After a few minutes of silence, Hwa-jung glanced over at Kira and said, “Thank you, for killing that thing.”

“You mean the Jelly?”

“Yes.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad I was able to help.”

Hwa-jung grunted. “If you hadn’t been there…” She shook her head, and Kira saw unaccustomed emotion on the woman’s face. “Someday, I buy you soju and beef as a thank-you, and we will get drunk together. You and me and little Sparrow.”

“I look forward to it.…” Then Kira said, “Are you okay with us going after the Staff of Blue?”

Hwa-jung never slowed as she removed a bot from its packaging. “We will be a long way from space dock if the Wallfish breaks. It is good the Darmstadt is with us, I think.”

“And the mission itself?”

“It needs doing. Aish. What else is there to say?”

As they were finishing with the last crate, a text popped up in Kira’s vision: <Come see me in the hydroponics bay when you can. – Falconi>

<Be there in five. – Kira>

She helped Hwa-jung dispose of the excess packaging, and then Kira made her excuses and hurried out of the cargo hold. Once in the main shaft, she said, “Gregorovich, where’s the hydro bay?”

“One deck up. End of the corridor, once left, once right, and there you shall be.”

“Thanks.”

“Bitte.”

The scent of flowers greeted Kira as she approached the hydroponics bay—flowers and herbs and algae and all manner of green and growing things. The smells reminded Kira of the greenhouses on Weyland and of her father fussing over his Midnight Constellations. She felt a sudden longing to be outdoors, surrounded by living things, and not trapped in ships that stank of sweat and machine oil.

The aromas multiplied as the pressure door swung open and Kira walked into a bank of humid air. Aisles of hanging plants filled the room, along with dark, sloshing vats that contained the algae cultures. Above, nozzles misted the rows of greenery.

She stopped, struck by the sight. The bay was not unlike the one on Adrasteia, where she and Alan had spent so many hours, including that last, special night, when he had proposed.

Sadness wafted over her, as poignant as any scent.

Falconi stood near the back, bent over a worktable while he trimmed a plant with a drooping, wax-petaled flower—white and delicate—of a sort Kira was unfamiliar with. His sleeves were rolled up to expose his scars.

That Falconi had an interest in gardening wasn’t something Kira had expected. Belatedly she remembered the bonsai in his cabin.

“You wanted to see me?” she said.

Falconi clipped a leaf off the plant. Then another. Each time his shears closed with a decisive snip. All of the plants had to be reprocessed before entering FTL. They couldn’t survive unattended for such a long trip, and moreover, keeping them alive would produce too much waste heat. A few special ones might get put into cryo—she wasn’t sure what sort of equipment the Wallfish had—but those would be the only ones saved.