What’s he doing here? Second-shifters should be home by now.

  Arliss called out, his voice echoing across the empty walkway.

  The man’s pace quickened, turning his head before pushing onward.

  That’s not suspicious at all.

  Arliss broke into a jog and closed the gap. He caught Ven’s arm just before they reached the junction to Mecha.

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  Ven’s eyes darted past him, scanning the walkway.

  “Not the best time, Arliss.”

  “You’re out late.”

  “Same for you.”

  Ven’s eyes veered away.

  “What do you know about a raid on the EQ?”

  Ven tried to hide it, but Arliss caught the man flinch.

  “Look, there’s talk going around about trouble. Maybe there was an operation that went wrong. Dubai, I don’t …”

  Arliss felt the man’s defensiveness. He pressed.

  “I know when I’m being lied to.”

  Ven shifted his weight, lowering his voice.

  “We’re on the same side.”

  “Are we? You asked me to commit to Torque. I didn’t. Maybe you don’t think you can trust me.”

  “These walkways have ears.” Ven pulled back, his shoulders rigid. “You know how it is, especially with what we’re building.”

  Arliss shot his eyes in both directions, more to mock the man’s paranoia than to verify they should seek a private space.

  “What we’re building. Right. How is the raid connected?”

  “Word’ll get out soon enough. But until you’re …”

  “I’m in. There. Got what you wanted. If Torque’s lucky, I’ll share new intel that’ll curl your servos. But first, tell me what’s happening in the uppers.”

  Ven ran a twitchy hand through his hair and mumbled.

  “I wasn’t part of the go-team. It’s Offante’s operation.”

  Progress. Good.

  “Hitting the armory?”

  Ven nodded with a hesitation that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else.

  “Guns. Batons. Inductors. The works.”

  “How? We’d need a small army and the element of surprise, neither of which we have.” Arliss felt his heart race. He didn’t want to believe the solution was that obvious. “Who did he send?”

  Arliss tightened his grip on the man’s arm.

  “Who did he send?”

  Ven spit out the answer.

  “Kids.”

  “My son is missing. Is he …?”

  “I don’t know, Arliss. For true, I do not know. Offante, he’s …”

  Ven’s eyes shifted up one level. No point adding on, so Arliss finished the sentence.

  “Running the Mega from his back office, same as always.”

  Arliss shifted course. The lights might have been off at Ruhl’s Reliable Parts, but the business never closed.

  Ven called after him.

  “Calm your servos, Arliss. Give him a chance to explain. He had his reasons.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t kill him straightaway.”

  Arliss fought the urge to activate his combat servos. Seriously, why did this news surprise him for a second? Had he been stupid enough to believe Offante’s ruthless urges dimmed with age?

  Of course, he’d use children to fight his revolution.

  Arliss was a cyclone of rage when he pounded on the locked front door. No one came forward, but Arliss saw a faint glow in the darkness.

  The back office.

  One good left would smash the glass but also set off the store alarm, which would trigger notifications from EQ’s security nodes, which would alert the wrong people …

  He won’t risk it.

  So, Arliss pounded hard enough to create an uncomfortable vibration. He slammed the door frame twice in rapid succession with three-simp intervals. His joint servos absorbed the pain for him.

  When Offante did not appear, Arliss began a silent countdown.

  Ten more, and I’m smashing through.

  Six fists later, Offante peered out of the darkness. He stood behind the front sales counter, eyeing the door with apparent suspicion before flicking on the interior lights. A red seal glowed around the outer frame, and the latch gave.

  Ven asked him to give Offante a chance to explain.

  OK, fine. He’d best make it fast.

  Arliss entered to a palms-open greeting.

  “My old friend, I’m so terribly relieved it’s you. I thought my establishment was under assault.”

  Keep your calm.

  Arliss advanced toward the counter, fists tucked into his jacket.

  “Where’s my son?’

  The salesman’s generous smile dimmed.

