“Such as?” Meera’s head snapped up.

  Offante shrugged.

  “Flashguns, inductors, batons. The standards. The guns are inactive. EQ keeps kill switches in their armaments when stored. But my people are already at work bypassing those safeguards.”

  Meera’s face drained of color.

  “How do you intend to use them?”

  Offante replied with a measure of calm.

  “For the inevitable.”

  “With children as your soldiers?” Meera’s voice rose again. “Is that your plan? Arm what’s left of the Pikers and send them against trained enforcers?”

  “The Pikers were never meant to be combatants,” Offante insisted. “They’re scouts, messengers, thieves when necessary. Never soldiers.”

  Arliss felt the tension building again, threatening to derail any chance of productive discussion.

  “This isn’t helping Kip,” he interjected. “We need to focus on getting those children back. Then we can debate Torque’s military strategy, assuming there is one.”

  “Arliss is right,” Ven said. “The immediate priority is extraction. The legate is our best hope.”

  “And after?” Ines challenged. “If we get the children back, what then? Vega and his lunatics will move against us. There’s a public Council intake in the morning. If he knows what happened tonight, he’ll use it against us.”

  “What we need,” Arliss said, getting back to the plan that was interrupted, “is leverage. Something that changes the equation. I think this crystal might provide it.” All eyes focused on him. “If this information were made public …”

  “Public?” Offante scoffed. “Who would broadcast it? The Council and the temple control the city streams.”

  “Not all,” Janu said. “The underground streams can’t load to a citywide network, but if we use them and encourage sympathetic Tets like my boss at Silar, we might find our way to spread the word here and beyond.”

  “You’re suggesting we try to turn public opinion?” Dox sounded skeptical. “Against centuries of Breath doctrine?”

  “No.” Arliss expected the question. “We don’t challenge anyone’s faith. We simply lay out the evidence for political corruption and murder. Thousands of devout Tets will balk at forcibly relocating our people, especially when they learn where.”

  The room went quiet as they considered his words. Arliss saw them weigh risks against potential rewards, immediate needs against long-term strategy.

  “It could work,” Janu said. “Especially if we had someone from the temple itself confirm the evidence.”

  “Like Steath,” Meera added.

  “Or your father,” Arliss said.

  A tagger’s buzz sliced through the tension. Meera pulled it from her pocket, taking a deep breath before she answered. Her expression shifted from hope to guarded caution as she listened.

  “Legate Steath,” she announced after disconnecting. “He contacted the EQ admin. They confirmed five captured children.” Her voice caught. “No names. Steath asked about Kip, but they wouldn’t confirm or deny.”

  “Five,” Offante murmured. “I sent fifteen on the mission. Brenlee confirms three have returned to safe territory, leaving seven at-large. Six, when you discount the traitor.”

  Arliss pushed aside the implications of the missing.

  “What else?”

  “Admin has agreed to meet with a delegation to discuss terms.” Meera’s eyes narrowed. “The legate believes they’ll refrain from sweeping the district until after the meeting.”

  “Of course they will,” Ines spat. “Holding children hostage to keep us in line.”

  “Still, it’s an opportunity.” Arliss raced through possibilities. A plan formed – risky, possibly disastrous, but with a chance of success. The pieces clicked into place, each connection sparking the next.

  This could work. It has to work. If it brings Kips home ...

  “When, Meera?”

  “One urn. He says they’ll allow free passage for a delegation.”

  Perfect.

  “I’ll go,” he announced. “I should be a representative.”

  Offante’s undamaged brow furrowed.

  “You? Why would EQ even speak with you, Arliss?”

  “Because I’ve been on their scope since I returned. They know my link to the famous Wind Reader, and that my son is therefore Keet’s grandson. They’ll have to respect that relationship.”

  “And if they focus on you being part of Torque leadership?”

  “I’ve only been a member for about an urn. But I do think the group should have representation, with protection.” He turned to Janu. “You’ll come with me.”

