“Great work,” said Orla Jareni, but her expression was rueful. “However, I’d argue that the main thing is—we somehow have to board a space station without docking. Any ideas on how we’re going to manage that?”

As it turned out, there was always a way. Not necessarily a safe way. But none of them had come back to the Amaxine station to play it safe.

Orla adjusted her exosuit, pleased to have one that actually fit. Reath and Affie did, as well, but Cohmac had to make do with one that was far too large. Normally that would create an unacceptable risk of puncture, but this was an urgent situation, and at least they weren’t traveling far.

A large case sat near Affie’s feet, one she seemed intent on taking with them. “What’s that?”

“Oh, just—” Affie hesitated. “It’s something I need to make records of the smugglers’ code on the station. I want to figure that out.”

Reath shook his head. “Affie, there are Nihil on that station. Not to mention the vines and the Aytees. It’s too dangerous to go there only for research.” Then, to himself, he muttered, “I can’t believe I just insulted research.”

“I don’t work for the Jedi,” Affie snapped back. “I mean, I do as the Vessel’s copilot, but once we get where we’re going? I’m on my own. Which means I’m boarding the Amaxine station whether you guys do or not.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Orla said. In truth, she wanted to argue, but the girl had a point. They lacked any way of stopping her other than physical force, which was the last thing any of them needed. Besides, Geode stood behind Affie, glowering as if daring anyone to oppose his friend’s will. “Come on, everyone. Let’s get moving.”

Minutes later, all four members of the landing party were assembled at the airlock. On the count, Leox released the pressure valves. Metal plates spiraled open, exposing them to the frigid void of space. Gravity released them so they bobbed weightlessly within the hatch. Instead of hearing the usual hiss of lock meeting lock, Orla was instantly enveloped in total silence.

Several meters below their feet lay the scrolling surface of the Amaxine station.

“We should be coming up on the airlocks within forty-five seconds,” said Cohmac, via helmet comms. “On my count.”

Synchronization was essential. Orla readied her handheld thruster and got into position with the rest.

Cohmac’s deep voice came through the comms: “Three—two—one.”

Orla fired the thruster, allowing its momentum to push her forward, out of the Vessel’s airlock and toward the station’s surface. She had her magnetic clamps ready even before her feet made contact. Instantly she latched on. Got it.