  “Kip? I haven’t seen him since you returned from Rogue.”

  “Don’t.” Arliss’s left needed space to flex, so he planted it on the counter. “I know about the raid. I know about the kids. The Pikers. TimBob. Do I need to keep talking?”

  A flicker of something – maybe guilt or regret – cracked Offante’s defenses.

  “You’re troubled, friend. Understandable.” He glanced outside. “I recommend we discuss the matter somewhere more private.”

  “No more secrets,” Arliss growled. “Where is my son?”

  Offante turned off the overhead lights and motioned Arliss to follow him.

  “The instruments of disruption are complicated. The operation was an inherent risk, but I had unswerving confidence in TimBob. In fact, we would have achieved maximum success if not for …”

  Arliss grabbed him from behind and swung him about.

  “You sent children – my son – to steal weapons from Enforcement Q?”

  Offante looked down where Arliss had grabbed him, and Arliss recognized that gaze. Of all the things Offante hated most in this life, being touched without invitation ranked number one.

  “They were well-equipped, and their training was organic. The plan was …”

  “Last time I ask, Offante. Where is my son?”

  Offante took care to swipe at Arliss’s hand.

  “His fate, at the moment, is uncertain. But we don’t believe he has been taken or …”

  Arliss did not wait for the bastard to finish his sentence.

  “After everything my family has been through – and you acting like their friend while I was gone …”

  “They volunteered. Kip volunteered.”

  The response was so laughable, Arliss thought for a second he ought to just kill the slag here and now. Instead, he scoffed.

  “My boy is twelve years old.”

  “And immensely talented. His skills were put to considerable use. We never intended for anyone to get hurt. Do you truly believe, old friend, I’d ever harm your only child?”

  The shop seemed to tilt around Arliss as the full weight crashed down on him. His son was missing in levels crawling with enforcers, possibly injured, possibly worse.

  “You promised me and Meera,” he said, his voice hollow with betrayal. “You said you’d keep an eye on him. That you’d make sure he stayed out of trouble.”

  “Arliss, the mission succeeded. They cleared out the armory, with Kip’s help. He’s a hero to our people. But it came undone. We believe we were betrayed.”

  The combat servos in both arms wanted action. Badly.

  “Betrayed how?”

  “An informant inside TimBob’s group.”

  This time, Arliss laughed at the sheer lunacy.

  “Betrayed by a kid you sent to fight a man’s war?”

  Offante rolled his eyes. The humiliation must have gnawed at him. The mastermind of the Servo District, undone by a child.

  “It would seem so. A Patchie girl. The fruit of your son’s eye, in fact. She’s disappeared and …”

  “What about TimBob and the others? What happened to Kip?”

  Offante extracted himself from Arliss’s grip, which was just as well. Arliss wanted him to relax; it was an old psychological technique he used years ago to get victims to talk before exacting punishment.

  “Good news on that front. I planted a listening device on TimBob to monitor Piker affairs. EQ is jamming their wrist pads, but not my transmitter. I had sent two of my best operatives to a staging position a few levels below the drop point to assist if trouble arose. The moment I first heard TimBob express concern about a setup, I dispatched my operatives. They retrieved the cargo and should be securing it in private spaces as I speak.”

  Typical Offante. Thinking of the cargo first.

  “I don’t give a fring about the guns. If you’re listening to TimBob, you know where he is.”

  “Yes. Of course. Still in the uppers. Very elusive, that one. Eight hard years of training. He will not leave without his revolutionaries.”

  Now it made sense.

  “That’s what he called them. Yes? Made them feel strong, like a flow-family. Made them dream big. Kip said we should take Sinquin for ourselves. Where’d he learn that idea?”

  Offante shook off the veneer of confidence and replaced it with a stern, defiant gaze.

  “My old friend, you do not understand how this district has changed in your absence. You don’t see the hopelessness these children feel. They’re angry. They want to fight back. TimBob is a vessel for their dreams.”

