They’re still hot enough that they’re giving off steam. Hail and Salt must’ve made the trip at a sprint.

He starts off watching where he’s stepping, but he stops short, almost exactly where Hail did, and stares openly. For half a second, it looks like he might drop the tray.

“What in the hell happened to you?”

I flick one of the wires dangling from behind my ear. Somewhere above it, an electrode tugs at my skin. “These are just for observation. Medical is worried I took a hit through the jacks, and considering what happened, they figured I was due for some deep trauma therapy.”

“And?”

I roll a finger around my face. “The bruising isn’t from that, and it isn’t as bad as it looks. The neuro panel came back all-clear, and I’ve got no broken bones. No internal damage. I just—”

“Blew a couple of blood-vessels?” offers Salt.

“A couple?” Hail chuckles, short and sharp. “Let me be the first to say it: you look like shit.”

Salt shakes his head. “Shit was a few steps back. You look like death.”

“I was feeling that way when I woke up, but they’ve got me dosed, nice and mellow.” I click a finger at the tray. “You gonna eat that?”

“What?” He blinks, and casts around like he’s only just remembered where he was. “No, no. I, uh”—he looks back at me, defeated—“where can I put it?”

I sit up, pat my lap. “Right here. Unless you’re having some.”

He sets it down easy. “It’s all you.”

I sigh. “Fuck, I’m glad to hear that.”

It’s heavy, but not as heavy as it looks, and it smells like living again.

Hail settles on a seat next to my bed, glances over her shoulder. “Mind closing that door?”

Salt nods and sets about sealing us in.

Hail waits for him to finish, a strange look in her eye. “I guess I should give you a minute.”

I wave it away. “No,” I say, through a mouthful of scramble. “Talk to me. Juno?”

She sits back in her seat and crosses her arms. “The Juno is fine. Systems and mainlines call back as normal, and there aren’t too many broken bones. It took a beating, though. The hull is still intact, and the inners are holding pressure, but your armour—well—”

“‘Butchered.’ That’s what Kadi called it.” Salt leans back on the door, as if the bolts and pressure seal weren’t enough. “Apparently that’s a technical term.”

“It’s in pretty bad shape. They’re going to have to replace almost all of the outer layers.”