A trio of coal-black eyes peered up at me from the raised face. “Maybe lots, maybe less.” Leaving four limbs firmly planted on the deck, it curved the fifth around to ignite the torch. The blue flame hissed like the sound of distant surf.

“Just cut him loose.” It was a risk, but according to the Trouble Dog, we might all be dead soon anyway. And if not, I was going to need every able body I could muster in order to help rescue the survivors from the crashed liner.

“Yes, Boss-captain.”

The flame narrowed, paling into virtual invisibility, and the creature moved itself closer to the prone figure of Childe. Soldered joints softened. The scent of hot metal rose, and suddenly the man was free. I watched him stretch his arms and roll his neck, trying to work the circulation back into his crucified limbs. The exoskeleton amplified every movement, and for an instant I wondered if I had made a mistake. I’d already felt the power of that suit, and the ease with which it had allowed him to hurl me aside.

“You’re serious about joining the House?” I managed to keep my voice steady and businesslike.

“Yes.”

“Then I want you in the infirmary.” My tone told him I wasn’t afraid. “I want you helping Preston. The kid doesn’t know much, but he’s eager to learn.” I rubbed the tip of my nose. “At least, I hope he is. Otherwise, I’m going to have to throw his indolent butt off this ship, and hire myself somebody new.”

“Yes, Captain.” Childe touched two fingers to his brow in a casual salute, and walked stiffly from the room, moving like a man trying to remember how to use his legs.

When he had gone, I sagged against the nearest table. My hands were shaking and my heart rattled like a motor trying to tear loose from its mounting. Nod was packing away the cutting torch and muttering about the smell from the dishwasher. It didn’t often venture into the human-occupied sections of the ship, and I got the impression it would much rather be down in the dirty, grease-smelling bowels of the engine room than up here, breathing the scents of our bodies and food.

The Trouble Dog’s avatar was watching me from the wall screen. Her computer-generated features had the impassivity of a doll.

“Do you trust him?”

She was talking about Childe. I surprised myself with a bark of laughter.

“No.”

“Alva wants to eject him.”

I perched on the corner of the table, one booted foot on the deck, the other dangling. “I know.”

“He will be passing the main airlock in forty-seven seconds. If you want me to, I can override the safety mechanisms and vent that entire section of corridor.”

I rubbed my face, and was ashamed to find myself momentarily entertaining the suggestion.