Another quick vote was passed out, but this one seemed different. The councilmen and women looked nervous, and not only because they were in the presence of someone who could ferret out their deepest, darkest secrets in five minutes of casual conversation.

  That was the rumor, anyway.

  Something else had them unsettled. It had been on their faces before he walked in.

  He didn’t need to hear about the dangers of what he was facing, the grave consequences of word getting out, or any warnings of what would happen if he failed. He didn’t care. He was an adjudicator, and he took his job seriously. Not because he wanted the NAC to stand above the rest of the planet but because it was his job.

  They’d spent many hours plumbing the depths of his mind to find out why. The names for his condition had been plentiful and laden with red flags. Nothing that would have imperiled his chances as a candidate. Yet his superiors still watched his every step.

  He’d never given them cause for concern. He enjoyed his work and found fulfillment in it. He saw no need to dress it up in bells and whistles. Which was why he wished they would get to the mission.

  It was serious. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have called the meeting.

  Summerland Sky City faced a thousand daily problems. Between the gravitium failing and the possibility of the city falling from the sky, they would always have issues for him to resolve, and he did. By hook or by crook, he always got the job done.

  This seemed no different from every other situation the CCS presented to him.

  Which begged the question, why the hell was the vote taking so long? Did they want another adjudicator sent in his place? They only had juniors available on short notice. If they wanted to swing their dicks around to take another adjudicator off his or her case when they already had one on hand, the chief would receive unwarranted political clout.

  He assumed this was why they all ended up voting yes. He wasn’t necessarily the one they wanted to lead the mission.

  They turned their attention back to him.

  “There are times when the common citizen in our city can arise to make a difference in the world around them.” The Speaker nodded at the soft clap from the assembled council members. “These citizens have performed admirably. They developed gravitium, which allowed us to raise our cities from the dying world below. Yet some cases call for such extraordinary citizens to make themselves known, even if they are better used to operating in the shadows.”

  Anselm admirably refrained from rolling his eyes. He’d hoped they would finish the speeches before he entered. It would have explained why they’d called him in so late.

  He was bored. He found the pomp and ceremony tedious.

  “However, the world below, which we have properly abandoned, is necessary for our survival until we master our travels among the stars.” The Speaker had droned on for much longer than she needed to, but that sentence caught his attention. It sounded like they wanted him to head to the planet.

  His jurisdiction was in the city itself. Sending him to the god-forsaken surface would break conventions set forth at the founding of Summerland. That didn’t mean they’d never tried this, but he would have to take it seriously.

  Anselm had never been on a mission down there. Those who had were forbidden to speak of it through the same confidentiality oaths the Speaker imposed on him in her roundabout way. Rumors claimed a network of spies inhabited the surface, and they used a brass ring.

  As if they were the ones who could read minds, the device appeared in the well with him, suspended in a wire cradle. The brass ring was rare, and its use was rarer still. He’d never seen one. He’d only heard rumors spread through the Agency, and he tended not to believe them.

  While the idea of the brass ring seemed feasible, he couldn’t work out facts until he saw it in front of him. People talked about it but never put it forward for good use. Most of the bleeding hearts in Summerland claimed such a device should never be used.

  They did want him to go to the surface. Interesting.

  The Speaker continued about a point he’d missed while his mind wandered. “As you have agreed, no words spoken here are to be shared. Any insinuation of the mission you are about to undertake will be viewed as an act of sedition if not willful treason. Do I make myself clear, Senior Adjudicator?”

  They stared down at him like they expected him to crack under the pressure.

  Anselm maintained his position. “You do, Speaker Cairo.”

  They wanted a reaction. Expected it. When no such response appeared, a few members of the council whispered. It was too late to back off now, but they were clearly thinking up excuses that would exculpate them if something went wrong.

  The Speaker nodded and referred to her notes. “Once you are on the surface, you will need to track a human down. A technological specialist who will help diagnose our gravitium problems and keep us up in the sky.”

  He’d definitely missed something in the conversation. Then again, he had no technological knowledge. If there was a problem with the gravitium, it was best he didn’t try to understand it. No point in spreading that panic.

  “Do we have any intelligence on this human?” A simple question. Not many humans remained on the surface. Finding one among the mutes should be easy. “A name, location, anything like that?”

  It might not be wise to treat this like a regular case. He could probably complain to his superior to avoid being sent down there. However, opportunities to see what was on the surface were slim.

  Once again, the Speaker checked her notes. “All intelligence will be transferred over your link before the end of the day. As far as we know, this human is known as Clairvoyant. This is assumed to be a nickname. They are known to be located in the city of New Houston.”

  It didn’t sound like much. If a network of spies operated on the surface, they weren’t doing a good job. Then again, with no adjudicators working down there, he doubted they could accomplish much. Dodging mutes all day and dealing with the infestations at night had to take up most of their time.

