It wasn’t a fair question. But Surit took it as one, almost gratefully. Tennal felt it kick the machine in Surit’s mind into life, start the cogs ticking over. He felt Surit rebuild his walls and pull himself together. At least one of them could do that. “Let me think.”

Surit checked his wristband, which finally made Tennal do the same. The urgent ping was an emergency muster order—not just for Tennal himself, but for the whole of Retrieval Two. Tennal and Surit were supposed to report to Oma. The rankers had been assigned immediate berths on troop carriers.

“According to this,” Tennal said, distantly hearing his own voice, “a lot of ships are going to be leaving. Quite soon, actually.” He didn’t say the words Oma’s taking a fleet to Orshan Central.

“Not my unit,” Surit said. He had gone pale. “Not us. I won’t.”

Tennal thought it through dispassionately. He couldn’t engage his emotions or he’d admit he still had them, and that was a nonstarter. Oma and her inner circle had known this was coming, which was how they’d assigned everyone places on ships. But the rank and file were only now getting their assignments. Which meant everyone would be away from their normal posts, and most people hadn’t trained for this; for the first few hours, this was chaos. And chaos was their friend.

Tennal met Surit’s eyes. Their minds rang exactly in sync.

“The Fractal Note,” Tennal said. “Your escape plan isn’t spoiled yet.”

Surit had already started running. Tennal was only half a step behind.

As they ran, Tennal noticed with surprise that he could still run, albeit at a slower jog. A few weeks ago, that first sprint would have left him floored. Now he had enough spare attention to spin up Basavi on his wristband.

Basavi wasn’t answering.

“I can’t get hold of any of them either,” Surit said, throwing the words over his shoulder. “They might have been detained as well. We’ll see when we get to—” He stopped as Tennal’s captain’s key opened the door to the bay where the Fractal Note was moored.

The Fractal Note had ceased to be a prison ship some days ago. Now it was just a quiet hulk, moored in an awkward place under one of the station’s struts. The loading bay swept around three airlocks in a crescent of gunmetal gray.

Tennal was willing to bet the unconscious guards and a sleeping dockworker weren’t normal fixtures here.

Surit passed them with only a glance. He strode unerringly to the airlock of the Note and presented his own keys. For a moment Tennal didn’t think they’d work; then the door beeped and slid open. Surit and Tennal entered.

“Stop there!”