Rising slightly to get the clothing up to his waist, Petrovitch thought of several, all of them excellent. But only one in particular would appeal to this man.

“Because without me and the Jihad, you’re going to lose this battle and the Metrozone. With us, you’ll be part of the most epic victory since the defense of Stalingrad, and you’ll be a hero. Brussels has done nothing but plan for failure from the start. Mining the bridges told me they’d given up before they fired a shot, whereas I intend to win.” He shrugged the overall sleeves on and pressed the Velcro tabs together. He paused when he got level with the knife wound over his heart. “All the EDF have told you to do is retreat. I’m the only person who’s told you to advance.”

The major adjusted his grip on the carbine. “What are you?”

“I am the future, Major, and I am not destined to fail. I know you have misgivings—but you can’t communicate them to HQ because you’ve been cut off from them since about eleven o’clock. All the other EDF soldiers will think you’re mad. I’ve taken over the MEA, and Sonja Oshicora has lent me the nikkeijin for the duration. Sure, you can kill me, but then what?”

Petrovitch stood, slipping the rat into his top pocket. He reached up to push his glasses up his nose. No glasses, no eyes. It was going to take some getting used to.

Lucy was running up the street toward him, a plastic carrier bag swinging in her hand. He deliberately turned his back on the major and his gun to greet her.

“Hey. What did you get me?”

Flushed with success, too absorbed with explaining her finds to Petrovitch, she completely missed the angry, scared, confused tank commander. She opened the bag and rummaged inside.

“This. It comes with its own head mount—says you can use it for extreme sports, shock proof, waterproof. If this isn’t extreme, I don’t know what is.” She tore at the packaging and squinted at the wide-angled lens. “Doesn’t need its own power supply or software. Just plug it in and go.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“I’ve got a couple of others if you don’t think…”

“Put it on me.” When she hesitated, he added, “Don’t worry. You can’t hurt me.”

She reached up and slid the harness over Petrovitch’s blood-stained pale hair. The slim tube of the camera poked forward alongside his left temple. “I should have brought some of those cable-tidy things. They had baskets of them.”

“I’ve thought of that.” The roll of tape he’d commandeered was small and hard to spot. He patted his hands around until he found it on the chair. “In fact, I’ve an even better idea.”

He ripped open the Velcro again and held the rat against his bandaged left flank, just about where his kidney ought to be. That would work. He found the snaking end of the camera cable and tried to plug it in by touch.

Lucy’s fingers brushed his away and slotted it in.

“Tape it up. It mustn’t come out. Then stick the whole thing to me.”

The pair had rotated as they’d worked. The major was now over Lucy’s shoulder, and Petrovitch had a perfect view of him. There were beads of sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes. He was blinking them away.

“So,” said Petrovitch, “what’s it going to be?”

Lucy looked up, a long piece of tape stuck to her bottom lip. “Um?”

He nodded in the major’s direction, and she glanced around. She went, briefly, back to her task, then spun on her heel.

“What’s going on? I thought—I thought we were all on the same side?”

“Step away from him,” said the major.

She started to obey, then caught herself. “No,” she said.

“He’s the New Machine Jihad.”

Lucy shook her head. “No. He’s not. He’s a scientist. A famous one. His name’s Sam.” She was between Petrovitch and the barrel of a gun.

“I don’t mind if you step to one side,” said Petrovitch. He took her shoulders and moved her gently.

Even though she could see what he could see, that a number of Oshicora personnel were folding their phones back into their pockets and were walking silently up behind the major, she put herself in front of Petrovitch again.

“You must mean Michael,” she said. “He explained all that. The New Machine Jihad was his evil twin. Michael just wants to help us.”

[You are risking a lot on human nature here. Yours and his.]

“You’ve been quiet.”

[I am busy, but not so busy that I cannot intervene. Do you want him dead?]

“No. We’ve got it covered.”

[That is not the evidence before me.]

“Grown men don’t normally kill schoolgirls.”

[Some of them do.]

“Good point, well made.” He turned his attention back to the street. “Lucy, why don’t you show me what else you’ve got in the bag?”

The major found himself being ignored, despite his drawn weapon. Petrovitch peered inside Lucy’s carrier and saw a package he was interested in.

“A hand-cranked power supply.”

“I’m always letting my phone run down. I just thought, you know…”

“Your education has not been wasted.” He checked the selection of leads the device came with, and found a compatible one. Raising his arm again, he felt for the socket, and again, Lucy had to do it for him.

“What do we do about him?” She jerked her head behind to indicate the major.

“I—we—could really use the tanks he commands. But I can’t force him to do anything. I could have him dragged away and shot.”

“No!”

“Well, then. I guess it’s up to him to decide what he does.” Petrovitch checked his internal clock. It wasn’t getting any earlier. He glanced at the cameras overlooking Blackfriars Bridge: it was about to be overrun. “You on that?” he asked.

[It will be destroyed, the same as the others.]

“Is everything in place?”

[Your plan will either work or it will not. It should not, yet you believe it will. Faith is not a facet of my personality.]

“Michael?” asked Lucy.

“Yeah. The second Battle of Waterloo is about to start without us.”

“Waterloo? Where Napoleon did surrender?” She started to hum the tune.

“What do you want to do?”

“Stay with you,” she said, suddenly serious.

“You’re fourteen.”

“Yes. Today I’ve run for my life, helped save a dozen old people, stabbed a man in the back and stood in front of a loaded gun.”

“And still are.”

She whirled around and stamped up to the major. “He needs you. We need you. Does it matter to you so much who’s giving the orders?”

He was a head taller than her, and he looked down at her. “Yes.”

She bent down and picked up his discarded helmet. She thrust it in his chest, hard against his body armor. He had no choice but to hold his gun one-handed.

“Enough that you’d rather see us all die?”

“You don’t understand,” he started, and she cut him off.

“I understand enough! You won’t help us. Fine. Go. If you can find somewhere to go to.”

[It’s starting,] said the AI. The distant thunder of demolition charges detonating echoed off the high buildings. The roar of slowly falling masonry grumbled afterward.

The major looked up at the sound, startled. He was in an unfamiliar landscape, and he had no map, no compass, no guide. Lucy stamped away, back toward Petrovitch. She winked at him and turned to cast one last accusation.

“You’re supposed to protect us! People like me, from people like them!”

The officer was utterly defeated. He hung his head, and wiped his face with the sleeve of his battlesmock.

“I was going to be Juliet in the school play,” she said when she could whisper into Petrovitch’s ear, “but I guess school’s out for a while.”

“I pity Romeo.” Petrovitch looked around for Fox’s slim-bladed knife. It was by the chair he’d been sitting on, and he picked it up, his fingers curling around the leather-strapped handle. “I can’t take you with me. You have to realize that.”

“I’m not strong, and I’m not smart,” she protested, “but I can still do stuff.”