30

Ajiñe helped Nicalla clear up her work—which was important work, of course. Nicalla kept track of the jobs, listened for Varazina’s instructions, knew how to communicate with the other cells. She was the one who recruited new folks. Ajiñe worried that the girl spent too much time holed up in this dusty bomb-out, but she never belittled her.

Gabrána brought out the chair, with its iron shackles welded at the armrests and feet, and further steel reinforcement. She put it in its designated spot in the middle of the floor, quickly latching it into the small hooks they had put into the concrete. No one would easily get out of the chair once they had them in there.

Which is where Renzi Llionorco would be shortly.

“You’re sure about doing this?” Nicalla asked. “Usually we recruit with a bit more subtlety.”

“You tell me when you see his cycle. I never met the two who got pinched, or saw the girl’s cycle. You’re the one who said it was a modified bash from a ’goiz 960.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s very simple,” Gabrána said, taking off her hat and lying down on the cot they kept in the corner. “We need to check this Renzi fellow out, and I’d rather not waste a moment.”

Nicalla’s eyes went to Ajiñe. “You think you want him with us?”

“If he’s really the person he presents himself as, he’d be perfect. If he’s what I think he is, we need to get rid of him now.”

“That’s the real thing,” Gabrána said. “Flush out every tory spy as soon as possible.”

“You’re wrong, again,” Nicalla said. “If we actually find a tory working to infiltrate, we should use that.”

“Too damned risky,” Ajiñe said.

“And she likes risk,” Gabrána added.

The door opened, and Fenito came in with the inert body of Renzi over his shoulder. “Mensi is stashing the truck and will bring the cycle when he comes.”

“But you think I’m right about that ride?” Ajiñe asked.

“I don’t know,” Fenito said as he laid Renzi on the floor. “I mean, yeah, it’s a souped-up ’goiz, but—”

But none of them had met the girl who got pinched or had seen her cycle, except for Nicalla.

“Let’s not waste any more time,” Gabrána said, coming over to Renzi. “He’s likely to come to any swipe.”

“Right,” Ajiñe said. She knelt down with Gab and Fenito as they stripped Renzi’s clothes off. No hidden weapons, nothing that was an obvious telltale sign that he was really a tory. Not that she was entirely sure what that would look like. Once they had him naked, they shackled him into the chair.

“These slacks are the real thing,” Gab said, sniffing at them. “Old denim, with years of oil and shop work baked into them.” Ajiñe took them from her and smelled them, rubbing her finger on the fabric.

“That’s true,” she said. “But it’s not like tories can’t get ahold of real jifoz oil-cat clothes. All they have to do is steal from the people they lock up.”

“And that’s what you think?” Fenito asked. “He’s a tory, wearing the clothes and driving the cycle of the new girl who got pinched?”

“I think we can’t ignore that possibility.”

“We probably can’t ignore that he’s got a gorgeous body, either,” Gab said, running a finger across Renzi’s well-muscled chest.

“That really should not be a consideration,” Nicalla said.

“It’s not, truly,” Gab said. “If we learn he’s a tory, of course, we have to smash in his skull. But if he isn’t, well . . . he truly has a beautiful cock.”

“Gabrána!” Nicalla snapped.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Ajiñe, you really can’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“She’s not wrong,” Fenito said with a wicked smile.

“Stop talking about his cock,” Nicalla said. “I am begging to you and the spirits who watch over you, and do not kneel in front of the chair, Fenito.”

“I’m checking him for scars or such,” Fenito said. “I’m not a complete lustball.”

“Yes, all his scars,” Gabrána added. “He does have a few on his back.”

Ajiñe went and looked. There was a patchwork of old scarring, the sort that looked like he had been burned in childhood. Maybe he had been caught in one of the bombing runs.

Fenito had moved to looking at Renzi’s hands. “Fingernails are ragged, grease and dirt under them. Not very tory.”

“He’s been on Street Xaomico almost a whole season. Long enough to grow those out.”

“I’m just saying, this guy doesn’t look like he’s been living a rhique or llipe life like most tories we come across.”

“Right,” Nicalla said, coming a bit closer. “But—”

“What do you see?” Gabrána asked.

“Don’t you think he looks, you know, almost too fair?”

Ajiñe nodded. “Maybe. Like if he cleaned up, maybe he could pass for rhique.”