  Anselm tried not to let rumors and superstitions guide his thoughts. It interfered with the logical processes allowing him to do his work. No one in the elevated cities knew what waited on the surface. Although, like most humans, he wasn’t immune to the prejudices.

  “Please note this Clairvoyant must cooperate willingly,” the Speaker added.

  Anselm raised an eyebrow. “I can get them to cooperate.”

  One of the representatives stood. “No! There is no room for error. If the Clairvoyant is to be trusted, they must be willing. Not coerced.”

  That complicated matters. It wasn’t impossible, and he thought he was better at wooing than most. Coercing was faster and as reliable as he needed it to be. If the situation was as dire as they said, someone coerced into something they didn’t understand would be tempted to let sabotage slip in under the radar.

  He was supposed to say something. They waited for him to offer his commitment to the mission. Anselm didn’t like the way they studied him. Less suspicious now and more desperate. They feared him, but they feared something else more.

  Not the best look for people who were supposed to be in charge of the city.

  Anselm nervously watched the ring in front of him. The interior needles were primed to sample him for security coding purposes like all the water-cooler talk said the bronze ring would.

  It didn’t look like a pleasant experience. Anselm refused to let his hesitation show, but he was slow to approach the device.

  Words! He was supposed to offer prosaic words. He blanked on what to say.

  The Speaker coughed politely to remind him it was his turn. Anselm spotted instructions written on the ring, telling him how to operate it. He’d never been a fan of needles, but he would die before admitting that or revealing it to anyone present.

  He slowly positioned his index finger in front of the ring.

  “I...ah, yeah. I give my blood in oath to Summerland, its people, its prosperity, and its purity.”

  With that said, he pushed his finger in.

  The needles bit into his skin close to the knuckle. Some collected skin cell samples. Others went deeper for his blood.

  The two at the bottom dug farther, pushing into the bone for a marrow sample. It would have been enough to send other people into shock from the pain. Yet he’d been through the adjudicator trials, which skewed his pain tolerance. He clenched his jaw but showed no other sign of discomfort.

  If it was the bronze ring, which it practically had to be, it would allow him to access resources on the surface and the hidden NAC network of safehouses and supply caches. Assuming any were left. It would also allow him to coordinate with the embedded agents. Most of those had gone native, so there was no point relying on them. The last thing he needed was an agent-turned-sucker capable of dismantling their painstaking subterfuge on the surface.

  Besides, most surface folks would be happy to help if they were offered citizenship in an elevated city. Whoever this Clairvoyant was, he only had to find them, make the offer, and send them up.

  Didn’t need an adjudicator for that shit. Except, they apparently did.

  He was brought back to the moment when the ring chirped softly to confirm his identity and position and the fact he was clean. It dissolved after that was done. The process of the nanites that made up the ring entering his bloodstream was familiar, but it was fascinating to watch it happen in person.

  Slightly less fascinating when it happened to him. It burned like the Scourge and tore a gasp of surprise from him, but it was a quick process. They would be there, ready to be summoned at a moment’s notice to confirm his identity when needed. Until then, they would remain hidden. Dissolved into his body through the scratchy pricks they’d created.

  Anselm scowled and rubbed the spot. The pricks weren’t thick enough to allow any blood through, although they would itch like hell for the next few days.

  “Are you ready to serve the brightest jewel of the Network of the Ascended Cities?” The Speaker somehow looked less sure of her choice now than before the ringing. That or she’d voiced her concerns to the council and had witnessed them disproven in front of them. For all their long speeches about unity, they liked to bicker among themselves.

  “I am.”

  He turned and left the chamber’s well before he could be caught up in any further theatrical rituals. He’d done everything legally required of him. He’d vocally agreed to confidentiality and to serve in the manner the council had demanded.

  Anything else was a waste of his time. Only three shuttles ran down to New Houston each day. If he missed the midday one, he would be stuck finding his own accommodations for his first day on the ground. That wasn’t acceptable. Besides, he needed to maintain a semblance of mystery around the Agency. Even to those who supposedly knew more about it.

  On top of that, if he remained, they would witness an anxious, confused adjudicator for the first time. No point in giving them ammunition to throw at the chief.

  Moving without delay was the best way to steer clear of the uncertain jumble of feelings twisting through his stomach. He caught the next ride to the adjudicator center, already having assigned himself a spot on the midday shuttle to the ground.

  The assignation would immediately send word to his superiors, pinging them about the council’s instructions before they contacted the chief regarding why they’d appropriated an adjudicator. He couldn’t talk about it, but his superiors were smart. They’d understand what he was up to.

  Three adjudicators waited for him when he arrived at the building. The chief wasn’t present, but these three wouldn’t have come down to meet him if word hadn’t spread.

  “Anselm.” SA Addams spoke first. The SAs were equals, but veterans like Addams were first among equals. “Heard they were sending you down to the surface. How are you feeling about that?”

