Heat washed over Welga like the breath of an angry beast. The harsh sun of Phoenix left no shadows in her father’s backyard. She swung on a hammock under the solar patio cover, Mama’s old knit blanket between her and its synthetic fabric. The hinges creaked with her sways, as they had done since she could remember.

She had one hand in her pocket. The bit of blox from the android moved inside its plastic sheath. The smart-metal had been an inert lump in her crumpled clothes when the hospital returned them to her. She’d charged it, but she couldn’t get any standard interface to communicate with it. It had an agenda, though. It kept shifting its form, trying for a stability it couldn’t attain. The sensation soothed her as she conversed with her shield team.

“We have six days until the Machinehood’s one-week deadline,” Hassan said, “and every funder wants a security detail. Platinum needs you all back on assignment by the sixteenth. That’s in three days. They’re waiving the recovery time for Ramírez and doubling the pay—for all three of you—as hazard compensation. They’re also doubling the size of the details for every client. Ramírez, we’ll get you a flight back to San Francisco on the sixteenth.”

Three funders dead, and the rest panicked. They weren’t used to death, especially in such a spectacular fashion. People died of engineered pathogens or rare natural diseases. Murder had gone out of fashion with ubiquitous camera swarms and AIs… until now. Welga had watched the feed recordings on infinite loop during the travel back to the USA. The Machinehood used the same strategy for all three of their attacks: a surprise human element, a close-quarters weapon, and an explosive suicide. Briella Jackson’s assailant had died before blowing up. The other two situations were less clear, though both of those Machinehood operatives sustained injuries before exploding.

“You’ll also have a government agent with you,” Hassan said. “The Feds want someone on-site in case we manage a live capture. We have orders not to shoot at any human—or humanoid—regardless of what they do.”

“What!” Connor exclaimed. “How are we supposed to protect our clients?”

“Can we use nonlethal bullets at least? Tranquilizers?” Welga added.

Hassan raised a hand. “We don’t want any more exploding androids, and we aren’t sure what triggers them. Tranquilizers won’t work against bots.”

“Androids?” Welga said. “Has anyone confirmed that?”