Tom gaped at it, amazed. He’d never seen one of these suckers up close, not through his human eyes. The sharp, scythelike missile turrets curved toward him in open menace, their blackness stark against the skyboard light streaming about them. After a moment of looming there, the drone’s optical camouflaging activated, shimmering its mass into invisibility, leaving only one visible aspect: the pinpoint camera eye, glaring right at him. Optically camouflaged ships were only detectable when they moved—and only if a person knew to look for the telltale wavering of the air. The camera seemed to float in space.

Then the instant communication program in his neural processor activated, and words were net-sent right into his vision center: I know about your drone, Mordred.

Tom was overjoyed, realizing who it was. If there was one person he’d want to share his triumph, it’d be Medusa. “You saw that?” he spoke, knowing she’d hear him. “Awesome. I’ve gotta admit it, though: yours is bigger. Where did you get this guy? I want one.”

Are you an idiot?

Tom blinked. That wasn’t the reply he’d expected. Or hoped for.

Unless you are actively trying to give us away, you need to stop messing around like this!

Tom ignored his sudden, sinking disappointment at her reaction and made a show of shrugging his shoulders. “I know you want to keep what we can do a secret. So do I, okay? But I had to do that thing yesterday. It was a matter of honor. I had to right a wrong. And honestly, Medusa, it’s kind of rich calling me a moron for using that drone when you flew in a Centurion right over Las Vegas, of all places.”

This Centurion was optically camouflaged when I flew it down. It disappeared off the grid years ago. No one will miss it. You tampered with the navigation of an active-duty police drone. Someone will notice. That is not acceptable.

“What, so I should do nothing, then?” Tom leaned forward, irritated. “I should wait until I’m a Combatant and use what we can do as a cheat like you do?”

The drone drew menacingly closer at the implication. Tom knew he’d made her mad, but he stood his ground.

“Don’t you get it?” he said. “This ability we’ve got—we could do anything. We could make the world better. We could be like . . .” He faltered a moment, knowing this would make him sound like a dumb eight-year-old, but it was the only word he could think of. “ . . . superheroes.”

This is not a comic book, Mordred. We are not untraceable, and we are not invincible. We only operate in safety now because no one knows to look for us. The next time you pull something this stupid, I will come back and make sure you can’t do it again.

“Like how? You’ll kill me?”