“Okay.” That was weird. She subvocalized it. Stings. The display appeared along the very top edge of the screen, where she’d look if she wanted to see her own eyebrows, showing four rows of tiny dart-shaped symbols. “Seems like I’m fully stocked. Where is Aptat?”

“Just south of the twentieth latitude.”

“Okay, I’m going out.” She marched toward the lift, stopping only to punch a hole through the wall just to see if she could, then hopped down to the second deck.

“Whoa,” said Izairis as Naecia stalked by. “Where are you going?”

Naecia turned, opened the mask. “We should have left that fucker floating in space.”

“Or on the Timelance,” said Izairis, twisting the knife some. “Nothing to be done about it now. How can I help?”

“You’ve seen them use the suit. You can’t.”

“I could say some prayers I learned at the convent,” she said. “I don’t remember them all, but there’s one about asking for strength in fighting the temptation to touch yourself.”

Naecia huffed a little laugh through her spiracles. “Why would you want to fight that?”

“I only said it when I was made to,” said Izairis, grinning. “It didn’t work.”

Naecia went to the map on the display and poked a tiny blue dot. “Is this the Timelance?”

“That’s them. Preparing to enter orbit from the other side of Aszerat. We don’t have long.”

“Fine,” said Naecia. “Get Patton back here and come up with a distraction.”

“A distraction? For Aptat?”

“No. For the Scythin. To keep them away from the ship.”

“I’ll try to remember some better prayers.”

Naecia was met by the blare of klaxons and the flashing of lights when she strode down the ramp. An announcement warned everyone to vacate the outermost reaches of the city and to proceed home or to various evacuation centers, due to an “unknown threat”. There was nobody around, so that was good. She trotted toward the empty transway station. Maybe she could catch Aptat waltzing out of it.

She wanted to try out her weapon prior to engaging the stringhunter. Melee: Cargo box left. The limb swung around, nearly throwing her off balance, and fired ten stings into the target. “Amazing.”

Trying another technique, she pointed a finger at an autonomous mover. There. Ten more stings, right where she’d indicated. She nodded stiffly. “Okay, then.”

She reached the station and found an enclave tucked into the shadows between rows of gas canisters. Pipes ran from the canisters and into the wall. She ascertained the cutoff valves, spun them shut, then snapped the length of pipe running between them. “Izairis, ETA?”

“Now.”

Ding.

It was a blind corner, so she listened carefully, and soon heard the telltale clickclack of Aptat’s signature strut.