Mitzi slowed down and focussed on carving the plastic out in sections. Her knife was sharp enough to move through it fairly easily, and it took her only a minute to work the plastic out.

“Right, now you’ll need to be out of the suit for this part. We’re going to trace some cables.”

Mitzi stepped back and pressed the button in her palm, waiting while her suit shut down and unravelled around her. She was surprised by just how different the room looked when she stepped out from behind her screen; it seemed both dirtier and darker. Franc gave her a reassuring smile and turned his torch towards the box, which, without the plastic cover, exposed a mess of several hundred cables, each with a different coloured tag attached to it.

“Find the blue tags,” Nic said, his voice sounding faint and tinny in the suit, “and trace their wires back to the plugs, then read me the numbers.”

Mitzi plucked one of the blue cables away from its companions and followed it down to the bottom of the box, to a multitude of plugs. “Franc, I need more light.”

He moved nearer, and Mitzi squinted at the tiny number written beside the cable.

“Uhh, that’s an N-one-three-three.”

“Not that one. Try again.”

Oh, it’s going to be one of those sorts of jobs, huh?

Sighing, Mitzi picked out another blue tag. “P-seven-zero-four.”

“Nope.”

“A-five-nine-six.”

“No.”

As she methodically worked through the blue tags, Mitzi let her mind wander. She found herself thinking about her home planet and the tiny grey room she would never see again. She probably should’ve missed them, but she didn’t. It was part on an old life, a very different, very drab life. If she completed the mission, maybe Central would give her another. They should; they were so low on fighters that they would probably take anyone, job history and bias disregarded.

If I get another job, will they give me a more capable, better-trained crew, or will they let me keep my current team?

She didn’t like the idea of them being split up. Yes, her crew was inexperienced, and yes, most of them weren’t even suited to military work, but they’d done nothing but impress her during the mission. Mir, whom Mitzi had guessed would be the biggest problem, had buckled down and done her job with minimal complaints. Skye would probably make a very capable fighter with a little more training. Adam had at least shown bravery—idiotic bravery, but bravery, nonetheless—and Mitzi supposed that had to count for something. Ellen and Eoin, both quiet and shy, had each carried their burden admirably. And Franc was the most surprising; not only had he risked his life to buy his team time, but he’d actually come back.

Mitzi tried to imagine what he must have gone through, navigating the hallways in the pitch dark, suitless, with no way of knowing if he was about to walk into a Cymic, no way to contact his team. He’d had only the smallest chance of ever finding them again. It was incredible.