As they rounded a corner, they saw what amounted to a brawl. Drones buzzed overhead, and two guards stood off to the side, watching the action unfold with bemused expressions on their faces.

  Twelve rushed over to the other guards as five inmates pummeled one another. Two held one down as two more tussled on the dirt.

  Moss turned to Gibbs. “You need to crack a skull,” he ordered.

  Gibbs blanched. “But—” he began.

  “No,” Moss hissed. “You have to. We need to get him off the scent, and Judy just gave us an opening. You have to.”

  Moss watched as his friend looked to the ground, forlorn. Gibbs gritted his teeth. “All right.”

  They moved over to where the guards were conferring. As they approached, Moss realized it was the Ks under the black armor.

  “You four, deal with this,” Twelve commanded. Moss laughed to himself that of course, Twelve did not seem to have any intention of helping them.

  “You two, take the scrum, we’ll take these,” Moss commanded and moved toward the two still thrashing on the ground. He heaved the man on top up and threw him to the ground.

  Since leaving ThutoCo, both he and Gibbs had been working out and learning to fight. Moss had taken to it much more naturally than his friend, but they were both strong and knew what they were doing.

  Gibbs pounced on the man already on the ground and pulled his weapon, striking the man on the head with the metal butt of his pistol. The man let out a cry, and Gibbs looked just as pained as his victim. Moss loomed over the man he had thrown and ordered, “Hands behind your back.”

  The Ks were making short work of the other three, pummeling them until they, too, lay on the ground awaiting restraint. More guards appeared from every direction, shackling the fighters and dragging them away. The inmates had ceased their thrashing and seemed resolved to their fate as they were ushered quickly away. Gibbs put on a hard face which looked ridiculous to Moss but which seemed to have the desired effect on Twelve.

  “That’s what I like to see,” he said, striding over to them with his thumbs hooked in his belt.

  Gibbs nodded and made his voice several octaves lower than normal. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll—” began Twelve.

  The Ks chimed in, “A full report.”

  “Right,” Twelve said. “Good men.”

  His last comment sounded to Moss like a dog owner commending his pet. Twelve skulked away after the cadre of guards down the street.

  “Piece of garbage,” Kyle said.

  “Piece of shit,” Kevin corrected, raising an eyebrow.

  “He’s going to be in for a rude awakening,” Kyle added with an obscene gesture.

  Kevin let a devilish grin cross his face as he balled one hand into his fist theatrically. “They all are.”

  “We are ready to march, most of the fellas want in,” Kyle told Moss. He had a crazed look in his eye. “Dan has everyone ready.”

  “Good,” Moss said in an authoritative tone. “We will be ready soon, and we can finally have our voices heard.”

  “That we will,” Kyle said and clapped Moss on the shoulder. Moss smiled and played at punching him in the stomach. Kyle reeled as though a bullet had struck him and fell to the ground, crying out, “My life!”

  Kevin chuckled along before asking, “See you guys for dinner?”

  “You know it,” Moss said, lifting his fists and shimmying his shoulders in mock boxing moves.

  Kevin lifted his hands defensively and wailed, “Not me, too!”

  He picked his friend up off the ground, and they strode away, laughing.

  Moss turned to Gibbs. He was not laughing. He looked miserable and angry, wearing an expression Moss had only seen a few times in his life.

  “You all right?” Moss asked, giving his friend a chance to air his grievances more than actually asking.

  Gibbs brows lowered, and his head shook. “No, I’m not fu—no, I’m not all right. What are we doing here?”

  “Helping our friends,” Moss tried to reassure him, but he knew the words sounded hollow. Gibbs was in pain, and he just wanted to help but was unsure what he needed.

  “I know, but Moss… what we are doing. What we have to do, it’s all so much,” he said, his voice quivering.

  “It is, but you’re doing great,” Moss said.

  “Am I?” Gibbs shrieked, throwing his hands up. Moss looked around to make sure no one was watching them. Most of the rubberneckers had moved on, but he ushered Gibbs into a side alley with a hand on his back.

