Bug was alone in his office, which was a very messy anteroom to the spotless clean room in which the MindReader mainframe and supercomputers hummed relentlessly. Bug swiveled around and looked at two figures inside the room, both of them in protective white garments and safety goggles. One was the slightly hunched and emaciated figure of Yoda, his number two. The other was a woman he’d met in South Korea. A top-of-the-line super hacker named Annie Han. Originally an operative in the NIS—National Intelligence Agency’s computer counterespionage or cybersecurity divisions. That was a front, though, a functional cover for her real job, which was that of cyber warfare expert for Arklight, the militant arm of the Mothers of the Fallen. A group of intensely fierce women who waged a private war against human trafficking, sex slavery, and other crimes against women and children. Now Annie was a member of RTI and of Bug’s team.

She was also his girlfriend.

Not quite a lover in the truest sense of that word, though she was that in a deliciously physical way. But although Bug had fallen pretty heavily for Annie, she was more reserved and guarded with her emotions. The result, she said, of a string of truly disastrous relationships that ended very badly.

Bug had hopes, though. He hadn’t had a real girlfriend in years. He knew that everyone he worked with thought he was a sexless worker bee who was secretly in love with MindReader. And Bug had encouraged that viewpoint because sharing his sadness and loneliness with his friends never felt right. Just the thought of it made him feel like a bit of a freak.

He was very much in love now, though.

But if Annie was going to fall in love with him, then she was playing a very subtle long game.

She and Yoda were in the middle of a very finicky process of stripping the Calpurnia AI system out of MindReader Q1 so that a much more efficient and intuitive system could be uploaded. It was painstaking work requiring long days. And Annie so often said how tired she was when she headed to her apartment. No accompanying invitation.

Bug sipped more of the Red Bull as data flowed across his screen.

He did not hear the office door open. He heard no footfalls.

“Bug,” said Mr. Church.

Bug jumped halfway out of his chair, spilling the energy drink down the front of his University of Wakanda T-shirt.

“Jesus H. T. Mortimer Christ.” Bug coughed, grabbing for tissues to dab his shirt.

Church made no apology. He never did. Instead, he went around and sat down on an empty chair. He waited while Bug sopped up the spill, tossed the tissues away, and grabbed another can of Red Bull.

“Tell me where we are,” said Church. “But before you answer, lock the room.”