Olafson rearranged the wrap until he could pull a section away to reveal the dakini’s face.

“It is you,” Welga said after a glance at the rearview mirror. “From the refinery.”

The same brown eyes from Welga’s hazy memories were set in high, delicate cheekbones and a calm expression. Straight black hair lay in a tight crop around them.

“Our numbers are small,” Khandro said. “We have to be many places at once, as do you, it seems. Why didn’t you attack me for setting off the explosion at the house?”

“I remembered what you said at the refinery—about following the path—and I happened to listen to a lecture from a Neo-Buddhist the other day who used similar language.” Welga glanced at the mirror again as she said, “And the caliph never strikes at people unless they attack first.”

Khandro smiled. “You’re observant.”

“Why did you bomb Dr. Smith’s house?” Olafson asked.

“To distract you while I slipped away,” Khandro said nonchalantly. “If you’d tried to hurt me, I would have killed you.” The smile slid from her face. “The doctor is a good man. I’m glad you were able to get the children and Kevin to safety, though I wish you had also saved the care-bot.”

“If you care so much about bots and WAIs,” Welga said, “why are you asking people to destroy them?”

“We haven’t demanded that at all. People have committed violence on their own out of fear, as they’ve done throughout history. We’ve only asked that people stop bringing new bots and WAIs into a world where they continue to be oppressed.”

“And what about Jackson?” Welga demanded. “Kuan? You went after them with no provocation.”

The dakini frowned. “No provocation? They have us trapped in a cycle of escalation. Better bots and WAIs, then better pills so humans can keep up with them. People are pushed to their physical limits because the funders refuse to support the middle ground. Their deaths were… a mistake. My sisters shouldn’t have done that, though that’s what they were asked to do. They paid for it with their lives.”

Who ordered them to kill those funders? Welga wouldn’t ask that, not until they returned to a secured area. That answer, if given truthfully, could have massive consequences.

She drove onto the expressway. Stopped vehicles littered the lanes of traffic, unable to proceed without communicating to the network. Those few with manual overrides tried to weave around them. The trike maneuvered better than most, but the going was slow. People milled around on foot, dazed or huddled in urgent conversation with others. Frightened faces pressed against the windows of some cars. Someone banged their fists on the glass of theirs. Christ, were they trapped inside?

“Should we help?” Welga said.