That evening, Maddox, Dylan, and I made our way down from the Citadel, heading for Greenery 13. By random chance, both Dreyfuss and Plancett were there at that exact moment. Dreyfuss because he lived there with his daughter, and Plancett because it was time to harvest the wheat and corn they had spent the last few months producing.

Greenery 13—Biggins, as it was called—resided on the 135^th level of the shell and required us to exit the Citadel and enter the shell to hitch a ride up. We emerged on a wide catwalk, where a line of green-clad workers were pulling or pushing wagons full of grain to the large service elevators, for distribution to the different departments. And though it was harvest season, the catwalks were awash with people moving this way and that, in the normal chaos of activity. Only the line remained uninterrupted, people keeping their distance so as not to interfere with workers doing their duties.

The three of us slipped into the stream of people and made our way toward the massive doors with the small, portly man painted over them. He was wearing a cheeky grin, which carved a massive dimple out of one cheek. I knew him as Caleb Biggins—the hero and namesake of Greenery 13—but couldn’t remember what he had done to get so famous.

The area in front of the greenery was packed with vendors, all of them selling baked goods. Already I could smell bread in the air. The promise of getting a warm slice with a pat of salted butter melting into it was so tantalizing that I almost considered stopping at the first stall I saw. Almost.

As the catwalk neared the wall of the greenery, the crowd of people naturally turned left to head toward the door, leading us to the stalls that were set up in front of the massive metal doors. We followed the sea of people until they slowly separated into rivers, and then trickled into streams, heading down this aisle or that in search of specific items on their shopping lists.

The largest throng of people were workers in green, returning from their deliveries, and we fell into line with them as they progressed down a central aisle toward the greenery doors.

The doors were fully open today, revealing a wide walkway that bridged the span of the shell and ended in yet another door, this one also open. I could hear the sounds of machines and workers calling to each other echoing through the wide-open space, but kept walking forward, toward the doors.

Inside, the machines used for separating the wheat from the chaff had been set up in several rows, and workers were operating them in sets of three, one man turning it on and off, the others hauling baskets up a small ladder to deposit them at the top of a chute. The machines whirred endlessly, spitting out small grains and dust while depositing the husks in the now-empty buckets placed off to the side, and adjusted by the man who was in charge of powering the machine. Several foremen—marked by yellow helmets—walked among them, barking orders. The Hands we were with headed directly for them, but I veered left, knowing from experience that the apartments for this floor were accessed by a door in the tunnel.

Sure enough, I spotted the door and control panel off to the left, and angled toward it, confident that Maddox and Dylan were behind me. Stopping at the door, I quickly pressed the button, and waited. My net began to buzz as the scanners set to work, and I waited patiently for the process to start and finish.

“Champion Liana Castell,” an automated male voice announced. “Authorized entry granted. Have a pleasant day.”

“Thanks,” I said as the door slid open, revealing a narrow series of stairs heading down. I followed them for two floors, and then opened a door at the end of them and entered the apartment floor. The apartment floor of each greenery took up an entire block of the shell and contained some of my favorite apartments in the Tower. They were always colorful and tended to have shelves filled with plants and plaques describing what the plant was and how to care for it. The lights were bright, enhanced with UV for the plants, and doors were almost always open, neighbors acting like family members.

I followed the signs to the nearest elevator station and took it down to the bottom floor, where the internal leads of the department lived. Dreyfuss’s daughter, Rachelle, was a head boss of Greenery 13, which afforded her the space to take her father in after he retired. This was where we’d find him.

The elevator slowed to a stop, revealing a long passage with doors on either side. I walked forward, following the numbers and stopping when I came to 135-5-D. I pressed the call button before I could start getting anxious about it.

Only then did I let some nervousness creep in. We were here to secretly steal some of his DNA to run it against the samples Dylan had collected, and there was a one-in-three chance that he was the father of a group of thirty or so undocs. I had to treat this delicately, because if we tipped him off, or he even got a glimmer of what we were up to, he’d notify the legacy group and we’d lose any chance of finding them.

Luckily, I had a cover story ready. I just prayed it would be enough to explain our presence here in a believable fashion. If he was who I suspected he was, he would still be suspicious—but also, I hoped, overconfident in how hidden he had been for the last twenty-five years.

The door slid open, an elderly man in his late fifties standing behind it. His face matched the picture we had on file, which meant I was looking at former Knight Elite Jathem Dreyfuss. His blond hair was mixed with gray and white, but his blue eyes were sharp.

“Champion Castell,” he said, a confused smile coming on his face. “I wasn’t expecting you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Greetings, former Knight Elite Dreyfuss,” I replied, forcing a smile of my own onto my face. “I’m sorry for stopping by without calling first, but truthfully, my schedule is never consistent these days, so setting an appointment for something like this is a little tricky.”

“Something like what?” he asked, cocking his head at me.

I smiled. He hadn’t made a move to let us in yet, and we needed to get in so that one of us could surreptitiously remove something with his DNA on it, for testing. “I wanted to see how you were faring with retirement and see if I could talk you into coming back to the Knights,” I told him. “But it’ll be easier to talk about it inside.”

