There’d been so many threats of blackmail, violence, and things that Ewan wouldn’t like should he dare not to respond to the demands that right now, all he could do was laugh and shake his head at the way Jordie had so clearly believed he was scary.

Ewan stopped laughing a moment later when a countdown popped up at the bottom of the viddy message. Jordie’s image had frozen for a second or so, but now he started speaking again. The clickable link was still running across the bottom of the message, remaining unobscured by the numbers now ticking rapidly in reverse.

“The thing is, Mr. Donahue, I need money. Credits. Cash. Moola, if you will.” Jordie hunched forward again. A little twitchier now. He shifted in his chair. “Because I’m going to work on this project, whether you like it or not. I’m going to make it happen, because I believe in it, and that’s what you always told us to do, Mr. Donahue. Do what we believe in. Right? So in order to do that, obviously, I need money, and my mother, my . . .”

Here Jordie bit down on his words, hard. He spoke through gritted teeth. “My mother. Does. Not. Understand. You understand, don’t you, Mr. Donahue? You started out once, a kid like me. A kid with an idea. Ready to change the world. I mean, I’m trying to tell you that I’m grateful, I really am, because without the work you did, Mr. Donahue, I wouldn’t have the base to work from. Of course, it’s all because of you that I can’t. Make it. Happen.”

Jordie grimaced. He gestured, fingers pointing to the link along the bottom of the viddy as well as the countdown. He leaned so close to the camera that his eye, bloodshot, filled the entire screen of Ewan’s tablet.

“There are loads of people who want to support me. You know that? I don’t understand why it never occurred to you. That nobody else would want to support this? Sure, I know their reasons maybe aren’t the best, yeah, of course I realize they’re going to want to use this tech for things that maybe aren’t . . . aren’t so great.”

Ewan tapped the link, which took him to another window without closing the viddy message. The amount listed there was enough to curl his fingers, hesitating. It wouldn’t drain him dry, but it was far more than he’d expected. The kid had balls, he’d give him that.

“But I guess I don’t much care about that, Mr. Donahue. I think you understand, maybe better than anyone. How it feels to know you’ve got this idea, how you could make something that nobody else could make. It’s like . . . it’s like it’s being born right out of my head and through my fingers, every time I code. So I want to keep doing that. I know you understand. Have you sent the money yet, Mr. Donahue? Once you do, you’ll be able to access me directly, in live-time. And you’re going to want to do that before the ticker runs out. I promise you.”

“Oh, kid, I promise you, you’re going to be the sorry one,” Ewan said through gritted teeth and thumbed in his account codes to begin the transfer.

* * *

“I thought maybe the kids would be here.” Nina looked around the dirty kitchen while trying to keep a judgmental expression off her face. Everything in here was worn and beyond filthy. Grease and grime and dust coated every surface. It looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned in a decade.

Patrice seemed as out of place here as a flower growing through a crack in the asphalt. Her curly dark hair, so much like Nina’s own, had been cropped close to her skull. The style emphasized her hollowed cheeks and the circles under her eyes. The neckline of her blouse showed off stark collarbones. She had a tattoo that hadn’t been there before, a small crimson star that stood out on her dark skin. The tendons in her neck stood out, taut, when she smiled, and her teeth were stained.

“They’re not here. I wanted it to be just us.”

Nina frowned. “Sure. I understand.”

“Cup of coffee? It’s synth, though, that’s all I have. The real stuff’s impossible to get without selling an organ.”

Nina nodded, wondering if that was a not-so-subtle jab at her. “Sure. That would be great.”

“Would it?” Her sister laughed harshly and proved Nina’s suspicions right with her next words. “Something tells me you’re used to the good stuff.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy your hospitality.” Nina bit back a harder retort, not wanting to start off the visit the way they’d ended their last one, all angry words and accusations. She could barely trust herself to keep her temper without provocation; she couldn’t trust herself not to completely lose it if her sister taunted her. “I’m here to visit you, Patrice. It doesn’t matter what we drink.”

“How about a couple of shots of whiskey, then? Ah, too bad. I don’t have any of that. I have synthcoffee and some dry crumb cake.” She opened the oven and peered inside, glancing over her shoulder at Nina with a strained expression. “It’s done, if you want some. Have a seat.”

“Sure. I can always eat crumb cake.” Nina pulled out one of the chairs from the table and sat, gingerly, rocking. One of the legs was shorter than the other, and she tucked one ankle behind the other to help steady herself.

Patrice straightened with the pan in her hands. She put it on top of the oven. She hadn’t used oven mitts.

That wasn’t right.

“It was always your favorite,” Patrice said quietly. “Mama made it for us on Saturday mornings. That was our treat if we’d been good for the week.”

