Bao lets out a confused bellow. He knows the engines are firing up, knows that he should be backing away to a safe distance, where the subthrust won’t scorch him, but we were right in the middle of training. His pattern’s been interrupted; he’s looking for guidance.

And so I give it to him, slamming my bare foot down on the LED beacon. The lights flare under my foot as the homing signal snaps on.

The pup groans, his beady eye peering up onto the trainer deck.

“C’mon, you little shit. I know you can do it,” I mutter under my breath, but Bao’s not having it. The engines are spinning up now, sending a deep rattle through the deck below my feet.

If I’m going to get him up on the deck, I’m going to have to do something really stupid. I thrust my hand in the bucket of fish and come up with a bundle. As the noise beneath my feet builds to a roar, I hold them out over the edge, right over Bao’s head.

His nostrils flare.

I’m ready for it this time, and I dive backward when he lunges, his powerful legs scrabbling against the deck. His claws leave dents in the floor as he heaves himself forward, his belly shrieking against the metal.

I stumble and fall, but I can’t let that slow me with a Reckoner pup the size of a Jeep bearing down on me. I toss the handful of fish at his snout, and he opens his jaws wide, catching two of them on his lolling tongue. Water seeps off him, nearly flooding the deck, and it strikes me that if the tank he hatched in were set up, he wouldn’t be able to swim in it. Bao’s eyes roll as he swallows, his legs kicking halfheartedly as he tries to slide himself closer to the beacon.

“You’re fine, you little idiot,” I huff, throwing another fish to distract him. I roll onto my belly and crawl over to the LEDs, hitting the off switch before Bao starts to confuse himself.

The all-call crackles on again and the voice declares, “Engines report ready. Brace for ignition in three.”

Shit.

“Two.”

I scramble to my feet and throw myself toward the switch that closes the bay doors.

“One.”

There’s a scream beneath my feet and a rattle from the mechanism. The Minnow leaps forward like a horse from the gate, the deck rearing up just as the rear bay doors slam shut. I wind my fingers tight around the nearest handhold, my muscles burning.

Bao slides backward, squalling the whole way until he crashes into the bay doors. The spray from the boat’s wake washes through the side ports as we accelerate, and after a few seconds I can loosen my grip without worrying about flying into Bao’s reach.