BLAST STRENGTH: CONSIDERABLE. LIKELY NUMBER OF casualties: high. Law enforcement will already be on alert and en route.

Abel’s brain does the calculations while the flare is still expanding. As the humans sprawl on the floor, shock waves send ripples through the station framework. His sensitive ears pick up the screams of frightened, injured people even through the explosion’s roar. And while those around him can only panic, his mind ruthlessly turns to his first priorities.

His primary objective is his commander. Abel must protect Noemi and get her out of here immediately. A soldier of Genesis cannot be found anywhere near a terrorist attack.

He looks around the crowd of staggering, shrieking humans until he sees Noemi—clutching her side, breathing hard, wide-eyed with astonishment, but unharmed. She’s safe. Abel grabs her arm and tows her to her feet. “We have to go!” he shouts, knowing her hearing will be dulled in the explosion’s aftermath.

Noemi looks somewhat dazed, but she pulls herself together faster than any of the others. She glances left—toward Harriet and Zayan, who huddle together on the floor bewildered but uninjured—for only an instant before she starts to run.

Abel matches her speed as they race away from the Vagabond party, back toward the cargo areas of Wayland Station. He could run considerably faster than this and for far longer, but he must stay by Noemi’s side to protect her no matter what.

If Mansfield had foreseen this, he could’ve arranged Abel’s priorities to let him escape on his own. Abel could easily reach the Daedalus before Noemi and fly away free. Instead he’s tethered to her more surely than if their wrists were handcuffed together.

And yet, leaving her behind doesn’t seem like such a tempting idea in this moment. Noemi Vidal is, as he decided the night before, not unpleasant. She is a girl far from home, trying to save her world any way she knows how.

How could he leave her here to be captured, or even to die?

Logic would dictate that the farther they get from the explosion, the calmer the situation should be. But this is not a logical event. If Wayland Station was crowded before, now it’s pure mayhem. Hundreds of workers and travelers dash and shove in a dozen different directions—some fleeing for their lives, others trying to help the survivors of the explosion…

… or gawk at them. Many people have recording devices in their hands or strapped to their arms. This sort of footage could command high prices, as Abel remembers from his early years on Earth. But Abel finds it hard to comprehend that humans don’t share the same directives he does. That their innermost beings don’t demand that they help protect one another’s lives. Shouldn’t that matter to a human even more than it does to a mech?

Some aspects of humanity were programmed very badly.

Noemi has regained her stability and is once again reacting like a soldier. “Should we grab air canisters?” she yells over the din, gesturing toward red emergency boxes near the doors.

“No time,” Abel shouts back. “And no point. If Wayland Station loses atmospheric pressure, we’ll explode long before we could suffocate.”

“You’re really bad at comforting people!” But Noemi smiles as she says it, a flash of humor amid the fray.

The moment doesn’t last long. Hovercraft flashing emergency lights in red and yellow steak overhead through the corridors, the screech of their engines at an even higher pitch than the screams of the crowd. Abel identifies them as medical craft, but law enforcement won’t be far behind.

“They’ll close takeoffs within minutes,” he calls to Noemi.

“I know.” Noemi elbows a gawker out of the way and keeps pushing through the throng. “Can we make it out in time?”

“We can try.” Much depends on the efficiency and thoroughness of the Kismet officials. He and Noemi not only have to take off without being detained but also travel through the Gate between Kismet and Cray before being spotted. Surely the Gates will be patrolled soon—but if he and Noemi can take off for the Cray Gate faster than the authorities, they’ll be able to make it through.

Otherwise, they’ll be captured. Even if Noemi isn’t identified as a Genesis soldier, everyone attempting to flee will be considered a suspect in the explosions. Abel predicts that law enforcement here will be swift, punitive, and likely to punish the innocent along with the guilty.

Which only applies to Noemi, of course. When the officials learn who and what Abel is, they will return him to Mansfield.…

It doesn’t matter. He can’t let Noemi be captured.

The farther into the station they run, the more they’re surrounded by gaudy signs, blinking holograms, and images of Fox and Peter mechs arching their backs and hips to simulate the postures of sex. The scents of sweat, alcohol, and inhalant hallucinogens are thick in the air. A few holoscreens still broadcast the defiant words WE ARE NOT EARTH PROPERTY—until they go dark all at once, pitching the entire station into blackness save for dim emergency lighting near the floors. People begin to panic, shrieking in the unfamiliar space, no longer sure where to go. One of them shoves between Abel and Noemi, and for a moment he thinks the crowd will tow her away into bedlam. But she struggles back to his side. He grabs her hand as insurance that they won’t be torn apart again.

