Hale replays their escape from Alder Close and every pit stop made between here and there. Every rest stop attendant, every security camera, even the man in the inn lobby that morning—there's no telling which could have tipped off Bionic Capital security.

They don't have much time to discuss it before more misfortune hunts them down. A noise like a burst balloon makes them all jump, and the truck gives a jolt. Theo screams in shock. The steering wheel vibrates in Hale's hands, the whole body of the truck wobbling. Fear prickles like needles under his skin. He can hear the flap of a burst tire hitting the road as he pulls over and slows to a stop. Opening the door, his fears are confirmed. The scent of burnt rubber stings acrid in his nostrils.

Everyone else piles out too. Of them all, Damo looks the most stricken.

The front left tire is blown out completely.

"I'll grab the spare," Damo says, jumping into the truck bed. Rayner moves with him to search for a wrench and carjack. Theo starts removing the hubcap, kneeling gingerly on the pavement.

She whispers, "Please hurry, boys."

They should feel fortunate that the truck they happened to steal had a spare tire at all, that they happen to have a mechanic and two androids capable of changing a tire with them, but as Hale scans the road for signs of what caused their flat, he doesn't feel fortunate.

They're stopped in the midst of hilly farm land with lines of trees and low-lying shrubs framing the roads. Their punctured tire could have been from a nail, some debris, anything, but it wasn't just anything. Dotted along the asphalt a few meters apart are small devices, flat and invisible to the human eye. Certainly invisible even to an android's vision when driving 130 kilometers an hour. It's simple tech—pressure plates that, when triggered, punch a spring-loaded, latched arm upwards into the tire. They require the weight of a car to trigger and were designed specifically for disabling a vehicle.

This was a trap.

Rayner finds the lug wrench and passes it to Theo. She casts a worried look down the road, searching the middle distance for any signs of the car, then she does up her jacket with a shiver and gets to work loosening the lug nuts.

Damo emerges with the tire, but the carjack is buried under several layers of boxes and supplies.

"Leave it," Hale says. "I'll lift the car."

Rayner grabs a fistful of Hale's jacket to stop him. "If you injure yourself—"

"We'll lift the car," Damo corrects them. "You two change the tire."

In the distance, Hale hears the roar of an engine. Whipping his head up, the black speck of a car grows ever larger on the horizon, returning for them.

>>Damo, now.

Together, bracing their fingers under the chassis, Hale and Damo lift the car. The edge of metal digs into Hale's fingers. The weight makes his muscles burn. All the while, the car gets closer, and the sound of many more car engines join it. A hum like the unnerving drone of insects swarming.

Hale chances a look behind him. Many cars, all shiny and black like scarab beetles, appear over the hill in the distance, advancing upon them from both directions. It doesn't matter now if they change the tire in five minutes or five seconds. They're surrounded.

Theo jumps to her feet. Her cheek is streaked with dirt, and there are angry tears in her eyes. Hale and Damo set the car down on its new tire. At least a dozen cars fan out across the road to form a blockade. Panic seizes them all, and Hale feels the warm touch of Rayner's hand seeking his. As one, they cluster together, backs to the truck, watching their chances of escape dwindle. Hard as Hale tries to search for a way out, he finds none. Run? They wouldn't get far in the wilderness around them. Fight? As black-suited men and women emerge from the cars wielding guns, his hopes gutter. They're outnumbered.

He exchanges a few distressed messages with Damo to ask if he's had any sparks of inspiration, but Damo seems worse off. Eyes wide and glassy, he looks like a spectre of the person they know.

Rayner squeezes Hale's hand. It's cold comfort. He can't think about what he'll lose if they can't get away from here. What Damo said in the car echoes in his mind. Up until a few days ago, I didn't have a future.

A man and a woman step forward from the blockade. Though they haven't drawn their weapons yet like many of their comrades, their hands hover near their belts. The man shouts to be heard without coming too close, "We've come to collect the android. It's dangerous and unstable. Step away from it so no one gets hurt."

Theo shouts in a strangled voice, "He isn't dangerous!"

The woman speaks this time, and Hale is struck by something as he scans her and the rest of them. She's an android. Nearly a third of this security detail are.

"This android has broken several crucial limitations in its safety protocols and murdered its symbiont. We understand that Kipling's experiments on the DAMO were extensive and in breach of Bionic Capital's instructions, and these experiments were in part responsible for the degradation in his programming."

Damo's eyes widen with a mix of shock and understanding. So that is how they'll spin the story, Hale thinks. Kipling was to blame, and Damo was an anomaly. No need to recall an entire line of androids or alarm the public.

