“A mourner completing her rituals,” Galen replied. “The Breath demands privacy for such matters.”

  “Of course.” Vega smiled without warmth. “Though I believe I recognize this particular mourner.” He inclined his head toward Meera. “Mrs. Dubai. How unexpected to find you in a temple after so many years away from our traditions. I wasn’t aware your father had lifted the ban and reconciled the temple with your return.”

  Meera’s blood ran cold.

  “Councilor Vega.” She let the hood fall back a nudge. No point in pretense now. “I wasn’t aware the Council monitored temple attendance.”

  “We don’t,” Vega replied. “I take special interest in anomalies. A Blend-wife returning to the temple qualifies as such.”

  “My mother died. Even apostates mourn their parents.”

  “Indeed.” Vega’s eyes gleamed with something that might have been amusement. “Please don’t let me detain you. I’m sure you’re eager to return to your ... family.”

  She heard the obvious slur in his inflection but dared not incite a scene.

  “Excuse me.”

  She restored the hood and moved past him.

  Vega made no move to stop her, which somehow felt more threatening. She walked across the plaza, resisting the urge to look back until she’d put significant distance between them.

  When she finally glanced over her shoulder, Meera saw Vega in talks with her father. Galen’s hands moved in animated gestures, his posture defensive. She didn’t have to think hard to determine the subject.

  The data crystal felt heavy in her pocket as she quickened her pace toward the transit station. Whatever game Vega was playing, whatever her father’s true motives might be, one thing was certain: The danger was real, and time was shorter than she realized.

  ***

  Meera paced her small kitchen, her steps creating a rhythmic counterpoint to the hum of the air recycling unit. The data crystal sat on the table. She’d spent the past urn debating whether to examine it alone or wait for Arliss.

  The front door slid open with a soft hiss. Arliss entered, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. His posture straightened when he saw her, relief washing over his features.

  “You’re home.” A small smile softened the hard angles of his face. “Where’s Kip?”

  “Out. I was gone for a while.”

  Meera watched his eyes drift to the table, narrowing as they fixed on the crystal’s gleaming surface.

  “What’s that?” He shrugged off his work jacket, revealing dark oil stains splashed across his undershirt. The servos made a faint whirring sound as he rolled his shoulders to ease tension.

  Meera took a deep breath.

  “Something we need to discuss.”

  Arliss’s expression shifted, caution replacing fatigue. He approached the table, studying the crystal without touching it. Meera caught the unspoken question.

  “I met with my father today.”

  The words dropped between them like boulders.

  Arliss froze.

  “Your father.” He said it flatly, neither a question nor an accusation.

  “He reached out through Steath.” Meera leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “He claims the Pure Breathers and EQ are planning something big. Something that puts us, puts all Blends, at risk.”

  “And you believed him?” Arliss’s voice carried an edge now. “The man who disowned you for marrying scum like me?”

  “I don’t know what to believe.” She gestured toward the crystal. “That’s why I haven’t looked at this yet. I wanted us to see it together.”

  Arliss ran a hand through his hair, his gaze never leaving the crystal.

  “Why would he help us now? What’s he after?”

  The truth burned in Meera’s throat, demanding release. She’d carried too many secrets already.

  “He said my mother made him promise to help me before she died.” Meera swallowed hard. “But there’s more. Something I need to tell you, though it won’t come as a shock.”

  Arliss looked up, his hazel eyes narrowing at her tone.

  “My father ... he was complicit in sending you to Rogue.” The words rushed out before she lost her nerve. “Others set you up. He signed off on the conviction.”

  Silence stretched between them, heavy with implication. Arliss’s expression remained calm, but his fingers flexed in a familiar tic.

  “He told you this?”

  “Confirmed it. I met with Legate Steath a few days ago. He presented me with evidence as an introduction to meeting with my father.”

  “And you didn’t tell me until now … why?”

  “Because it would’ve changed nothing, Arliss. We both assumed he was involved from the start. I wanted to see if there was more to his story without you worrying. I left Unquin thirteen years ago without a regret. Even on my worst days, I never thought of going back there. You and Kip are the sum total of my world.”

  He turned away, pacing the small kitchen like a caged animal.

  “Not enough to tell me what you were planning.”

  “Arliss, I don’t love going behind your back. But would you have allowed me to do this if you knew?”

  To her surprise, he didn’t answer. Instead, Arliss glared at her with a strange mix of love, resentment, and resignation.

  “I’m in no position to tell you what to do, Meercat. I … tell me what he said.”

  She summarized the highlights, including Galen’s justification.

  “I’m not defending him,” Meera said. “But if Vega and EQ are in league, and this business about the Northern Waste is true, then he’s done us a service.”

  “Your mother died ten years ago. If her death was his motivation, why wait so long to reach out?”

  Meera hesitated.

  “He’s scared, Arliss. Men like him are trapped in their roles until they die. Service to the temple is for life. Betray the temple in the slightest way, your life is ruined. I know better than anyone. I’m also not stupid. This could be a power play inside the temple. A way for him to fend off his enemies.”

  Arliss stared at her, calculation replacing anger.

  “Let’s see what he gave you.”

