Naecia glanced around the deck. Aptat had been busy. Components lay strapped to the floor in piles, some neatly arranged, others tossed aside like scrap. “This ship,” said Naecia, casting a finger casually about, “it’s built for two. Is that just in case you find the right flesh construct to settle down with, or–” the words died in her throat as Aptat seized her by it.

The stringhunter inspected Naecia’s face as she struggled for breath – their powerful grasp collapsing her spiracles. “Is that uncomfortable?” they asked, stepping inside the chamber and pressing her against the glass in back.

Naecia grabbed at Aptat’s arm and sputtered through her teeth.

Aptat said, “There is a dynamic here you fail to appreciate. Until we are all dead, we don’t occupy the same spot in the hierarchy. Do you understand that?”

Aptat released her and turned away, leaving her on the float. She held her neck and swore she’d kill them if she ever got out of this.

“Now,” Aptat sighed, “tell me this solution of yours.”

She swallowed the pain, trying to keep it from showing on her face. She needed the stringhunter to cooperate. She cleared her throat, businesslike. “I need to get into the hull,” she said pointing to the ceiling above. “Up near the docking ring.”

“Why?”

“Because I can kill the sortie.”

“How?”

She swallowed down more of the pain. “Hopefully I can damage it enough to make it inoperable, but I might also blow it up.”

“Which is it?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a touch of defiance. “We’ll have to see.”

“You’re going to do this damage with what? The electrical systems won’t allow tool adjunction. Dock charges are inaccessible.”

“I don’t need electrical. And I’ll make my own explosives.”

“Explain.”

“Environmental taps the propulsion system for heat. The propulsion system is supercritical water.”

Aptat was inscrutable.

“Supercritical is nearly plasma. Surely you know that.”

“And you’re going to do what with it?”

“I’m going to open the system beneath the sortie and dice it.”

“Back in your chamber.”

“Listen to me,” Naecia said, pushing tentatively forward. “If I can direct a jet of supercritical through the outer hull and into the sortie, it will either – depending on the shape of the plume, which I can’t really control – bore a hole into it or cut it in half. Or possibly blow up and take the sortie with it.”

“And destroy this ship!”

“It won’t destroy the whole ship. There’s a deck between us and the docking ring, right?” She stretched her neck. “Then even if something catastrophic happens, you can just seal the third deck.”