She turns her face toward him, looking so stricken that he nearly lets go and apologizes for touching her. But that isn’t it. She yells, “We have to get the T-7 anx—we can’t go anywhere without—”

Her voice breaks off as a Charlie mech accosts them, wearing station security tags. “You are attempting to access launching areas. This is prohibited during lockdown. Please submit your identification.”

They could try to bluff their way through this, but what’s the point? Abel simply grabs the Charlie by the shoulders and shoves him away, not bothering to check his mech strength. The Charlie, caught off guard, flies back nearly two meters before slamming into a nearby beer kiosk and collapsing in a mess of suds and foam. Normally people would stop and stare, but in the mayhem, nobody even notices.

The Charlie itself sits up, but jerkily, clearly broken. Its pupils dilate as it says in a damaged, metallic voice, “Unidentified mech. Transmitting specs for further analysis.”

Hopefully the authorities will be too busy to worry about any unidentified mechs. Abel tugs Noemi closer. “Are you all right?”

“I can’t believe you threw off a Charlie like that.” She breathes, then shakes her head, collecting herself. “I was saying that we don’t have the T-7 anx and we can’t risk going through another Gate without one, can we?”

“No. Fortunately, law enforcement is very busy at the moment. We have an ideal opportunity for some petty crime.”

Whatever qualms Noemi might’ve had about stealing appear to have vanished. “Come on—let’s move.”

Genesis must train its soldiers well, because Noemi never slows her pace as they run the considerable distance back to the warehouse areas, despite the ominous dark corridors and damaged cables hanging from the ceiling. Abel remains beside her, subtly guiding their way back, ready to knock aside any obstacles, whether inanimate, mech, or human. After the first few minutes, the crowd finally thins—people have had time to run close or run away—and the warehouse areas of Wayland Station are all but deserted.

“You memorized the whole station’s layout?” Noemi says, apparently slightly amazed to find themselves in the right place amid the chaos.

“Downloaded it.” Abel shrugs. “For me, there’s no difference.”

“Amazing.”

Abel may not be perfect at interpreting human emotions, but he’s almost certain that wasn’t sarcastic. Noemi spoke out of genuine admiration.

He’s proud to have proved himself to her, but why? Noemi Vidal is his destroyer. She will be the cause of his death. Her opinion shouldn’t matter. It will of course be easier to deal with her from now on because she’ll finally listen to him—but he doesn’t think that’s it.

Irrelevant.

They dash into the warehouse section of the base, which is even more deserted than Abel’s most optimistic projections. However, the emergency lighting is sparse—only the faintest glow of light at the base of each wall illuminates the area. He adjusts his optical input, images pixelating until they resolve into clear night vision. Noemi puts one hand on his shoulder, trusting him to guide her.

The lack of power creates other difficulties. “We need to travel down one level,” he says. “The lifts are no doubt shut down.”

“Then we need to find a repair tunnel, maybe within a service corridor—”

“Too slow,” Abel says as he leads her to the lift. He pushes his fingers into the crack between the doors, shoves his hands through, and shoves outward. Fortunately lift doors are easier to open than the ones in the pod bay; after only a few seconds, they give, sliding sideways to the sound of grinding metal.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Noemi says, “but it looks to me like that’s just an empty shaft.”

“There are sensors every few meters.” He gestures, in case she can see them in the darkness. “They protrude from the walls enough for handholds.”

“For a mech, maybe. Not a human.”

“You need only hold on to my back.”

Noemi hesitates, but only for an instant. When she wraps her arms around his shoulders, Abel takes note of the new sensations—her warmth and weight, the subtle scent of her skin. It seems important to catalog every individual aspect, even the sound of her gasp as he leaps into the shaft and quickly scrambles down to the warehouse level.

Manual levers allow him to open the doors more easily from the inside. More emergency lights shine in this corridor, enough for Noemi to function—and yet she holds on to his shoulders for a moment longer than necessary, gathering her breath.

But only a moment. Then she’s the Genesis soldier once more, striding along the long, shadowy warehouse corridor. “This looks familiar. We’re close, but we have to work fast.”

“Alacrity is essential,” Abel agrees, remaining half a pace behind her. “But why does the proximity to our earlier work area matter?”

“Because the authorities are going to search that area any moment now.”

Paranoia is not an uncommon human reaction to stress, so Abel doesn’t comment.

Noemi comes to a stop before the spare parts area, which turns out to have a storefront, albeit one less glitzy than most others on Wayland Station, just one step more polished than the warehouses around it. “Which of the security systems is still on?”

