Mr. Cheeks chokes on his food. “Thought you guys all got the slip?”

“No, I’m still working. And there are a few others in the sector who are part-time.”

I don’t know why I need to correct him, except maybe I need to hear it myself. I’m still working. I still have a job. I don’t have to do this.

“Last month I was trapped on another Earth and when I was there…I had to kill that version of Adam Bosch. It was self-defense, kind of, it doesn’t matter.”

“Who’s Adam Bosch?” he asks, not so much as blinking at the murder.

Esther all but rolls her eyes as she turns. “The king of the interstellar empire? The inventor of traversing? He made the first portal when he was barely out of his teens in a neighbor’s shed? Everyone knows Adam Bosch.”

He nods. “Right, the white shirt.”

“Any other questions?” I ask.

“Just one.” He wipes his hands on my couch. “Is that where you saw me?”

Suddenly he’s staring at me, eyes clear and mouth hard, and I realize he was playing stupid to disarm me. And it worked. It worked like it would work on any Wileyite…or an Ashtowner who’s forgotten that the runners want the smartest along with the strongest.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because of your face when you first saw me for the burial, and how you’ve trusted me like we’ve got history since, and how you just answered my question with a question.”

All good points.

    “Fine. Yes, you were there, and we were on the same side. But that doesn’t matter here,” I say. “When I got back Adam Bosch on this Earth gave me a bonus.”

Mr. Cheeks furrows his brow. “How much?”

“A lot.”

“Five thousand?”

I nod.

“Adam Bosch paid you for a wet job.”

I nod again. “It turns out when Eldridge first started he had his men kill him and anyone else who could have figured out traversing on other Earths.”

Mr. Cheeks just shrugs. “You called it an empire. That’s how they’re built.”

“I know. That’s why I thought I could keep working for them despite the past. But when he announced his new commercial trips, I figured out he planned to kill the highest bidders on other Earths to make it happen. I sent an anonymous tip to enforcement. But they thought it was sent from my mentor.”

“What was his name?”

He asks casually, but I understand his cunning now, and I’m sure he already knows.

“Papa Jean,” I say. “Jean Sanogo.”

He leans forward, metallic nails disappearing as he clenches his fists.

“I’ve beaten my runners up and down trying to find the one who crossed your Jean. I should have known he was city-killed. We don’t kill Wileyites unless they come to the blood field, begging for it and willing to pay the fee.”

If Jean had gone that way, Viet would have had a record. Even if the keeper couldn’t be bothered to watch the news, whichever mister is acting as executioner would have come forward.

Mr. Cheeks looks down at his knuckles, eyes moving like he’s doing math, then he shakes his head. “If that’s how this Adam does business, he’ll do it like that all over. He’s going to make five dead—five rich dead—and we’ll get pinned on whatever world he kills them. They’re already crawling into our edges over one man. They come knocking on our door every time a pretty-enough Wiley girl checks in too late. Five dead? They’ll raze the town.”

    I hadn’t thought about that. But nothing about Maintenance leads me to believe they are equipped for anything more sophisticated than violent murders. Even if all they do is traverse them back and count on the backlash to kill them, that’s still five bodies that look mangled enough to have been run over. Who better to take the blame than runners?

“Enforcement won’t do for you. He’s got that machine bringing in oil and metal from god knows where. They’ll treat him with the soft touch until they’ve got enough for building the next twenty floors,” he says. “What’s your plan?”

“My plan…is to kill Adam Bosch.”

Mr. Cheeks allows me five whole seconds before laughing. “Nah.”

“Oh, Cara…” says Esther.

“What?” I look at them. “Why can’t I kill him?”

“Don’t you pay attention to projections about him?” Esther says. “I only skim them because I knew he was your boss, and even I’ve heard the stories.”

“What stories?”

