“I’m not saying you shouldn’t have attacked him. I’m saying we should keep options open as to his motivation and just try to find him.”

Joké says, “I need a private room, an office, something. Um, as soon as you can.”

“You should give it to her,” says Fin.

Peole gestures towards the door and leaves with Joké.

“Does Lagos know that their governor is dead?” says Shell.

“I’ve sent updated information packets to Secretary Beko every hour of this clusterfuck,” says Malaika. “No responses yet, but she is not going to be pleased.”

Unwin scoffs. “She’s just pissed that she won’t see any of the money for servicing the Ragtime and will have to pay a fine of some sort to MaxGalactix, not to mention the class action lawsuits that relatives will bring over the decade. Lawrence didn’t wield any true power. Any rage about him is purely performative.”

“Sir, I’ll thank you not to say that within Joké’s earshot,” says Fin.

“Calm down, son. I know who she is. You’ll notice I waited until she left the room,” says Unwin. Then: “Why do you care?”

“She has better hearing than you think,” says Fin.

“What happened to you up there, Fin? Stand down. You did your job. You’re back in the ranks. Don’t screw that up with insubordination.”

Fin says nothing while medbots take more samples from him. All the returnees except Salvo have slow vitamin drips. Frances stands by the door, tail hitting the floor as he wags it.

Salvo has a wired connection to the Ragtime’s Pentagram, and he is communing with it.

The door swings open, breaking the silence.

“I know where he is,” says Joké, breathless.

“And I know where he’s going,” says Salvo, looking up.

Chapter Forty-two

Bloodroot: Brisbane

Now what? A hospital of some kind? Uniformed people fussing over him, trying to cut the suit off. Doesn’t work. He blacks out again and the people are on the floor and he is up, staggering and swaying. He is out. People on the corridors see him and flee or open their mouths in horror. He blacks out and is in the hospital parking structure. Some kind of lock override.

In vehicle. Spiralling down, black, down, black.

Dazzling light in front of him.

Where’s Carmilla?

Guns. Drones. Robots and people in biohaz suits. A sound-cannon thing.

God almighty, the end at last.

All I wanted was to be a good man.

Kill me.

Was that out loud?

Did they hear?

“Kill… me.”

Not loud enough, throat dry.

“Kill me!” says Brisbane, loud, clear.

They do.

Chapter Forty-three

Bloodroot: Carmilla

The truck is as basic as they come.

Limited storage, limited processing power, bespoke circuitry; the survivor of a thousand repairs.