He’s right. We’re running out of options.

  “There is a third route,” Offante said, “albeit potentially fraught.” He pointed to the bottom of the map, returning groans.

  “Outside is not an option for that many of us.” Meera had considered the potential solution for about two simps. “If our defenses fall apart, EQ might decide to continue south and shut down all entrances to Sinquin.”

  “Indeed,” Janu added. “And if certain factions of the Breath have their way, they might just point to the Northern Waste and tell our people to start walking.”

  “The Crosstrots Hub is still our primary concern,” Farris redirected, tapping the map. “Four lifts, heavy traffic during normal business urns. We position our strongest teams there.”

  “Whole squads,” Ven suggested. “Equip each one with engineers capable of disabling the lifts.”

  “And we need spotters,” Janu added. “Eyes on the uppers to warn us when they’re moving.”

  Offante nodded.

  “I have contacts in the sector between 90 and 120. They can be our early warning system.”

  Meera didn’t think that would be good enough by a parsel.

  “I worry what will happen if they target anyone simply because they’re blue-skinned or a Patchwork. The more I think about it, the less I believe an evacuation is doable. anyway. We don’t have the time, and the lifts will be so overloaded, they’ll jam up.”

  “Fair point,” Farris said. “What option remains?”

  “Tell them the truth. Mostly. That EQ intends to conduct massive district-wide raids on a scale far exceeding anything we’ve seen. That they intend to use lethal force against any resistance. We tell them to hunker down. Call a general strike to protest abuse of Blend rights.”

  The term general strike landed like an unexploded bomb. Meera never imagined she’d propose anything so alien.

  “I know, I know. It’s never been done.”

  “Never even debated, from what I can recall,” Ven said. “We Blend are workers by design. As bad as conditions have been, it goes against every instinct not to keep ourselves active, even when we’re not employed.”

  She expected that argument.

  “Which means everyone needs a powerful reason to stay home. We won’t succeed with every Blend, and a few might even take matters into their own hands. But if the crossways are empty, your people have a better chance to hold off the enforcers without indiscriminate bloodshed.”

  The men contemplated her proposal and reached quick consensus.

  “The only nit in the plan,” Offante said, “is communication. The only way to bomb a message like this to our entire population is through the city-approved streams. They will not cooperate.”

  “Start now. Put it out through the underground streams. Open your taggers and send to everyone you know and tell them to pass on the message. Most Blends are asleep now, but I’d say this is worth waking them for.”

  She received no pushback. Ven agreed to craft the message, while Farris said he couldn’t be a part of this, given that most contacts on his tagger were Tets. Not a bright idea to circulate a heads-up.

  Meera stepped back, watching these men united in purpose. Their determination was inspiring and terrifying in equal measure. If only Arliss could have been there to lend his skills.

  Is this a revolution or a last stand?

  She glanced back at her son, still sitting with the surviving Pikers, their young faces set with a resolve no child should have to bear.

  Whatever happens next, nothing will ever be the same for them.

  Meera stared at the unfolding plans, her mind racing through calculations and contingencies. This wasn’t just about striking back; it was about protecting the vulnerable, those who couldn’t fight for themselves. The elderly Blends with outdated mods and living in stack-beds. The children who never asked to be born different. The families like hers caught between worlds.

  We’re fighting for survival, not revenge.

  Her tagger buzzed inside her pocket, its distinctive vibration suggesting an embedded message.

  Meera glanced at it and froze, recognizing the transmit signature.

  “Arliss.”

  When the name fell off her lips, four faces turned in her direction.

  She held up the device with shaky fingers and pressed a red flashing button. A familiar voice, the love of her life, spoke in a hushed, rapid tone:

  “Meera, I don’t know how long I have. I assume Torque is preparing to defend against the biggest raid we’ve ever seen. I’m sure the raid’s coming, maybe within the urn. You need to tell Offante and the rest: Hold the district however they can. This must not turn into a full-on firefight. They need to buy time.”

  Offante stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

  “How is this possible? He’s in custody.”

  Meera shook her head, silencing him as Arliss continued:

  “We cannot beat them this way. They have the leverage. Now. But that can change. We win this by using our imagination. The solution is in Trequin. The Unified Council will have a public intake in the morning. Many of the councilors will use what happened tonight against us. We can counter them. The key is Councilor Hari Nesbitt. She is Sinquin’s senior representative, and she’s always been sympathetic toward us. I remember how she campaigned years ago for better working conditions.

  “You must get that data crystal in her hands. She can’t challenge the Pure Breathers without it. Meera, we can change the equation before this explodes. Vandress needs to know what we already do. I’m not sure if there’s enough time, but you have to try.”

  Janu threw up his massive arms in dismay.

  “Why should we trust any Tet politician? Even Nesbitt?”

  “Because not all of them want a bloodbath,” Meera answered, her ears fixed on the message.

  “Here’s the kicker, Meercat. If my plan works, I’ll be inside the Council chamber when this comes to a head.”

  Meera’s jaw dropped. The others fell into confused murmurs.

  “Inside the chamber? How?” Farris demanded.

