She had done that, at least. The third woman ever to qualify as a Raider. Making history as part of the first team without any men. But then it all went to shit, and she bailed. Connor had walked away from his analyst position soon after, partly in solidarity. He shared her disgust at a president who set his own forces up for failure and then covered it up. They’d tried applying for one of the international space station colonies, wanting to make a fresh start. They weren’t the only ones, and after they lost the lottery for that, they joined Platinum Shield Services. Connor didn’t love the fighting, but he couldn’t deny the lure of steady pay, rare as gold.

Nothing about shielding would’ve met with her mother’s approval. Too shallow, Laila would have said, not enough brain work involved. Welga had tried not to overthink her choices after she left college, but she had days when she was glad her mother couldn’t see how her children lived. Neither of them had fulfilled the promise of their mother’s scientific mind. Welga’s dreams of making the world a better place had crumbled one after another, like blox trapped by inert matter.

The power cord dangled from the back of the lab. Maybe she couldn’t change anything big, but she could still save the ones she loved. Welga plugged the cord into the wall and turned the basic machine on. While she waited for it to power up, she found its model number and ran a search. It was old enough that plenty of designs were available for free. Unlike kitchen dispensers, this machine didn’t require any external authorizations. It didn’t track its productions. It predated all those regulations.

“Por Qué, search the design files for abortifacients. And if you find one with a good rating, create an order for its ingredients. I want to review the cost before purchasing.”

The machine’s screen lit, recognized Welga’s face—thanks, Mama—and then displayed its status. Nonbiologicals hadn’t decayed in the fifteen years since it was last turned on. Amino acids, fatty acids, enzymes—all needed replacement cartridges.

“I have compiled the required materials,” Por Qué said. “Would you like to see the bill?”

“Not yet. First cross-check them against what’s on the screen here.” Welga circled the machine’s display in her visual. “Exclude any materials that are still marked green.”

The enzymes turned out to cost the most. It would hurt her financials, but the hazard pay would offset it, and the cost of another child would be far greater for Nithya and Luis.

“Place the order for a morning delivery,” she said to Por Qué.