Page 118 of Throwing Fire

The mercs fall back into formation without so much as a nod. With one finger, I beckon to Payton. When she pulls up on my free side, I lean in and whisper to her, “B’s obviously got nothing against mech-mods.”

Payton shakes her head. “Sawhet is a Tyng. First cousin twice removed. So is Keegan. Mister Tyng placed them within the organization personally.”

Tyng’s cousins, nieces, and nephews are peppered through the company. Tyng liked to keep things in the family. I haven’t tried to keep track of all of them. Just the ones at Xec-level, or who have tried to kill Chiara. “Loyal?” I ask.

“Sawhet? To her enhanced core,” Payton whispers.

Mech Tyng leads us through the stone, chrome and glaz lobby,through a set of security doors and down two levels. In most Tyng buildings, this would be an engineering level. When the doors snick open, I see why it’s not.

It’s a mezannine floor, a control pod, crouching over a huge, open floor one level below. Even if Mech Tyng hadn’t told me this was Ops, it’d be obvious from the décor. Black floor, black walls. A bank of silver breaks the velvet black monotony at waist-level: monitors and Xec workstations. Above the consoles, the walls are smoked, one-way glaz, giving a two-hundred-and-seventy-degree view of the floor below. Through the glaz, I can see that the open floor is filled with equipment. Distillation tubs and tubes. Mixing vats. Dryers. All very familiar to me now after several weeks of learning how Tyng’s most profitable product is produced.

“Damn,” Kez says beside me. Payton flinches but doesn’t comment.

B, looking a little more harried than when we last met, turns from where he stands in a little huddle with two other Xecs, clustered at the forward window-wall, and spreads his hands. “Thank you, my dear friends, for coming to our aid.”

I draw my katana with a flick of my wrist and rest the angled tip on his throat below his chin. “You’re welcome.”

“Mister Snow—!” he protests.

Kez slides by him with a shake of her head. “Just answer his questions. You’ll live longer.” She brushes by B’s two subordinates who are staring at us, open-mouthed, and examines the monitors. “You sneaky bastards.”

“What’s production look like?” I ask her.

“Mmm, about two-thirds of the Hemos output,” she says. She taps a monitor and examines the response. “But they’ve only been online for three weeks, so don’t be too hard on them.”

“Inefficient and insubordinate.” I arch an eyebrow at B. “Anything you want to say in your defense?”

“I-I-I don’t understand,” he stammers. B’s a middle-aged suit: polished and vacced the way all Tyng Xecs are, but soft where itmatters. He’s got a full head of hair that would probably be solid black if the Tyng corporate colors weren’t black and silver. Since they are, he’s got the little silver wings over his temples that lots of the Xecs sport. His eyes are as blue as Kez’s, but there’s no warmth in them. They’re a little red and a lot watery as they flick from me to Kez.

“Lemme lay it out for you,” I say. “You converted the basement of our third biggest desal plant into an unsanctioned Hex lab. You recruited a bunch of expendable surf punks to open up the E.C. as a market for your illegal product. And you’re using the off-the-book profits to wage your own little war against extreme Mods. How’m I doing so far?”

“Pretty good,” Kez says. She taps the console a couple of times and a yellow light flashing on the console goes off. “Except you left out the part about putting a hundred CeeBee bountyon my head.” She turns and hisses the last three words in B’s ear. He twitches but stiffens into immobility when the katana’s edge scrapes his skin.

“I don’t understand,” B repeats. “This is all sanctioned?—”

“Sanctioned by who?” I ask.

“You-you, Mister Snow. Initially it was Sokun’s project. But after the leadership change, I received directives from you. Well, from your alter-ego, of course, since this is a blacklight initiative.”

I glance at Kez to see what she thinks of this. She leans back against the console and crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ve been a busy boy.”

“Father would never have collaborated with Sokun Tyng,” Payton says quietly from where she’s moved beside Kez to examine the displays. “They were rivals.”

B tears his eyes away from the shining metal length between us long enough to shoot Payton a withering glance. “You were such a disappointment to him.”

The silk over Payton’s shoulders flexes, but she continues to study the monitors serenely.

“Of course, we collaborated with the Tyng Heir,” B says afterfailing to get a rise out of Payton. “He was initially very supportive ofrhodistribution, even over Kison’s objections. Then Sokun chose to take thatunfortunatedirection.” B’s eyes slew towards Acker before returning to my sword. “Well, you see how that turned out. But I promise you, sir, we are one hundred percent back on schedule and this issue with the desalinization procedure will not affect production in the slightest?—”

“Thatunfortunatedirection,” I repeat. “What, negotiatin’ with the rats instead of slaughterin’ them?”

B’s mouth purses, but it’s Payton who answers, “Father said Acker would change his mind due to pressure from without and within.”

Acker, who’s been silent up to now, but has clearly just been bottling it all up, explodes. “Did you kill my brother? Is this why Java hides from his own people? Is Diamond on your leash?”

B rolls his eyes. “I don’t speak to monsters.”

“You’ll speak to any monster I tell you to. Including me.” I press the tip of the sword against his Adam’s apple, just enough to draw blood. “Answer him.”

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