancestors wanted to call Teton ‘The Promise’? The name never caught on.”

  He activated the tablet, displaying dozens of ancient images of verdant fields and clear skies.

  “Four hundred years ago, this planet thrived. The atmospheric deterioration wasn’t inevitable; it was the result of industrial processes we implemented, choices we made.”

  Meera leaned forward, drawn by the images of a world she’d never known. She recalled being taught little of that time in history.

  “The Fourth Doctrine teaches us that adaptation follows necessity,” Steath continued. “What if the Blend were that adaptation? Does doctrine suggest we diminish and expel the adaptation?”

  The candle flames wavered as if in response to his heresy.

  “The father I knew wouldn’t welcome such thoughts,” Meera said. “And the Pure Breathers would call for your robe in an instant.”

  “They would,” Steath agreed. “But Galen’s changing. He is alone now. A reflective man has time to diagnose his wounds.”

  Steath deactivated and stowed the tablet.

  “I wish I could tell you more. My eyes open wider to the certainty that we stand on the edge of a reckoning. The Pure Breathers gain influence daily. Your father’s position could be crucial.”