  Anselm shrugged. He hadn’t wanted to show emotions to the politicians, but his fellow adjudicators picked up on everything. They knew he was nervous and unsettled, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

  “Decided to toss you in the deep end of the surface world, did they?” SA Russet was closer to his position among the seniors, but she’d seen more high-profile work over the past year or so.

  “It’s all deep end down there.” Anselm raised an eyebrow when all three followed him through the hallways of the building. “Why did the chief send you down to me? Don’t you have more important business to deal with?”

  “We do.” The third, SA Devon, was the oldest and also the one who’d been an adjudicator for the shortest time. He and Anselm had joined from the same class, though Devon was fifteen years his senior. He’d been in the Air Force for a decade before he considered joining. “The chief sent us to give you pointers about your trip to the bottom. Thought you might need it. What’s the job, anyway?”

  “If you three have been down there, you know I can’t share details.” Anselm smirked when he reached his locker. “I’m going to assume that was a test.”

  “If you like.” Addams scowled at him. “You’ll need to be careful down there. The rust is in the air. Breathe in too much of it, and you’ll end up going native like Besson.”

  “Who’s Besson?”

  “We don’t talk about Besson,” all three answered in unison.

  “Right.” Anselm shook his head. “Is that all you’re doing here? Mocking me for having to go down there like you did?”

  “You have to watch yourself.” Russet patted his arm. “You’ll be popping your cherry on the surface. You need to be careful who you do it with.”

  “You’re just pissed I won’t be doing it with you.” He winked and shrugged her hand off. He didn’t want to put a fine point on it, but their teasing had reached another level he didn’t want to address. Not due to a lack of interest, only a lack of time.

  “Well, be safe.” She winked when the other two lost interest and returned to their work. “You’ll want to avoid tasting the mute females. The best stuff is up here.”

  “Speaking from experience, are we?” Anselm grinned, and she laughed as she wandered away.

  He’d never been sure what the redhead wanted from him. Never been able to figure her out. It seemed like harmless workplace flirtation. Yet one could never be sure when dealing with people who’d been trained to hide their emotional responses while ferreting the same out in others.

  Anselm shook his head. Workplace flirtation was one thing. If they ever became anything more, things would get more complicated than the chief liked. Since Anselm was unofficially the junior adjudicator, he would be transferred to another elevated city.

  Something to avoid. He had his issues with Summerland, but he’d been to the other cities. He had more issues with them.

  He was limited in what he could take to the surface. Weight restrictions, as well as avoiding any items that would peg him as an adjudicator, hindered his choices, but he included general-purpose equipment in his pack.

  He’d always been good at fitting his life into small compartments. The Agency had issued him a small apartment, but he’d never so much as bothered to replace the furniture it came with to make it his own. He slept in the bed and watched the Overlink channels on the devices provided to him, but it never was home. Home was wherever he happened to sleep on a given night before heading off to the next job. Another item of interest that came up in his psyche evals but wasn’t important to his superiors.

  Anselm bore the glares from the general populace as he was escorted to the front of the shuttle line. They didn’t want to go down there, and they hated waiting while a public servant was ferried ahead. Not that any of them would raise an issue with him. The few who met his gaze didn’t hold it for long. If they saw his badge hidden carefully under layers of protective garments, they would scramble to get out of his way. They hated adjudicators the same way they hated mutes.

  He sat at the front and closed his eyes as the passengers boarded. The constant bombardment of information whenever he was around people was great for his line of work but uncomfortable. Like they were all shouting their personal and intimate details nonstop, and he had no way to tell them to shut the fuck up.

  After a few minutes of listening to the safety instructions, he popped a pair of earbuds in place. Blessed quiet. If only for the half an hour until they reached New Houston, it was worth it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing down there?”

  Clare peeked out from under the generator she was working on. People needed to stop questioning her skills when they called her for help at all hours of the day or night.

  “You see that hoist over here?” She brushed a few strands of bright red hair from her face. Her grease-coated hands would smudge her hair and face, but that was inevitable in her line of work.

  Maxwell, the owner of the store, turned to the device she’d rigged to hold the generator off the ground so she could get under it. “Yes.”

  “That rig can hold up to eight tons of machinery. I built it myself from scraps. This generator is three tons and change. Less than the top figures for the hoist but more than enough to squish me flat. You wouldn’t have the time to step in and help. I’m sitting under a brace that would cut me in half the moment my hoist fails. Do you think I would be under this generator held up by my hoist if I didn’t have complete and utter trust in my capabilities?”

  He shrugged. “Well, if you put it tha—”

  “Now that we’ve established I know what I’m doing with hoists, do you think I’d be under three tons of a centuries-old generator, risking life and limb to get it fixed, if I didn’t trust the work I can do?”

  “Fine, fine, fine.” Maxwell shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you’re worried about your generator, but you called me because I’ve done good work for you in the past. And you wouldn’t have called me in the past if others hadn’t recommended my work.”