“That has to be bullshit. I’m calling Wicked,” declared the woman, her cheek implant flaring purple. She reached in anger for the cards Jax had thrown down and turned them over.

She frowned when two queens stared back at her.

“Solani can’t lie, love,” he told her, absently reaching for his winnings.

Van pulled out a lightblade and slammed it into the pile of coppers, barely missing Jax’s fingertips. “Hold on there, friends. I think this is mine.”

“Not this game,” Robb replied, keeping his voice level. “We won.”

Van grinned wide, flashing a golden front tooth. “The kingdom’s got a warrant out for an exiled Ironblood and a star-kisser. For treason. You wouldn’t be them, would you?”

Robb turned to Jax and said, “Maybe he does know what treason is, ma’alor—”

The entrance to the LowBar buckled in with an inhuman kick. Two Messiers stepped inside, their blue eyes scanning the crowd.

Robb took hold of Jax’s arm as they scrambled to their feet—

He turned, and the mouth of a Metroid pressed against his forehead. Goddess’s spark.

Van grinned around his golden tooth and drew back the hammer with his thumb. “You and that star-kisser ain’t going nowhere. Maybe now I’ll find if Solani Metals sparkle—”

Before Robb could so much as think of what to do, Jax grabbed the man’s pistol and shoved it upward. The surprise made him squeeze the trigger, and a bullet burst the neon light above. It showered sparks onto them. He twisted the gun out of the man’s grip, slamming the butt of it across his jaw, and the man slumped to the ground.

The bar erupted into chaos.

Patrons scattered for the back exit, kicking up chairs, their drinks flying.

At the front of the bar, the Messiers pulled out their weapons to fire. The ammunition glowed hot. Robb thought quick—he grabbed the table’s legs and flipped it over onto its side as a hail of bullets slammed into it.

He and Jax pressed their backs against it.

A bullet bit through the table at his elbow, and he hissed in surprise more than pain, jerking his arm up. “Any escape plans?”

“Aside from not dying?”

“That would be helpful!”

Jax shook his head. “Can’t really think of any, no.”

“Perfect.”

In the reflection of one of the overturned steel tankards, Robb watched as the Messiers slowly made their way toward them. The two androids split up, one taking the left side of the room, the other the right—odd, since they usually traveled in packs, but now they circled from opposite sides.

Prowling.

His mechanical arm twitched again.

He hoped Ana was faring better.

“Peace, citizens,” said one.

“And come quietly,” finished the other.

Quietly? The Messiers did know who they were dealing with, didn’t they? He and Jax were probably wanted on at least fifteen other charges—driving in a no-fly zone, trespassing, transportation of illegal goods, gambling, hijacking a skysailer, illegal use of stolen funds. . . .

And as far as Robb could figure, that’d been only in the last six months since the assassination.