Ngozi puts down her half-eaten MRE. “And who is this friend that can swoop down and get you out of the country and into space?”

“She’s a Colonial administrator,” Ify says with a proud smirk. She’d kept the details sparse during their conversation, knowing that while they were still in Nigerian airspace, there was a chance the call might be monitored. All Céline knew was that Ify was safe and that she needed to arrange transport for a sick child who needed medical attention. She had left Céline wondering what could be wrong with the child that couldn’t be fixed in one of Earthland’s most advanced hospitals. Explaining Uzo’s significance might have jeopardized their plans and implicated Céline in knowingly breaking the law. But Céline had revealed the tightening of Alabast’s immigration controls, the dire state of the Jungle, and that Centrafrique was beginning to accept a greater influx of refugees now that they knew they could no longer find a home among the whites. Céline had also informed her that none of the patients had so far been deported, which calmed Ify’s heart. And all the while, they had been forced to talk like professional acquaintances and not like friends, one of whom had worried desperately about the other upon hearing rumors and vague reports of an outbreak of violence in Nigeria’s capital city. Ify had spoken in calm, measured tones, firmly enough to show that she was unharmed and not being held hostage, but evasive enough in her answers to coach her friend toward discretion. They knew each other well enough that Céline could read, in Ify’s pauses and word choice, the specifics of their dilemma. So all that remained was to fashion Uzo’s immigration materials and wait for transport.

Ngozi hops off her mech, landing smoothly from the dangerous height. Grace is slower to climb down. When they draw near, the fatigue on their faces becomes clear, even as night begins to descend and gray-black clouds roam across the sky.

“She’s healing just fine,” Ify tells them. “Thank you, Ngozi.” Then she turns to Grace. “Come with me.”

Grace follows her back to the aircraft, and on the way, Ify speaks in low tones. “She will need her biometrics to read as her new identity. Fingerprints and retina are the important bits. If they scan her, we’ll need to be ready. Our passage will be secure, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be at least one scan during the trip.”

“What do you need from me?”

Ify stops, and Grace stops with her. “You’ve performed surgeries before, yes?”

Grace nods. Then it dawns on her what Ify is asking. “Wait, but why don’t you do it? You’re far more experienced than—”