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God help him, he just couldn’t. Feeling a little dizzy, he picked up the drink, swallowed half of it in a go.

The tri-d had reacted to Shannon’s voice command, the pirate announcer picking up mid-sentence: “—crew of wankers about five miles past the Rawlins fence line.” The shot was a high-angle, but even so, it was packed edge to edge, a living carpet of tiny figures trudging across Wyoming scrubland. A voice he recognized as Patricia Ariel’s, Epstein’s communications director, boomed out a warning, telling the militia that they were not welcome, that the Holdfast would defend itself. For a moment, everyone on the ground hesitated, and then a cry went up, the New Sons’ cheer, “This ends now! This ends now! This ends . . .”

“Attaboy, guys,” the announcer continued, “very catchy. Maybe in next week’s lesson we can work on words with more than one syllable. Oh, good, truck horns, add those too, nothing quite as scary as tooting. But then, wait for it, wait for it . . .”

The image cut off in an instant. An electromagnetic pulse, Cooper knew, to fry the electronics. He’d read details of the battle on the way to the airfield.

When the footage returned, it was clearly an hour or two later, after whichever news organization was closest had managed to scramble another camera drone. In this one, the landscape was devastated, the trucks torn and toppled, the scrubland turned into a ruined battlefield littered with corpses.

“Oh, da-yam! Well, you know what they say,” the announcer continued. “It’s all fun and games until someone launches a drone strike. Sorry about that, kids, so much for the Charge of the Dumb Brigade . . .”

Nice try, Cooper thought. But what you’re seeing, my smug friend, is an army setting up base camp.

“Audio mute.” Shannon shook her head. “What I don’t get is why Epstein stopped hitting them. News says about a thousand killed, another couple thousand wounded or fled. Which isn’t bad, I guess, but the Proteus virus took down like fifty times that. What’s the angle in mercy at this point?”

Apparently the romantic discussion had been tabled. He thought about raising it again, but didn’t really see what he could add. Better to let things cool off. “It wasn’t mercy. He just ran out of bombs.”

“You think?”

“The government wouldn’t allow the NCH to have offensive weapons. Erik bought some on the black market, built some on the sly, but he couldn’t risk having many. I’m not theorizing, I know it. I was DAR, remember?”

“You never let me forget.”

Don’t rise to it. She’s got a right to be pissed. “Anyway, he’s not worried about the New Sons. No matter how many men they have, they won’t get past the Vogler Ring. It was built to protect the Holdfast from villagers with pitchforks.” He shook his head. “It’s Smith that concerns me.”

Before, even as they watched the aftermath of a battle, her attention had been split. She’d put up a good front, but it was easy for Cooper to see that a front was all it was. But now all thoughts of their romantic future were cleared away. “Tell me.”

“He beat us to Abe Couzen.”

“That’s not good.”

“It gets worse.” He filled her in, starting at their separation. She listened attentively, asked pointed questions. It was a safe space for them, analyzing a situation and figuring out how to respond. It was what they’d done instead of dating. About the time he got to Abe’s lab, she finished her drink and poured another; as he filled her in on his conversation with Soren, he emptied his own, and she slid the bottle his way with unconscious ease. “By the way,” he said, “thanks for bringing Soren here. That couldn’t have been fun.”

“He wasn’t much company. Spent the last two days in the trunk of the car.” She flashed her half smile. “You really think he can help you?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“John is his best friend. He’s not going to give him up easily. Are you going to . . .”

“I don’t see much choice. Smith has been maneuvering the whole world to this moment. I still don’t know why, but I know he doesn’t start fights he can’t win.”

“Is there something you can offer Soren? A carrot instead of a stick?”

“Like what?”

She moved to the window and stared out. Flurries chased each other in a gust of wind. “You could talk to Samantha.”

“Who?” The name was familiar in a vague sort of way.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember her.”

Why are you looking at me that—oh. He remembered, all right. Shannon’s friend, pale cream and spun gold and dripping sex appeal. She was tier one, a sort of reader, only with a bent empathy that meant she could pick up on anyone’s desires, and then emulate them. “She and Soren know each other?”

“Biblically. Since Hawkesdown Academy.” Shannon grimaced. “One messed-up relationship.”