  “Me?” Janu looked startled.

  “Your boss at Silar is a respectable man. One of the last Tets who pays Blends well and can vouch for your credibility. He should be there as well.”

  Arliss knew he was putting both Janu and Meera in an awkward spot to ask their employer, Farris Jakob, for this kind of help.

  Janu and Meera shared an aside and nodded in agreement.

  “We can convince him,” she said. “But I’m coming, too.”

  Arliss waved off the suggestion.

  “I’m not risking both of us. Kip cannot come home to an empty flat, if this falls apart. We’re not sure they’ve even caught him.”

  Hands to her hips, Meera nodded and turned away.

  “What’s your plan?” Offante demanded. “You can’t just walk in there and demand they release the children.”

  “We’ll try something outside your purview, Offante. We’ll start by hearing them out. I hope the legate will have set them in the proper mood.”

  After a few minups of negotiating, Meera and Janu secured Farris Jakob’s agreement to assist. Meera thanked him repeatedly, vowing she’d use her position with her father to make sure this move did not impact his business.

  As Arliss prepared to leave, Meera pulled him aside.

  “Please be careful. We just got you home. They’re looking for an excuse to send you back to Rogue. Or worse.”

  His mind flickered back to the attack that ended five enforcers’ lives. If only they knew …

  Arliss caressed her cheek.

  “I’ll bring him home, Meercat. I promise.”

  “Let’s go,” he told Janu, heading for the door without looking back.

  The weight of unspoken words hung between them as they stepped out onto the crossway.

  Hold on, Kip. Dad’s coming.

  ***

  The lift hummed to a stop at L130, the doors sliding open to reveal a world far removed from the Servo District. Arliss cataloged the immediate differences: Polished surfaces instead of eroded metal, bright illumination rather than the perpetual dim of the lower levels, and an antiseptic smell that replaced the familiar blend of machine oil and humanity.

  Farris Jakob stood beside him, the stocky Tetonian businessman’s complexion pale around his salt-and-pepper goatee. He’d joined them at L107, stepping into the lift with obvious reluctance. His eyes darted between Arliss and Janu before accepting his role in this gambit.

  The three men moved forward, their footsteps echoing in the pristine corridor. Legate Muryll Steath waited at the corridor’s end, his grey robes billowing in an artificial breeze from the ventilation system. He stood ramrod straight, a testament to decades of temple discipline.

  “The delegation is expected,” Steath announced, his voice carrying the cadence of a man accustomed to ritual speech. “Follow me.”

  Arliss noted how Steath positioned himself just ahead of their group … neither with them nor separate. A careful balancing act. The legate’s hands remained folded within his sleeves, his eyes forward, giving nothing away.

  The corridor opened into a vast atrium, its ceiling soaring upward through multiple levels. Unlike the cramped confines of the Servo District, this space spoke of power and authority through its sheer extravagance of empty air.

  A row of Enforcement Q officers formed a gauntlet leading to the main entrance, their faces impassive beneath regulation caps. Their uniforms gleamed with polished insignias, their weapons holstered but displayed. Not one met Arliss’s gaze.

  They’re putting on a show. Making sure we understand who holds the power here.

  Farris tugged at his collar, sweat beading along his hairline despite the cool temperature. Janu’s face had hardened into a mask, his breathing almost imperceptible, a Blend technique for managing stress that Arliss recognized from his prison days.

  The silence struck an odd chord, so foreign was the concept for a public space. He heard only the soft hiss of climate control and the measured footfalls of their small group. Every sound magnified, every movement scrutinized by unseen eyes.

  Steath paused before the final approach, turning to face the delegation. Artificial sunlight streamed through high portals, catching the subtle gray patterns woven into his robes, spirals that represented the Sacred Cycle. For a moment, he transformed into a living embodiment of the Breath’s teachings.

  “Remember,” he murmured, his voice peaceful, “they expect fear. They expect anger. Allow them neither.”

