“Don’t say your word,” she interjected. “When I go into that hull, I’ll be imprisoned again – effectively your hostage. And you,” she said, “will be mine. You release the others, but code the doors behind me. Your security will be ensured.”

“Lock you in?”

“Oush and Izairis won’t kill you while you have the code to get me out, but they will kill you if you refuse to free me.”

“You assume a lot about the loyalty of others.”

“I suppose if I’m wrong, we both die. What other choice do we have? I’m not going up there until you agree.”

“Agreed.”

Aptat summoned Oush and Izairis from below. Naecia explained the arrangement and they assented. Aptat was at their mercy until Naecia returned safely. In exchange, she would go into the hull and be locked inside with a code only Aptat knew.

Naecia followed the stringhunter to the third deck, which housed the living quarters and galley. The rooms were buttressed together and each had a door that opened onto the communal area. One was presumably Aptat’s. Questions whirled over the other, but she dared not ask for fear of repeat strangulation.

Aptat unclipped a standard tool pod from the wall. “Obviously you’ll not be able to use the powered components, but it has all the standard manual pieces.”

Naecia took it, put her arms through the straps and tightened them, bringing the pod snug to her chest where tools could easily be accessed. “A magmafier would be nice.”

“Oh, the suit has one,” said Aptat, reaching over and tapping a small node just over Naecia’s wrist joint. “It’s useless to you, of course.”

“Thanks,” she answered sarcastically. “How do I get up there?”

Aptat indicated an access door at floor level across the galley. They kicked over and took handholds on the wall.

“When the helmet closes, you’ll begin receiving life support.”

“And how do I–”

“The tab below your chin,” Aptat said. Then, tapping a slider on the collar, “Lock it here.”

Naecia found the tab and chinned it, closing the helmet’s four segments over her face, then locked it down by throatslashing a slider across her neck. “How long do I have?” Her voice had taken on a reflective, metallic tone.

“It will keep you for an entire cygie, though I’m confident you’ll slice yourself into pieces long before you have to worry about life support.”

“You’re very negative,” she said.

“I’m a realist.”

“I’m gonna go now and try to save us all.”

“I’ll lock you inside.”

“You’ll open it again when I finish?”

Aptat grinned. “Of course.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE INSTRUMENT MAKER