Falconi put down the shears and stood with both hands on the worktable.

“When you stabbed the Numenist—”

“Bob.”

“That’s right, Bob the Numenist.” Falconi didn’t smile, and neither did Kira. “When you stabbed him, was it you or the Soft Blade that did the stabbing?”

“Both, I think.”

He grunted. “Can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.”

Shame twisted Kira’s gut. “Look, it was an accident. It won’t happen again.”

He gave her a low, sideways look. “You sure about that?”

“I—”

“Doesn’t matter. We can’t afford another accident like Bob. I’m not going to let more of my crew get injured, not by the Jellies and sure as hell not by that suit of yours. You hear me?” He fixed her with a stare.

“I hear you.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “Tomorrow, I want you to go see Sparrow. Talk with her. Do what she tells you. She has some ideas that might help you control the Soft Blade.”

Kira shifted her weight, uncomfortable. “I’m not arguing, but Sparrow isn’t a scientist. She—”

“I don’t think you need a scientist,” said Falconi. His brow knotted. “I think you need discipline and structure. I think you need training. You fucked up with the Numenist, and you fucked up on the Jelly ship. If you can’t keep that thing of yours on a leash, you need to stay in your quarters from now on, for the sake of everyone.”

He wasn’t wrong, but his tone rankled her. “How much training do you think I can do? We’re leaving Cygni day after tomorrow.”

“And you’re not going into cryo,” Falconi retorted.

“Yes, but—”

His glare intensified. “Do what you can. Go see Sparrow. Sort your shit out. This isn’t a debate.”

The back of Kira’s neck prickled, and she squared her shoulders. “Are you making that an order?”

“Since you asked, yes.”

“Is that all?”

Falconi turned back to the workbench. “That’s all. Get out of here.”

Kira got.

4.

After that, Kira didn’t feel much like interacting with the rest of the crew. Not for work and not for dinner.

She retreated to her cabin. With the lights dimmed and her overlays turned off, the room appeared particularly bare, cramped, and shabby. She sat on the bed and stared at the battered walls and found nothing in their appearance to like.

Kira wanted to be angry. She was angry, but she couldn’t bring herself to blame Falconi. In his place, she would have done the same. Even so, she remained unconvinced that Sparrow could be of any help.

She covered her face with her hands. Part of her wanted to believe that she wasn’t responsible for answering the compulsion on the Jelly ship or for stabbing Bob the Numenist—that somehow the suit had twisted her mind, acted of its own volition, either out of ignorance or a desire to seed its own destructive mischief.

But she knew better. No one had forced her to do either thing. In both cases, she’d wanted to. Blaming her actions on the Soft Blade was only an excuse—an easy out from the harsh reality.