In the past, Tom might’ve found it funny, the redness flushing Karl’s face, the big hands clenched into shaking fists. Now he felt oddly detached. This was a waste of his time.

“Guess I’m not blacklisted anymore,” Tom said.

“Well.” Karl jabbed a big finger at Tom’s chest. Hard. “I’m not gonna let you waltz into CamCo, if that’s what you think. I’ll fight you every step of the way.”

Tom considered this situation carefully, because he was very certain Elliot had pointed out exactly which wires to snip to defuse this bomb.

“Okay,” Tom said. “You do that.”

“What, that’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Tom swiped his hand through his hair. “Hey, you wanna stomp me. I get it. You never stop trying. I’ve gotta give you points for determination.” He turned away and moved toward the Calisthenics Arena, but Karl’s big hand landed on his shoulder, yanking him back around.

“What sort of game are you playing here, Fido? Whatever it is, it’s not going to work!”

Tom was morbidly fascinated. He’d swear, Karl looked more upset right now than if Tom was insulting him. “No game,” he said, deliberately mild. “I’m being completely honest here, Karl. I respect your tenacity. I give you props for that.”

Karl’s big brow furrowed. His grip slipped away.

Tom straightened his collar and strode off into the Calisthenics Arena. He spotted the new Middles all returning their gear to the armory, and it was easy enough in the confusion for Tom to step in and don an exosuit, some optical camouflage, and a pair of centrifugal clamps.

Then he climbed to the very top of the Pentagonal Spire.

He stood up there on the roof. He was high enough now to glimpse the edges of a distant batch of skyboards glowing over Richmond, Virginia.

Tom delved in his pocket for the remote-access transmitter he’d already received for the upcoming vacation. He popped it onto his neck. He knew Medusa was incapacitated right now, incapable of hooking into the internet. More important, Vengerov knew it. Therefore the man who stood at the nexus of the security state, the man behind the surveillance and the drones and the secrecy who held together the world as it was, would realize Yaolan couldn’t possibly be the one who did what Tom was about to do.

If the Coalition executives thought Elliot Ramirez’s blasting all the skyboards in the middle of nowhere, Texas, was incendiary during Capitol Summit, if they saw them as a spark that could ignite something bigger, then Tom was about to give them an inferno.