Welga touched two fingers to her lips and held them out. Connor did the same. She checked her other feeds. The view in Chennai showed the sleeping figures of Luis, Nithya, and Carma. Ammanuel was doing exercises in their apartment, a cheap, windowless subbasement unit with a half-hidden figure by their kitchen. Hassan was blanked. When she focused on Connor again, he’d blanked, too. Probably working some kind of curation gig, like customizing a party music playlist. Those were his favorite, and they didn’t require advance commitment. Somehow he could find calm in any situation. It had made him a great analyst.

Maybe I should consider meditating. Or a nap.

Fatigue wrapped Welga in a blanket heavier than the heat. Her new skin tugged whenever she moved too quickly. Internal injuries healed faster and responded better to drugs than superficial ones. It’s only pain. Unlike Hassan, she hoped they’d get assigned to a high-value target. Three months on her contract, and the Machinehood showed up like a gift from god: finally some meaningful work! Not that she minded the lucrative performance art of shielding, but catching the first live Machinehood operative would be priceless.

She gathered her swarm into a pocket. Only a few microcams remained in the area, as much of a nuisance as the rare live insect looking for nectar. The dilapidated suburban neighborhood had little to draw the public’s attention other than her temporary fame.

Her father emerged from a doorway. Oscar Ramírez had dark, heavy brows, presently drawn together in a squint against the light. He’d lost the well-tanned look she remembered from her childhood. Gigs kept him—like everyone else—indoors and two shades paler.

A half-rusted stool wobbled as he sat on it and handed Welga a glass of ice water. “I found my old construction-mech suit for you to practice on. You remember it? You used to play inside.”

Welga swallowed coolness before smiling. “Yes, Papa, I remember. Especially that time I figured out how to charge its battery and took it for a ride.” She’d damaged their truck with her initial clumsy attempts at piloting the suit, but she’d managed to jump over it before getting caught.

“I gave you a good smacking for that,” Oscar said. He laughed. “Your mama cussed me out later, but I made sure you wouldn’t forget. Worked, eh?” His smile fell away. “I miss the days when a man could build something with his hands. Operating a mech—that was real work.”

“Oh, Papa, that’s a glossy memory. You remember how many people got hurt back then? If a bot falls off the top of a construction site, all it does is cost the owner some money.”

“Pretty soon the bots are gonna complain, too, right? Isn’t that what this Machinehood is about?”