The moment they set foot on the ship, there was a ranker facing them. Not in guard position—the Note shouldn’t have any crew on it apart from their own unit. Tennal stopped. He did not, at this point, feel shocked by someone pointing a capper at him. That was probably a bad thing.

Tennal slowly raised his hands.

The ranker’s face was unfamiliar, but she was deeply suspicious of them. She looked to the side, still pointing the capper, and said, “I think it’s their lieutenant! Call the bridge!”

Tennal breathed out. He didn’t even have to make eye contact with Surit. They could blast their way out of here with Surit’s architect commands, but Surit was reluctant to do that.

Tennal wasn’t reluctant at all. If Surit wouldn’t cooperate, he could just try to tackle this ranker for her weapon. It wouldn’t work. But nothing else was working. Tennal tensed, ready to dive.

“Wait,” Surit said, as a screen opened on the wall of the corridor.

A square, blocky face. An earnest frown that melted into relief.

“Lieutenant,” Private Basavi said. “You made it.”

The screen showed Basavi on the bridge. The room behind them wasn’t the neatly crewed bridge Tennal had known from the Note: there seemed to be only a few of them there, and they all looked like they’d just been in a fight. Istara was hanging over Basavi’s shoulder to see Tennal and Surit on the screen. Part of their ponytail had been singed off.

“We all thought she’d gotten you,” Istara said.

Surit—of fucking course—saluted the screen. “Private Basavi,” he said. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Permission granted, sir,” Basavi said. “Hurry, please.” There were strangers on the bridge behind her.

“She was only holding back for you,” Istara said, “and I don’t think we could have stayed around five minutes longer.” The door to the hull proper opened.

“Wait, though,” the unfamiliar ranker said. She put a heavy hand on Tennal’s shoulder and turned him toward the larger cameras. “This one’s an Archer officer.”

Tennal stared at Istara. He didn’t have the energy to ask.

Istara gave him a hard, deadpan look for a good three seconds before they said, “Yeah, that one too.” Apparently Tennal’s brief career of being acknowledged as a captain was over. Then, in a different tone, “Are you all right, Halkana?”

“I’m peachy,” Tennal said. “Absolutely fantastic.” The vortex in his head crashed against itself like waves dashing themselves to pieces.

Istara glanced over to someone off camera. “Let them both in,” they said. “We’re launching or we’re in trouble. Get up here. You know the way.”