“Avery.” I nod my way around the others.

“We thought you’d been snagged,” says Folau.

“I was. I’m here now, though.” I look up at the Juno, and it looks down on me. It can feel my heart racing. “Any word from Hail?”

“Nothing,” says Folau. He taps his ear. “There’s a call from Tower, though. They’re asking anyone with spurs and a saddle to call in, ASAP.”

“Done.” I start skipping through the buttons on my coat. “Get my suit.”

He spins in place. “On it.”

I don’t watch him go. I’m already calling home.

The Juno’s networks are right there, almost a reflex now that I know where to look. Connection is a few blinks behind that, and the machine filters into me.

I flex my hand. There’s still a little of the pain from before, but it’s changed places. Before, it felt like I’d broken something, but now it just feels stiff, or like I haven’t used it in a while. My other aches are beginning to catch me up—throbbing temples and a raw patch in my throat, a dozen more if I cared to count them off. The Juno smooths them over, buries them in warmth and immovable, impossible weight.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I am whole again.

I take a breath and haul myself up straight. “All right. Hook us in.”

The Juno patches our net into Tower’s open channels, but where Salt and I could only find noise, the shell hammers its way through, forceing a connection. For a moment, there’s nothing at all.

“Is that you, two-eleven?” asks a familiar voice. She sounds surprised.

“Two-eleven, reporting. What’s the news, Bell Tower?”

She swallows. “I wish I could tell you. Are you back in the saddle?”

I look up. Folau is on his way, a pair of ground crew tailing him, my suit in pieces in their hands.

“Almost.”

“Good enough.” She pauses. “How many machines have you got?”

“Two. Berthing blocks six-five and six-six. I wish we had more.”

She’s distracted, it takes her a moment to respond. “All right, two-eleven. Hold tight. I’ll see what I can scratch up.”

“Understood, Bell Tower.”

With that, the line goes limp. I offer another to Salt. “I got a word with Tower. They want us in saddle.”

“Copy,” says Salt. “Seems there’s another side after all.”

“Call back when you’re set.”

“Understood.”

I trim the last of it away and leave myself alone in the Juno’s glow, just for a second. I can’t spare more than that.

Folau rolls up with my helmet in one hand, conductive layers limp over the other. The rest of his little posse circles us, one with the suit itself, the other with a mound of armour and trauma plates.

I wave the last of it away. “No time. Soft armour only.”