Mal waited impatiently, staring at the multiple monitors and abstract shadows thrown against the walls as his mind raced.
He could hear Ehzi upstairs tucking Sammar into bed. At first the boy had protested, saying it was too early to sleep. She had persisted and once she got him into her bedroom directly above, Mal wasn’t able to make out what she was saying. But he could hear the soothing tone of her voice, the kind that made you feel like everything was going to be okay. Nekka would use that tone when Mal couldn’t quit his rages. She was the only one who could stand in his path of destruction and make him settle.
He glared when Ehzi made her way downstairs. “Done playing mommy?”
“You want the child out of our hair, don’t you?”
“I want to know why you think he’s a damn burner.”
“This is what I pieced.” She flipped through the scraps of paper next to her keyboard, scanning her hastily scribbled notes. “From the Zeta sig, lots of talk about the Rising Initiative. You know what that is?”
Mal shook his head.
“A foundation that relocates orphaned skid children into Avalon. Every year they take thousands of kids from the outer districts, grant them provisional status, and immigrate them into the Protectorate. Raise them to be the next generation of cleaners, drudges and fixers. Sammar was selected for admission two months ago.”
Ehzi flipped to another sheet. “I snatched a heated exchange between Zetas. Somebody complaining the Dolvac Heights attack ‘stole glory’ from their op. Someone else saying the Zeta tack will ‘light up twice as many inside Avalon.’ Talk of the magged security possibly fucking it up. Someone else on the sig figured there’s ‘too many boss execs behind Rising Initiative who are clawing for clout by saving kids’ to call it off.”
“And you think that means the kid’s a burner?”
“They were talking about a planned burner attack, no doubt. And that it’s connected to the Rising Initiative. You got hired – by Zeta, I figure – to protect and deliver one child of the thousands getting into Avalon. You have a better idea, tell me.”
“Can you check which camp they’ll be hauling the kids from?”
Ehzi pulled up the Rising Initiative hub, clicked through to the module detailing the current year’s draft. “Camp 735.”
The pieces lined up. And yet…
“Who would have hired those lancers to come after us? The CCDF wouldn’t prof the likes of them,” said Mal.
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“No, they’d send a drone to blaze the street you were sitting on. There’s serious fric between the factions over this; there’s plenty who would hire up lancers.” They sat in silence, hoping to find the fact that would disprove Ehzi’s theory. “What’s Sammar’s story?” she asked.
Mal shrugged. “They didn’t tell me anything but his name.”
“You’ve been with him two days. You don’t you know anything?”
“I’m supposed to drive him to Exill, not be his little friend.”
Ehzi rolled her eyes. “I see why they hired you for this. A few days stuck with you and most would be grateful for a fiery end.”
Mal’s lips curled into the beginnings of a smile. He shook his head, grateful that Ehzi was still the same blunt dustkicker he remembered.
“Sammar told me he was raised in the Haven orphanage. His parents were killed in the Ikast Gate massacre when he was two years old,” said Ehzi.
“Anything else?”
“He told me about some people he met that only he could see.”
“The ’geckos’?”
Ehzi feigned surprise. “You actually know something about the kid. Crazy.”
“Did he tell you who they were?”
“He said his friends at the orphanage didn’t think they’re real but he knows they are. He started falling asleep so I didn’t push it.”
“There’s a bigger question,” said Mal. “Nobody’s ever turned a child into a burner before.”
“Never thought they’d stoop so low. Even Zeta Dawn.” Ehzi shook her head in disgust. “Poor sweet thing.”
“Didn’t think it was possible.”
“I can’t cog it,” said Ehzi. She tapped the keyboard absently, doubt creeping into her thoughts. “Maybe I’m off. Maybe there’s another reason Zeta is shipping him to that camp. There’s gotta be. I mean, if someone really figured out how to turn children into burners…”
Ehzi trailed off, the gravity of the potential consequences weighing down her words.
“I need to be sure he is what you think he is.”
“How?”
Mal rubbed his eyes, mind working. “Oli Nas lives in the Salvage Sector.”
Oli was the only pyrojack Mal knew. He’d engineered burners for the insurgent factions for more than a decade and knew everything about the procedure; if anyone could determine whether Sammar was a burner, it was Oli.
Ehzi sucked her teeth in disapproval. “Never wanted to see that shitlicker’s face again.”
“You don’t have to,” said Mal. “This is my gig. I’ll take him.”
“That boy’s been through enough already. No need for him to be stuck alone with you again,” said Ehzi. “We’re taking him tomorrow.”
///
Mal and Ehzi agreed that it was safest to get to the Salvage Sector on foot. Her scooter was broken down; even if it was running, it was built for a single rider. Walking to the southern part of EastSec would take at least twelve hours from Ehzi’s unit, but hiring a driver only upped the potential to attract unwanted attention.
Mal sat on the couch the rest of the night counting the drips from the leaky faucet in the kitchen. Ehzi crawled into her bed and curled up next to Sammar. Mal was reminded of the ease at which Ehzi latched onto those she decided were worth protecting. He remembered at one point when they were X-10 members, Ehzi had collected seven or eight stray dogs to the annoyance of the cell’s leadership.
Mal told himself it was none of his business what Zeta planned for the boy. He should just drop him off at the Asylum Camp, collect his money and return to his old life. But something twisted in his gut at the thought of Sammar being a burner; maybe because he was the same age when his own father detonated inside Avalon.
Mal pushed the memory down and tried to focus on the dripping faucet. It didn’t work. The old feelings of anger and hurt rippled through his body.
