Without further challenges, we reach the monitors in question. Why the surveillance room is not guarded, I don’t know, but I suspect it’s because Gem just shot the guards in the head. Gem stands watch at the door while I cycle through views from the various cameras.

The base is mostly empty…very empty. The armory has been stripped. Luca’s gold-level boxes and alt-tech experiments have disappeared from his workshop. In the server room, Ophelia’s computers are either gone or disassembled, their hard drives probably pulled. And in the sick bay…

An ice cube lodges in my throat. The patient’s bed is empty.

“Where’s Hewett?” I wonder.

Gem starts. “What?”

“Hold on….” I toggle through more cameras, my fingers trembling. If I was wrong about the hostages, if they and Dr. Hewett were on board the Aronnax . . . I switch to the view of the front dock, and my shoulders relax just a little.

“There he is,” I tell Gem. “Two hostiles are bringing his stretcher aboard the Varuna.”

Gem frowns. “Why would they—?”

“Insurance,” I guess. “They’ve stripped all the information and tech they can from the base. With the Aronnax gone, the Varuna is their only way out.”

Gem’s expression hardens. “And with Hewett on board, they figure we’re less likely to attack the ship. What about the other hostages?”

“Not sure…” I toggle through more live feeds. “Oh.” The ice cube slides farther down my esophagus. “Dining room. The good news is they’re still alive….”

Gem risks a look at the screen.

The bad news is our friends are being held at gunpoint. In the middle of the dining room, Luca, Ophelia, Franklin, and Tia are on their knees with their hands tied behind their backs. Two hostiles stand behind them with Leyden guns trained on their heads. Two more hostiles, also armed with zappy mini harpoons, pace the room restlessly, like they’re waiting for orders….

“Human shields,” Gem mutters. “They take Hewett on the ship, leave the rest of our people here under guard. More insurance to let the Varuna get away safely. We have to take the dining hall, then reach the boat before it casts off.”

“But if we go charging in there—”

Above our heads, the ceiling vent rattles. I almost leap out of my squid boots. Gem trains his guns on the levered slates. The head of a small metal insect pokes out, its glittery eyes like Fabergé eggs.

I laugh with relief. “Pilot Bug?”

I can’t be sure if it’s the same drone who guided our ship into the lagoon days ago, but it spits a festive electrical spark as if it’s happy to see us. Then it buzzes out of its hiding place, followed by half a dozen of its shiny emerald insect friends.