The old man blinked in surprise, and then nodded. “Of course,” he said, taking a step aside. “Please come in.”

I moved past him and entered a wide living area decorated tastefully with a dark blue sofa and a few small chairs on either side, with a small table set in front of it. A potted plant sat in the middle of it, the wide, waxy leaves telling me it was there for oxygen production. A kitchen was behind it, larger than the ones in the Knight Commanders’ quarters, the counter acting as the divider between the two rooms. A hallway opened up opposite the front door, presumably leading to the bedrooms.

There were dozens of possible sources of DNA in the house, but we had to be certain we got the right sample. He was living with his daughter, and while having her DNA would help implicate him, having his was the best way to know for certain.

Dreyfuss stepped past us, his arm already held out toward the sofas. “Have a seat, please.”

“Thank you,” I said. I moved over and took a single chair with my back to the wall, while Dylan perched next to me on the couch. Only Maddox remained standing, and I could tell by her “nervous” fidgeting that she was going to start the plan right now—by faking the need to use his facilities. The bathroom was the best place to find genetic material, and we were all hoping that Maddox could grab something simple, like some hairs from a brush. Anything that wouldn’t be missed. “Kerrin?” I asked, using her last name.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said apologetically, and it was all I could do not to smile. “Sir, may I use your bathroom?”

It was the best excuse we’d been able to think of. Dreyfuss gave her a surprised look, and then nodded. “Of course. Second door on the right.”

“Thank you.” Maddox ducked her head at him while making a beeline toward the hallway, looking for all the world like a girl whose bladder was about to explode. I kept my face neutral, and then smiled brightly at Dreyfuss when he looked at me.

“So what can I do for you, ma’am?” he asked, taking a seat in the chair opposite mine.

“Actually, it was what I was hoping we could do for each other.” I kept my words vague intentionally, trying to drag the conversation out to give Maddox time to get something to test.

“Oh? What would that be?”

“First, let me ask: Are you satisfied working as a vendor?”

He blinked in surprise at my sudden shift in the conversation, and then settled back in his chair. “I have no complaints,” he said carefully. “I’m sure you saw that my retirement from the Knights wasn’t entirely by choice. I have arthritis in my knees and shoulders from lash work, and two compressed vertebrae in my back. The Medica deemed me unfit for the physical labor of the department, and I was retired.”

I nodded sympathetically. “I did read that in your file, sir. And, please be assured, I’m not asking you to resume your duties or anything like that. But it seems several of our instructors in the Academy are up for retirement, and your name was suggested by one of the other Knight Commanders as a possible replacement.”

“Which one?” he asked curiously. I noted the gleam of interest in his eyes and replied with my prepared lie.

“My father, actually.” I had done my research, anticipating his question, and had learned that he had served under my father in his final two years before retirement. I had considered going to my father and asking about it, but I hadn’t spoken to him since the funeral, and certainly didn’t intend to start now.

He gave a surprised laugh. “Really? I didn’t think he thought much of me. I was already slowing down because of my injuries, and that prompted him to put me at a desk, filing reports.”

“That might be why he thought of you, actually,” I said with a polite cough. “We need a class on writing reports for some of the cadets who are coming through. I’ve noticed that in the last few years or so, reports filed by younger Knights tend to be incomplete, or told in a biased tone that I wouldn’t want anyone in the Tower to see, let alone associate with the Knights. No one seems to be teaching practical writing, and the younger generation is suffering.”

Dreyfuss frowned. “You want me to be an instructor, to teach… report writing?”

I nodded solemnly. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but you’d be helping future Knights become more efficient at their jobs.”

He seemed to consider that for several moments, and I was content to let him, my eyes drifting to a point just over his shoulder where the hallway sat, as I waited for Maddox to emerge. She hadn’t been gone for even a minute, but the conversation wasn’t intended to go on that long anyway, lest we rouse any suspicions. Of course, if she didn’t find anything, then we were in a world of hurt, but we’d cross that bridge if we came to it.

It was nerve-wracking, nonetheless.

“I’ll need to talk it over with my daughter,” he said finally, jerking my gaze back to him. “I think she likes having me around and wouldn’t want me moving back to the Citadel.”

“You wouldn’t have to, if you didn’t want to,” I told him, and he gave me a surprised look.

“You wouldn’t worry about one of your Knights living outside of the Citadel?”

“Of course I would,” I breathed, my eyes flicking over his head as Maddox emerged from the shadows of the hall. Relief bled through me as she patted her pocket and gave me a thumbs-up before walking toward us. “But we could make it work. I encourage you to think it over and discuss it with your daughter before you make a decision. If you have any questions, you can send a message to Lieutenant Kerrin.” I nodded toward her as she came around his chair.

“Thank you,” she gushed, a relieved note in her voice. “And yes, please don’t hesitate to message.”

“Of course,” he said politely, slowly coming to his feet.

