Kade had dropped with almost nothing. The rest had dropped with thrity to forty kilo loads of weapons, comms gear, and emergency supplies. The visor used its link to his Nexus OS to fill his mind’s eye with the outlines of guns and grenades and micromissile launchers, of rappelling gear and climbing gear, of backpacks on all the commandos, laden with more.

Somewhere in that gear, Kade imagined, there were two very special packages hidden. Packages they didn’t want him to know about.

“At least a hundred Confucian Fist out in the open,” Garud whispered over their suit-to-suit laser links. “A handful visible guarding the building itself. Now is our best chance to enter.”

“No,” Feng transmitted. “At least thirty, forty of my brothers not accounted for. Could be inside. No way to fight through that.”

“We attack with missiles and grenades then,” Aarthi transmitted.

“No,” Feng repeated.

Captain Garud replied, his voice annoyed. “What do you suggest then?”

“We surrender,” Kade said softly.

Feng rose from his prone position and stepped forward, to the edge of the roof.

“Stop!” Garud yelled across the link.

Feng stepped again, and dropped out of sight.

“What are you doing?” Garud yelled again, outrage in his voice.

Feng reappeared a moment later, down below them, at ground level, his chameleonware deactivated, the hood pulled off his head, walking past the abandoned army lines, towards the mass of protesters in the square.

Garud raised his rifle. “Stop!” he transmitted again. “That’s an order. I will shoot you.”

“No,” Sam said. “You won’t.” Her voice was resigned.

Kade looked over, found her crouched above Captain Garud, her pistol drawn, jammed into the back of his helmet.

“Put down the gun, Samantha!” Aarthi said.

She was up on her feet, her own rifle pointed at Sam.

Kade turned back to watch Feng.

“Put away your guns,” he transmitted. “All of you. If you shoot, we all die. This is the only way.”

Bai pushed through the crowds, rushing, dodging, until he came to a throng of his brothers.

And there, in the middle. There he was.

The prodigal.

“Feng!” Bai said.

Feng stopped in mid-sentence, turned, grinned.

“Bai!”

They rushed towards each other, embraced. They’d spent quite a bit of time together those last two years, when Feng drove Su-Yong, while Bai was assigned to drive her husband.

“We thought you were dead, Feng! We thought the Americans killed you in Thailand!”

He could feel Feng’s mind. This was him, undoubtedly, not like that pale imitation of Su-Yong down below. This was the real Feng.

Feng feigned the look of one insulted. “What?” He said, his tone outraged. “Just a few helicopters, some explosions, one international incident, and you think I’m dead?”

Laughter rippled from the brothers gathered round.

Same old Feng. Bai grinned. So many dead. But this one regained.