“Plenty guns at da Souk, but ain’t nevah seen flame t’rowers.” Spunk glanced over at Jake. “Wheah da hell did dey get dose babies?”

“A lucky salvage? Hardly matters. Could’ve done as much with a bunch of dry matches.” Jake saw my look. “Well, maybe not. Least, not so fast.”

“Be good ta know da source,” noted Spunk.

“Someone’ll know. Rousseau’s calling for another den caucus.”

“More talk, talk, talk,” muttered Rivera.

“Okay, sure, we’re sitting ducks. All the dens are. But talk is the start of action, right?”

One of the kids was snuffling again, and Rivera drew the child gently onto her lap. “Damn well better be.”

Back in my bunk again, I lay awake wondering what had brought Aitch and her lens to the Ladysmith’s raid. That had to be what the Wizzers and I had seen in the video. She went where trouble was and recorded it. But why? And for who?

TWENTY

Like Spunk predicted, the Adders did not show right up on our walkway, and the sense of doom and crisis eased off a bit. We got the Smiths settled in over the next day or so, filling empty bunks, adding seats to the Mess, giving up feed storage space on Five to new sleeping quarters. The swap shelves emptied as clothing, bedding, and basic supplies were passed out among the newcomers.

At first, everyone wanted a Smith or two at their table, for a show of sympathy and to hear the war stories, how the raid went down. But with our number swelled by a quarter, the same Joes who’d moved heaven and earth to make room for the refugees started asking among themselves when all these strangers we hadn’t chosen to live with were going to leave. With the blood and soot washed off and the wounds stitched up, those pitiable victims became forty-seven more bodies eating down our provisions and taking up our personal space.

“Why’d they have to come here?” I heard muttered in the Mess. “The Tommys were closer.”

“Is this the new normal, then? Why’s he letting her do this to us?”

“Are they even looking for a new den?”

Longer lines at the meal stations, smaller portions, shorter beer rations. Crammed-up sleep tiers. Not everyone who’d willingly switched bunks to allow a Smith family to hang together was happy with their new assignment. They missed their old tier-mates. But the Smiths had a lot more family units than we did, and you couldn’t just split them up. Plus, kids are noisy and active, and don’t always get the idea of bedtime or sharing, so it took way longer to claim a free shower spigot or computer in the media loft.