The ship’s interior was ugly as hell. The anti-spalling in the corridors was deep red and fake-velvet fuzzy with gold fleur-de-lis scattered over them in a weird, non-repeating pattern. The hatchways were enameled in royal blue and gold. Oversized crash couches were all over the place – in the corners of rooms, in niches in the hallways. The air recyclers added the stink of sandalwood incense without the smoke. All told, the ship was the embodiment of a stereotypical whorehouse done by a designer who’d never been to a real one. The security station was perfunctory, poorly designed, and barely stocked, but Erich’s people were placed around it as well as they could manage. Even Butch, still in pressure bandages, had a rifle with fresh rounds trained down the hallway.

“Hey,” Amos said. “We’re cool. They’re not coming in.”

The release of tension was like a soft breeze, if soft breezes came with the sounds of magazines getting pulled from assault rifles.

“Okay,” Erich said, lifting a pistol in his good hand. “Tyce. Police up all the guns. Joe and Kin, put a watch on the lock. I don’t want to be surprised if anyone shows up unexpected.”

“They won’t,” Amos said. “But hey, knock yourselves out.”

“You got a minute?” Erich said, handing the pistol to a thick-necked man who Amos figured was Tyce.

“Sure,” Amos said. They fell into step, ambling toward the lift.

“That was really the woman who’s running Earth now?”

“Until she lets ’em have an election, I guess. I never really paid much attention to how that whole thing works.”

Erich made a soft, noncommittal grunt. His bad arm was curled up against his chest, the tiny fist tight. His good hand was stuffed deep in his pocket. Both made him look like something was eating him.

“And you… You know her. Like asking-favors know her.”

“Yup.”

At the lift, Erich punched for the ops deck. It wasn’t where Amos meant to go, but it seemed like the conversation was leading toward something, so he went with it. The lift made a stuttering start, then rose gently past the high-ceilinged decks.

“I can’t tell if this thing’s a ship or a fucking throw pillow,” Amos said.

“Wouldn’t know,” Erich said. “It’s the first one I’ve been in.”

“Seriously?”

“Never been out of atmosphere before. The low-gravity thing. That’s weird.”

Amos bounced gently on his toes. It was only about a sixth of a g. He hadn’t really thought about it much. “You get used to it.”

“You did, anyway,” Erich said. “So how did you meet her?”

“We got in over our heads on some shit, and some folks she was against were trying to kill us. She came in and tried to keep us alive.”

“So now you’re friends.”

“Friendly acquaintances,” Amos said. “I don’t have all that many what you’d call friends.”