Nina watched her sister’s back straighten, then her shoulders hunch. Patrice put both hands on the edge of the oven for a moment before moving to a drawer and opening it. She closed it. Opened the next. Slammed that one.

“Can’t find a knife,” Patrice said in a thick, choked voice. “Just a second.”

Nina stood to take her sister by the shoulders and turn her. “Hey. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” Patrice said. “I’m sorry, Nina. But it does matter. Let me find the knife so I can serve you this cake, okay? I’m just . . . it’s been so long since I’ve seen you, that’s all. All of this is really emotional. I’m having a hard time.”

Nina hadn’t braced herself for her sister’s hug, but she accepted it gratefully as Patrice gripped her fiercely. She expected her sister would break the embrace quickly, but instead, Patrice clung to her. Nina put a hand between Patrice’s shoulder blades, patting gently. Soothing.

“I’m not particularly great at this,” Nina said with a small laugh, trying for a semblance of humor. “Ask me to stand between you and someone coming at you with a fist; that I can do. But this . . .”

“You were never good at this sort of thing. Remember that time I lost the part in the school play and you tried to cheer me up by reminding me how terribly afraid I was of public speaking, how I wet myself the last time I’d had to do it?” Sniffling, eyes red, Patrice stepped back. She smiled, though, and it seemed genuine. She swiped at her eyes. “You were always more practical than any of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Nina said impulsively, uncertain what, exactly, she was apologizing for. The past, perhaps, and not being great with hugs and sisterly support. For the present, when it turned out that she was no better.

“Let me make the coffee. Sit. I’ll find that onedamned knife. We’ll eat the crumb cake. It will all be shiny fine. It will.”

Nina gave her sister a curious look, but sat at the table. “So . . . where are the kids? And Shawn?”

“Shawn and I split up four years ago.” Patrice had opened the right drawer, finally. She glanced around, maybe anticipating Nina’s next question. “The little one isn’t his. I have a new boyfriend now, his name is Avinash.”

“I didn’t know,” Nina said.

Patrice sighed. “Of course you didn’t know. How could you?”

“I’m sorry,” Nina said again, softer this time. Her sister looked at her then, really looked for the first time since Nina had arrived. “For everything. All these years we didn’t talk, because I let you convince me that was the right thing to do, to leave you alone. I should’ve tried harder, after you weren’t angry anymore.”

“I’m still angry,” Patrice said with a shaking voice.

Nina frowned. “After all this time? Why, Patrice? Why on earth can’t you just let whatever happened go?”

“Because it’s still here, right between us! What you did and what you are is right here.” Patrice flapped a hand out at the kitchen. She looked sick to her stomach.

“I don’t understand.” Nina shook her head. “Why? What’s going on? Why did you invite me here, if you weren’t interested in trying to renew a relationship with me?”

Patrice cleared her throat. “Just sit down, all right? This doesn’t have to be so hard. Sit down and drink the coffee. Please, Nina. Just do it.”

“I should go.”

“No!” Patrice turned, face stricken. “No. Please. Just . . . sit. I’m emotional, that’s all. C’mon, you know me. Up and down, all over the place. I’m . . . such a bitch.”

Her sister’s rough, awkward laugh didn’t do much to soothe Nina’s own temper, but she sat anyway. The mug Patrice slid in front of her was plain white, no pattern, and of thick, heavy crockery that didn’t seem anything like Patrice’s usual style. The coffee inside was hot and that was about the best thing that could be said about it. Nina sipped.

Patrice took the seat across from her and pushed a plate of cake across the table. “Here.”

Nina was almost always hungry, in one way or another, but the few sips of coffee had unsettled her stomach. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

“You should eat the cake,” Patrice insisted. “I made it special. For you. Eat it. Please, Nina, for once, just . . . do something someone asks you to do without arguing.”

Something was very wrong.

When Nina put her hands around the mug, the liquid inside sloshed over the rim. Her hands were trembling? She focused to still the shaking, but it didn’t work. A low noise filled her ears, and it took a few seconds to realize it was the rushing beat of her heart, but too slow. Not right.

“Drink more coffee,” Patrice said.

Nina didn’t want anything else to drink, but a compulsion she couldn’t explain lifted the mug to her lips. She gulped the rest of the coffee, not caring that it scalded her tongue and the back of her throat. It flooded her guts, her stomach feeling full and distended and slightly sick.

The mug hit the table hard enough to crack it, her fingers still hooked into the handle. She hadn’t set it down. Her hand had dropped, weak, unable to keep the mug aloft. Nina stared at it, knowing there had to be something she was meant to do. Oh, let go. Uncurl her fingers. Look at her sister, whose face had twisted into an expression of grief.