  “Gibbs, listen to me. Our friends needed us, and we are doing what needs to be done to free them. I know how hard this has been for you and I know you have had to do difficult things, but you’ve proven how strong you are. I couldn’t have done any of this without you. We just have to stay strong a little while longer, and we can get out of here,” Moss said.

  Leaving the Burb for this life would have been brutal for Moss but having his friend by his side had made it possible to keep going. He wanted to give his friend the strength he so often gave Moss. He wanted to say something more, but he waited.

  Gibbs took a deep breath and hung his head. “Thank you. It just feels like we are hurting so many people to help our friends.”

  “We are,” Moss admitted, trying to shake the memory of what he had done outside the walls of Carcer City.

  “I just hit a man who was only in a fight because of us,” Gibbs said, his sorrow returning.

  “If Judy got them riled up that easily, they wanted a fight,” Moss pointed out.

  “I suppose,” Gibbs admitted.

  “Just a little bit longer and we will be able to get our plan going,” Moss assured him.

  “That’s it, too—our plan. What we are going to do. It’s going to hurt people. The Ks have been friends to us in our role as new guards. They could die helping us do something they have no idea we are doing,” Gibbs said. It was clear to Moss that Gibbs needed to get all his points out of his system.

  Moss thought about what he had said. “The thing is, we are doing right by them, too. Sure, our motivations are not what we claim, but the guards here are as much prisoners as the inmates. This company holds their pay hostage so they can never leave, and they should demand to be heard. They want to do this with us not for our friends but for themselves, and we are actually doing some good.”

  Gibbs nodded, listening to Moss’s words carefully. He seemed to have calmed down. “That is true,” he admitted.

  Moss put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Gibbs, I’m glad you’re with me.”

  Gibbs smiled so broadly he looked as though he was going to burst. “Always. Now, let’s start a revolution.”

  Chapter 19

  Patchwork’s recovery was slow, and Moss was becoming increasingly nervous that they had not heard from Grimy. Things on both sides were reaching a fever pitch—the guards were ready to demand pay, and the inmates were ready to riot.

  Moss was strapping on his gear in a small sleeping room when he felt someone come around the small privacy wall.

  “Moss,” he heard the familiar voice hiss. He tried not to react, but his body twitched. Twelve let out a laugh as he pressed the barrel of his gun against Moss’s neck. His worst fears had been realized. He had been caught before getting the chance to set his plan into motion.

  “I knew there was more to you than you let on. You thought you could fool me, but I’m not so dumb,” Twelve bragged.

  Moss turned around slowly with his hands raised. He was surprised to see that Twelve had come alone, but quickly remembered what Mr. Greene had said about managers jockeying for position within the company. As he shifted to see around the wall, he noted that the barracks were also empty.

  Twelve grinned like a shark. “You are one of the most valuable assets in the world, did you know that?”

  Moss was not surprised that Twelve wanted to revel in the moment. A man who trafficked in intimidation, bullying, and smug self-satisfaction would need to boast.

  “Well, I’m pretty great,” Moss said with a smirk, analyzing the situation. Twelve was burly, but the years of ordering others to do his work had made him soft and slow. The gun leveled at Moss’s head was intimidating, but Moss was fast and tough. He had to bide his time and wait for his opening. “So, how did you figure it out?”

  Twelve’s grin grew wider. “Trying to get me to talk won’t work. Trying what you’re thinking won’t work. I’ve been dealing with worse than you longer than you’ve been sucking air. I prefer you alive, but your corpse will do just fine. Try and pull on me, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

  Moss had underestimated him and had no doubt that he would make good on his promise. Moss felt hopeless and weak. He had no choice. “So, what now?”

  “Now,” Twelve said, coming close to pull Moss’s weapon from his holster while keeping his own trained on Moss’s head. “Now, you come with me.”

  Twelve jammed the second weapon in his pocket.

  “You fucking people think you’re so smart. You think everyone in the world is a fool,” Twelve sneered, self-righteousness dripping from every word.

