She does a quick systems check, turns and propels herself out of the cupola. Shell heads for the fore airlock. She ignores the equipment lock and joins Fin beside the crew lock.

Larry is older. The face is more lined, the hair has more grey and there’s some slump to the posture; more round, less muscle. That smile, though. Unmistakable. Shell pushes past Fin and hugs Larry. She feels inexplicably sad and thinks it’s because he reminds her of Haldene.

“Hey, Shelley.”

“Hey, Uncle Larry.”

There’s a woman behind him. Fin seems to have frozen after the post-docking handshake. Hell is he looking at?

“This is my daughter, Joké,” says Larry.

Even neutralised in an EVA suit, Joké is distracting. Her eyes seem ever-so-slightly larger than usual. Dark brown skin, mouth quick to smile, taller than Shell. Joké looks at Fin briefly, then turns back to Shell without saying a word.

“Do you want to brief us?” says Larry.

Shell leads Larry and Joké to Node 1. Fin keeps up his weird stare, but he and Salvo move aft.

“Keep in touch,” says Shell.

“I need to speak with you,” says Fin. He’s looking at her in a way that mirrors her own feelings: like, Who’s this child commanding the ship, and does she know what she’s doing? Joké, behind Larry, wears an amused smile. Difficult to read, that one.

Shell breaks off with Fin, not missing the look Larry exchanges with Joké.

They both hold grab rails.

“What?” asks Shell.

“That spaceman. Spaceperson. Joké. She’s not human.”

“So? You have an Artificial.” Shell tries to keep cool at this information. Many reasons this could be the case.

“She’s not an Artificial – she’s an alien, a Lamber.”

Shell glances back at the woman beside Larry. “What about him?”

“He’s human. All the way.”

“How do you know this?”

“It’s my job to know, Captain. There are signs I can pick up. I’m a repatriator.”

Low voice now. “Is she impersonating the real girl?”

“No, Lambers wouldn’t do that. She seems to be a hybrid, which I haven’t seen before. I didn’t even know it was possible.” He seems to be in physical pain.

“Okay, so, say she’s half-Lamber. Hell, full. What makes… is this a danger to us?”

“‘Us’? We’re on the same side now?”

“Fin, how is her being on board a problem?”

“I don’t know. Lambers are—”

The world shakes as the entire ship judders.

Fin goes green. “What—?”

Shell holds up her hand. “Ragtime. Diagnostics.”

“All systems optimal, Captain.”

“Then why—”

Everything shudders, and the vibration increases in frequency. Alarms go off. Gravity disengages and the five of them fly around like rag dolls. The micrograv saves them from injury. Metals groan from mechanical stresses.

“Ragtime, what the hell is going on?”