An exfactor in a blindingly fuchsia suit waved their hand. They jogged over. “I have a trike. Do you know how to drive?”

“Yes,” said Welga. A necessary skill for her service as a Raider. It couldn’t be that hard to remember, right?

Olafson wore a grim expression as the exfactor led them to an equally eye-catching vehicle. Cameras sprouted all over the three-wheeler’s clear dome, useless now with nowhere to capture the video feeds.

“What’s your name?” Olafson asked the exfactor.

“Flannery James.”

“Thank you, Flannery. I’m Arvindh Olafson with the Joint Intelligence Agency. On behalf of the United States government, we’ll make sure you’re reimbursed when new stellas go up.”

Flannery handed Welga a key. “After today, my tip jar’ll be so full, I may not need the government’s money.”

Welga didn’t remind them that the blackout meant people wouldn’t be tipping them, or anyone else for that matter. She stared at the key and the trike’s door until the exfactor grabbed it and held it against a near-invisible slot. They waited as Olafson slid into the back. Welga maneuvered the dakini into the seat next to him and strapped the operative in. Flannery then showed her how to activate the engine.

“Good luck,” the exfactor said.

“Thank you.”

Welga gripped the steering wheel and tapped the accelerator paddle with her thumb. They would need all the luck they could get. The trike weaved in the street until she had the feel of it. Brake with the left paddle. The range glowed green on the dashboard display: 330 kilometers.

“Por Qué, where is the…” The question died as Welga remembered that a network blackout meant no map, no information on which fuel cell station to aim for. Years of training meant that she had their incoming route and surrounding streets memorized, but she hadn’t bothered to note waypoints.

Her focus kept roving, looking for information in her visual periphery that didn’t exist. Nothing to look at but the surroundings. Her mind felt like half of it was missing.

“Ramírez, you holding up? Need a medic stop?”

“Nah. Wouldn’t know where to go, anyway, but I should re-up on pain drugs.” Welga fished in her pocket and pulled out her pill case. “Open it for me?”

“Damn, Ramírez, you got quite the stash. Extra zips, too.”

Shit. “Always prepared for emergencies.”

Olafson snorted and handed it back to her. She balanced it on her leg and took what she needed with one hand, including a quad-zip to stave off tremors—she’d run out of duos—then slid the case back into her pocket.

“With the stellas off-line,” Welga said, “maybe we’re safe to uncover our suspect for a little while.”

“This is true,” Khandro’s muffled voice confirmed, not that they could take her word for it.