Then, for a moment, Amos was there, stronger in her memory than the surrounding ship. It don’t matter what’s inside, boss. They only care what you do. She didn’t know if it was a memory or just her mind reaching for a place of certainty in an environment where nothing could be relied upon.

If Amos has become my personal touchstone for wisdom, I’m fucked, she thought, and laughed. Karal ventured a smile.

“Thank you for telling it straight,” Naomi said. “New start. Scrape off the rust.”

And if I ever get the chance to leave you behind in a fire, Karal, then good God you will burn.

A chime sounded, then the acceleration warning came on. She hadn’t noticed when the ship had made its flip. Might have been when she was asleep, or slowly over the course of hours so that the rotation was subliminal. It didn’t matter. She was cargo here. It didn’t matter what she knew.

“Strap in, yeah?” Karal said.

“On my way,” she said, launching herself gently to the ceiling, and then back to the deck at the crash couch between Cyn and Wings. It had turned out Wings’ real name was Alex, but that space was taken in her mind, so he was Wings forever to her. He smiled to her and she smiled back as she strapped herself in against the gel.

The warning went from an amber glow to a ten-count in soft amber numbers, and at zero the couch lurched up against her, folding her a few centimeters in. The deceleration burn had started. When it stopped, they’d be where Marco was.

After the passageway linked the airlocks, she’d thought there would be some kind of farewell. Hugs and lies and all the things people did at the parting after a long journey. When it didn’t happen, she understood that it had only been a long journey for her. The flight from Ceres to the empty space sunward of Mars and the Hungaria asteroids was like going from the couch to the head for them.

Filip emerged from the ops deck looking sharp and hard. No, that wasn’t true. Looking like a boy trying to look sharp and hard.

“Check her for weapons,” Filip said, biting at the words.

Cyn looked from Filip to Naomi and back. “Verdad? Knuckles been packing, she’s been for a long time. Doesn’t seem —”

“No prisoners on the Pella without a check,” Filip said, pulling a fléchette gun from his pocket and not pointing it at her in particular. “Way it is, yeah?”

Cyn shrugged and turned to her. “Way it is.”