“He keeps the secrets of traversing to himself. He doesn’t trust anyone else with unlimited power to access worlds, so he won’t allow it to be re-created. I’d thought he was being noble, but I guess he’s just power hungry. He still does core diagnostics himself. Without him things would run fine for a while, I’m sure. But once something broke down, or went wrong, there would be no way to correct it. Maybe if one of his rivals could look…”

I shake my head. “He’s put them mostly out of business. Forced them into other fields for years now. They’d probably be able to catch up, but it would take time.” I look up at them. “Is it the worst thing? Maybe we’ve had our time in the stars, and if letting that kind of evil live is the price, we should let it go.”

“It’s not about your fucking job,” Mr. Cheeks says. “That industrial rig stops bringing in metal and oil from other worlds, Wiley City’s going to look for somewhere else to get it. They’ll violate the treaty and come to take what Ashtown stopped giving decades ago. And the runners will parade again.”

    Hearing a runner make that proclamation sets my teeth shaking. Funny, for all the glory attributed to the blood runners, Mr. Cheeks seems to share my dread at the prospect.

How badly I wanted to kill Adam Bosch. I still do. If I hadn’t reached out for help, I might have started a war without even knowing it. I can’t kill him, but I need to stop him from sending out Maintenance.

“Could you…blow something up?”

“Depends on the something,” Mr. Cheeks says, but he’s already smiling.

Esther looks concerned.

“We traverse using a machine called the hatch. I know the materials are unstable, because most of Eldridge’s training manuals are about how to keep it from exploding. Losing the traversing hatch just stops people from traversing. The industrial hatch is rough. It can’t sustain anything that breathes or bleeds, so resources would continue to come in uninterrupted, but there would be no way for the assassins or bidders to get to another world.”

“Bosch will rebuild,” Esther says.

“I know, but it’ll buy us time.”

Mr. Cheeks is nodding. “Blowing up a thing that wants to blow up? That’s a party. The hardest part would be convincing Himself to outsource us. We can’t accept jobs. He can only loan us out. You’d have to have something he’d really want for him to agree, and he doesn’t want for much.”

What do you get the emperor who has everything? Last time I asked myself that question, I ended up with his name on my back.

“I’ll figure something out. If I can find a tempting enough payment for him, will you get me the meeting?”

He looks suspicious. “Don’t offer cash, you know. He won’t like that.”

    “I know.”

“I’ll set the meet, but if you waste his time with my name attached to you, don’t call on me again.”

“I won’t.”

The meeting slowly dissolves after that. When Mr. Cheeks stands to leave, he smiles at me.

“So this other world? Was I the same?”

“Almost exactly. You were a runner, but you were loyal to Nik Nik, even though he wasn’t the emperor. And…you had one more tattoo.”

I can’t quite keep my eyes from darting to his throat. He notices, and his eyebrows go up.

“Definitely not fun, but certainly never boring,” he says.

Mr. Cheeks agrees to see Esther home, but before she goes she corners me.

“Wouldn’t it be wise to include Dell in your plan?”

“No,” I say, and as soon as the word is out I know I’ve said it too quickly. “You and Cheeks aren’t from here. Neither are any of the other runners who will help. Enforcement has no jurisdiction over you. I’m the only one they can hold accountable, and I’d like it to stay that way.”

She believes the excuse, which is true, if only part of the whole truth.

I watch them go, then sit down to list out what bits of gold might interest a dragon like the emperor.

* * *

I BURST INTO the prep room with more momentum than I intend, startling Dell into dropping the veil she’s holding.

“Any chance I’m scheduled for a pull on 175 today?”

Narrowing her eyes, she picks up the delicate bit of plastic and wires. “You are not.”

    “Do you know when I will be?”

“You assume they’d send you back?”

I just look at her, because we both know the fact that I’m salary means they’ll send me before booking a freelancer.

She sighs, setting the veil on the counter. “You’ll be returning in three weeks.”

“I need to go today.”

“Cara, it’s not just against policy for you to fraternize with those from other worlds, it’s unhealthy and…and I think you’ve done quite enough of that.”