The world was no longer a place of solid matter. To my senses, everything had become a screaming web of frequencies. The Harvest-Carrier above us groaned, a sound of groaning titanium that felt like it was happening inside my own chest. The Traction-Fields—those shimmering blue umbilical cords—were snapping and sparking, dropping survivors onto the soft white salt of the Dead-Zone.
"Leo, let go!" Nix’s voice was a distant echo, drowned out by the roar of the drone in my hands.
I couldn't let go. My fingers had locked around the polished casing of the drone, the white lightning scars on my arm now glowing with a blinding, ultraviolet intensity. I was a conductor for a storm of "Dirty Data." I was feeding the fleet every jagged memory, every unscripted emotion, and every ounce of human "no
