“Aptat had a tiny patch on it. I just rammed it with the ship’s computer. You should be good.”

Naecia went to the vault. “Do you see the carapace vault on your display?”

“It’s here.”

“Can you open it?”

“Standby.”

Cyclets passed. Naecia impatiently toed the vault.

“Okay, I’m in.”

“Great.”

“It says ‘currently configured’.” Said Izairis. “You want me to try a reset?”

“Who is it configured for?”

“Profile says Mother.”

A shiver ran head to foot. “Yes, reconfigure.”

“I don’t have all the permissions for the suit, so I can’t completely wipe it,” said Izairis.

“Wait, the suit is actually still inside, then?” asked Naecia.

“Showing it is from where I’m sitting,” said Izairis.

“That sneaky little worm.” Aptat had killed Mother but kept her suit, the sick bastard. Probably to keep it out of anyone else’s hands. “Open it.”

“Yep.”

The doors opened. The smell was worse than a nest of post-molt colon queevils.

The suit was there, identical to Aptat’s, and closed everywhere except for the four segments of the mask, which revealed the melted and charred remains of the one called Mother.

Naecia grimaced. Gagged.

And then she was angry. More deception from Aptat. They had never let on that they still had it. Even when the Vortu had threatened to destroy the entire ship and they could have used it. Even when Aptat gave up ownership of the Silent Child in order to get their own suit back. Was keeping the second suit hidden that important?

“Izairis, open the suit.” The suit opened and the body – what was left of it – slumped out onto the floor. Naecia nudged it to the side with a boot. It moved easily. After so long a time, there wasn’t much left, with all of Mother’s liquids long evaporated away. At the base of the suit, where the heels of the boots met the floor of the vault, were black stains where she had leaked out from it. The arc of her liquification reached across the floor.

“Izairis, I’m going to send a chirp from my com.” She bit down on her cheeks.

“Got you.”

“Will the suit talk to it?”

“I think so, but again, without a hard reset, it’ll be more like you’re just visiting.”

“I’m used to that.” Naecia threw off the Vortu helmet, grunted, and stepped into the ichor-stained mobile sarcophagus. “Where’s Aptat?” she asked.

“Thirty-fifth latitude.”

Damn if these transways weren’t quick. “Okay, Izairis. I’m inside. Yuck. Pair me.”

“Hold on. Your com isn’t exactly new tech.”

“It’s newer than this suit.”

“That suit is still a hundred galactic spins more advanced than your com. Stop talking.”

“Sorry.”

A few seconds later. “Try now.”