Tina had formulated a loose plan by the time she finished kicking a few more garbage bags, running aimlessly across half the favela. Raul was the key. He would have the answers she needed, but by the scared-as-hell look he’d had on his face after she had killed those men, there was a good chance he had gone into hiding as well. Which meant a slim chance of finding him—directly, anyway.

Fortunately, Raul had a habit; one he controlled well, but that, under stress, led him to become a full-blown junkie like the rest of them. And as Marcos’s personal enforcer, Tina knew every drug den in the favela. Not that she relished the task of checking each one for him; she had simply become proficient at it over the past five years.

Five whole years doing this crap. Man, she needed out of this place.

Tina headed for the closest den—an abandoned warehouse down by the markets. She zipped through tight alleys and, where she could, over rooftops, quickly scaling the two and three-story buildings and dropping down the opposite side. As she continued on, something struck her as vaguely out of place and she slowed, straining her senses to figure out what.

Tina halted.

 Normally, the smells and sounds of an early workday afternoon would be in full swing by now. Fishermen returning from the market, handing what was left of their catch to their wives to fry for supper, the static blare of samba on cheap radios. But the place was deathly quiet instead. Doors closed, windows barred.

Something was going on, and it involved the entire favela.

Tina trekked cautiously down a few more alleys. As she neared the boundary of the slum, she saw at least fifty armed men making their way up and into the favela, streaming from a trio of black, armored personnel carriers parked along the main road.

Her heart rate jumped.

The men carried assault pulse rifles and looked trained to use them. They kicked in doors and dragged people out of their homes, dwarfing them in their black combat armor. Tina thought it was the Unidade de Polícia Pacificadora, or UPP, at first—the Police Pacification Unit that periodically “cleansed” the slums in the name of reclaiming territory controlled by the gangs. But Marcos paid a hefty sum to keep the unit commanders on payroll. The only time the UPP entered his favela was to clear out rivals.

Plus these were soldiers, not police, and from the crests on their helmets, they were from the central RAL government. Most of the soldiers didn’t even look Brazilian, and she could hear Spanish as they shouted to one another in their methodical search of the area. That made sense. Brazil was still somewhat of a mildly tolerated stepchild within El República Americana Latina, and the central army rarely recruited from there. When Central and South America united to form the Latin American Republic in 2092, Brazil had refused to change its language, currency, or laws. The result was Brazil being ostracized and cut off from many of the services the new super-country provided.

In a way, Brazil was the favela of the RAL.

“I’m guessing they’re looking for me,” an American accent said next to her.

Adrenaline spiked as her glands kicked into high gear. Tina spun and took an involuntary step backward, fists raised to strike.

A man in a long black trench coat stood across from her. Mahogany-skinned, he had slim features with a trimmed goatee. His eyes were silver-gray, and he had dreadlocks pulled into a ponytail that reached midway down his back. His coat was open wide enough to reveal a set of camouflage fatigues underneath.

There was no sense in finding Raul now. It was too late; they’d already found her. Whoever the hell these friggin’ rastas were.

“When they told me to look for a giant version of Smurfette, I thought they were shitting me.”

He grinned, and then proceeded to laugh. “The outfit. Now I get it.”

Tina didn’t know quite how to take him. Seemed like a joker, but she wasn’t about to let her guard down. By the way he’d gotten the drop on her, he could easily have killed her just now.

The fact that he hadn’t meant he wanted to talk, at least.

“Your people attacked me first,” Tina said. “And my killing them was an accident.”

“So I heard . . .” He beamed a grin at her. “You know, I used to watch you all the time, back in the day. You were Size Queen, right?”

Great. So he was a fan, as well. “You mind telling me who you are, and what you want with me?”

“The name’s Doc. And I want you to help me blow up a starship.”