Kira thought it was an accurate representation of how everyone on the ship felt.

“Fingers crossed they don’t change their minds,” said Falconi.

Hawes grunted. Then he looked at Kira. “Once you’re up for it, we need to talk with the Jelly. This is the first chance we’ve had to communicate with one of them. The brass back home is going to want every bit of intel we can squeeze out of that thing. We’ve been fighting in the dark until now. It’d be nice to have some answers.”

“Can we do it tomorrow?” said Kira. “I’m wiped, and it won’t make any difference if we can’t escape first.”

The lieutenant rubbed his face and sighed. He seemed even more exhausted than her. “Yeah, sure. But let’s not put it off any longer.”

While they waited, Kira withdrew deeper and deeper into herself, as if she were retreating into a shell. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d learned about the nightmares. She was responsible for creating them. It had been her own misguided choices, her own fear and anger that had led to the birth of the monstrosities currently running rampant among the stars.

Even though Kira knew that, logically, she couldn’t be blamed for the actions of what the humanoid nightmare had called the Maw—the twisted, mutated fusion of Dr. Carr, the Jelly, and the damaged parts of the Soft Blade—it didn’t change how she felt. Emotion trumped logic; the thought of everyone who had been killed in the conflict between humans, Jellies, and the nightmares made her heart ache with a dull, soul-crushing pain that the Soft Blade could do nothing to alleviate.

She felt as if she’d been poisoned.

The Marines ate quickly and soon returned to the hold to oversee preparations for the transition to FTL. The Entropists and the crew of the Wallfish lingered about the holos, quiet save for the occasional murmured comment.

At one point, Hwa-jung said in her blunt way, “I miss Trig.” To that, they could only nod and express their agreement.

Partway through the meal, Vishal looked over at Falconi and said, “Is there enough salt for you, Captain?”

Falconi gave a thumbs-up. “Perfect, Doc. Thanks.”

“Yeah, but what’s with all the carrots?” said Sparrow. She lifted a spoon piled high with orange disks. “Always seems like you put in an extra bag or something.”

“They’re good for you,” said Vishal. “Besides, I like them.”

Sparrow smirked. “Oh, I know you do. Bet you keep carrots hidden in sickbay to snack on when you’re hungry. Just like a rabbit.” And she made a nibbling motion with her teeth. “Drawers and drawers full of carrots. Red ones, yellow ones, purple ones, you—”

A flush darkened Vishal’s cheeks, and he put his spoon down with a loud clack. Kira and everyone else looked. “Ms. Sparrow,” he said, and there was an uncharacteristic note of anger in his voice. “Always you have been, as you put it, ‘riding my ass.’ And because Trig admired you so much, he did the same.”