  “You’re wrong. I’ve been there. But if you dare tell me those kids were willing to die for their dreams, I’ll …”

  “Some are. They live in service of their dreams. And I …”

  Arliss never won an argument with this man. A few draws here and there, but he always backed down in the end. Yet that was when Offante held the leverage.

  “No more. I’m done with your bile. You and me are finished, Offante. After this ends, whether my son comes home to me or not, I’ll make it my mission to bury you.”

  Every practical bone in his body said to keep asking questions, to develop a plan of action, to organize a search party for Kip. And Arliss might have pursued those options had Offante not answered with:

  “You’re not in control here, Arliss, and neither am I, contrary to what you believe. Causality has already determined what will happen next.”

  “Causal … what?”

  “I recommend you turn in for the night and wait it out. Good speaking with you, old friend.”

  Offante pivoted then turned his back for a full retreat.

  Arliss had no words, but his combat servos did. They all but acted on their own. He leaped ahead, grabbed Offante by the shoulder, swung him about, and unleashed his right. It smashed Offante’s jaw with a sickening crack.

  The boss of Servo District bosses stammered, eyes widening in shock before narrowing with fury. He spat blood onto the floor.

  “That’s the way of it, I see.”

  He charged, tackling Arliss into a display rack. Circuit boards and pressure valves rained down around them as they crashed to the floor.

  Offante drove his knee into Arliss, who ignored the spiking pain in his ribs to throw off his former boss and mentor. They scrambled to their feet, circling each other like predators.

  “They’re scared of you,” Arliss snarled, blood trickling from his split lip. “Me? Not so much.”

  Offante feinted left then struck right, his fist grazing Arliss’s temple.

  “We gave him purpose.”

  Arliss ducked the next blow and drove his shoulder into Offante’s midsection, sending them both crashing into a shelf of lubricants. Glass containers shattered, spilling slick fluid. They slipped and grappled, each landing vicious blows that echoed through the shop.

  “Purpose isn’t worth his life.”

  Arliss seized a heavy calibrator and swung.

  Offante dodged, the tool smashing into a diagnostic scanner.

  “Neither was your cowardice.”

  They collided again, knocking over a workbench. Tools scattered across the floor with metallic clangs. Blood smeared Arliss’s knuckles as he landed another punch, splitting Offante’s left eyebrow open.

  Offante retaliated with a savage uppercut that sent Arliss staggering back into a rack of flange belts.

  “I protected my family.”

  Arliss lunged, his left fist amped for the deciding blow.

  He missed, and they crashed through a partition screen, tangled in a brutal embrace of rage and pain. Offante slammed Arliss against a wall, pinning him before Arliss broke free with a rapid twist. A display case toppled, components scattering like metallic rain.

  “Your family?” Offante laughed, blood streaming down most of his face. “All Blends are one family.”

  Arliss seized Offante’s collar, smashing him into shelving.

  “If we are, you’re a lousy fringing father.”

  The shelf collapsed, sending them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs and fury. They rolled across the floor, each landing punishing blows, neither willing to yield. Arliss’s enhanced arm gave him strength, but Offante matched combat servos with the same, greeting each blow with exceptional speed.

  “You think …” Offante gasped between blows, “… hiding protects him?”

  Arliss drove his fist into Offante’s stomach.

  “Better than … using him as a tool.”

  They crashed into the front counter, sending the credcard scanner flying. It shattered against the floor, parts skittering across the oil-slicked surface. Arliss seized a broken pipe and swung. Offante caught his wrist, twisting until the metal clattered to the floor. They stood locked together, panting, bleeding, neither able to gain the advantage.

  “My … boy,” Arliss choked out, grief breaking through his rage.

  The shop door burst open.

  “Stop, both of you,” Ven shouted. “Arliss, get off him. I warned you to keep your calm. Offante, please. We can’t be doing this. EQ will be on top of us.”