  “You are a fool,” Gibbs’ voice echoed from behind the wall. Twelve turned.

  “Wha—” he began as Moss cracked the man’s arm against the wall and Gibbs jammed the barrel of his pistol in his mouth. His other hand reached to his pocket for Moss’s weapon, but Moss was too quick, grabbing his arm before he had a chance to get it.

  “Don’t move,” Gibbs snarled. “You’ve terrorized your last person today.”

  Twelve’s eyes were wide with anger and fear. He thrashed hard and threw Moss back just long enough to reach for the weapon once more. He had misread Gibbs, whose eyes closed as he pulled the trigger of his pistol. The gun recoiled against Twelve’s teeth, smoke, and the smell of burned flesh filling the small space.

  The man’s face cooked from within, blood seeped from orifices as the skin bubbled. His body slumped toward the floor as Moss held the man to keep blood from spilling onto the pristine floor.

  Gibbs opened his eyes to see what he had done. His hand shook violently, and he cast his weapon clattering to the ground, bringing blood and gore with it.

  “I did that,” he sputtered. All the confidence from a moment before now drained from him.

  “You did. You saved me,” Moss whispered and grabbed a sleeping shirt to wrap around Twelve’s face.

  Gibbs stood like a statue.

  “Gibbs, you saved me,” Moss repeated, and his friend looked down at him. “But now you need to go. Go tell the others it’s time and lead the march.”

  “Right,” Gibbs said. He did not move.

  Moss set the body down and stood, placing his hands on the sides of Gibbs’ face. He looked into the eyes of his friend.

  “You did great. You saved me from a world of torture and death. You stepped up and did what needed to be done. But now you have to do it again. For all of us,” his words registered, and Gibbs blinked repeatedly.

  “Right,” and this time, he meant it. He turned and ran through the empty room, his footfalls echoing off the walls.

  “Shit,” Moss muttered. This was not how the plan was supposed to work. He had to act fast. He slid Twelve’s wrist screen off his arm and replaced his own.

  ERROR.

  “Shit,” Moss said again. The small internal computer was linked to the operator. He would need Judy to work on it if he had any hope of using it to access the VIP area. He dragged the body onto a cot, pulling a worn blanket over it. Moss knew this wouldn’t work for long but hoped it would suffice long enough for him to set things in motion. He replaced his weapon with Twelve’s, as it appeared to be a higher-end (and he hoped more functional) model.

  As he exited down a long hallway out to the city, he heard Gibbs’ voice resonating through the building. “They have taken advantage of us for too long. It’s time we made our voices heard!” he hollered, followed by a cheer of rallied guards. Moss smiled, brimming with pride. His friend was doing it. He was leading, and people were following.

  Moss was sweating and panting when he reached the bar, and it didn’t take his friends any time at all to read his face. They all stood as he entered, except Patchwork, who was still recovering. Moss tossed the wrist screen to Judy, who caught it easily.

  “Need to make this work on me,” he stated, and Judy flipped it over to examine the machine.

  “On it,” Judy said and got to work.

  Ynna hustled over with Stan and Anders right behind. “The time is now,” Moss said. “Bit of a change of plans. Stan, you’re going to need to keep Patch safe while Ynna and Anders get the inmates riled. Judy will join you two when they finish with the armor. Gibbs is with the guards, so be careful once you get weapons.”

  “Right,” Ynna said, nodding and flexing her mechanical hand. She and Anders rushed from the bar.

  “You sure about this?” Stan asked, sounding disappointed that he would not be on the front lines.

  “Yes,” Moss told him. “There is no one better to keep him safe. Everything depends on Patch making contact with the outside and getting us access to weapons and vehicles. We are all counting on you keeping him safe.”

  “You’d do better if you had two arms,” Judy snorted.

  “Really? Now?” Stan bickered back.

  “Yes, now!” Judy snarled. “We could use you at full strength.”

  “Being who I am makes me what I am, not some tech nonsense,” Stan yelled.

  Moss knew he needed to diffuse this before it became too distracting. “Get Patch to the tower and wait for me.”

