Nishu and Tatupoa gave them salutes and went back to grappling while Sanchez watched from the side.

Sparrow started past, and then she paused and looked at Tatupoa. “You’re doing it wrong, by the way,” she said.

The man blinked. “Excuse me, ma’am?”

“When you tried to throw him.” She indicated the corporal.

“I think we know what we’re after, ma’am. No offense.”

“You should listen to her,” said Kira. “She was in the UMCM also.”

Next to her, Sparrow stiffened, and Kira had a sudden feeling she’d made a mistake.

Hawes stepped forward. “That so, ma’am? Where’d you serve?”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Sparrow. To the man with the tattoos, she said, “Your weight needs to be more on your front foot. Step forward like you mean it and pivot, hard. You’ll feel the difference immediately.”

Then Sparrow continued on her way, leaving the four Marines looking after her with a combination of bemusement and speculation.

“Sorry about that,” said Kira once they were out of sight.

Sparrow grunted. “As I said, doesn’t matter.” The tip of her crutch caught on the side of a shelving unit, and she yanked it free. “Over here.”

Buried at the back of the hold, past the crates of rations and pallets of equipment, Kira saw three things: a treadmill (rigged up for use in zero-g), an exercise machine (all cables and pulleys and angled grips) of the sort she’d used on the Fidanza, and to her surprise, a full set of free weights (dumbbells and barbells and anchored piles of weighted disks—giant poker chips colored red, green, blue, and yellow). When every kilo cost you in propellant, every kilo became precious. The gym was a minor extravagance of a sort Kira hadn’t expected to find on the Wallfish.

“Yours?” she asked, gesturing at the weights.

“Yuh-huh,” said Sparrow. “And Hwa-jung’s. Takes a lot to keep her fit in one g.” With a huff, she lowered herself onto the bench and stretched her left leg out in front. She pressed a hand against her side, over the bandages. “You know the worst part about being injured?”

“Not being able to work out?”

“Bingo.” Sparrow gestured at her body. “This doesn’t happen by accident, you know.”

There was nowhere else to sit, so Kira squatted next to the bench. “Really? Didn’t you get gene-hacked like those guys?” She motioned back toward the Marines. “I read somewhere that with the tweaks you get in the UMC, you can sit around eating whatever you want and still be in shape.”

“It’s not quite that easy,” said Sparrow. “You still have to do cardio if you don’t want to get gassed. And you still have to work hard if you want to build top-end strength. Gene-hacks help, but they sure as fuck ain’t magic. As for those apes … there are degrees. Not everyone gets the same mods. Our guests are what are called R-Sevens. Means they got the full set of augments. You gotta volunteer for ’em, though, as it ain’t healthy long term. The UMC won’t let you run like that for more than fifteen years, tops.”