At least that’s where I aimed. But I'd never fired an assault rifle before and the shot went wide--and an instant after I pulled the trigger, gunfire erupted all around. Plywood splintered and the noise drove a spike of iron into my headache.

The orbs dragged me back into the passageway and I heard the man, PJ, yelling, "Hold your fire, hold your fire!"

The shooting stopped and I backpedaled in a panic, smashing scaffolding and planks with the orbs, trying to block pursuit. Trying to keep them contained, too. I figured I’d find a place to hide, and pick them off from the shadows with the orbs.

Only one problem: the aftereffects of that flashbang still lingered. I felt drowsy and disoriented and that nasty stench burned my nostrils--not like seaweed so much as like rancid meat dissolving in battery acid.

Twenty feet from the big room, I crouched behind a tarp, waiting for my head to clear and my heart to stop galloping.

PJ called out, "C’mon out, kid, we’ve got to talk."

I shook my head to clear the cobwebs.

"I'll tell you what I’m going to do," PJ called, in a friendly baritone. "I’ll send the fellas away." He raised his voice: "You all hear that? Gather the wounded and clear out! Me and Mrs. Spandle got everything under control."

Rustling sounded in the shadows, along with a soft groan and the clink of metal.

Even disoriented, I managed to track the soldiers withdrawing toward a tarp on the middle level, then disappearing into an alcove. Not an alcove, a door that opened into the sub-basement of a neighboring building. So much for containing them.

My mind felt sluggish, my tongue thick. I sagged limply against a plywood wall. Whatever PJ was planning, sending the soldiers away was good for me. It's always better not to be surrounded by angry men with grudges and guns. Maybe we could work this out.

I took a deep breath, then exhaled.

"That’s right," PJ said. "Now it's just you and me and Mrs. Spandle. No reason to fret. You hear me?"

I shifted but didn't answer.

"Listen," he called. "I know I’m doing this all wrong. You don’t have to tell me that, I know I’m a screw-up." His low laugh came from all around. "So I apologize for doing this back-assward, but there’s two things you ought to know. One, this is sanctioned, this is legal. Completely above-board. I am a duly-appointed agent of our duly-elected federal government. You hear what I’m saying? You understand?"

In my quiet nook, I nodded.

"And two, when I woke up this morning I had no idea you existed. I mean, that’s unbefrigginglievable. You got a bunch of what? Yo-yos? Are they attached to you? I’m sitting here, my mind is blown." A short pause. "So are they? Are they attached?"

The weight of his words settled on my shoulders, the rancid stench infiltrated my lungs. I shook my head in answer, but managed to stay silent.

His laugh came again. "You also, I should mention, missed me entirely with an AK burst at thirty feet, you’ve gotta be the crappiest shot I’ve seen outside of a home for the visually impaired. Still, that’s cold, shooting at a guy in the middle of a sentence, you ought to watch that temper." A pause. "What was I saying?"

Mrs. Spandle murmured softly.

"That’s right, your yo-yos. Yeah, if I’d known about them, I would've made you a job offer. Medical, dental, and a signing bonus. How're your teeth, huh? That shit gets expensive. So I admit we got off on the wrong foot, but hey, water under the bridge." He paused, and I heard him breathing. "Tell me what you’re thinking."

"Um," I mumbled.

"Speak up, kid! My ears are still ringing."

"Where’s Dewitt?" I called.

"Where are you? I can’t hear you. Come out, come out wherever you are."

That sounded reasonable; he sounded reasonable. He'd sent the soldiers away, and just wanted to talk. Frankly, I couldn't think of a better plan. Maybe after I explained what was going on, he’d just send Dewitt home. Probably. Why wouldn't he? Why send some kind of paramilitary extraction team for a chubby handyman?

So I crawled from my nook, holding the rifle at my side. Everything felt dull and far away. I backtracked until I found them in a sort of niche abutting the building’s foundation. PJ lounged on a spool of wire and the woman stood beside him, her expression placid as a breeze ruffled one stray lock of her hair. Standing under a vent shaft or something.

"That’s better," PJ said, spreading his hands wide when he saw me. "Now we can talk face to face. Look at me, kid, I’m unarmed, we both are. Mrs. Spandle wouldn’t hurt a fly anyway. Am I right?"

"Not a fly," she said.

"Let me see one of those yo-yos," he told me.

So I sent an orb to hover in front of him. I mean, why not?

"Christ on a cranberry." PJ shook his head in amazement. "Talk about no strings attached."

He laughed, and I found myself smiling along. Then I remembered a vague worry. "Uh. Where’s Dewitt?"

"Back at the ranch."

"Oh."

"A little groggy, but he’s like you--he listened to reason." PJ stood from the spool, light on his feet for such a big guy. "Come closer. We’re all friends here. Give me your weapon."

So what I did was, I walked over to him and handed him the assault rifle. I couldn't think of a single reason not to.