Kishori nodded. “Yes,” she said, “he’ll hit them and disrupt their whole order of battle while our cavalry rolls around to their flanks and charges. That should be enough to make them panic. Then we chase them down until they lose cohesion.”

Roland’s head stayed down. He didn’t speak. Manny looked from him, to Jim, to Nana Yazzie and Donald Farris.

“So what’s the problem?” Manny asked. “If Roland and Rolling Fuck are all-in, this should be a walk in the park.”

“Roland,” Nana Yazzie said, “prefers not to fight.”

“But I just saw him…”

“You just saw me break a long streak of not killing people.” Roland’s voice sounded odd, hollow and dry, and utterly without any of the mirth or mischief Manny had come to expect from the chromed man.

“I did that to get my memories back, Manny,” he shrugged. “And I did it for you, because you’re my buddy. But I got no stake in Austin.”

“But you know what the Heavenly Kingdom will do if they take the city!” Manny protested. “You’ve seen what they did to Plano. They’ll do that to millions of decent people if they can. You have the power to stop that. You’re telling me you won’t?”

Roland met his eyes and just said, “Yes.”

“You son of a bitch,” Manny felt the anger well up inside him. It merged with his grief over Major Peron’s death, Oscar’s death, and his rage at the Heavenly Kingdom, the Martyrs, and every other group of assholes who’d helped turn his young life into a parade of nightmares.

“You absolute son of a bitch. You fucking coward!”

Manny didn’t think. Couldn’t think. He pulled back his fist and swung as hard as he could for Roland’s face. The chromed man didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Manny hit him right on the nose. He was softer than Manny would have guessed. It didn’t feel any different from punching a normal human. Manny swung again and again, until he felt something crack in his knuckles. He cried out from the pain and pulled back to nurse his wounded hand.

For a few seconds Manny forgot about the rest of the room. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts dissolve into an ocean of physical pain. The agony of his broken hand was almost soothing. It was better than thinking about Mr. Peron. It was better than thinking about Alejandro, or Oscar. It was better than thinking about his soon-to-be-shattered home.

Manny felt a hand on his shoulder. The sensation pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looked up and saw Nana Yazzie. She smiled her sad smile and said, “Manny, everyone here understands your pain.”

“Not me,” said Jim, “I’ve never been a big fan of Austin. Too damn–”