“Hawes is fighting mad about it too,” Nielsen said.

Falconi kicked his way over to the pressure door. “Doesn’t matter. We’re going to talk with the UMC straightaway, and it’s going to take them some time to debrief our friendly neighborhood Marines.”

“Do we all have to go?” said Hwa-jung. “The Wallfish still needs maintenance after that jump.”

Falconi gestured toward the door. “You’ll have plenty of time to deal with the ship later, Hwa-jung. I promise. And yes, we all have to go.” Sparrow groaned, and Vishal rolled his eyes. “The liaison officer on Orsted specifically asked for everyone on the ship. I think they’re not sure what to make of us yet. They mentioned having to check for orders with Earth Central. Besides, we’re not letting Kira walk in there alone.”

“… Thanks,” she said, and she meant it.

“Of course. Wouldn’t let any of my crew go off by themselves.” Falconi grinned, and though it was a hard, dangerous grin, Kira found it reassuring. “If they don’t treat you right, we’ll kick up a ruckus until they do. Rest of you, you know the drill. Eyes peeled and mouths shut. Remember, this isn’t shore leave.”

“Roger that.”

“Yessir.”

“Of course, Captain.”

Hwa-jung nodded.

Falconi slapped the bulkhead. “Gregorovich, keep the ship on standby, case we have to leave in a hurry. And full monitoring of our overlays until we’re back.”

“Of course,” said Gregorovich in a warbling tone. “I shall keep an ever-so-close watch upon the feeds from your peepers. Such delightful snooping. Such scrumptious snooping.”

Kira snorted. Their long sleep certainly hadn’t changed him.

“Are you expecting trouble?” asked Nielsen as they left Control.

“No,” said Falconi. “But better safe than sorry.”

“Second that,” said Sparrow.

With Falconi at the lead, they went to the central shaft of the Wallfish and pulled themselves along the ladder until they reached the airlock mounted in the nose of the ship. The Entropists joined them there, the Questants’ robes billowing in free fall, like wind-blown sails. They dipped their heads and murmured, “Captain” as they slowed to a stop.

“Welcome to the party,” said Falconi.

The airlock was crowded with all nine of them crammed in—especially with Hwa-jung taking up nearly as much space as three of them combined—but with some pushing and shoving, they managed to fit.

The airlock cycled with the usual assortment of clicks and hisses and other unidentifiable sounds. And when the outer door rolled open, Kira saw a loading dock identical to the one she’d arrived at on Vyyborg over a year ago. It gave her a strange feeling, not quite déjà vu, not quite nostalgia. What had once been familiar, even friendly, now seemed cold, stark, and—though she knew it was just nerves—out of joint.

A small spherical drone was waiting for them, floating just to the left of the airlock. The yellow light next to its camera was on, and from a speaker came a man’s voice: “This way, please.”

With puffs of compressed air, the drone turned and jetted away toward the pressure door at the other end of the long, metal-clad room.