She picked up the hard copy of the queries from the kitchen dispenser and tucked it in a desk drawer. If Synaxel had something to hide, she needed to keep records of her work somewhere that they couldn’t reach. She would do the same for Welga’s data in the morning, but she didn’t want to make more printer noise and risk waking Luis or Carma.

In the jungle days of bioengineering, commercial pill and drug manufacturers had created all kinds of problems and then pretended they didn’t know. Nithya called up the Jakarta Protocols, now two decades old, which regulated the industry. The second paragraph made her eyes swim. Too much heavy language, especially for the middle of the night.

She searched and found gigsters who had summarized the salient points. Fourth down the list: All data shall be stripped of patient information and then made available to the general public. That confirmed her suspicions. Synaxel had no legal right to block her requests, regardless of her reasons for wanting the information.

Nithya sat back, her heart racing. Was it the two a.m. effect, or had she stumbled across something significant? Either way, sleep fled her mind. Her body, though, felt exhausted and achy as the last dose of analgesic wore off.

She ordered an opioid for the cramps from the kitchen. As it printed, she put her jewelry back into their chargers and changed her pad. She had to get some sleep. If Synaxel lifted the data block, she’d need to be rested enough to push ahead with Welga’s diagnosis. If they didn’t, she’d be juggling a bigger problem: learning why.

Carma scrunched her face into an expression of deep indignation. “You never let me talk to Zeli Aunty anymore!”

Nithya’s daughter stalked to the opposite side of the room and glared while deliberately knocking down and rebuilding her school alcove. The drain on their daily energy allowance made Nithya’s head hurt, but if it kept the peace for now, she could accept the price. She turned her attention back to the glitchy video transmission from Zeli.

“Sorry about that,” Nithya said.

Zeli flashed her a grin. “That’s easy. Wait another six or seven years. Then you’ll know true pain. My cousin’s oldest… well, never mind. I only have ten minutes here.”

“Is the front line moving so fast?”

“No, no. We got soldiers and bots from the world around trying to push it back. I paid for ten minutes of pipe is all.”

“I can send you funds—”