“Give me a hand with this, Ambrose,” Len said, waving him down off the platform. But Ambrose lingered with the scan-tube, the machine as much a father to him as Martin Truax. He remembered the Friday product meetings in Greymatter. Concerning his company and its social network, Martin’s awareness was absolute, down to the smallest detail. It didn’t make sense for Len and Ambrose to have made it this far undetected. Ambrose looked around the darkened lab at the scan-tubes that crouched in the shadows. Something vague and unpleasant was nagging at him.

“Len?”

Len was busy externalizing a colorful lineup of charts, brain scans, and Process Flow documentation.

“Hmm?”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Give me a minute.”

“No,” Ambrose said, stepping off the platform and into the path of a rotating brain stem.

“Get out of your head. I’m trying to work.”

“This is too easy.”

Len pushed him aside.

He’s troubled by it, too, Ambrose thought. Then he had the dreamy, time-slowing feeling he’d had on Dita’s street, just before her house exploded. He remembered the leaves falling faintly through the air, the last one touching the ground right before—

“Run,” Ambrose said.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” a voice whispered in his ear.

“He’s here!” Ambrose screamed.

Len narrowed his eyes. “Get in the scan-tube.”

“I’m not crazy, Len. It’s Dad!”

Len waved over two Security Associates. “Get him in the tube.”

Instead, one of the Associates tossed Len a spare disruptor and pointed to the door of the lab as it slid open. Len struggled to attach the oversized weapon. His fist trembled.

“Welcome home, Ambrose,” the voice whispered.

UniCorp Security Associates—real ones—poured into the room through the open door, a phalanx of heavy boot steps and bristling disruptors. Len’s Red Squirrel Tea unit took cover, crouching behind the row of smaller tubes in front of the platform. Len yanked Ambrose down.

“You brought me back to him,” Ambrose said, feeling like a fool who had learned too late not to trust anyone.

Len clasped Ambrose’s sore hand. “I won’t let him take you, little brother.”

Martin’s voice boomed. “To the Security Associates currently protecting my sons: the first one of you to turn them over to my men will be rich. The rest will die.”

“Get in there.” Len pointed urgently at a tube halfway down the row. “It’s an exit, Ambrose—trust me.”

Ambrose hesitated. Trust had gotten him trapped here, in the room where it had all started, at the mercy of the man who created him.

“Version 3.0, whatever it is—throw yourself into the gears. Don’t let him upgrade.” Len finally managed to slap his disruptor into place. Then he gave a low, sweeping hand signal to the men hiding alongside him. Each man gave a quick nod in return.