“No, Leo. There’s nothing we could have done,” he said, his own eyes glassy. “And there’s nothing we can do now that will ever bring her back. But at least we can try to do what she would want us to do.” His father held up his seagull mug. “Starting with having a second cup of coffee. I assume you don’t want any?”

Leo asked if he could have some hot cocoa instead.

“Your wish is my command,” his dad said.

Maybe he should have gone with Baz to get that drink.

Maybe the captain would have given him one. Maybe he would have just given Leo a lecture instead, one of the don’t-ever-press-a-button-that-might-cause-us-all-to-blow-up-ever-again variety. Leo would have deserved it. He had no doubt that he was one of the reasons Baz needed a drink to begin with.

“Three to five percent,” Leo mumbled.

“Actually,” Crayt said, “it was more like six to eight, but I felt five percent was as much as your human brains could handle. Though six to eight is still a perfectly acceptable margin of error, scientifically speaking. Hand me that particle diffuser, will you?” The exiled Aykari pointed to a short-handled tool that looked like an oddly shaped flashlight with three heads. Leo fetched it for him, marveling at the Aykari. Crayt worked at tremendous speed, yet still with a delicate and dexterous touch, not taking the time to explain what he was doing to Leo, who likely wouldn’t have understood it anyway. Still, he could see the focus and determination in the alien’s eyes. For all the pressure to finish this quickly, there was also an excitement lurking there. The Aykari were inventors, after all. They knew how to make the most of the materials they had at hand.

Leo wasn’t sure how long they’d been at it—his watch wouldn’t even give him the time on Celeron Seven anymore, only displayed the same message every time he tapped on it: Searching . . . Searching for what, he had no idea. The rest of the crew had gone back to the hangar some time ago to finish the repairs on the Icarus—and probably to debate their next step, now that they had found a way to stop the Djarik. Now that the device was in their hands, or soon would be.

In the hands of a band of pirates and an asthmatic kid from Colorado.

Kat was right: they were way out of their league.

As if he could read Leo’s thoughts, Crayt said, “It is even bigger than they realize. You know that, yes?” He nodded at the creation he was tinkering with—a more robust version of the one they’d tested. From the outside it looked relatively harmless: a metal sphere no larger than a playground ball, split down the middle like a halved melon—clearly the hull of something he’d hollowed out to serve this new purpose. Inside was a mishmash of wires and circuits, all connected to a series of small compartments that would soon contain everything necessary to trigger the intended reaction.