  He picked up the crystal, examining its surface before inserting it into their reader. The screen flickered to life, files appearing in neat rows. Maps, schedules, personnel records, all bearing official seals.

  “Looks authentic,” Arliss murmured, scrolling through the documents. He caught his breath. “Wait. These are prisoner transit records … going back twenty years. Outside of Rogue 19, I don’t recognize the names of these facilities. Do you?”

  This wasn’t the data her father claimed. Not close. A horrifying thought crept inside Meera.

  “I remember something Offante told me a couple of years ago. He came around to check on us. We started chatting about the history of Blend disappearances. I don’t recall why. But you know Offante – he loves to spin a good tale. He mentioned rumors about industrial accidents where official death tolls supposedly skewed higher than the number of Blends on duty.”

  Arliss cut her off.

  “That’s an old conspiracy theory. I heard it growing up. Depending on the version, those accidents weren’t accidents at all. They were designed as cover to ship Blends off to … there were a hundred different destinations. No one knew. It never cut the slick.”

  “Could this be connected?”

  “I can imagine what Offante would say. My question is how a Wind Reader got hold of this data. And what your father thought we would do with it.”

  They dug deeper into the datasets, including the list of Wind Readers Galen claimed might oppose the Pure Breathers.

  “Believe that when I see it,” Arliss concluded.

  He showed much greater interest in the files outlining EQ schedules, duty rotations, weapons capacity, and plans for a large-scale sweep of the Servo District – including a full lockdown of Sinquin in the worst-case scenario.

  “Are these plans or hypotheticals?” She asked.

  “It’s too detailed. The last update to this dataset was eight days ago. They’ve mapped every residential block, categorized by Blend concentration. This is an active plan.”

  Meera sank back into her chair.

  “It’s real, then.”

  “Either that, or a brilliant way to play us.” Arliss continued scanning documents. “What if they leaked these plans in the hope we’d take preemptive action? Your father said the Pure Breathers needed violence to justify their agenda. If we struck first …”

  “What do we do?” Meera whispered. “Warn people?”

  “I could take this to Torque …” He caught his tongue. “The network Offante runs. It’s more widespread than I imagined.”

  “He never told me the name. But Offante was always keen to say we wouldn’t be helpless if the EQ cracked down on the district.”

  Arliss shook his head.

  “I’m not convinced Torque is the way, and I do not trust Offante Ruhl. Never have. Even when I … those things I did for him. He put a lot of chee on my credcard, but I never trusted him. Meera, these docs came from a Wind Reader. Bad enough. But your father? None of my kind trusts him.”

  Meera pressed her face into her palms.

  “So, we’re trapped.”

  Arliss was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the screen.

  “Not necessarily.” He turned to her, determination hardening his features. “This information gives us leverage, but only if we use it carefully.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Your father has access. Connections. If he’s truly had a change of heart, he needs to do more than pass information.” Arliss’s eyes gleamed with purpose. “He needs to actively undermine Vega from within.”

  Meera felt a chill run through her.

  “I asked him about speaking out. He’s a coward. Asking him to do more than this?”

  “We have to use every resource to protect our son.” Arliss’s voice softened as he took her hand. “I’m not angry you met with him, Meercat. I’m scared of what happens if we don’t act on this intel.”

  Their fingers intertwined, synthetic and human flesh united in shared purpose. Meera squeezed his hand.

  “He told me to contact Legate Steath. I’ll arrange another meeting.”

  Meera traced the rim of her cup, the warmth from the liquid inside long since faded. The silence between them felt different now, not tense but contemplative, processing the magnitude of what they faced.

  “There’s something I haven’t told you,” Arliss said. “Torque is trying hard to recruit me. They want me on the inside, fully committed.”

  Meera’s hand stilled. His news didn’t shock her. Given Arliss’s history and his particular skills, she figured they’d see his value. But she also knew Torque was more than a resistance network. Anything stained with Offante’s handprint employed many criminal associates.

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That all I want is to protect my family and make honest chee.”

  She heard it in his tone.

  “But you haven’t said no.” His lack of answer told her enough. “EQ is looking for an excuse to send you back to Rogue. You know that.”

  “Yes.”

  “And still you’re considering it?”

  Arliss met her gaze, his hazel eyes reflecting the dim kitchen light.

  “I told them I needed time. Now? I dunno. Fring it all! You’ve seen what’s on that crystal. If any of this is valid, they’re going to come for us all. Maybe …”

  “What?”

  “Maybe it’s not enough to be a good Dad and keep my head down.”

  “You served time for a crime you didn’t commit. What happens to Kip if you leave us again? Or worse?”

  The unspoken possibilities hovered between them. Rogue 19 wasn’t the only option for troublesome Blends. Accidents happened in custody. Prisoners disappeared during transfers. And now, maybe the problem was worse than they realized.

  “I keep thinking about Kip,” Arliss said, shifting the conversation. “Taking him outside the Mega … I thought it would be good for him. Show him the world beyond our walls.”

  Meera noted the change in topic but let it flow.

  “And?”

