Welga flopped back onto her pillow. Connor could let go of stress like a balloon and watch it float away. She had thought she was good at detachment and compartmentalization until she’d met him. In spite of a decade together, she still hadn’t figured out how he did it.

Part of her wanted a second chance in the Maghreb, the opportunity to finish what she couldn’t the first time around. The rest of her had looked forward to a more relaxed life. She loved the adrenaline rush of being a shield, but the physical recovery got harder with each passing year. Moving to a space station—it was a big change, and she couldn’t deny the appeal. But the Machinehood’s deadline loomed. Until the world resolved that threat, she had to set aside the idea of Eko-Yi and focus on the problem at hand. A lot could happen in nine days.

Welga rose before dawn broke. Connor breathed evenly, fast asleep. Her father also slept, though less restfully. The feeds from Chennai showed a domestic peace that she knew was superficial. All three of them—Luis, Nithya, and Carma—sat in different alcoves, each lost in their own activity.

She pulled her hair up into a sloppy bun and then grabbed a duo-zip from the kitchen. It would warm her up for the day’s shield work, regardless of the client. She hesitated before slipping it into her mouth. Her tremors had increased in frequency since stopping some of the healing drugs. Not good, said a voice in her head, one that sounded remarkably like her sister-in-law. She brushed the concern aside and took the pill. For the next week, practice took priority over health.

“Por Qué, set my clothes for running.”

She scooped up a handful of microdrones from the charging tray on her way out and set her clothes to a workout design. By the time she descended the stairs and reached the street, she wore tight capri pants and a supportive sleeveless top. Welga tossed her swarm into the air. This early, the temperature was comfortable, though no breeze penetrated the fog that blanketed the streets. Everything lay still and quiet, including most people, and anyone up to no good would get dissuaded by her cameras. She loved the latent energy of dawn.

“Por Qué, read me the top-rated stories tagged with the words ‘Machinehood’ and ‘attack.’ ”

Her agent’s voice spoke in her ear. No further violence against funders. Some central African mining operations had stopped due to equipment failure and structural damage. The Machinehood hadn’t taken credit, but everyone assumed they’d done it. The machine rights people had found new fame and with it the courage to spread their gospel. Multiple interview feeds were giving them a platform to explain why the Machinehood must be seeking revenge or justice for the abuse of WAIs and bots.