“Guess we follow,” said Falconi.

“Guess so,” said Nielsen.

“Don’t they realize we’re in a hurry?” said Kira.

Sparrow clucked her tongue. “You should know better, Navárez. You can’t rush a bureaucracy. There’s time, and then there’s military time. Hurry up and wait is standard operating procedure.”

Then Falconi launched himself off the lip of the airlock toward the pressure door. He spiraled slowly through the air, one arm above his head to catch himself when he landed.

“Show-off,” said Nielsen as she crawled out of the airlock and grabbed the handholds in the nearby wall.

One by one, they left the Wallfish and crossed the loading dock, with its gimbaled waldos and grooved strips for holding cargo containers in place. As they did, Kira knew that lasers and magnets and other pieces of equipment were checking their ID, scanning them for explosives and other weapons, looking for traces of contraband, and so on. It made her skin crawl, but there was nothing she could do about it.

For a second she considered allowing the mask to cover her face … but then she dismissed the urge.

She wasn’t going into battle, after all.

Past the pressure door, the drone zipped into the wide hallway beyond. It was at least seven meters across, and after so long spent on the Wallfish, the amount of space seemed enormous.

All the doors along the hallway were closed and locked, and aside from themselves, not one person was to be seen. Not there and not around the corners of the first dogleg. Nor the second.

“Some welcoming committee,” Falconi said dryly.

“Must be they are scared of us,” said Vishal.

“No,” said Sparrow. “They’re just scared of her.”

“Maybe they should be,” Kira muttered.

Sparrow surprised her by laughing so loudly, the sound echoed up and down the hall. “That’s it. You show them.” Even Hwa-jung looked amused.

The hallway led them through all five floors of the shield ring and then, as Kira knew it would, to a maglev car waiting at the end. The car’s side door was already open, the seats inside empty.

From the blackness on the other side of the car, she could hear the whisper of the rotating hab-ring, turning, turning, constantly turning.

“Please watch your hands and feet as you enter,” said the drone, stopping next to the car.

“Yeah, yeah,” Falconi muttered.

Kira took a seat with the rest of them and strapped herself in. Then a musical tone sounded, and from hidden speakers, a woman’s voice said, “The car is about to leave. Please tighten your seat belts and secure all loose items.” The door slid shut with a squeal. “Next stop: hab-section C.”

The car accelerated forward, smoothly and with hardly any noise. It passed through the pressure seal at the end of the terminal and entered the main transit tube that lay embedded between the docking ring and the hab-ring. As it did, Kira felt the cab rotate inward—felt herself rotate—and a sensation of weight began to press her down into the seat. Her arms and legs settled, and within seconds, she felt as if she’d regained her usual number of kilos.