“Axon,” she said. He felt something from her mind. An invitation.

Rangan turned. She had the flask extended to him, her head cocked towards the open space next to her on the couch.

That looked like such a bad idea.

“Truce?” she said.

Well, shit, he though.

Rangan walked over slowly, took the offered flask, still standing, tipped it back.

Whatever it was burned as it hit his throat, brought tears to his eyes.

Jesus. She liked that stuff?

She plucked the flask from his fingers, took another swallow.

“My mom’s in prison,” Tempest said.

Rangan blinked. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t want to ask. Speculation still ran through his thoughts, ideas, possibilities.

Tempest picked up on them.

“Release of classified information,” she said. “She’s a crypto researcher. Was a crypto researcher, I should say. She’ll never touch it again, even after she gets out.”

“What…” Rangan started. “What did she do?”

“She found a security hole in a public protocol. She was about to publish it. NSA hit her with a gag order, so they could keep the hole, use it for themselves. She published anyway.”

“They sent her to jail for that?” Rangan was surprised, despite himself, despite everything he’d been through.

Tempest took another swallow from the flask, then another. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then handed the flask to Rangan.

“No. They nailed her on something else. Audited all her net activity. Said she’d been hacking. Said one of her scans of public routers for vulnerabilities broke the law.” She shook her head. “Charged her with one count for every router she scanned.”

“How many routers?” Rangan asked.

“Eighty seven thousand,” Tempest said. “Give or take.”

Oh god. Rangan raised the flask to his lips, and downed another swallow. It burned just as much as the first.

“She bargained down to fifteen years. Twelve left. Parole in five, maybe. Not so bad.”

Rangan coughed a little. His eyes watered.

“So I hate the fuckers,” Tempest said. “But I also know just how much power they have. And just how easily they can nail you. It leaves me a little edgy sometimes.”

Rangan nodded uneasily, not sure what to say.

She looked over at him. “Finish that. I’ll get us some more.”

Rangan woke sometime later, his head pounding like someone had taken a jackhammer to it, his stomach doing flips. It was still dark outside, not yet morning. Oh god, why had he let Tempest feed him so much booze. All he could remember was more drinking, more talking, about software, politics, prison, revolution. And then more drinking on top of that. Until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

She was shaking him awake, leaning over him. He was still on the couch where he’d collapsed, still in his jester clothes from the day before.

“It’s the phones,” Tempest was saying, her face looming over his.