And by all reports, the protests on the Mall were a zoo, almost like a small city, with tents laid out, food stalls, families with kids, and now tens of thousands of people. The violence of the 17th had been quelled in an hour, and the pro- and anti-Stockton camps separated by a much wider gap and more formidable barriers.

“You’re out of your mind,” Tempest said, immediately.

Rangan took a deep breath. “Look,” he said. “Someday I’m going to walk out of this building. I have to. And I’m going to have to evade facial detection.”

He could see Cheyenne and Angel watching, paying attention.

“The protest has a lot of attention on it, but it’s also a chaotic environment. There’s a high density of faces, lots of movement. There’s an excuse for costumes and makeup. It’s an easier environment to avoid recognition than everyday on the street. You’ve shown you can go out there and not be recognized. Why can’t I?”

Cheyenne nodded in approval. He felt Angel warm to it as well.

“I’d like Axon’s help,” Angel said. “Looking at the mesh in a field deployment.”

Tempest fumed.

“No,” she said. “If he steps one foot out that door,” she pointed her finger towards the heavy industrial portal that led to the landing and then the outside world, “we’re all at risk. They’ll catch him. Then they’ll grill him. Then they’ll come for us.” Her eyes searched those of the other members of the collective, then came around to Rangan’s. “You’re putting everyone at risk if you go out there. If you get caught, everyone who’s helped you goes down. Everyone.”

Rangan stared into those eyes. He could feel her anger. He could feel her fear.

“Then help me,” he told Tempest. “Help me not get caught.”

“How do you feel, Axon?” Angel asked.

Rangan kept walking around the room. The mismatched height shoes made him constantly favor his right foot in a way that bugged his hip. He wanted to reach up and push the fake dreads back out of his face. The contacts felt like he had a piece of sand in each eye.

“Like a gimp,” he said. “A Rastafarian, clown-faced, half-blind gimp.”

Cheyenne laughed at him, a deep throaty laugh from inside that broad frame.