“Oh, someone records every goddamn thing we say.” Jaden gestured to the open doorway in silent invitation. “Why do you think they haven’t firebombed my market yet? Gotta keep me complacent so I’ll keep transmitting.”
Inside the cabin was a mess of tech. Tables lined one wall, covered in boxes with dozens of dials, displays in a half dozen different colors, and display monitors every few feet. A tanned young woman with blond hair in a high ponytail sat in a chair in front of one of them, a headset around her neck and her feet propped up on the desk. One of Maya’s favorite dramas played on the largest monitor, showing a group of astronauts fighting to contain some crisis on Mars.
As soon as Jaden stepped through the door, the girl bolted upright and paused her show. “Delta team just radioed in. They made the pickup okay and are on their way back.”
“Good.” Jaden crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the table. “Laura, I need you to put out a roll call to everyone in the field. Looking for any of those genetics companies either on the move with kids or setting up shop.”
The blonde hesitated, glancing at Nina and Knox. Jaden waved a hand. “They’re fine. Show Nina how we put all the TechCorps’ little snoopers straight the fuck to sleep.”
“Got it.”
She unplugged her headset from the speaker and pulled the microphone toward her. “CQ, CQ, Alpha Romeo Tango calling CQ. Alpha Romeo Tango. Listening.”
After two more repetitions, static crackled through the speaker. “Alpha Romeo Tango, I hear you. This is Bravo Whiskey Victor. Go ahead.”
“We’ve got a nine-one-one request from a neighboring farm. Looking for kale seeds. Gotta get them in the ground before the first frost. Over.”
So that was his game, hiding potentially valuable intelligence by using the most boring, commonplace-sounding code they could muster. Nina had to admire the simple elegance of it. Still, the fact that the situation was common enough to warrant an established code made her sick to her stomach. She nudged Knox, who tilted his head, his brow furrowing.
After a moment, the radio crackled. “Sorry, no love here. Try Echo Foxtrot Sierra?”
A new voice popped up, higher pitched with a deep Southern twang. “Echo Foxtrot Sierra here. No kale seeds, but I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”
“Understood,” Laura said into the microphone. “Delta Charlie Lima, do you copy? Alpha Romeo Tango calling Delta Charlie Lima.”
This time a booming baritone with an even more extreme drawl answered. “Delta Charlie Lima, checking in. No kale. I repeat, no sign of kale. Want us to check with the neighbors?”
“Please. The planting window is closing. Thanks, y’all. Hope the harvest is going well.”
Perfectly mundane reports about corn and apples followed until Laura cut off the flow by plugging her headset back in and slipping it over her ears.
Jaden’s face was serious. “Some shit we just don’t fuck around about,” he said softly. “I have a deal with Savitri. I find them, she shuts them down.”
Nina glanced at Knox, who met her gaze and nodded once. “We want in.”
“Silent communication already?” Dakota said from behind them. “That’s fucking adorable. I love both of you.”
Jaden grunted and opened his mouth. “I should—”
“Uh-uh.” She cut him off with a grin and a shrug. “Duty calls. You have to get back to work.”
He snapped his mouth shut, then sighed. “She’s right. Lucas will work up the details into our more complex code and get it on the network tonight. My contacts stretch from the Mississippi to the Atlantic, and from the Gulf to the Heartlands. We will find them, eventually.”
Nina wanted to argue. Those kids might be anywhere by then, passed around to the highest bidders for Christ knew what purposes. They might not have eventually.
But Jaden knew that. This was the hard reality of the situation: as much as they wanted it, as hard as they tried, they might not succeed.
Nina clenched her eyes shut, and Knox wrapped an arm around her shoulder. His lips found her temple. Soft, barely there … but a promise.
“I’ll get in touch when we have news,” Dakota murmured. “Until then…”
Until then, they just had to wait.
TECHCORPS PROPRIETARY DATA, L2 SECURITY CLEARANCE
Of course DC-035 has my permission to attend advanced cryptography classes. Do you think I have time to take them myself?
Internal Memo, September 2077
FOURTEEN
Montgomery Market Day was Maya’s favorite Atlanta ritual.
It was the opposite of Convergence in almost every way. Instead of being buried deep underground, the market sprawled across a wide dirt expanse framed on the north and south by warehouses with their huge bay doors flung open and on the east and west by an apple and peach orchard, respectively. The open air dispersed the noise of the chattering crowd, and instead of industrial tech and flashing lights, the aesthetic was rustic farm chic and bright afternoon sunlight.
Sometimes the wind even shifted enough to carry the scent of honest-to-God manure, which was a bit too much farming realism for Maya’s personal tastes, but she supposed nothing was perfect.
The jumble of tables and stands held everything from fresh produce to gray-market goods to pre-Flare antiques. She’d made some of her favorite finds browsing dusty stacks of books pillaged from someone’s great-great-grandmother’s library. And there was usually a ton of broken or ill-repaired tech that just needed a little love. Most of the loaner tablets she sent home with families had come from stacks of electronics on her favorite scavenger’s table.
Today, she had a more immediate mission. With Rainbow’s tiny hand clasped in hers, she navigated the stalls until she found one that looked promising. Racks of bright and cheerful clothes in children’s sizes fanned out from the main table, which held a chaotic jumble of tiny folded T-shirts, scuffed but decent footwear, and a wealth of tacky but sparkly jewelry that would delight any kid.
Well, maybe not any kid. But hopefully this kid.
Ivonne’s best efforts at coaxing Rainbow into a shopping spree had resulted in two pairs of practical black pants, two gray T-shirts, and a pair of boots. She’d dug in her heels as if suspecting a trap—or more likely a test she might fail—and Ivonne hadn’t pushed.
Maya wasn’t going to push, either. But she could … reframe. Crouching down next to Rainbow, she met the girl’s serious gaze. “You said you studied tactics, right?”
A solemn nod.
“What about infiltration? Going undercover?”
“A little bit.” Rainbow’s gaze skipped from Maya’s face to survey the booth briefly, then swung back. “Am I not dressed right?”
“You’re dressed fine,” Maya reassured her. “There’s no right or wrong. If that’s what you want to wear, you can wear it. But when I came down off the Hill, the first thing I did was buy new clothes. Because people dress different down here, and I didn’t want them noticing me. Plus?” She leaned closer and lowered her voice, like she was sharing a forbidden secret. “I found out I really like pretty colors.”
Rainbow studied Maya’s outfit. Today she’d dressed for the heat, in a pair of cutoff denim shorts, her favorite boots with their neon-blue laces, and a matching bright-blue tank top. She’d accessorized with a wrist full of silver bangles, a blue stone wrapped in wire for a necklace, and her favorite pair of facial-recognition-algorithm-busting sunglasses, which were currently propped on top of her head.