No, I needed defense. I took evasive action, casting off the Wretch, then resuming motion, so the scraps and twists of tinker technology were left behind. Zig-zagging movements. Movements that went up, then down, then between feet that were planted far enough apart.

I dropped low, breastplate touching knee, and flew along the road.

I’d done my part—and Byron was doing his. Water came in broad sprays, showering people, catching them at angles that hit faces, went under hoods, or caught bare legs and tights beneath shorts or skirts.

His water was normally cold, and in this weather, it was unforgiving.

I’d destroyed one device, and Byron was apparently working to destroy another, repeatedly hitting a fallen box with torrents of water.

But the enemy—we’d bowled them over, bruised, abused, battered them. They kept coming.

Goddess hit the point where she was frustrated with these guys. In the broad abstract, she needed our help if she was going to break up Teacher’s growing hold on things. In the more micro-abstract, we were struggling with this dynamic.

“They’ve got teleporters! That’s how they’re getting people!”

“The door you destroyed!” I heard Withdrawal’s voice, his accent. “It’s not the only one!”

Door. It had been a door.

I had to fly up to get a proper view of the scene. Up twenty feet, pausing, with only a few momentary movements, in case someone was trying to draw a bead on me. I could see other boxes.

He could drop a teleportation gate into things, bring in an army, and win whatever fight he wanted. Some of those boxes didn’t look like teleporters.

We needed a path to retreat, and that was harder for Byron than it was for me. We needed to get the Malfunctions out of here.

The Malfunctions seemed to hear my thoughts, because I saw Withdrawal enter the fray. He moved at high speeds, skidding on wet and icy road, and hefted his syringe that wasn’t a syringe anymore.

The contents of the syringe sprayed over a wall. He skated to it, then skated up the slick of spray. He bounded off of it, then landed smack-dab in the middle of a large group.

“Bam. Bam. Bambam, zaap!”

Finale. She used her blaster power to less effect than even the tinker-one ray guns and rifles. The air distorted in front of her hands every time she fired—with more distortion each time. The ‘zap’ was characterized by a distant sound of a whipcrack or thunder. Her mouth moved and she made sounds as she used her abilities, even though there should have been zero need. It put me in mind of people who could read, but who moved their lips as they did.

Caryatid was protecting Finale and Byron. She was a walking statue in black and amber, hands outstretched and pulled back, ready for a strike or grab if anyone got in range. Few did.