Spider chuckles. “Don’t gawk. Wonder is unbecoming of someone so blessed.”

Misery laughs. A shot of sarcasm to bring her back to the solid world, the real world. She can’t get carried away. She needs control of all her faculties today, because they are going to be taxed like they’ve never been.

A raft of VIPs has been waiting for their arrival: the General, the captains of the three servings currently assigned to defend Angelsteeth, Major Reyes. And the Duke of Apis, who stands tall but humble among them. The scuttlebutt has it that the Duke has found new purpose in his imprisonment–not imprisonment, making the best of this state of limbo. He stands next to Major Reyes with the casualness that lovers often share. Since coming to Angelsteeth the Duke has forgone the bright colors and flash Misery knew him for, cladding himself in neutrals and monotones. And yet he still knows how to flatter his figure, and carries himself with solid elegance. Asceticism, but make it fashion.

The General looks her in the eye. They’ve been waiting for this day since Misery’s first arrival on the station. They’ve been very patient through the process of Ono Red-2 finding its feet. Disciplined as only career military folk can be. Today they shall find out if their gamble has paid off.

“So,” Major Reyes says, voice dry as bone, “the moment of truth has arrived.”

The General grunts. “It’s a preliminary run. I am not expecting miracles today.”

“But they wouldn’t hurt, right?” says Spider.

Diamond shoots him a look that carries withering death. The General, meanwhile, remains unruffled: “All I require today is competence. Nothing more.”

Spider mutters. “Well, even that low bar is too much for someone. Maybe she just won’t show up.”

A disturbance: the massive bay doors are rolling open again. A single rumpled figure stands between their parted lips: the Lady Alodia Lightning. Wrapped in the same fatigues as the rest of the grunts, she looks suddenly human, as if the condition crept up on her without anyone noticing. The top-down lighting of the Butchery carves huge shadows under her eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. No one says a word as she joins the ranks of Ono Red-2, even though everyone is staring. Did she oversleep? What was she doing? No one knows. Misery glances sideways at her and sees nothing except exhaustion.

A tech comes and assigns tokens to the pilots, holy labradorite with ineffable patterns on the surface. Each one fits in the palm and is encased in hardened gel, with a loop that goes around the neck. “These are the keys that will activate your seraph,” Diamond says. “Without them, the units will be useless. Hang on tight to them. You fuck these up, the seraphs will be unusable. For everyone. Permanently.”