“And Rubio.” Jake paused, like he wanted to say it right. “He gave us the push we needed, and just in time. One angry guy who expected to be listened to, or maybe he was angry because we didn’t listen. Either way, he understood that our small, self-sustaining communities won’t work for the long run, that we need to adapt to whatever gets thrown at us. To be truly sustainable, to find a way through this mess that’s ahead of us, we need a certain critical mass and a deeper diversity of skills.”

“Definition of a community . . .”

“Sure, but a hard future to believe in when you watch Tom Doyle and Empire Will go at each other all the time. And hard to hear when you’re busy keeping your own den fed and safe, on a day-to-day basis, all white knuckled and hanging off a fucking cliff!”

“I know.” Easy to think the guys in charge are having all the fun. I’d envied Jake because I’d never seen his job clearly. I wondered if Rubio had. “Rube rarely shared his opinions politely. Or saw why he should.”

He nodded slowly. “His own worst enemy. So often, the good ideas never made it through the smokescreen of criticism and contempt.”

I sighed. “Well, he was good to me.”

“He was. And I honor him for it.”

We both glanced at the empty space above Jake’s bunk.

“Will there be time for a funeral?”

“Let me look into it.”

“You heard about the Adders?”

“Did. A major break. Bright’ll be short on street muscle now.”

“For sure it was him arming them?”

“That’s the word uptown.”

I fitted the pack straps around my arms. When I looked up, Jake was gazing at me like I was an egg he’d hatched.

“Speaking of which, I hear you and Dan Nathan are spending time together.”

Knowing I was blushing made me blush all the more. “A quaint way to put it.”

“Quaint, schmaint. A good choice, Glim.” He chuckled and threw me a wink. “Even better than me.”

“Er . . . ?” Peeto had materialized behind Jake. “Hey, Glim. You still here?”

“Just leaving.”

Peeto sidled in on Jake’s far side. “Need any help?”

“Help?” Jake turned on him, slow and grandiose, like a king in one of those old plays he was always quoting from. “Do my ears deceive me?”

I nudged him. “Just let the guy help. He’s making up for past sins.”

I left them to work it out. The short way to Jenn’s tier was blocked with stacks of old plywood, battered 4x4s and stacks of 2x8s studded with rusting hardware. I had to trot around the long way to the uptown entrance. Jenn’s bunk was level three. When I pulled up below, a posse of Wizzers was crowded around, trying to lure Jenn down with their geekiest idea of bait.

“Your own dedicated terminal . . .”