“Talking, mostly. I know a couple of other cons who might have something we can use. I’ve put out a call to one of them already, and they need space as much as I do.” I hear her swallow. “Things aren’t as simple as they were when you were full-time, Rook. Jockeys and crew will understand, but the company doesn’t care about Lear. Worse than that, three shells are worth less than four, and the same goes for three jockeys. If there’s a reason to send us out chasing ghosts, the company will take it, especially now that it’s cheaper putting us out in the line of fire.” There’s a pause. “I don’t see any reason to go looking for hollows until I know what this is about. When we do—and we will, I promise—I want it on our terms.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” says Salt.

“There isn’t much to like.” Hail lets out a breath. “I’m asking you. Asking, not ordering. Give me time to figure this out. Today hasn’t been easy, and it isn’t about to get better.”

I frown into my helmet. “What do you mean?”

“We dismounted,” replies Hail, like I ought to understand.

I don’t.

“Think about it. We got out of our shells and put boots on alien soil.” A marker pops into my eyes. Right ahead, on the lip of the hangar that’s waiting to take me in. “See them? The crew with the aprons and hoses? They’re decontam.”

THEY’RE WAITING FOR me when I drop from the operator’s lock. A line of rubber gloves and face-guards, boots wrapped in disposable covers. They’ve got NorCol uniforms underneath, and blocky sidearms on their hips. They’re still soldiers, but with strange grey aprons that cover everything from their necks to their toes.

One of them steps up as I hit the ground, motioning for me to widen my feet and put my arms out on either side, all routine and automatic. He sees me tense, but it takes him a moment to read my reaction. He’s already reaching, and I don’t have enough to tell him off. I just need a second, a second longer than they’re giving me.

I just need a second.

The trooper freezes when he sees the Juno stir behind me. I catch a flash of wide eyes behind the visor.

He retreats, puts his hands up, defensive. “Easy, easy.”

But one of his squad is already starting forward, ready to put me down. Riding on adrenaline, and all the stories she’s heard: haywire shells still half-jacked into their operators, machine and jockey still coming down off the combat rush. Not human-friendly yet.

The squad’s sergeant tracks my eyes. “Hands off, private. You will lose, con or no con.”