Kira moved closer, wishing she had a chip-lab, a scalpel, and a couple of uninterrupted hours to study the specimen.

Falconi’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. “We don’t want to keep Akawe waiting. Bad idea.”

“Yeah…” Kira turned away from the corpse. All she wanted to do was her job, and the universe kept conspiring to prevent it. Fighting wasn’t her thing; she wanted to learn.

So then why had she stabbed the Numenist? Rat bastard though he was, the man hadn’t deserved a blade to the chest.…

A pair of Marines in heavy power armor was waiting for them outside the airlock to the Darmstadt. “No weapons allowed,” said the near Marine, holding up a hand.

Falconi grimaced but unbuckled his belt and handed it and his pistol to the Marine without protest.

The pressure door rolled open.

“Ensign Merrick will show you the way,” said the Marine.

Merrick—a thin, stressed-looking man with a smear of grease on his chin and a bloody bandage taped to his forehead—was waiting for them inside. “After me,” he said, leading them deeper into the UMC cruiser.

The layout of the Darmstadt was identical to that of the Extenuating Circumstances. It gave Kira uncomfortable flashbacks of running through corridors while listening to the sounds of alarms and gunfire.

Once they passed through the hub of the ship and transitioned to the rotating hab spokes, they were again able to walk normally, which Kira welcomed.

Ushering them into a small meeting room with a table in the middle, Merrick said, “Captain Akawe will be with you directly.” Then he left, closing the pressure door behind him.

Kira remained standing, as did Falconi. He seemed as conscious as she was that the UMC had them under surveillance.

They didn’t have to wait long before the door slammed open and four men filed in: two Marines (who remained standing by the entrance) and two officers.

The captain was easy to identify by the bars on his uniform. Of medium height, with dark skin and a five o’clock shadow, he had the over-stimmed look of someone who hadn’t gotten a proper sleep for several days. There was something about his face that struck Kira as being too symmetrical, too perfect, as if she were looking at a mannequin brought to life. It took her a moment to realize, the captain’s body was a construct.

The other officer looked to be the second-in-command. He was lean, with a heavy jaw and creases like scars along his hollow cheeks. His short-cut hair was receding, and his eyes glowed with the deep, predatory yellow of a tigermaul’s.

Kira had heard stories about soldiers who chose to have the gene-hack so they could see better during combat, but she’d never met anyone with the mod.

Akawe went around the table and sat at the single chair on that side. He motioned. “Sit.” His second-in-command remained standing by his side, back regulation-straight.

Kira and Falconi obeyed. The chairs were hard and uncomfortable, devoid of padding.