  Both men staggered apart, chests heaving.

  Arliss wiped a blood-soaked hand across his lips.

  “If they hurt my son, there will be no place in this city where you can hide.”

  Offante, suit torn as if a wild animal mauled him, bowed his head.

  “I’m sorry about Kip. Truly. But this is bigger than one family, Arliss. We’re in trouble down here. What happened tonight was in the works long before you returned home.”

  “You expect me to care? And yes, Offante, I know we’re in trouble. More than you realize. But I don’t give a fring about revolution. Until I hug my son, the rest of it does not amount to a slag-heap.”

  Then Offante did something Arliss never thought he’d see. The man raised both hands in surrender.

  “We have not given up on Kip or any of the others. I’m in contact with my sources. I have more Tets in my pocket than you know, old friend.”

  “Not a friend.”

  “As you will. Either way, our situation is time-sensitive. I believe EQ will organize a counter-offensive in the district, perhaps in a matter of urns. Sweeps like we have not seen before, with support from the other Megas. So, you have a choice, Arliss. Help me clean up this fiasco, or beat me down to a blubbering, incoherent puddle. I should note that the latter option will make the search more challenging.”

  His combat servos having gotten their thrill for the night, Arliss saw no path forward but the pragmatic. He turned to Ven.

  “I don’t trust anything off his tongue. I expect you to break down what Torque is doing about this, and how you plan to respond to a full-on sweep. I’m in now. Hold nothing back. Are we good?”

  Ven shifted his gaze between the two but did not hesitate to extend his hand.

  “We’re better than good, Arliss.”

  They shook, Ven offering a firm albeit now somewhat blood-stained hand. Arliss had only known him a few days, but Ven had given him no reason to sense deception. Offante, however …

  “What was that slag you said about causality?”

  The man whose store was in shambles weaseled a response.

  “Oh. Uh. Just a word. Ill-timed philosophy about life and the universe.”

  “Right.”

  Didn’t trust a fringing word.

  ***

  Arliss’s lungs burned as he steadied his breathing. He stood amid shattered displays, scattered parts, and the acrid smell of spilled lubricant. The rage that propelled him moments ago now ebbed.

  The three men retreated to the back office, where Offante provided linens for cleanup and salves for the open wounds. He did not, however, offer to fix any servos Arliss might have damaged in their knockdown-dragout.

  “What happens to any child they capture?” He asked Ven.

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  Offante reasserted himself.

  “Whether the kids are willing to cooperate, and whether they have parents of note.”

  “Or parents at all,” Ven added with a shrug.

  The options fell into place for Arliss. He did not want to believe the implication.

  “You’re saying the ones who are …”

  Ven shaded his eyes.

  “Orphans go missing from time to time. Some in EQ’s hands. Others …”

  “It’s gotten much worse the past two years, old friend. More hardliners have been promoted to Enforcement Admin. A few have been known to espouse conservative Breath doctrine.”

  “Pure Breathers.”

  Offante nodded.

  “Or their proxies. They try to avoid disappearing anyone with living relatives. Most orphans live alone or scavenge in the hidden places. There’s no one around to make a fuss when they vanish.”

  It kept getting worse. How big a hole was this bastard ready to dig?

  “The Pikers. How many are orphans?”

  “Most. Starting with TimBob.”

  Maybe my combat servos would like another round …

  “Yet you claimed Blends are all one family. Reconcile that, Offante.”

  “I will,” Ven interrupted. “Arliss, we do what we can for orphaned kids, but it’s hard to keep track, and the Council offers no help. We don’t have the resources. Most families barely make ends meet and lack the space. EdBank doesn’t track them down anymore. Most of those kids are aimless, and they steal for scraps. I … uh … I don’t agree with how Offante used the Pikers tonight, but TimBob kept them in line. Gave them strict rules. Even taught them skills. Even …”