Killeen cradled Toby in his arms against the swerving of the Crafter. “How’d this Crafter become a Renegade?”

“Dunno. Didn’t answer the call-in, I guess.”

“Call-in?”

“When mechs get wore out, comes a call-in. They report, get dismantled.”

Killeen frowned. “Even the smart ones?”

” ’Specially them. Smarter mechs get replaced faster. I think that’s ’cause the mechciv keeps redesignin’, makin’ them even smarter. Always changin’.”

“Mechciv kills ’em?”

“Seems like. Enough reason not answer the call-in, huh? Rennies just want stay alive. Same’s you ’n’ me.”

Hatchet’s eyes bulged with an excited acuity which his stiffly held face sought to belie and disguise. Killeen saw the inner drive that this man had used, harnessing the Renny-craft heritage of his Family to save them from the wilderness-wandering all the other Families had suffered after the Calamity. He had been fearless, and had wrested from the Renegades a fragile Metropolis—all based on trust of mankind’s deadliest enemies. And no one knew better than Hatchet how precarious Metropolis was. Every obligation Hatchet could use to ensure some added scrap of protection, even from Renegades who could themselves be snuffed out—every fractional help was worth risk. Killeen respected what Hatchet had done. But something in him curled a lip at the price.

The Crafter clattered, slowed.

Repair station.

Crafter try find right circuits.

The team dismounted before a glassy wall of complex machinery. Fluids bubbled in translucent lattices that wove among gnarled metallic work stations. The Crafter extended tiny six-fingered hands at the ends of tripod chromed arms. They found twin-barreled interlocks and inserted steel dowels. Its long workarms spun. Ceramic ears mounted on carbo-sleeves listened intently. After some minutes three sharp clicks echoed in the stillness. The work station brimmed with neon life.

Boy goes first

Put legs in receiver.

Hurry.

Shibo and Killeen carefully worked Toby’s legs into a soft-ply receptacle at the base of the station. It went slowly. The boy was wide awake now. His lassitude dispersed as the station began purring and muttering.

“I can feel something,” Toby said.

“In your legs?” Killeen asked, holding the boy’s shoulders off the green tile floor.

“Can’t tell. Kinda fuzzy… like all over…” Toby’s eyelids fluttered. “Ahhh…”

Hold steady.

Crafter searches for code.

Has to silence station alarm.

“Hold still, son.”

Hatchet called from behind Killeen, “Crafter say how long it’ll take?”

“No,” Killeen said warningly. If Hatchet pressured him…

Toby jerked. “It… hurts…”

1. Locked in circuit.

2. Searching for encoded flaw.

Toby trembled. “I… I can’t….feel anything anymore. My guts, it’s creeping up my guts….”

Must check his service systems first.

“All goin’ cold.” Toby began gasping. “Dad—I—gettin’ higher up—I—arms—so cold—I’m scared—I—”

Killeen tightened his grip with his good arm around Toby. He tried to keep the boy from wrenching away from the effects of the station. The boy’s hands curled, losing their tension. Killeen watched color drain from fingertips which were red-raw, the nails split.

Behind him Hatchet said, “What’s wrong? Listen, this don’t work, that’s it. Got that? ’Cause time’s runnin’ and—”

“Shut up!” Shibo spat at him. She held Toby’s legs.

Killeen ignored them. He tried to get more information from Bud but his Face would not answer.

Toby went slack. His eyes rolled up, showing pure white.

“Damn!” Killeen whispered to himself. He massaged the boy’s skin. It was ghostly pale.

Subsystems are reactivated.

Correcting.

Hold still.

Toby let out a sudden explosive breath. His eyes shot from side to side. His arms twitched and the hands danced frantically. Toby’s entire body seemed to jerk like a doll being animated by something within.

A relay popped loudly in the station panel.

“My… my…” Toby blinked. “My feet hurt.”

Wonderingly, in the sudden quiet, Killeen and Shibo looked at each other.

They pulled him carefully from the receiving sleeve. Toby could move his legs but the muscles were stiff and sore. Killeen and Shibo started to help him toward the Crafter. Hatchet clapped Killeen on his bad shoulder and spun him around. “You want fixin’, get back there.”

Killeen levered his dead arm into the receiver. The soft-ply would take the arm only at a steady, slow insertion rate. He could feel faint throbs and hot flickers of sensation as something probed it.

The team watched in all directions, their feet scuffing nervously, weapons drawn. Fluids burbled in the elaborate frosty glassware that towered over them all. An orange vapor suddenly vented above, hissing down among the team. They fled from it with racking coughs.

Hatchet watched this and turned to Killeen, who knelt before the receiver, arm now up to the elbow “Workin’?”

“Can’t tell.”

Around his shoulders ran hot, quick jolts. It was like having pins thrust into him so quickly they were gone before his nerves could react.

Found code.

Crafter goes fast.

Says it smells Overseer.

“Feel anything?” Hatchet asked.

“Yeasay.” Soundless deep bass tremors echoed in his arm.

“Damn, I wish we’d—”

“Ah!”

The receiving sleeve released him. Killeen yanked his arm free. It ached but the fingers moved. His skin was puckered, hairless, clammy.

“Damnfine!” Hatchet waved to the team. “Let’s go. Headin’ home!”

Killeen stumbled toward the Crafter. His gait was off balance and he realized how much he had been compensating for the dead arm. He reached the mudguard and pulled himself up, sprawling on it clumsily with boyish elation. The Crafter churned backward, freeing itself of the station. Then the Renegade rumbled away, picking up speed. Killeen had to snatch for a venting tube to stay on the carapace.

Small buildings flashed by. These were set into the slanted decks and ramps of a colossal room. The floor was a labyrinth of odd, angular buildings. Conduits connected everywhere. Except for an occasional stain there was no sign of mess or sloppiness. Oddly turned-out mechs worked on some of the high ramps. They did not move when the Crafter shot by them.

Killeen clung to a pipe and hugged Toby. The tingling in his arm seemed to sweep into all parts of his body as his systems reintegrated. Images washed through his sensorium. Data had been stored in his arm, digital splashes which jittered and poked in his eyes. He saw sprockets coupling to oily drivechains. Heard long-dead Veronica’s tinkling laughter. Tasted his mother’s cooking.

Sensations released him into a kind of strength. Impulsively he kissed Shibo. She responded. Killeen laughed, enjoying the taste of pungent air sucking in and out of his lungs, every scent amplified in the backwash of the onrushing Crafter.

The whole team was talking, merry whispers sounding over the sensorium net. The Crafter slowed at a corner and Killeen glanced up. A large transparent panel was lit from within by pale green light. Inside Killeen could see something working. Gargantuan legs and arms. And connecting them were bodies. Racks of ribs labored like huge bellows. Bruised pouches hung on the bellies, like bags of entrails. Waxy skins stretched and thrust and wrinkled and stretched again.

He turned away.

The Crafter reached a broad plaza. Navvys crisscrossed it. A few larger mechs scuttled on darting missions. The Crafter speeded up. The humans held on as the Crafter veered to miss navvys, never slowing. The wind furled their hair and stilled their voices.