“—everyone in the hold. What is—”

“—our course, and why have you summoned us?”

“Listen,” said Kira, and she gave them a brief summary of the situation. It felt as if she were telling everyone about the Soft Blade now. The Entropists’ eyes widened in simultaneous astonishment as they listened, but they didn’t interrupt. She finished by saying, “Are you willing to help?”

“We would be honored,” said Jorrus. “The pursuit of knowledge—”

“—is a most worthy endeavor.”

“Uh-huh,” said Kira. Then, just for the hell of it, she sent them the results of Vishal’s exam. “Here, look at these while you wait. Once we’re sure the Jelly ship is safe, we’ll call for you.”

Veera said, “If it is a question of conflict—”

“—we would—”

But Kira was already moving, and she didn’t hear the rest. She ran back through the dingy hallways until she found the crew gathered in front of the port airlock.

Dominating the center of the antechamber were Trig and Sparrow, like a pair of battered metal pillars, each over two meters high. Power armor. Military grade, so far as Kira could tell. Civilian shells didn’t usually have missile packs mounted on the shoulders.… Where had the crew gotten that sort of hardware? Hwa-jung moved between the two, adjusting the fit of their armor and issuing a steady stream of advice to Trig:

“—and don’t get excited and move too fast. There isn’t room. You’ll just hurt yourself. Let the computer do most of the work. It will make it easy for you.”

The kid nodded. His face was pasty and beaded with sweat.

The sight of Trig bothered Kira. Was Falconi really going to put him front and center, where he might get hurt? Sparrow she could understand, but Trig …

Nielsen, Falconi, and Vishal were busy bolting a line of packing crates to the deck, just behind Trig and Sparrow. The crates were large enough to hide behind: cover for combat.

All the crew not in exos—Hwa-jung included—had donned skinsuits.

The machine boss went to Sparrow and tugged on her thruster pack hard enough to shift the smaller woman’s armor, moving several hundred kilos of mass with casual effort. “Hold still,” Hwa-jung growled, tugging again.

“Hold still, yourself,” muttered Sparrow, fighting to keep her balance.

Hwa-jung slapped Sparrow’s shoulder guard with the flat of her hand. “Aish! Punk. Be more respectful of your elder! Do you want to lose power in the middle of a fight? Really.”

Sparrow smiled down at the machine boss; she seemed to appreciate the fussing.

“Hey,” said Kira, startling them. She pointed at Trig. “What’s he doing in that thing? He’s just a teenager.”

“Not for long! I’ll be twenty year after next,” said Trig, his voice muffled as he pulled on his helmet.

Falconi turned to face her. His skinsuit was matte black (the visor was up), and in his arms he cradled Francesca. “Trig knows how to run an exo better than any of us. And he’s sure as hell safer in that armor than out of it.”