  Then, louder, for the benefit of watching officers, he added:

  “The Sixteenth Wind Reading teaches us that ‘Justice flows not from strength but from wisdom.’ Today we seek wisdom in place of retribution, understanding in place of vengeance.”

  He turned and led them forward, his voice rising in the formal cadence of temple speech.

  “The children are but leaves caught in a storm not of their making. The Breath teaches compassion for those swept up by forces beyond their control.”

  Arliss held a stoic expression as they approached the entrance to EQ headquarters. Behind the glass façade, he glimpsed movement, officers gathering to witness this unusual delegation.

  Towering doors parted with a pneumatic hiss. An officer led them through a lobby and straight into a conference room dominated by a long table of polished obsidian. At the far end sat three figures: Two EQ officials flanking a man whose uniform bore the distinctive silver-edged insignia of Vandress EQ Command.

  Of course, they’d bring in outside muscle. Sinquin EQ wouldn’t want to handle this alone.

  The Sinquin commander rose as they entered, his face a study in calculated disdain. He was tall and lean, with close-cropped gray hair and eyes that reminded Arliss of the reflective surfaces of security nodes: Observing everything, revealing nothing.

  “Two Blends and their master walk into a room,” the commander said, his lips curling into what some might call a smile. “I’ll wait for the punchline.”

  No one laughed.

  Steath stepped forward, his temple robes whispering to the floor.

  “Commander Drace. The Breath reminds us that mockery diminishes both speaker and subject.”

  Commander Lefflin Drace’s smile vanished.

  “Spare me your wind metaphors, Legate. This isn’t a temple.”

  He gestured toward the chairs opposite him.

  “Sit.”

  Arliss reached an instant conclusion:

  Negotiation is not in this man’s vocabulary.

  Arliss moved forward first, taking his chair with deliberate calm.

  “Let’s dispense with pleasantries,” Drace continued once they were seated. “Each Blend or Patchwork currently in our custody is a terrorist seeking violent overthrow of the existing order. The charges are irrefutable.”

  He tapped a control panel embedded in the table. A holographic display materialized above the obsidian surface: Surveillance footage showed the Pikers moving through maintenance tunnels, disabling security measures, and entering the heat tube which led to the armory.

  “We have all the names of those who participated,” Drace continued, his voice flat. “And the insurgent leaders from Servo District who organized the operation. These people will be detained along with their families and affiliated insurgents.”

  The commander’s eyes locked with Arliss’s.

  “The weapons will be confiscated, or grave difficulties will follow.”

  He knows the weapons will pose a problem for him.

  “My son is twelve years old,” Arliss said, modulating his voice to an even keel. “He’s a child, not a terrorist.”

  “A child trained by insurgents,” Drace countered. “A child who participated in armed theft from Enforcement Q. The age of the perpetrator doesn’t change the nature of the crime.”

  Farris leaned forward.

  “As a business owner who employs many Blends, I assure you …”

  “Your business practices are your own concern, Mr. Jakob.” Drace cut him off. “For now. Though I would suggest reviewing your employment policies considering recent events.”

  The threat wasn’t subtle. Arliss watched Farris sink back into his chair, the man’s face ashen.

  Steath cleared his throat.

  “The Breath teaches that justice must be tempered with mercy, particularly where the young are concerned.”

  “The Breath has no jurisdiction over security matters.” Drace cupped his hands on the table. “These children will face the consequences of their actions, as will those who directed them.”

  Arliss felt something shift inside him, a crystallization of purpose. The plan he’d been forming solidified in an instant.

  “There’s another way,” he announced.

  All eyes zeroed in on him.

  “Section 47 of the Unified Enforcement Charter,” Arliss continued. “Parental Assumption of Culpability. I invoke it now.”

  The room hushed. Even Drace seemed thrown off balance.

  “That statute hasn’t been invoked in years,” an EQ official murmured.