“You noticed both? I had not thought you were so observant.” A flash of irritation shows on her face, and Abel realizes he’s being condescending again. During his long isolation, he appears to have developed some character flaws. Swiftly he adds, “Both systems are likely to remain operational. But I believe I will be able to take them offline.”

Noemi nods, and Abel opens his mind to frequencies and signals undetectable by human bodies. When he finds the security system’s hub, he slips in code of his own, designed to work along with the system rather than fight it—simply putting it in normal daytime operating mode, ready to welcome new “customers.” But when he adjusts his vision to other wavelengths to make sure the entire system is down, he realizes he’s failed.

“The primary system is off, but the secondary system is hardwired in,” Abel says. “You won’t be able to see it, but there’s a laser grid approximately ten centimeters above the floor tiles. If we trip any of those lines, we’ll set it off.”

“But we can step over them? That won’t activate the alarm?”

“Correct. I should of course be the one to do this.”

“Wait—no. We’re both going in.”

“I’m more than capable of retrieving the T-7 anx on my own.”

Noemi hesitates, then shakes her head. “You could slip out a back entrance, if there is one—”

“No.” He takes a step closer to her. For some reason, it feels very important that she understands this. “My programming is clear. You are my commander. Unless and until I have another commander, I will protect you no matter what. That means keeping you out of jail. That means fulfilling your mission. That means making sure you have enough to eat. Everything. Anything. I protect you.”

Their eyes meet for a full second before Noemi slowly says, “Okay. But I’d still like to go in. If anyone sees me hanging around out here, it’s going to attract attention.”

No one is likely to enter this area, but her point is valid. “Very well. Watch where I go and try to exactly match my footsteps.”

Perhaps that sounds too much like giving his commander an order. But Noemi either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as she focuses completely on their task. They both remain silent as Abel slides apart the see-through doors, and the metal scrape of the tracks echoes loudly in the corridor.

To Abel, the interior of the store looks like something from the earliest eras of photography; everything appears in black, white, or shades of gray. Like Casablanca—but he can’t afford to be distracted by that now. Colors only exist on other frequencies; he has to remain focused on the laser. He steps over carefully, gets a couple of tiles ahead, then waits for Noemi to follow. As he glances back, he sees that she puts her foot where his had been, precisely, every time. Few humans are so observant.

But he doesn’t want to assume she’s accounted for every single risk. He motions upward, so she can see the internal security barriers that would descend from the ceiling to shut them both in. If Noemi were not quick enough, one of those barriers could crush her. Abel begins walking backward, the better to look out for her.

She raises one dark eyebrow, trying to joke despite her obvious tension. “Shouldn’t you watch your feet instead of mine?”

“The grid’s pattern is static and stored in my memory. I could walk through the store blindfolded.”

“Of course you can.”

Noemi keeps following him. Even within this strange wavelength of light, he can see the faint sheen of sweat on her skin. But she doesn’t look exhausted. An unfamiliar energy has her in its grasp, and he cannot tell if it’s more fear or exhilaration.

He finds the T-7 anx easily. Noemi tries to take it from the shelf herself, realizes how heavy it is, and steps back so Abel can handle it. She’s learning his abilities compared to her own limitations. Excellent.

As they begin inching out again, they pass a zone containing deep-space rations, foodstuffs that will keep for indefinite periods of time in deep space, which are piled onto pallets. “Should I grab some more of these?” Noemi picks up a single packet. “We have rations on board, but is there enough for twenty—no, eighteen days?”

“Yes, we have enough.” That is the second time she’s mentioned this seemingly arbitrary time limit, without explanation. “What happens in eighteen days?”

All the lights in the store blaze on at once. Noemi gasps. Abel’s grip on the T-7 anx remains constant but he immediately shifts his visual input to normal human frequencies. They both look around and find they are no longer alone.

Two mechs stand in front of a newly opened side door—a Charlie and a Queen. These models work security as well as combat, and they are both clearly primed for action. Each wears the skintight gray armor of a military-issue mech; each has a weapon holstered to the side.

But Abel immediately recognizes an aberration in their behavior. Although two thieves have been found in the store, the Queen and Charlie are only focusing on Abel himself. The subtle tilt of the Queen’s head suggests she’s scanning him in-depth.

Then, unexpectedly, the Queen smiles and turns to the Charlie. “The Abel model has been located. Mansfield desires its return.”

I’ve been found, Abel thinks, and the surge of hope within him feels like the sun is rising inside his skin. Father found me at last.