I rose to mine as well, Dylan following suit, and went around the table to shake his hand, offering him my most winning smile. “I hope to hear from you soon, either way.”

“I will talk it over with my daughter tonight, and send you my decision tomorrow,” he informed me, returning my firm squeeze with one of his own. “But thank you for your consideration. I’m honored.”

“No, the honor is mine,” I lied to him. “Have a great day.”

* * *

We emerged from the elevator a few minutes later and returned to the main harvesting area, moving through the chaffing machines to the fields beyond, now intent on finding the head of the Hands, Emmanuel Plancett. We knew he was somewhere on the floor, monitoring the harvest, but to find out where exactly, I had to put a call in to Jasper so he could use Cornelius’s link to central command to locate his net through the sensors.

We made our way through the paths cut in the long, tall stalks of wheat, staying strictly there to avoid getting picked up by one of the machines as they made their way across the floor. Dust filled the air as the large harvesters worked at pulling the wheat from the ground, making the men and machines shadows against the light above.

I cupped my hand over my mouth as we moved toward one large shadow. Harvester Four was apparently down, according to Cornelius’s report, and Plancett and two of his men were there working on it. It was easy to see which one it was, as the others had continued their line of advance, eating up dozens of feet of vegetation at a time and leaving behind neat, mowed-down areas. I waited until we had passed one of the noisy machines before stepping off the path and stalking across the uneven ground toward the tall shadows of wheat barely visible in the dust. I paused when those stalks stopped being shadows, and then followed the line of them back, heading for the long dark shadow of the harvester some forty feet ahead.

I came to a full stop at the corner, using the vegetation for cover. I still hadn’t figured out how I was going to approach this, but waiting and watching seemed like a good start. We needed DNA from him, but getting it without cluing him in was going to be harder than it had been with Dreyfuss. If we could do it without being seen, that would be ideal, but if I had to come up with a reason to draw him into conversation, I would.

Plancett was some fifty feet away, his back to the crops. He was on one knee with a wrench the size of my forearm in one hand, slowly rotating a bolt on the black machine. The muscles of his biceps flexed, and he grunted loudly as he detached the wrench, reoriented it, and connected it again. I could barely see one of his assistants, working at the opposite end of the bulky machine, but could tell from the way he kept turning to one side that the other one was next to him.

Though it was evening, the lights above were still on the daytime setting, making the room as warm as it would be during the day. And as I watched, Plancett reached into the back pocket of his coveralls and produced a handkerchief to mop at the sweat that was accumulating on his brow and neck. A moment later, he tucked it back away.

As soon as he made the motion, I zeroed in on it and smiled, slowly withdrawing behind the crops and turning to the other two. “He’s got a handkerchief,” I told them. “Back left pocket. He’s been using it to dry his sweat.”

“That’s perfect,” Dylan said, her eyes gleaming. “I’ll go get it.”

“What?” I said. “No, it should be me.”

Dylan smirked. “No, it should be me. You said these guys know that you’re an enemy. If he turns around and sees you stealing it, he’s going to know something’s up. If it’s me, I might be able to play it off.”

I hesitated. She made a really good point. Dammit. “All right. But be careful.”

She nodded, and then began creeping down the gap in the wheat, turning sideways to keep from rustling too many of the leaves as she went. I held my breath while she walked away, discomforted by the fact that we had just finished bringing her up to speed on everything except for Scipio and the fragments, and now I was letting her turn around and risk getting caught by someone we knew was one of Sadie’s allies.

I watched her for as long as I could before she disappeared behind the vegetation, and then slid out past Maddox, to see what Plancett was up to. He was standing now, both arms lifted high over his head as he stretched his lower back. The handkerchief—blue-and-white microfiber—hung like a beacon from his back pocket, scant inches way from a stalk of wheat.

He emitted a long groan, and then bent over to start gathering up his tools. I realized then that he was done, and that any second he would be moving out of there. Which meant that any second after that, the harvester would come back on—and Dylan could be sucked right into the machine.

My fingers twitched at the thought and I lifted up my arm, about to call to Dylan to forget the whole thing, when I saw a crimson-clad arm shoot out of the vegetation, grab the blue-and-white corner dangling from Plancett’s pocket, and lift it straight out. I stood stock still, waiting for Plancett to notice, but he continued to gather his tools and toss them into a heavy black bag, oblivious.

A few moments later I heard the rustle of leaves that signaled Dylan’s return, the handkerchief gripped tightly in her hand.

“Here,” Maddox whispered, looking over her shoulder before holding up a specimen bag. Dylan dropped the handkerchief inside, and Maddox quickly sealed it up and tucked it into her pocket. “Two down, one to go,” she whispered, patting her pocket.

I nodded and waved at them both to follow me back into the dust cloud, wanting to hurry away before Plancett finished his packing and noticed us. We couldn’t afford anyone noticing us close to him as it could alert the legacies that we potentially knew they were working with him. I wouldn’t feel safe until I was off this floor and back in the Citadel.