“It’s a day’s sail to the peninsula, then another on foot to reach the outer perimeter of the Holster. They’ll need a third to prepare, but any longer and they’ll risk detection. That means we attack at dawn of the fourth day. The question is . . .” Caledonia paused, turning to face Tassos. “Will your Silt last long enough to get this done?”

Tassos looked from the map to Caledonia, mouth set in a stern line as he considered the question. Finally, he nodded confidently. “It’s a good plan. We’ll make it last.”

>><<

They spent the better part of an hour discussing who to send to infiltrate the Holster. Tassos appointed Tug as his proxy; Caledonia chose Pine. Glimmer would temporarily command the Blade, and the infiltration team would leave at first light. When that happened, their plans would be irrevocably set in motion.

It was night by the time Cepheus led Caledonia’s team to their quarters: a single room shared by the five of them. Cepheus shoved the door open to let them into the tight chamber, handing out orange armbands as they passed.

“Keep these on you,” she said. “They’ll mark you as under the protection of Tassos. No one will bother you as long as you wear them.”

She left and it wasn’t long before the five of them collapsed for the night.

Tassos might have meant the sleeping arrangements as an insult, but all things considered, Caledonia preferred it while they were his reluctant guests. She didn’t even mind that her bed for the next three days was a hammock. What she did mind was the snoring. Sledge she’d expected. Nettle was a complete surprise, as always.

When sleep eluded her for more than half the night, Caledonia rolled out of her hammock and padded quietly across the floor. Nettle and Pisces had taken the upper hammocks, their bodies cocooned at the level of Caledonia’s head, while Sledge and Oran’s beds hung low like hers. Other than the hammocks, the room contained very little. Not even a window. Oran was in the very center of the room, his eyes pinched shut, his brown skin reflecting the dim orange lights that glowed along the ceiling. He looked peaceful. Caledonia almost didn’t want to wake him.

Careful to avoid his gloved fingers, she squeezed his arm and shook. He blinked. “Trouble?” he whispered.

Caledonia shook her head. “Walk with me.”

The megaship was designed to be confusing, but Nettle had discovered a trick: if you followed the very thin strip of orange painted so low along the wall it almost disappeared into the floor, you’d find yourself on the main deck.