After an acceptable silence, Jan added, “Ah, Kinsley?”
She kept reading.
“This matter is time sensitive.”
She set down her book. “Why?”
“Senator Tarack also implanted torture nanos in me, and the man she sent to guard me ... her security chief ... is missing. If I don’t have him reset those nanos in,” Jan estimated, “a little over nineteen hours, I will die in horrific agony.”
Kinsley set aside her book. “That was foolish of you.”
“It was the only way to avoid going out an airlock.”
“Fair.” Kinsley hopped off her bed and walked to the single seat on the far side of her bunker, where she settled in front of three mounted keyboards. “What’s the missing person’s name?”
“Bharat,” Jan said, and frowned as he realized he did not have a last name. “He is a muscular Advanced man with a mouth-enveloping beard, and I last saw him standing between me and Rafe, in front of the mini-mall where Emiko works.”
“That’s enough,” Kinsley said, tapping keys.
“This would have been between five and six hours ago.”
“I said I’ve got it.” Keys clattered as Kinsley went to work. There were no screens beyond the keyboards — Kinsley’s PBA projected the screens only to her — but she’d once told Jan she preferred the tactile feel of real keyboards over the floaty nothingness of augmented reality. She typed rapidly, rotating the chair between keyboards like a drummer playing a solo.
“Found him,” she said. “Tracking.” She had probably hacked the Luxury District’s drones years ago.
Kinsley typed away for all of ten seconds before she stopped, spun, and stared. “Truthers took him. They snatched him off Comet four hours and forty-two minutes ago.”
Her unconcerned words made Jan cold. He wanted to ask “You’re certain?” but with Kinsley, that was both rude and almost certainly “Yes.” He did not want to deal with Truthers today.
The Truthers — or the True Sons of Ceto, as no one but these assholes called themselves — were a group of Patriots who’d splintered off into their own cells after the Supremacy left. Angered by the fact that Ceto’s administrators (and even many former Patriot leaders) had made peace with the Advanced who’d oppressed and murdered them for years, the Truthers had made it their mission to convince all Advanced to stay the hell off Ceto. They did that by abducting Advanced citizens, beating the shit out of them, recording coerced statements about the crimes of the Supremacy, and then executing their captives by firing squad.
They were unpopular with practically everyone.
“Where’d they take him?” Jan asked instead.
Kinsley spun back to her keyboards. Typed. Spun around to face him. “They’re still in Star’s Landing. Prospector District. The abandoned warehouse at 111 Magnet Street.” Kinsley frowned. “You’re going to rescue him.”
Jan nodded. “May I borrow some guns?”
“You’ll die if you go up against that many Truthers alone. Shall I hire you mercenaries?”
Kinsley could — anyone in the Hole would jump at the chance to work for her, as favors for Kinsley could be exchanged for favors from Kinsley — but Jan didn’t want to involve anyone he hadn’t fully vetted. Word would get to Fatima.
“I have help,” he declared. “Pollen will join us, as will Rafe. I also believe I can enlist Emiko.” Ryke would probably be okay with that, given he was on a mission to get her a disc.
“You’re with Rafe now,” Kinsley said. “Why?”
“He was available.”
“Polina and Emiko won’t be enough, and Rafe is useless in situations requiring competence.” Kinsley walked to a locker in the corner and opened it. “You will need my help. Let me change.” Her fitted body armor waited inside.
Jan didn’t bother arguing. Once Kinsley made her mind up about something, arguing was just wasting breath. Yet the moment she unzipped her pajamas, Jan turned to the door.
Kinsley wouldn’t care if he saw her naked — she didn’t care if people got right down and fucked in front of her, let alone if they were wearing clothes — but Jan would never gawk unless explicitly invited to do so. Unlike most other people he knew, Kinsley was completely uninterested in sex.
The door started rumbling open, but Jan didn’t turn around. Kinsley was almost certainly still dressing. Her opening the door now was simply her being efficient.
Sure enough, the moment the rumble stopped, Kinsley walked past him, clad in formfitting black aerogel and graphene armor that hugged her tall, thin frame. The ridiculously expensive body armor was thin enough to fit through a vent shaft, yet strong enough to stop rifle rounds. Short and Skinny turned to gawk, and Kinsley waved at them.
“Sawed Off, Rocket,” Kinsley said, addressing Short and then Skinny, “watch my stuff.” She walked between them.
Jan followed, offering Short a nod, and followed Kinsley.
“Who’s on the door?” Kinsley asked over her shoulder.
“It’s Lancet, miss!” Skinny — now Rocket — yelled after her with entirely appropriate respect. “You need me to call her?”
“No,” Kinsley said. “Thank you.” She seemed not at all alarmed that she was about to go up against Truthers.
As Jan shadowed her and watched her move, he felt a warm surge of affection. He hadn’t seen Kinsley in five years, yet she had just dropped her whole day to help him. After his ball-kickingly depressing meeting with Emiko, the fact that Kinsley’s generosity and loyalty hadn’t faded felt great.
There was only one problem. Kinsley was absolutely devoted to Fatima, and even Fatima’s betrayal wouldn’t change that.
Kinsley and Fatima had grown up together. They’d saved each other’s lives more times than Jan could count. If Kinsley learned Jan planned to harm Fatima, she would stop him by any means necessary.
