“Hmm. Well, that’s something to chew on, Jack,” she said. “I appreciate your candor. Space Waste as an organization takes pride in learning from mistakes.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Jax said. “You can call me Jax, by the way. I don’t generally go by Jack.”

“Of course,” she said, extending her hand. “You can call me Dava.” Jax took her hand and shook it. Then he froze.

“I’m supposed to bring you in for questioning,” Dava noted, handing the restraining ring to Jax. “Or kill you, if I can’t. But since I already got your story, I suppose I don’t need to bring you in.” She looked over at X and then back at Jax. “I guess I could kill you now, but I’d hate for this whole thing you’ve got going on here to go unfinished,” she said, making a circular motion with her hand. “You know, the only people I hate more than cops are corrupt cops.”

“Um,” Jax said. “It was a pleasure to meet you. And thanks for not killing me.” That was all he could manage.

“My partner has set charges by now,” she continued, ignoring him. “He won’t trigger them until I give the word.” She looked from Jax to Phonson and then back to Jax. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

“So what are you, like, an assassin with a heart of gold?” Jax said, then wished he’d picked another time to try to be witty.

“Three minutes,” Dava replied with a momentary scowl. “You’ll probably see me again sometime,” she said idly and the frown curled upward. “And tell your buddy that my knife really does have sentimental value. I’ll be back for it, some day.”

Dava flitted out of the room and into the kitchen. Jax tried to watch her, but she was gone before he could get a look. So instead, he looked at X.

Jax sighed. “Well, at least I know you’re not that good,” he muttered.

Phonson’s face showed that he took offense at the comment and he started wriggling around, as if trying to work the cuffs free. Jax shook his head and hit the button on the restrainer switch. The cop shuddered and spasmed from the electrical shock he suddenly received and then keeled over, face planted against the floor, panting and drooling.

Runstom was walking up to the house with a restrained Jenna Zarconi in tow as Jax was dragging Phonson out by his feet. “They’re going to blow it up!” Jax yelled, huffing and backpedaling as fast as he could. “They’re going to blow the house! We only have a few minutes!”

The officer seemed to understand immediately, and he ran up to the unconscious ModPol cop still lying just outside the front door. Runstom hooked his elbows under the man’s armpits and half-hoisted him up. He began backpedaling as well, quickly out-pacing Jax. “Over here,” he shouted. “Follow me.”

Dava watched Bashful Dan as he shifted his gaze from the house to his RadMess and back. He chewed his lip and narrowed his eyes from his position behind a vacant hover-car. He checked his RadMess again and began to tap his fingers nervously on the side of the car.

She was still a few yards behind him, hidden from view by a column of metal painted with an obnoxious fake bark texture. She checked the time on her own RadMess. One more minute, then she would appear and scare the living daylights out of Dan, yet again.

Sometimes she thought they hated her. The other Space Wasters. Sure, she was a cold-blooded assassin, but they were all killers. She just had a different method. They preferred to be loud and theatrical. She did her work quickly and quietly. But that wasn’t the problem. They didn’t trust her.

And why should they? After all, when it came time to pay the piper, she was often the one who came collecting. A few weeks ago it was Three-Hairs Benson. They all knew he’d crossed Moses and he got what was coming to him. But they were also reminded of what they’d get if they ever slipped up. Benson was another reminder that once you became a Waster, you were a Waster ’til death, and there was no hiding from the hand of Moses when it came to strike you down. And Dava was that hand.

But they knew Benson deserved it. He’d stolen not just from Moses, but from all of Space Waste. Their distrust of Dava – there was more to it than that. It was because she was Earth-born. She was different. Her brown skin. Her past. It made her different than most of the others. Except for Moses. Moses was a leader, and they embraced his different skin color, his Earth past. Then Dava came along and Moses instantly favored her. They resented that, and they never trusted her.

Everyone had a past. No one joined Space Waste if life had been good to them. And these gangbangers wanted to talk about their pasts. They needed to air out. Get things off their chests. But Dava wasn’t like that. So because she never opened up, they all made up stories about her. Like rumors going around a sewing circle. A gangbanger sewing circle.

Sure, they were cordial to her. Everyone got along. It was the whispering, the muttering she heard when they thought she was out of earshot. And Moses was chiding her for being distant. She could never complain to him about the others not trusting her. But what was the truth? Did they mistrust her any more than she mistrusted them? Than she mistrusted anyone who wasn’t Moses?

Dava frowned and looked at the back of Bashful Dan’s head. Her muscles tensed as she prepared to creep up on him, but then she relaxed. How many years had she taken off this poor tracker’s life by scaring his wits out? She coughed lightly and hissed in his direction. “Dan,” she whispered.

Dan’s head jerked up and almost spun all the way around on his neck as he looked around for a few seconds before spotting her, half-behind the metal tree. She waved at him and bounced lightly up to the hover-car.

“Hey,” he said. He seemed a little confused. Probably because she hadn’t followed form by trying to give him a heart attack. “Dava. What happened?”

“You set the charges, right?” she asked. They both looked out at the house, a good hundred meters or so in the distance.

“Yeah, they’re the directional ones that 2-Bit brought. Should be a nice and controlled demo of the house, leave nothing but a little mess on the rest of the street.” He turned to face Dava. “Are they all dead?”

“Mostly.” She kept her eyes on the house. They were facing the back of the structure, where she had cut her way through the kitchen window. She couldn’t see if Psycho Jack and the others got clear from the front. She didn’t know why she cared. She didn’t want to know why she cared. “Okay, Dan,” she said quietly. “Hit it, and let’s go home.”

There was a series of snapping sounds so loud that Jax could feel them in his chest. His muscles tightened up instantly and he grabbed his ears to keep them from popping off his head. Just as soon as it started, it was over.

He opened his eyes and saw a light haze of dust and smoke come around the edges of the small utility shed they were crouched behind. Runstom was taking the helmet off the ModPol officer he’d been dragging. He put the helmet on and lowered the clear, plastic eye-shield and peered up over the shed.

Jax looked over at Jenna Zarconi and almost said, sorry about your house, but then swallowed his words. The woman sat a few feet away from the shed and stared at nothing as the haze dissipated into the air above them. He wondered if she felt regret. Or remorse.

Runstom turned back around and quickly checked on Phonson and the other ModPol officer. They were both conscious now, but both in a bit of a daze and had nothing to say. They each moaned slightly as Runstom grabbed them by the head and peered into their eyes.

“So.” He let go of X and turned to Jax. “They gave you a little trouble?” There was just a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Well, Dava,” Jax said. “The Space Waster, I mean. She got out of her cuffs. I don’t really know how. One minute she was cuffed, and the next …” He trailed off.