  Arliss’s voice cut through their questions:

  “Timing is everything now. I’m sure you have a hundred questions but know this: We’re not alone in this fight. There’s something else. I’ll tell you the next time I see you. I love you, Meercat. Tell Kip I love him too. I’m going to make this right, for us all. Do not reply.”

  After a long pause, Arliss added:

  “Oh, and when you see Offante, tell him I learned what causality means.”

  The flashing red light went silent. Five sets of eyes contemplated each other, absorbing the shock of what shouldn’t have been possible.

  “This feels like a trap.” Ven shook his head. “EQ could have forced him to record that message. How else would he have access to a tagger?”

  “No,” Meera said with absolute certainty. “I know my husband. That was genuine. No one was scripting him.”

  “Even if it was,” Janu argued, “how could he possibly get inside the Council chamber? He’s a Blend prisoner.”

  Offante rubbed his chin.

  “Yeah. So. I agree with Meera. That was our man, and I do believe he’s not alone up there.”

  “What in the holla do you mean?” Ven asked.

  “Nothing specific. Rather, that Arliss is a clever man. Devious. Innovative. And adaptable to unexpected fortune. We should take him at his word. If he says he’ll be in the Council chamber, that’s where he will be.”

  The thought of double-teaming with Offante repulsed Meera, but she accepted his support and moved forward.

  “Then I need to link up with Councilor Nesbitt, preferably before she leaves Sinquin this morning. You heard Arliss: Continue the preparations. Defend the district and buy time.”

  “We will,” Ven nodded, “but the evidence you showed us on that crystal is strong but not proof of crimes. She might not be swayed.”

  “True, but I have to try.” Meera turned her eye to Kip and the Pikers. “I’ll bring her more evidence than what’s on the crystal.”

  “I can help you link to her,” Offante said, “assuming you don’t have a direct line to her office. Among my many loyal but silent Tetonian clients might happen to be a certain councilor.”

  Meera smirked.

  “You could have led with that minor revelation.”

  She set Offante to the task then walked over to Kip, her heart heavy with what she needed to tell him.

  Meera took his arm and guided him away from the other Pikers with a promise to be brief. Her son’s eyes had changed; there was a cold shadow that hadn’t existed before, a determination that reminded her of Arliss during his darkest days.

  “I need to ask something of you,” she said, leading him behind one of the massive water induction valves. “This will not be easy. I need you to appear on a viseo describing exactly what happened to Scar, Ghost, and Pixel.”

  Kip held his chin up, his face serious beyond his years.

  “I want to tell the whole planet.”

  “You’ll have your chance. I promise.”

  “Will this help Dad?”

  “I hope. But it’s about more than your father. I have a horrible feeling of what’s coming our way down here.”

  He nodded, the boy’s understanding all too clear.

  “I’ve been watching you with them,” Meera said, gesturing toward the other children. “The way you’re holding them together after what happened. You’ve become a leader, Kip.”

  He looked down, uncomfortable with the praise.

  “I’m just telling them what TimBob would have wanted.”

  “No. You’re doing more than that.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You’re lifting them up when they need it most. That’s what proper leaders do.”

  When did my little boy grow up? I was too busy to notice.

  “They want to fight,” Kip said, his voice calm but resolute. “All of us do.”

  “Right now, the best thing you can do is protect them.” Meera squeezed his shoulders. “I need you to take charge, Kip. After you give your testimony, I want you to keep them together. Keep them safe.”

  “Safe where? EQ is coming for us.”

  “A place they won’t find you.”

  Kip’s cheeks fell.

  “Our nest is compromised. Em probably told those slag-heaps about all our hideouts.”

  “Do you have anywhere else? Somewhere nobody knows about?”

  He thought for a moment, then nodded.

  “There’s a place. Old shaft that was sealed off years ago on 38. Zero found it when he was mapping the ventilation system. Nobody uses it because the sensors say it’s flooded, but it’s not … just a glitch in the system that nobody fixed.”

  “Perfect. Take them there. We’ll send you off with food and water. I’ll give you a tagger so we can stay in contact.”

  Kip’s eyes widened.

  “What about you?”

  Meera hesitated, weighing how much to tell him.

  “I’m going to try to stop this before more people get hurt. Your father has a plan, and I need to help him.”

  “Dad? But he’s …”

  “I know. He’s found a way to fight back that doesn’t involve weapons.” She took a deep breath. “Kip, this is bigger than our family. It’s about all the Blends, all the Patchies. It’s about making sure what happened to TimBob and the others wasn’t for nothing.”

  Kip’s hand went to the pendant, his fingers tracing its surface. Meera watched the gesture, curious.

  “That pendant … it seems important to you.”

  A small smile touched his lips.

  “TimBob gave it to me right before the heist. Said I had to keep it safe.” His voice softened. “He loved me. Like a real brother.”

  I never understood how much he needed that.

  “May I see it?”

  Kip hesitated, then lifted the chain, not removing it but allowing her to look closer. The pendant was a gear with seven teeth in which crafted metal surrounded a small blue crystal.

