A pair of jackets linger on the far side of the Juno’s berth, talking softly and watching the wind through a tiny porthole. They look up at the echo of my boots, but only long enough to catch the edge of who I am. They decide I’m not worth any more trouble.

Frost cracks under my feet as I cross tracks left by the decontam crews: puddles of water and streaks of the foaming agent frozen in place. The Juno rests in its cradle, but it’s lost all sense of weight. It’s cold and empty, lenses covered. They couldn’t find spares, and so the hand and forearm are spread out on a flatbed near its feet, a circle of cranes slowly teasing the fingers loose with hooks and pulleys and webs of heavy-duty chain.

Sitting in the light of an operator’s screen, mutters turning to mist in the cold, is Folau.

I offer him as much of a smile as I can manage. “They caught you.”

He looks up at me and manages a shrug that turns to a shiver halfway through. “I had a good run, but they were gonna eventually. Always the problem with being the FNG on deck: the full-timers have an eye on you.” He pulls his jacket tight over his shoulders. “I’ve been at this game long enough. I’ll find a way.”

“To slack off?”

He grins at me. “Harsh words there, NorCol. Be gentle.”

“As soon as you start deserving it.” I peer over his shoulder. “How’s the hand?”

“About as well as can be expected.” He gives me side-eye. “I’d pay to see the other guy.”

My knuckles throb. “I was angry.”

He inches back in his seat. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”

I nod to my disembodied fist. “Just get it straightened out.” I pat him on the shoulder with my good hand. “That way, I’ll have to head somewhere else when I’m looking for a punching bag.”

“Ah-ha.” He looks me up and down. “Some people might be inclined to take that at face value, jockey.”

“So what if they do?”

“There’s enough bad blood in this place already. Kadi’s still itching from earlier. I wouldn’t give him the ammo, if I were you.”

“Far as I’m concerned, Kadi deserves whatever he gets.” I frown at him, at the look he’s giving me. “Wait, what do you mean, earlier?”

“Hail’s little disappearing act. You heard—”

“I didn’t hear anything. Disappearing act?”

His eyebrows climb. “Weren’t you on the flight?”

I wave one hand at the other. “Where do you think that came from?”

“I’m not sure I should—”

“Out with it, Folau.” It carries, bounces around the hangar. The jackets are watching us now.

“Easy,” he whispers. “I’m not the enemy here.”

“What happened?”

“Hail picked up that Sigurd beacon, yeah?”

“What about it?”