“Then come with us,” said Kira. “We can do this, Heron, I swear to you. Everything the Trust did, every formula they used, every genome they ever created, is all there just waiting for us to find it. We will find it, and we’ll take it back, and we’ll save everyone. Both sides.”

“‘Both,’” said Heron. She took a deep breath. “Us or the humans. You’d better do your damnedest, then, because if it comes down to one or the other, I assure you: It will be us.” She turned and stalked out of the room. “If we’re going, let’s go, every minute we waste is another death back home.”

Kira took a breath of her own, adrenaline still coursing through her. Afa watched Heron leave and then spoke too loudly. “I don’t like her very much.”

“That’s the least of her problems,” said Kira. She looked at Samm. “You were awfully quiet that whole time.”

“You know where I stand,” said Samm. “I trust you.”

Kira felt a rush of tears and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Why?” She sniffed. “I’m wrong a lot.”

“But if there’s any earthly way for you to succeed, you’ll move mountains to make it happen.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

Samm held her gaze. “Simple isn’t easy.”

“We should call home first,” said Afa. “That guy you keep talking to—we need to let him know we’re gonna be late.”

“No,” said Samm, standing up. “We just got attacked—I don’t know if they were a guard post or if they followed us, but either way, we’re in more danger than we realized. We can’t let anyone even know we’re alive, let alone where we’re going.”

“We don’t have to say where,” said Afa, “we could use a code name. Like Mortorq—that’s a screwdriver.”

“No,” said Kira. “Anything we say is too much of a clue. We go, and we go in secret.” She looked at the screen in her hand, then shoved it in her backpack. “And we go now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The ruins of the JFK airport were surrounded by a wide ring of flat, featureless runway, forcing any attackers to approach through the open. A dedicated assault with armored vehicles could take it easily, but there were few of those left in the world, and Dr. Morgan’s guerrilla army had none of them. The Voice had held it against the Grid with just a handful of spotters and snipers, and now the outlaws and the Grid together were prepared to hold it against the Partials. Marcus crossed the open runways uneasily, praying that the defenders recognized him as a human. And that they bothered trying to recognize him at all.