Ellen found herself pacing again and forced herself to stop. She'd already been rebuked twice by the old crone about her fidgeting but the nervousness in the room was contagious.

Instead of pacing, Ellen leaned against the wall, giving her hamstrings a good stretch. She had irritating numbness that started in the meat of her calf and radiated upward to her butt. Considering she'd survived an ambush that wiped out the rest of her crew, she'd gotten off lucky with nothing more than some scrapes, bruises, and some minor nerve damage. Twenty-four hours of bed rest and pushing fluids had solved most of her problems, but this endless bickering between the Family heads? Now that was excruciating.

The flip phone lay open on Frederika's desk amid towers of trinkets and trash. The head of the MPD sat crumpled in a leather swivel chair pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes closed, head bowed in concentration. Or sleep? Ellen bet sleep. No doubt that her scheming daughter lurked somewhere just out view.

"We've been over this three times. We've don't have the men to continue operations in the Reaches, so why are we still talking about it?" Ellen asked, hoping to push the conversation along.

"That's my understanding, too. Freddie?" her father's voice crackled from the phone. Ellen wasn't sure if he used Frederika's nickname as a token of friendship or to annoy her.

Frederkia's head lolled and she clawed the air with a hand laden with gaudy gold rings. "Yes," she said at last and Ellen exhaled in relief. The Reichmans' madcap plan had been to stage wave after wave of assaults on every known sub-lab in the Reaches on some deadly scavenger hunt. It had never been a good idea and she was shocked her father had sanctioned it. Thought he would never admit it to her, and she would never accuse him, Ellen suspected he wasn't sheeding any tears over the fallen guards. The MPD ranks were swelling and authorizing attacks on fortified positions was one way of reducing overhead. Their special ops squads were decimated by the raids yet they had recovered little of the new drug Frederika coveted. The vault dwellers fought like trapped animals, fighting to the bitter death rather than be assimilated into the new society. And the MPD's intel had been woefully inaccurate regarding the sophistication of the sub-labs defenses. They were death traps. She didn't want to believe her father would knowingly send men into a meat grinder, but the evidence pointed in that direction...

Which was why she had volunteered for the mission. Of course her father had been apoplectic when he found out, but she wanted him to value the lives of their guards as much as his own flesh and blood.

Marshall spoke. "Now that that's settled, I'd want to get going. My battery is running low and the line quality isn't great—"

"One more thing," Ellen interrupted and Frederika's head turned sharply. She did not brook challenges to authority.

"You've both heard of swaps, right?" she continued. Frederika's eyes narrowed and, for the first time, Ellen caught a glimpse that perhaps her frailty was merely an act. Her father grunted over the line.

"They're gatherings where scavengers meet to trade," she explained. "Word is they're getting larger as more people come into the city. They happen on the first of the month in the same location. That's only a few days from now. I'm requesting permission to lead a raid on the swap."

Frederika glared. "You said yourself your ranks were too thin for special missions. Now you want to use them for your own pet project?"

"Request denied, Commander. Ellen, in your condition—"

"Hear me out," Ellen interrupted again. Frederika's expression soured further. "We've got to send a message that we won't be intimidated. If the scavengers are planning an uprising like I think they are, they'll be recruiting at that swap meet. I guarantee it. We've got to hit them hard and fast. We can march prisoners to the Tombstone and we can find out exactly what happened the other. They could also be dealing your jack," she said to Frederika.

There was nothing but silence. The phone connection crackled.

"I don't like it," her father said. "Too big a risk."

But Ellen noticed Frederika nodding, ever so slightly. "You've got a point Commander," she conceded.

"El, these swap meets are nothing. Junkies trading drugs, guns, and junk. It's hardly some social revolution. You're barking up the wrong tree. "

Ellen was ignoring him, nodding at Frederika instead, hoping to gain momentum for the idea.

"She does have a point, Marshall," Frederika said, straightening in her chair. "We need to get to the bottom of these attacks and send a message, as she says. We don't want to look weak in a time of crisis."

Ellen grinned. Her strategy was working. Frederika had started thinking this was the kind of decisive action she wanted to be seen taking. The promise of finding more of her precious drug made the idea irresistable. She knew for her father, a violent displat of force was always near the top of his options.

"I don't like it," he repeated.

"You don't have to like it," she said. "Just authorize it. We keep it very small and very quiet. Promise."

After a long pause he said, "Okay, but I'm putting the whole settlement in lockdown until after this mission. If this can give us answers, I suppose it's worth the risk."

Ellen pumped her fist and Frederika gave her a wry smile.

Marshall spoke again. "But promise me you'll be extra safe, okay cupcake?"