“They might view us as contestants?” I said.

“Or pieces,” Namir said. “Pawns.”

“Anything but rivals,” Meryl said. “If they perceive us as a danger, we won’t even get close to them.”

I nodded. “No matter what Spy says, we have to assume it can destroy us if it thinks we present a danger to the Others.”

“We ought to figure out a way to talk to its buddy,” Paul said. “The speeded-up Other.”

“Hard to visualize a conversation,” I said. “Eight minutes passing for us, for every minute it experiences.”

“Say something, play a round of poker, then listen and respond,” Dustin said. “Spy will always be our intermediary anyhow.”

Namir nodded. “We could do something like that. We just have to find a way to present it so it appears to give them an advantage.”

“Home team?” Dustin said. “We agree to go over there to talk?”

“That would be our advantage,” Namir said. “Get a look inside their ship.”

“Wait,” I said. “We’re not fighting them. It’s the opposite. We want them to feel safe, cooperating with us.”

Namir laughed. “Like a mouse negotiating with a python.”

“She’s right,” Meryl said. “We can’t see it as a contest. We already know what the result would be, in a contest of strength, or will.”

“I don’t know about will,” Namir said.

Elza snorted. “Spoken like a true man. You have balls, darling, but they’re no advantage here.”

There was a loud ping from the control room. Paul launched himself in that direction, somersaulting in midair, and slipped through the door. I could hear him saying a few words, responding to the radio.

He walked back, with his gecko slippers, looking thoughtful. “Interesting coincidence. We have an invitation from ‘Other-prime.’ To come over for an audience with His Nibs.”

“All of us?” I asked.

“Just four. You and me and Namir, and Fly-in-Amber.”

“Any danger?”

“Well, we’ll want to be tethered down on the way over and back, in case of a course correction blip. I can fix that easily with a guideline. Once we’re over there . . .” He shrugged. “We’ll be at their mercy. Exactly as we are here.”

Paul put off the turnaround rotation, even though it probably would make little difference. He got a roll of cable and a couple of pitons, ice spikes, out of the workshop, and I went along as fetch- and-carry. It was the first time either of us had been outside in over three years; we’d all done it as a safety drill before the engine started. You wouldn’t want to do it during acceleration. Like being perched on top of a rocket. One misstep, and you’d slide off and drop forever.