I suppose I wouldn’t. “And so you need us to follow the beacon?”

“I do. I need to know how Sigurd fits into this. I need to know what their connection is to the hollows. If that beacon leads back to the Demiurge, if that ship is compromised, I need to know how much of the company has survived.”

“Why us? Why don’t the ’Wolves go?” The response is knee-jerk, with a little more acid than I’d intended.

He watches me for a moment. “How many of us do you think there are? On this ship, specifically.”

According to NorCol legend, it’s one in ten, maybe as much as one in five. One in three, if you listen to the lifers when they’ve got a couple of beers in them. A Werewolf looks like every other employee until they’ve got their masks up and strange weapons in their hands.

“A thousand? Two?”

“Six.” He lets it sink in. “Including me.”

Even Hail gawks at that.

“Horizon is a loss. A pet project for someone who died two centuries ago. There are less than half as many full-timers on this boat as there are cons, and the numbers are shifting every day. Soon, it’ll just be us.”

“Why don’t they just pull it out? You don’t just leave a dreadnought to die.”

“They’ve been trying to leave the froth since day one. Horizon is too fragile to make the translation back. It’ll break her back.”

“So what? They’re just hanging us out to dry? Leaving us to the hollows?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.” His jaw sets hard. “But I can’t risk leaving, not until I know more. There are too many fires that need putting out.”

I look out the corner of my eye, surprised when it doesn’t hurt. “Hail?”

“I’m still trying to get my head around it too, but I don’t see any other option. It’s this, or spend the next few months tied down and waiting to die. Waiting for the Demiurge to pounce on us.” She looks grim. “You cleared those things out, but they should never have made it on board. Shouldn’t even have made it into line of sight. We’re paying for it now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Tower is taking it out on the regulars.” She looks down at her hands. “They want every shell accounted for. Anyone without an assignment is putting in for inspection. Then there’ll be drills and readiness. And then more drills. Weeks, maybe months.”

“While the knuckledraggers go full overhaul,” says Folau. “Take everything apart and put it back together again. It’ll be months.”

“And we don’t have months.” She takes aim at me. “Longer, if they lock you down as well.”

I frown. “What? Why would they do that?”