“It’s only a bit tight, but it’s light,” she said, stomping and flapping her arms. She flexed the suit’s armored fingers into fists, which was awkward for her left hand. The suit had all its fingers, but she didn’t, which left the middle digit sticking petulantly upright. “Well, that’s a bit annoying.” She pushed it down with her other hand, only to watch it spring up again. “Whatever.”

“You won’t have power augments,” said Aptat.

“I can move fine. Why would I need augmented movement?”

“For fighting, fleeing, lifting,” answered Aptat. “Try not to blow yourself up. I’ll need that back to fight the Vortu after your plan fails.”

Naecia answered Aptat’s pessimism with a carefree shrug, even though she felt anything but indifferent. She wasn’t about to let the stringhunter see her sweat. She kicked over to the control console. The armor was snug around her muscled arms and thighs, but it was otherwise comfortable and far less stiff than it looked. She would have killed for a suit so light and flexible in the pipe fields of Vask.

“How will you do it?” asked Aptat.

“I don’t know yet. The pipes will tell me.” Familiar now with the Silent Child’s menu, Naecia navigated quickly to the environmental tab, then to the sub menu with the liquids transport map. She cleared everything from the display, leaving behind only the piping schematic – a densely packed web of twisted metal that followed the rough shape of the ship.

She focused the schematic on the docking ring and the four attitudinal thrusters close by. All manner of valves studded each length of pipe, designed to maintain the delicate equilibrium of the near plasmatic vapor inside. The veins that fed the thrusters ran under the skin of the outer hull and beneath the parasitic ship docked above it. She selected each of the lines and brought up their equipment lists and service histories. “Ah. Uh-hmm.” Looking up at the ceiling, she traced the lines somewhere in the guts of the ship overhead. “One, two, three,” she said, counting out the imagined equipment. “That one.”

“What are you doing?”

Naecia pointed to a spot. “I need access to the hull above deck three, at about this orientation. Show me the closest access point – do you have a tool pod?”

“On the third deck,” said Aptat.

“Oh, before we go.”

“What?”

“Free the others.”

Aptat coughed like something had tickled their throat. “I already promised everyone their freedom if your plan works.”

“Promises aren’t worth much when you’re the one sitting in a cell. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“What guarantee do we have that you’ll hold your end?” Naecia asked.

“You have my wo–”