  “Fine.” Stan snorted and helped the young man to his feet.

  “We got this,” Patchwork forced from his mouth with a weak thumbs up.

  “I know we do,” Moss said as they hobbled toward the door.

  “Stanley,” Judy called after them, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Stan grumbled as he exited the door.

  Judy was sitting at a table with a multi-tool which Moss had smuggled out of a supply closet. Pieces were already amassed before them, and Judy was flipping it over and over to look at the screen and the wiring on the back.

  “How long?” Moss asked hurriedly. He kept checking the door to see if anyone was coming in but took some comfort in the fact that by now the guards would be marching on the wardens. Judy ignored his question and continued to work. Moss had always been enamored of Judy while they worked. No time was ever wasted, and there was a purpose to every movement which Moss found hypnotic.

  Mr. Greene entered the bar, looking frazzled.

  “So, it begins?” he asked loudly, not minding if the bartender heard him. They had used much of the money the guards had in the accounts to pay him handsomely for his silence.

  “It does,” Moss said, walking over and shaking the hand of his old mentor.

  “What can I do?” he asked though he sounded to Moss as though he expected the answer.

  “Stay safe,” Moss pleaded. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us? Get out of here?”

  Moss had asked him almost daily and had always been met with the same answer. But this time, Mr. Greene seemed to be contemplating his words. He looked into Moss’s eyes and pulled at his scraggly beard. “How bad is it going to get out there?” he finally asked.

  “Pretty bad,” Moss told him, “and all the worse for having known me.”

  Moss was not going to force the man to do anything, but he knew that if Mr. Greene stayed, he would likely not survive the days which followed. “Please,” Moss said.

  “Okay,” Mr. Greene said, hanging his head in shame.

  “I promise we will get your husband out,” Moss assured him, knowing that was his major concern.

  “I know you will,” Mr. Greene said. His eyes were distant, as though lost in thought. “You know, before all this, we were working with a lab.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Moss exclaimed, truly happy for the man despite his guilt that his actions had prevented it.

  “We had made all the arrangements and were just saving up our money,” he explained, a slight smile crossed his lips at the thought.

  Moss smiled, too. “You didn’t want to adopt?”

  “No, we wanted a kid who came from us. Designing her had been one of our greatest joys,” he explained. His eyes had begun to mist over.

  Moss closed the gap and embraced him. “You’ll make great parents,” Moss said, squeezing him. “She’ll be lucky to have you.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Greene said and sobbed softly into Moss’s shoulder.

  After a moment, Judy announced, “Done.”

  Moss turned to get the device, but Mr. Greene held him for a moment. “You are an amazing man, Moss. Go do what you came here to do.”

  “I will,” Moss said gratefully. He was amazed at the power of the words from his former boss. Twelve had possessed a leadership role but no leadership abilities. But here, stripped of everything, Mr. Greene could inspire. “Good luck.”

  Mr. Greene nodded and walked next to Moss over to the table at which Judy sat. They held up the device. “Should work now without an operator.”

  “Good work. Incredible,” Moss remarked.

  “Not really,” Judy admitted, “Carcer tech hasn’t really changed since I last worked with it.”

  “You see, sticking with outmoded technology is another sign of a poorly run business,” Mr. Greene put in. He really did enjoy analyzing businesses. Even at this moment, he couldn’t help but give his opinion.

  Judy sighed, seeming utterly disinterested in his opinion. “Great story.”

  “He’s coming with us, so play nice,” Moss admonished.

  Judy sighed again. “Fine. I’ll keep him safe since I know you like him.”

  “Thank you?” Mr. Greene said dubiously.

  “Thank you,” Moss repeated. “Keep him by your side and be ready.”

  “I got you,” Judy said and stood. “Do your thing.”

  Moss nodded, and they all headed out.

  Word was already beginning to spread, and people were flooding to the streets. Prisoners rushed past Moss toward the center of the city. Even if they did not want to riot, people wanted to see what was going to happen.

 

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