  “It’s warm,” Kip said. “All the time. Like it’s alive.” He tucked it back under his mesh. “He said never to take it off. That it was important.”

  She nodded, filing away this information for later.

  Meera took him into Farris Jakob’s office, where he recorded a blow-by-blow account of the executions. He shed a few tears, and his words cracked, but he pushed through.

  “This helps, Kip. More than you know.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “Take your friends and go. Stay hidden until I contact you.”

  “What if you don’t?” He asked, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

  “I will.” She pulled back, looking him in the eyes. “And this time, you’ll answer when I call. Promise me.”

  “I promise, Mom.”

  As she watched him return to the other Pikers, gathering them with newfound authority, Meera felt a surge of pride mingled with fear. Her son was no longer a child, but he wasn’t yet a man. He existed in that dangerous in-between, just like the freckles that would always set him off as neither one nor the other.

  Whatever happens next, nothing will ever be the same for him.

  20

  ENNIS

  THE VEGA FAMILY breakfast table held an oppressive silence broken only by the scrape of utensils against enamel. Fabricated morning light filtered through the panoramic windows of their Level 197 suite, casting the dining area in a cold, pristine glow.

  “Today will be remembered in our history,” Roe announced, breaking the tension with predictable enthusiasm. At fourteen, he had mastered the art of reading his father’s expectations. “The Council will finally understand what you’ve been saying all along.”

  Ennis nodded, pleased with his eldest son’s perception.

  “Indeed. The Breath has guided us to this moment of clarity. The evidence we present will be irrefutable.”

  Klora poured more moc-java into her cup, her movements precise yet timid.

  “The Council can be unpredictable, husband. Best to prepare for resistance.”

  Her words carried no malice, yet Ennis detected a subtle note of caution. His wife had grown reserved in recent days, her support manifesting as polished diplomacy rather than conviction.

  “Councilor Nesbitt and the other tender hearts will object, of course,” Ennis said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “She lacks vision beyond her quarterly economic projections.”

  “But you’ll convince them,” Roe insisted. “You always do.”

  Ennis turned to his younger son.

  “And what do you think, Ren?”

  The ten-year-old boy stiffened, fork suspended above his plate. His eyes darted toward his mother before answering.

  “I think ... the Council will see the truth, Father.”

  The words emerged rehearsed, hollow. Ennis frowned. Twice this week he’d found the boy sleepwalking toward his study, as if drawn to the Whisper like a borefly to flame. The child’s sensitivity troubled him.

  “Truth requires courage to acknowledge,” Ennis said, studying his son’s downcast eyes. “Remember that, Ren.”

  Klora intervened.

  “He’s still learning, Ennis. We all are.”

  “Some learn faster than others.” He readjusted his gloves for a more seamless fit. “The Breath rewards those who act decisively.”

  Roe beamed with admiration.

  “Will you tell us tonight how it went? The full account?”

  “If all goes as planned, the entire Southern Platte will be discussing it.” Ennis allowed himself a thin smile. “The Pivot approaches.”

  Klora’s cup paused midway to her lips.

  “Is that what you’re calling it now?”

  “History requires proper nomenclature.” He checked the time on his tagger. “Pietro should be waiting for me. I must refresh the evidence again.”

  When he stood, the family followed suit, but Ren spoke out of his usual turn.

  “What if they’re not all bad?” The boy did not meet his father’s eyes. “The Blends, I mean.”

  The room froze. Roe gaped at his brother in horror.

  Ennis did not have time for this.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing, Father. I misspoke.”

  Ren’s face paled.

  “No. Repeat yourself.”

  “I just meant ... in school, they taught us about Blend technicians who fixed the air systems during the Second Crisis of Resettlement.”

  Ennis approached his son, placing a hand on his shoulder that appeared gentle but gripped with warning.

  “The history they teach in school is incomplete. The Crisis would never have happened if natural order had been maintained.” His voice softened to a dangerous whisper. “We’ll discuss your education in-depth tonight.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Good.” Ennis straightened, addressing the table. “Today, the Southern Platte takes its first step toward restoration. Remember this morning. It precedes greatness.”

  He left without looking back, the taste of impending victory sharp on his tongue.

  ***

  Ennis strode through the upper corridors of Trequin, his suit tailored for today. Mo Ralles outdid himself with the fine lines and cuts. Aides and officials parted before him, sensing the energy pulsating from the Unified Council’s current holder of the gavel.

  His tagger vibrated. Captain Morran’s identifier flashed across the small screen. Ennis ducked into a private alcove overlooking the vast central atrium of Trequin.

  “I trust you’re calling with the status of the raid,” Ennis said without a greeting.

  “There’s been a complication.” Morran’s voice carried the strained tone of a man delivering unwelcome news to a superior, though in normal practice he owed no allegiance to a councilor. “Dubai has filed a legal petition to appear at the public intake.”

  Ennis went still.

  “Outrageous. On what grounds?”

  “This man, he’s clever. More than any Blend I know.”

  “Explain yourself, Captain.”

  “I assume you’re familiar with the Global Shield of Rights.”