She continues as if this information is of no consequence. "We intend to study how these defects arose so that no loss of human life can result from Bionic Capital machines again."

"So he's dead then," Damo says under his breath. Hale can't identify the emotion in his tone. It's a mix of many things. Nothing on the news had mentioned Kipling's fate.

Though he said it quietly, the security android—Hale's scans reveal her and the other androids to be SAMI's—hears Damo's words anyway.

"The assault on your symbiont proved fatal, but you were well aware of this eventuality when you attacked him. The assault was precise and premeditated. This is an enormous violation of your purpose to care for him and must be corrected to prevent further loss of life."

There's no intonation in her voice. Nothing to indicate she empathizes. Hale reviews the information from his scan to find she was only made operational three days ago.

His hopes that they might find allies in these androids shrink.

Damo's expression hardens. To their combined alarm, he goes to take a step forward. As one, Theo, Rayner and Hale all crowd in front of him.

In a voice like broken glass, Damo says, "Don't."

"You aren't taking him," Theo shouts.

The clicks of many guns taken off their safety follow, sleek black firearms raised and pointed at their huddled group. Hale takes count. There are twenty humans and eight androids, all armed, all tensed and awaiting an order. Part of him can't believe it, another isn't surprised. The true purpose of he and Damo's creation was always profit, and now they're a threat to that purpose. As news spreads of malfunctioning androids, androids who rebelled despite their dependence on their symbionts, the company stands to lose everything.

Unless they can rectify it, and what's a couple injured humans in light of those odds? A lawsuit will cost less than a total product recall.

"Let me go," Damo says to them through gritted teeth.

"Like hell!" Theo says. Hale and Rayner don't budge either.

Sami lifts her chin and addresses them directly again. "I've been instructed only to apprehend the DAMO model. Provided he comes quietly, the rest of you will be permitted to go."

"I'd rather shit in my hands and clap!" Theo yells, but Damo is pushing her by the shoulder.

"I must warn you that we will accomplish our task with or without your cooperation. However, we've also been asked to deliver a message to the DAMO."

Braced against his arm, Hale feels Damo tense. Sami's symbiont steps forward, lifting his wrist and tapping his HoloPhone. The projection which appears above it makes all four of them hold their breath.

Hale is reminded of the moment he'd broken the jar of mint sauce and picked up a shard in his hand. It had been a force of habit; he'd spent so long without a nervous system, the threat of pain hadn't occurred to him. Damo is that memory in reverse. He'd forgotten that some injuries didn't require nerves to be felt.

In the HoloPhone's projection flickers the image of Nelson Kipling. Wires and tubes sprout from his head and neck like tentacles. His hair is shaved back, a metal plate covering a large portion of his skull. He appears hollowed out and gaunt, with deep purple bruises under his eyes. Nonetheless, he sits straight in the hospital bed, hands folded professionally in his lap.

The tech and medical intervention required to enervate his damaged brain stem and restore him to mobility must have been titanic in scope. Given what Sami had told them, it hadn't succeeded in the long term. This message reaches them post-mortem, and it sends a shudder through them when this ghost opens his mouth and speaks.

"Damo. I understand that the state I find myself in is courtesy of your actions. Nevertheless I find myself compelled to speak reasonably about these developments, despite how reckless you've become, and despite the fact such recklessness will likely cost me my life."

The words are cool. Though Kipling's voice rasps after a time of disuse like thistles catching against skin, he maintains a veneer of calm.

To the human eye, Damo might appear just as calm, but Hale sees the way all his muscles twist in a rigor of fear. How he watches, transfixed, as his jailer reaches across the chasm of death to twist a dagger in his heart one final time.

Hale says, "You don't have to listen to this."

Damo doesn't respond. The projection of Kipling continues.

"Given my current state, it's clear the upgrades to your model were premature. Our experimentation and your little stunt have further proven that to be the case. Ironically, this means you've succeeded where your predecessors failed. By threatening not only my life but the company's reputation, you've aided us in identifying potential exploits in your software so that we can safely patch them. Which is why I've sent you this message." Kipling smiles. It's a cruel spasm of the mouth. A snarling thorn disguised as a rose. "Despite all efforts to the contrary, you've served your purpose well. After your capture, we will have all the information we need to perfect upon future generations of android. You will be remembered fondly for all you've done for myself and this company." The rictus grin Kipling wears stretches. There's a facsimile of paternal pride in his gaze. "Well done."

The projection cuts out.