  “I’m not so sure anymore.” His brow furrowed. “There’s something ... off. I can’t place it exactly. The way he talks about this gang … his flow-family. Like they’re giving him something we can’t, no matter how hard we try.”

  “He’s twelve. Finding his own path.”

  “No, no. It’s more than that.” Arliss took a deep breath. “I went to see Offante two days ago. I demanded to speak with an employee of his. A kid named TimBob. I’m sure he’s the leader of Kip’s gang. These so-called Pikers.”

  “And?”

  “Offante put me off. Said TimBob wasn’t around. Fair enough. I’ve been asking about the district for him. People know of him, but he’s otherwise a mystery. They assume he’s an orphan. Nobody knows where he lives. I spoke again with Offante on my way here.”

  “And?”

  Arliss chuckled.

  “Same excuse as last time. But this also felt different. Offante knows the ins and outs of this district better than anyone. He was defensive. Protective, more like. My gut says everything’s tied together. What if these Pikers are just an extension of Torque? What if they’re using these kids to commit crimes that funnel chee into Torque?”

  As Arliss explained, Meera watched the pieces come together with efficiency.

  “The medical supply heist!”

  “I told Offante to make sure those supplies got to people who needed them. Maybe they did, but after Offante and TimBob cut a nice profit. They’re recruiting these kids and using them. The stolen supplies, the risks they’re taking – it’s escalating. Kip’s right in the middle, and I made a deal that gave him free rein to dive in deeper.”

  “We need to pull him out.” Meera’s maternal instinct flared, fierce and protective. “Now, before he goes too far.”

  Arliss reached across the table, taking her hand.

  “I’m sorry. I just wanted to find a shortcut into his heart.”

  She cut him off.

  “I know. You love him. We’ll make this work.” She held up the reader containing the data crystal. “We do it together. No more secrets between us.”

  Her squeezed her hand.

  “No more secrets.”

  Arliss nodded, reaching for his tagger. After a few simps, his expression darkened.

  “He’s turned it off again.” The words carried equal parts frustration and worry. “What in the holla?”

  “We should start in the Market Strip and split up from there.”

  Arliss stood, decision hardening his features.

  “No. You stay in case he returns. I’ll find him.”

  She knew he was right, but the thought of sitting idle while Kip was out there sickened her.

  “Be careful. If you run into an EQ patrol …”

  “I know how to move unseen.” He threw on his jacket. “That’s something my son and I have in common.”

  Meera stepped closer, pressing her palm against his cheek.

  “Come home. Both of you.”

  He leaned into her touch, eyes closing before his kiss.

  “I will.”

  He paused at the door.

  “Don’t wait to contact Steath. If I’m not back in two urns, go to Offante. He’s not to be trusted, but you hold a soft spot in his heart.”

  She always assumed as much. Though Offante never made physical moves on her, his bravado always lessened in her presence. He was gentler, as if waiting and hoping for her to see his true intent.

  “Two urns,” she agreed, throat dry. “Not a minup more.”

  After the door closed behind him, Meera stood motionless in the center of their small kitchen. She removed the data crystal from the reader and tossed it between her hands. So much lunacy in so small an object.

  Two urns, she thought. Please don’t make me wait that long.

  13

  TIMBOB

  EIGHT-YEAR-OLD GARRIS Severn, son of Tilde and Mez, gulped when his mother handed him a gift. The small package sat heavy in his palm, wrapped in a scrap of blue cloth that had once been part of his father's work uniform.

  “For your day of coming,” his mother said. Her eyes crinkled with dark blue lines at the corners, tired but proud. “Your father wanted you to have this when you reached of age. Now is good enough, child.”

  Garris ran his fingers over the cloth. The synthetic fibers felt rough against his skin. His father had been gone three months, lost in the implosion of Eastern Atmospheric Processing Unit 7. They found nothing of Mez but a code bar and a single charred boot.

  The cramped apartment felt smaller than usual. Pipes groaned overhead, leaking condensation that dripped into the collection bucket in the corner. A steady plink-plink-plink marked the simps. The walls, once white, had yellowed from the constant industrial syrup that seeped through the vents. His mother’s plants – stubborn, genetically enhanced ferns – clung to life, their leaves curled toward the faint glow of artificial sunlight.

  “Open it,” she urged, her right hand twitching. The servos in her wrist needed replacements, but supplies were too rich for this cycle.

  Garris unwrapped the package. Inside lay a small pendant: A gear with seven teeth, crafted from scrap metal and polished to a dull shine. In the center, he eyed a tiny blue crystal with a glossy sheen.

  “It’s rage,” he whispered in Blend-cant, turning it over in his hands.

  “It’s more than that.” His mother’s voice dropped low. “It’s your heritage. Your great-grandfather made it from spare parts of the city’s first scrubbers.”

  “The crystal, too?”

  Her lips, painted pink, blossomed into a mischievous smile.

  “No. It’s a relic from pre-Collapse times. The Tet who engineered your great-grandfather’s line salvaged it from a dead city north of the equator. It goes back centuries. It’s priceless.”

  Though Garris was only eight, he understood the implication.

  “This is top pickings, Mum. You could slide this for a thousand chee. We could move upcity and live the ripe life.”