Kira resisted the urge to leave. None of the planet-based spaceports she knew of were allowed to sell antimatter. If the magnetic bottle failed, the resulting blast would not only destroy the port (while also setting off the antimatter contained in the other parked ships), but also take out any nearby settlement, town, city, etc. Hell, Earth didn’t even allow ships equipped with Markov Drives to land unless they off-loaded their antimatter onto one of several refueling stations in high orbit.

The presence of the containment bottle seemed to make Falconi nervous as well. “Down the hall to the ladder. My machine boss will meet you there,” he said to the bot. He gave it a wide berth as it floated past.

“One more thing, sir,” said Hawes. “Sanchez! Bring them up!”

From the back came a Marine leading the bots that carried the long, plastic crates. On the sides of the crates were printed or stenciled lines of red text: Cyrillic on top, English below.

The English said RSW7-Molotók and was followed by a logo of a star going nova and the name Lutsenko Defense IndustriesRM. And bracketing both the English and the Cyrillic were the black-and-yellow symbols for radiation.

“A gift from Captain Akawe,” said Hawes. “They’re local-made, so they aren’t UMC equipment, but they should do the trick in a pinch.”

Falconi nodded, serious. “Stash them over by the door. We’ll get them to the launch tubes later.”

In an undertone, Kira asked Nielsen, “Are those what I think they are?”

The first officer nodded. “Casaba-Howitzers.”

Kira tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. The missiles would be packed full of fissionable material, and fission scared her nearly as much as antimatter. It was the dirty, nasty form of nuclear energy. Shut down a fusion reactor, and the only radioactive materials left were those that had been made radioactive by neutron bombardment. Shut down a fission reactor, and you had a deadly, possibly explosive pile of unstable elements with a half-life that meant they would stay hazardous for thousands of years.

Kira hadn’t even known the ship had missile launchers. She ought to have asked Falconi exactly what sort of weapons were installed on the Wallfish before they’d gone after the Jelly ship.

The Marines filed past, the thrusters on their suits producing small jets of vapor. Trig, who was next to the captain, stared with big eyes, and Kira could tell he was bursting with questions for the men.

A few minutes later, the Entropists showed up, travel bags in hand.

“Imagine seeing you here again,” said Falconi.

“Hey!” said Trig. “Welcome back!”

The Entropists caught hold of a grip on the wall and dipped their heads as best they could. “We are most honored to be here.” They looked at Kira, their eyes bright sparks beneath the hoods of their robes. “This is an opportunity for knowledge that we could not possibly decline. None of our order could.”

“That’s all well and good,” said Nielsen. “Just stop talking double. It gives me a headache.”