Mothbreaker's Arc

Chapter 7 of 9

By sunrise the boat was back under the pilings and Mothbreaker had not slept. The lights held in the underground. She could feel the small hum of them through the deck plates. But the council still sat inside the plant, and she had no way to see what they did next. If they moved on another junction, she would learn about it when the power died. She needed eyes on that building before nightfall. "I need someone inside," she said into the channel. "Not us. We're burned. Council knows our faces." Neon Sentinel answered first. "Cameras in the plant run on a closed loop. I can't reach them from outside. Somebody has to drop a tap on the line." A tap was a small box. Small box, big problem. Whoever placed it had to walk past guards who now had her photograph. Jolt Jinx cut in. "Omaha." "She won't," Mothbreaker said. "Not for me. Not after the permit files hit her club." "She might for chips," Jolt Jinx said. "Or a name she doesn't have yet." Mothbreaker thought about the sealed envelope Marina Soleil owed Velvet Mirage. She thought about the favor Marina still owed her. She had one card left in that deck, and it was thin. She went to The Pink Pony Club at the back hour, when the stage lights were down and the floor smelled of spilled drinks. Omaha met her in a booth without the sparkle costume, just a robe and a hard look. "You brought soldiers to my door," Omaha said. "I brought them to mine," Mothbreaker said. "They followed the paper, not you. I'm here to fix that." She slid a small black square across the table. "Place this on the service line inside the plant. One night. Then you walk. Your name stays clean because Marina Soleil signs the delivery slip, not you." Omaha tilted her head. "Marina signs. Why would she." "Because I hold her favor," Mothbreaker said, "and I'm spending it on you." Omaha took the box. She did not smile. "One night. After that we're square, and you don't come back until the season turns." Mothbreaker nodded. On the boat ride out, Storm Grit sat at the tiller with her bandaged hands loose on the wood. "You trust the cat," Storm Grit said. "I trust the deal," Mothbreaker said. Storm Grit grunted and did not answer. Omaha walked the tap in at shift change, dressed as a caterer for a council officer who liked pretty things. She clipped the box under a junction shelf in the corridor outside the dry lab and left with an empty tray. Neon Sentinel had signal by ten. The feed came up grainy, then sharpened. Six camera views. Four corridors. The node room door. A hallway with two guards playing cards. "I see them," Neon Sentinel said. "I see all of them." Mothbreaker set the copper strip on the table and let out a breath she had been holding since the plant fell. She had eyes now. She had spent the last favor Marina owed her to get them, and she had promised Omaha a season of distance she was not sure she could keep. But the council could not move on the grid without her watching. For the first time since the raid, she was the one in the dark seat.