  “But it remains valid law,” Arliss pressed. “A parent may assume the guilt of their child, accepting punishment in their place, and the child’s record is expunged.”

  Steath’s eyes widened; this hadn’t been part of their discussion. Janu shifted beside him.

  “You would take your son’s place?” Drace’s voice carried a note of surprise.

  “I would take full responsibility for his actions. In exchange for his immediate release and clearing all charges against him. And if he is not in your custody, free passage home to the Servo District.”

  Let Kip have a clean start. Let him grow up without the shadow of Rogue 19 hanging over him.

  Drace studied him for a long moment, then his lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes.

  “How noble, Mr. Dubai. An affecting display of parental sacrifice.” He consulted the EQ officials beside him. “The statute applies. You will be processed, though I must add this important caveat: Your surrender does not return our stolen property or absolve the other children of their crimes.”

  “I’m aware. What of my son?”

  Drace scrolled a list off his reader.

  “Your boy’s name is Kip. We have no update on his whereabouts, but our officers will take care not to harm him when found.”

  Dresh.

  He had banked on a straightforward transfer. Gambled and lost.

  Steath rose to interject.

  “Commander, surely …”

  “The matter is settled, Legate.” Drace eyed Arliss with the gentlest hint of a grin. “Mr. Dubai has made his choice. Mr. Jakob and the other Blend will have to carry on with these negotiations.”

  Two officers appeared behind Arliss’s chair.

  “Arliss Dubai,” Drace announced, “you are hereby taken into custody for crimes against the security of Vandress. You will be transferred to a holding cell pending formal dispensation. As an adult, the penalty for your crimes is death.”

  As the officers moved to secure him, Arliss locked eyes with Janu.

  “Tell Meera I had no choice.”

  The cold weight of restraints closed around his wrists. As they led him away, Arliss thought of Kip: His smile, his laugh, the future that now might be possible for him.

  Worth it. Always worth it.

  16

  ENNIS

  VANDRESS GLITTERED OUTSIDE Ennis Vega's office on Octoquin L150. He saw six of the other nine Megas from here; someday he'd stare down upon this city with a single, all-encompassing view.

  “The ordered mind creates an ordered world,” he whispered, quoting the Eleventh Wind Reading.

  His fingers traced the edge of his desk, appreciating its perfect, dust-free right angles before reaching inside the bottom drawer to retrieve the globe resting in its cradle. The Whisper, a translucent crystal sphere suspended in a delicate frame, pulsed with inner light as his gloved fingers approached. Blues and greens swirled within its depths, the calm waters reflecting his outward composure.

  Ennis lifted the cradle with tender reverence. The weight felt right in his palm, warm and responsive to his touch. As he held it between both hands, the colors shifted, deepening to rich violets and golds.

  “Sleep eludes me tonight,” Ennis confessed. “I can’t close these eyes, not with our goals so close at hand.”

  The crystal’s surface rippled, as though disturbed by an unseen finger. Images bloomed in Ennis’s mind: Not words, but visions of Teton before the Collapse. Pure skies. Unblemished bloodlines. Natural bodies moving through an environment in harmony with their design.

  Ennis closed his eyes, allowing the visions to wash over him. He saw himself standing atop the Central Temple, overlooking a city cleansed of mods. The Blend relegated to history, a cautionary tale of hubris.

  He quoted from the Third Doctrine.

  “Purity restored brings renewal to all,” Ennis murmured. “We stand at the threshold of that renewal.”

  The crystal pulsed in response, sending a warm current up his arms. More images cascaded through his consciousness: The nine southern cities united under a single banner, their councils aligned with the Breath’s teachings. Himself at the center, the instrument through which the planet’s will would manifest.

  “The morning’s public intake excites me,” Ennis announced, his voice lowered though no one outside could hear. “The legislation moves forward. Galen Keet will speak, as I have demanded.”

  The globe flickered, its inner light reducing for a few simps.