“Some might say that about me,” Gabrána said with a teasing tone. She held out her bare arm next to Renzi’s. “Pretty close.”

Gabrána did have the lightest complexion of the lot of them, and she was absolutely a jifozi girl. Renzi was no lighter. Maybe Ajiñe was just being silly. Maybe Renzi was exactly what he claimed to be.

They had to be sure.

“Are you done molesting him?” Nicalla asked. “I really don’t need to look at all that.”

“Get a handle on yourself,” Ajiñe said. “When he wakes up, we’re going to ask him some questions, and if we still aren’t sure, we’re going to do a mushroom test.”

Nicalla pursed her lips in a grimace. “How much of a mushroom test?”

“We need to really get inside him, right?” Fenito asked. “So, I mean . . . we might need . . . at least one of us . . .”

“All of us is best,” Gabrána said. “Not Nic, of course.”

“Thank you,” Nicalla said bitterly.

“But we have to presume—as distasteful as this business is—we have to presume if he’s a tory spy, that he’s at least somewhat expecting to use the mushroom, right?” She looked over to Nicalla.

Nicalla nodded begrudgingly. “Yeah, the Circle Piondo cell had that one Alliance infiltrator who had a few mushroom fucks with a number of them, and they didn’t suspect her through all that. Only found her out when they were all connected at once during an after-mission celebration.”

“All of them at once was too intense, she dropped her guard,” Gabrána said.

“So, is that what we’ll do?” Fenito asked, taking off his coat and boots.

“Spirits, the lot of you,” Nicalla said. “No, it’s better if we all connect with him but . . . we push him, not rape him.”

Nicalla had a point. “We don’t need to be fucking to make the bonds,” Ajiñe said.

“But having all of us in the circuit, all pushing,” Gabrána said. “He might be able to hold back against one or two—especially within pleasure—but five? No way.”

“Thank you,” Nicalla said. “I’ll get our mushroom.” She went to the cabinets.

The door opened, and Mensi wheeled in the ’goiz 960. “He’s not awake yet?”

“You might have overdone spiking his carbon,” Ajiñe said. She pointed to the cycle and looked expectantly at Nicalla.

Nicalla came over and crouched next to it. “I mean, bear in mind, I only met the girl once with her cycle, and I’m not the gearfiend you are. But . . . yeah, that looks like her ride.”

“That is sketchy,” Mensi said. “Didn’t you say he just got out of Hanez?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“And this is his cycle?”

“Rode in on it with Partinez.”

Gabrána made a noise of disgust. Partinez was not her favorite person.

“Did you ask Partinez about it?”

“No, I didn’t want Renzi knowing we were looking at him at all.”

Mensi paced about Renzi. “When I got out of Hanez all I got were the clothes I had when I was pinched. No one I’ve known who got their freewalking ever got anything more. So how did he come out with a cycle?”

“I’m right, it’s suspect,” Ajiñe said. “I’ve never heard that.”

“And if we’re wrong?” Fenito asked. “If he’s not a tory, and he can ride like that? We need someone like him, especially with those new kids pinched.”

“Then let’s stop talking about it,” Nicalla said. She opened up a carbon bottle and spooned a few grams of their mushroom into it. Ajiñe never understood why Nicalla preferred to mix it into a carbon instead of taking it straight on her tongue, but it was fine. Nicalla took a swig out of the bottle and passed it around.

They all took a drink and joined hands, and let the moment take shape. Ajiñe was holding hands with Fenito and Gabrána, and soon her sense of self spread through their bodies, their heartbeats drumming in sync with her own. Then it went farther, into Mensi and Nicalla, including feeling Nic’s nervous breath, the hint of panic clawing up the back of her skull. She knew Nic was edoromé—she did not care for this connection or physical intimacy—but despite that, she felt the same love and kinship from Nic that the rest of them shared. Nic wasn’t less committed, she just didn’t enjoy this.

“Open his mouth,” Ajiñe said, taking the bottle. She poured the rest down Renzi’s throat while Gab held his mouth open. She ran a finger along his face, feeling that tingle of connection with him feeling herself through him.

Nic’s hand instinctively went to her own face. “Let’s get this done.”

“Right,” Ajiñe said. “Cover your faces, friends. Let’s wake him up.”