It came on the silent feet of messengers who slipped up from the tunnels to warn the assorted factions that It’s here, it’s now. They’re moving, and we must move faster.

Packs were hoisted onto backs. Masks were checked, and clipped to suspenders and belts. Goggles and spectacles with polarized glass were jammed quickly onto faces, and warm, shuttered lanterns were readied. They needed light, but not too much light. They needed to see, but not be seen.

As the men filed out the door, Rector and Zeke fell into line behind them, joining the flow. They’d already talked it over between themselves, and with the lumberman Mr. Miller. Their plan was not to make for the Station, but to head toward the tower. There, they would serve as lookouts, manning the perimeter and helping identify the enemy should the fray become heated.

They’d been given lanterns that were different from those the other men carried. These had been designed by the late Dr. Minnericht, and Yaozu called them spotlights. They were gas-powered and heavy—like a larger version of the focus beams Rector had seen a time or two before—but when they were lit and aimed, they directed a brilliant, steady light for many yards. They would use these lights to blind the tower men, and single them out.

“We aren’t going to kill anybody, are we?” Zeke had asked.

Rector told him, “No, that’s a job for other people. We’re just here to watch our own. It’s us or them, Zeke. Us or them.”

Now that the moment had come, Zeke was valiantly holding his composure in place—better than Rector, maybe. Rector shook beneath the load of his oversized lamp. He felt uncommonly sweaty, and his heart wouldn’t stop banging around in his rib cage. He was nervous, that was all. He knew it, but that didn’t make it any easier.

On their way out the door, a woman’s voice called Zeke’s name.

It wasn’t his mother, thank God. It was Lucy O’Gunning.

“Zeke, baby.”

“I’m not a baby, Mrs. O’Gunning.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. She seemed to wrestle with some internal question. Her brows furrowed, and her mechanical arm fidgeted with the edge of her apron. “I only mean … your momma doesn’t know you’re off to join them, does she?”

“I’m old enough,” he said calmly. “And Momma’s up at Fort Decatur with the captain, helping with the ships and hydrogen.”

The last of the men exited Maynard’s, leaving just the three of them standing on its threshold. Mrs. O’Gunning was nearly too worried to speak. She spoke anyway. “You don’t have guns, do you?”