Luis and Welga had promised her they would never again take the focus enhancer. Why would they want to use the thing that had killed their mother? Welga hadn’t known that she’d need them to compete in college as a biogenetics major. She’d taken flow a few times in high school, to keep her grades up, but she had to sneak it from friends. She figured a handful of times wouldn’t hurt her, and they hadn’t, but the academics in college demanded frequent, regular usage. Like zips, the more you used flow, the better you could handle it. Her brother had learned from her example and avoided higher education altogether. Welga had taken care with other pills, too, screening everything that went into her body—and she’d allowed the government to alter her so that she could monitor her health. That the military had access to her vitals seemed like a fair trade. And yet, after all that, it turned out she’d betrayed her body with zips.

She pushed the container to the far side of the table and shifted focus back to her visual… or tried to. The government-issue basic chair made every position uncomfortable. She pulled the medical pill pack from her pocket, her motions made awkward by stiff sleeves, and took another pain drug. Mottled skin, half-healed, stretched as she flexed her hands. She grimaced, glad that swarms weren’t allowed inside this building. What must her face look like right now? She hadn’t showered since before the incident at the refinery. Soot and blood still stained her clothes. Her burned skin resisted her finger motions as she continued through the report.

The Machinehood knew how to cover their tracks. No tip jar to provide a money trail. No contact information for fans or supportive protesters. No fingerprints. And, of course, no bodies left intact. The bots in Chennai had been standard models, hacked into flinging themselves at her crew, but someone had to send the signal, and someone had to coordinate the onslaught.

The report proceeded to address each aspect of the Machinehood’s operations. The bots originated in the US. No surprise. American factories produced the majority of the world’s armaments and weaponizable machines. Funding had been routed through multiple encrypted banking services. That trail went cold in the Bahamas, where the banks refused to cooperate.

The custom code hack had been done by manual upload. Professional and clean. The report moved on to possible connections to the al-Muwahhidun in the Maghreb. The empire took in plenty of income from biogenetic modification designs, and the caliph made no secret about his desire to expand its borders. To save humanity from corruption, he claimed. Goddamn megalomaniac.

Olafson slumped into the chair across from her.

“You’re in,” he announced.

“Good. In what capacity?”