<Might have powered down when they landed,> Clo replied, her fingers dancing along the metal wires. If only she could fly it.

<Shit.> Eri’s thought was quiet but strained.

<What now?> Clo asked, making a show of checking the engine, her heartbeat quickening.

<People are still on board. I thought they’d be gone. Usually, the crew at least go for a meal somewhere. They must be resting.>

<What’s the plan, then?>

<Do what I do best: lie.>

Eris fell silent but kept the line open; her voice was muffled as she spoke to someone, but Clo couldn’t follow. A movement out of the corner of her eye—a guard, making a slow circuit of the space. His body language was relaxed, but Clo was aware of how closely he watched her.

<There’s a guard here. He’s making me nervous,> Clo sent.

No response, just more murmurs. Was Eris speaking to Legate Atkis? He was a diplomat; Eris might even have met him before she defected. Knowing that didn’t comfort Clo.

The guard drifted closer to Zelus. He might be the same one that Eris worried was desperate to prove himself. It was hard to tell. The same cohort of soldiers were engineered to look so similar.

“Hey,” she said to him, aiming for nonchalance. “You got any oil around here? The hinges on these hatches are godsawful. Wouldn’t want it taking off again like that.”

“The supply room is over there,” he said. He moved as if to show her, but his gaze caught on the comm hatch. “Those lights shouldn’t be off.” He frowned, pressing a button. Nothing.

“I can fix it for you,” Clo offered, still hoping she came across as relaxed. “It’s probably just a loose wire.” She could take it apart and fiddle with it long enough for Eris to finish.

The guard hesitated. His Oracle programming had taken over—his pupils were dilated. One overlay ran through the scenarios, statistically determining her likely motivations and the threat of danger. Clo wondered what he would have been like without it. Maybe those brown eyes would have been warm rather than cold. He was a head taller and outweighed her by a good sixty pounds. She might still be able to take him.

“Yes,” he said, eventually. “Proceed.”

“Thank you.” But as Clo bent to grab the rest of her tools, the guard bolted.

“Silt.” She’d been half-prepared for it, but still.

He sprinted for the comms unit on the other side of the hangar. Clo went back to the one by Zelus, deepening the jam so he wouldn’t be able to send anything for a mile in either direction. It was going to cause problems—any incoming passenger or freight craft would have to be redirected to different hangars, and it wouldn’t take long before the other guards realized their system was compromised.

Too late.