Hail turns away, makes a cutting motion near her throat. “I’m calling it off. This thing’s done.” She looks back at Folau. “Call Salt, tell him. Rook’s too far gone.”

No.

“No,” I manage, out loud this time. I swallow, and find a little more control than I had before. “I’m getting up.” Still I slur the words. “Give me a second.”

Hail’s watching me shiver. “The neuro-crew drugged her.” She pulls one of my eyes open. “Shit. She’s worse than I thought she was.”

“Shoulder,” I say. I crumple her coatsleeve in my fingers, tug at it. “Give me your shoulder.”

Another pause, shorter this time. Her gaze holds level with mine, sky-blue and full of fire. “Hold tight.” She leans in, and pulls my arm over her neck. “Ready?”

We stand together, but she’s the one that holds us up. All of my blood falls straight to my feet, turns the rest of me to jelly. I stumble, but she adjusts and drags me higher on her hip. She gives me time to climb to my feet, then pushes off the bed, and we struggle across the floor for a few, halting steps. Folau is waiting in the doorway, and he takes half my weight once we’re through.

D’s infirmary blurs past on either side, corridors gaping at us the way ravines open up under you at speed. There are open doors with the lights turned low, their occupants not much more than contours under bed covers, chattering machines reduced to whispers for the night. Most are dark and empty, though, and quiet save for the echoes of Hail’s jockey-issue boots.

We take a few turns, Hail holding me upright while Folau scouts ahead. He’s light on his feet, and he balances his steps better than Hail could. She feels stronger, but she’s used to throwing heavy metal around with thoughts and fingertips.

Together, they work us through the maze, and find us a light at the end of the tunnels. Just before it, a shadow that could only be Salt. He waves us up, holds the door as we approach.

I make out a shape slumped in a chair near the front; the clerk that’s supposed to be watching the door. He stirs as we pass, turns in the seat, but doesn’t make it all the way around. Salt waves us past, waiting to be sure that no one’s tripping the alarm.

With that, we’re through the last door and out into the cold air. I blink at the sudden brightness. It’s dim by daylight’s standards, but enough to paint everything silver. Hail and Folau don’t give me long enough to get my bearings; they’re jogging as soon as there’s open deck beneath their feet, and running once Salt has closed the hatch behind us.