“They’re listening to everything, and watching,” Patrice said. “I’m sorry, Nina. I really am. But they have my youngest, and they said I’d never see him again unless I helped.”

“What . . . did you do?” Nina’s tongue had gone thick and unwieldy, hard to speak around.

The man who appeared in the doorway behind Patrice wore all white. Nina understood at once that the glow surrounding him was only in her head. Her system was working frantically to counteract whatever it was Patrice had put in the coffee.

“It’s not drugs,” said the man. “We aren’t sure, to be honest, if your enhancements will be able to detect and remove this tech as easily as it can handle a chemical intrusion. This will be interesting, waiting to see what happens. It shouldn’t kill you, at least not right away.”

Patrice put her face in her hands, shoulders hitching with sobs that ground out of her in strangled moans. Nina tried to reach for her, meaning to offer comfort or at least help her sister to know she didn’t blame her. Not if the threat to her child was true. How could her sister have done anything else? Nina’s hand fell to the table, inches short of their goal. Too heavy to lift.

“What,” she managed to say.

The man in white had moved closer, though still out of range should Nina find the strength and coordination to lunge for him. She didn’t. She couldn’t.

“Some new nanotech. Designed to be ingested for quick access to the subject. It burrows through the gastric lining, which also strips the nano of the protective coating and leaves it free to enter your bloodstream. From there, it goes to the brain. Faster than we even anticipated. Nice.”

Nina spat on the floor; a metallic taste had embittered her tongue, and she didn’t give a good onedamn about being polite at this point. “What’s it supposed to do?”

“Make you malleable.”

“Good luck with that.” Patrice sniffed harsh laughter and cringed away from the threatening fist the man in white shook at her. “I’m sorry! I got her here, didn’t I? I got the coffee into her. Let me go now, give me back my son.”

The man in white jerked Patrice to her feet by the back of her shirt. The fabric ripped in a long, wet purr, and she stumbled backward so the chair knocked over. Nina was on her feet in seconds, going after him. Her feet threatened to tangle, but she managed to get them beneath her. She swiped at him, barely missing. The next time, she got closer.

“Stop.” He held up a hand. “Back up.”

Nina halted, not paralyzed. Not quite. She pushed toward him despite every single impulse inside her warning her to stay still. Only when an agonizing sting ripped through her head, particularly in the back of her neck and the base of her skull, did she stagger back and clap her hands over the pain.

“I’m going to let your sister go, and she is indeed going to have her child back. Along with a hefty chunk of money in her credit account, enough to keep her solvent for a good number of years, should she not spend it recklessly.” The man in white shoved Patrice toward the kitchen doorway, where she paused, looking over her shoulder. “Go. Get out of here. We have what we want from you.”

“Nina, I’m sorry!”

“Go, Patrice.” Nina meant to scream, but her words slipped out in a hoarse whisper through gritted teeth.

The man in white studied her, then raised a fingertip to his ear to connect with an unseen comm. “Come get her, please, before we discover this tech is in fact able to be counteracted by her enhancements.”

“Why are you doing this?” Nina didn’t bother trying to get at him. The intrusion of the new tech in her head still itched and burned. It was no longer a blistering pain, but her body felt sluggish and unresponsive.

The man in white looked shocked. “You have something we need, and you’re the only one we can get it from.”

“What could I possibly have that you need?” Truly surprised, she took another step back she hadn’t been ordered to take, both hands up to show him she wasn’t making any attempts at going for him, just in case whoever was heading for her was armed and ready to cause permanent damage.

“Donahue’s tech, of course.”

Nina’s head tilted. Confused, she said, “The enhancement tech? I’m far from the only one you could get it from. Hell, I guarantee you there . . . there are . . .”

It was becoming hard to talk again as the room spun and the floor became slick beneath her feet, threatening to send her onto her hands and knees. She spat more bitterness. Her throat rasped.

“Others,” she said finally. “Who would sell you whatever you wanted, just to be done with it all. You could rip it right out of their heads.”

“Not the enhancement tech. The upgrades.”

“I don’t have them. Nobody has them.” She’d have laughed if the simmering pain in her head would let her.

The man in white curled his lip. “He never even told you. Did he? Of course he didn’t. It was always a secret, especially to you.”

Her heart froze. “Ewan and I don’t have . . . any more . . .”

Secrets, she thought. He promised. No more secrets.

“Donahue claimed he never actually produced the upgraded tech, but he lied. He did produce prototypes, ones that worked, if crudely. The plans and specs for that tech were implanted in you, to keep it protected from any attempts at destroying it forever. After all, you’re the perfect safe.”

Nina reeled, horrified. “No.”

“Oh, yes,” the man in white said as he wavered and shimmered, blurring in front of her. To someone she couldn’t see, he said, “Take her now. She’s passing out.”