“It’s huge,” Elena said in awe. The original planitesimal, honeycombed with tunnels, was impossible to see beneath the layers of decks and modules and spires, the whole station spinning at a rate sufficient to impart a comfortable level of gravity in the outer rings, with lights blinking and shining from every curve and angle out into the local darkness. Ships of all sizes and shapes, including a few outré-looking Liar vessels, floated in the vicinity like exotic fish around a coral reef.

“Biggish, anyway,” Callie said. “Home to around fifty thousand souls most days. Meditreme Station is the headquarters of the Trans-Neptunian Authority, the main human habitation beyond Jupiter’s moons, for scavengers, miners, scientists, and miscellaneous spacefaring types. Our ship’s computer–”

“His name is Shall, he said?”

Callie managed to keep her expression smooth. “Some of the crew call the computer that, yes. He’s making contact with the presiding machine intelligence on the station, and they’ll do a little AI-to-AI negotiation and then guide us into the docks.”

The whirling station grew larger, then seemed to stop spinning as the White Raven matched the station’s rotation. The false gravity of acceleration dissolved completely, and the straps holding Callie into her seat pressed against her chest and hips, keeping her in place. The ship floated toward an open door in a module that was easily big enough to accommodate the White Raven. Once inside, magnetic clamps grabbed the ship, and the station’s outer door closed. After a few moments, the inner door of the oversized airlock yawned open, and a conveyor belt carried them into a cavernous hangar full of ships, cargo being loaded and unloaded, repairs being made, fuel and supply stores being replenished, and the general bustle of frontier commerce.

The transition from thrust gravity to microgravity to spin gravity could give the inexperienced vomitous conniptions, and Callie kept an eye on Elena to see if the biologist was going to be sick. She looked a little queasy and pale, but she gave a weak smile, and Callie decided she’d probably be OK.

Callie unstrapped herself, then helped Elena out of her seat. Stephen spoke over the ship’s speakers. “Captain, could you bring me my patient now? I’ve synthesized the last of her recovery drugs, and I’d very much like to help her clear her head.”

“I could use you down in the cargo hold when you’re done up there, cap,” Ashok said over the same speakers.

Callie sighed. “Computer, will you tell Doctor Oh how to find the medical suite?”

“Of course, Callie.”

“Captain Machedo,” she snapped. Elena gave her an odd look, and Callie resisted the urge to explain herself, especially since the explanation might make her seem even more ridiculous than yelling at the computer had.