Ben and Patton didn’t hesitate in making for the ship. Naecia, already exhausted from making the journey across the rotunda, and burdened by the Vortu suit and ordnance, only lost ground. Her spiracles snapped open and shut as she panted along. Condensation obscured the already soiled mask. Sweat ran into her eyes, blurring the image of the ship ahead. Soon, she was stalled and lost, pivoting haltingly in search of it. She tried removing the helmet, but it had become stuck. Through the visor came a blob of yellow with a face in the middle of it.

“I’m only doing this ‘cause I know you’re trying to save the galaxy,” said Patton, grabbing hold of her arm. “And that, in my mind, is enough to offset you trying to kill Ben. But just barely.”

She was too breathless to say anything and allowed the Earthling to tow her along.

“Naecia, hurry!” Izairis urged through the com.

Naecia checked behind. Even through the foggy visor, she could see colossal black shapes converging in the mist. Then, an explosion, and another. Smaller pieces of Scythin scattered out over the floor.

“Almost there,” said Patton. And then she felt the relief of the ship’s ramp below her feet.

“Izairis,” she said breathlessly over the com. “Prime the ventral thrusters, now.” The Silent Child couldn’t be in physical contact with the Timelance when they engaged the Switch or they’d take the whole wicked thing with them. She had noticed when they’d arrived that her data pad had begun populating with so much more information than usual. That was it. The Switch was cataloguing the entire Timelance.

“Primed!” shouted Izairis. “Ramp coming up. Hurry!”

“No, wait!” cried Naecia.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

In European starlings, at least, the magic number was seven: the minimum number of flocking-mates that any single bird needed to monitor in order to remain oriented within the rest of the group. It was how giant swarms of them seemed to move together in coordinated shapes and directions. In all the time spent with the Scythin, it was one thing I’d become absolutely sure of. When they acted in concert, or made group decisions, it was done through murmuration. Day to day communication was conducted via other morphological gymnastics and color changes.

I rushed back to where Patton, clutching Pickles in one arm, was dragging Naecia up the ramp with his narco-strength. “What are you waiting for?” I screamed. “Let’s go!”

She wrestled with her helmet, and finally ripped it off, revealing a face striped in sweat-soaked hair. “Aptat is still out there!”

“Yes, they are!” I yelled. “Fuck Aptat!”

“They are distracting the Scythin, just like you told them to do!”

“Good! Great!” I said. “And now we have a chance to feed them to the Scythin! How do we make this ship go?” I looked to the bridge. “Izairis, do you want to wait for your kidnapper to return safely onboard?”