“Gregorovich, yank the restrictor,” said Falconi.

An infinitesimal pause on the part of the ship mind. “Are you absolutely sure, Captain O my Captain?”

“Yes, I am. Yank it.”

“I live but to serve,” said Gregorovich, and he tittered a bit more than Kira would have liked.

She couldn’t help but worry about the ship mind as she pulled herself into the nearest seat and buckled the harness. The UMC had put Gregorovich in lockdown, which meant he’d been kept in near total sensory deprivation since they’d arrived at the station. That wouldn’t be good for anyone, but especially for an intelligence like a ship mind, and doubly so for Gregorovich, given his past experiences.

“What’s the restrictor?” she asked Falconi.

“Long story. We have a choke in the fusion drive that changes our thrust signature, makes it a hair less efficient. Take it out, bam! we look like a different ship.”

“And you didn’t pull it out back at Bughunt?” Kira asked, scandalized.

“Wouldn’t have helped. Not enough, at least. We’re talking a difference of a few hundredths of a percentage point.”

“That’s not going to hide us from—”

Falconi made an impatient gesture. “Gregorovich plants a virus in every computer we send registry info to. It creates a second entry with a different ship name, different flight path, and engine specs that match what our drive is like sans restrictor. Far as the computers go, it won’t be the Wallfish blasting off. Probably won’t fool anyone for more than a few minutes, but right now, I’ll take any advantage we can get.”

“Clever trick.”

“Unfortunately,” said Nielsen, “it’s a single-use device. At least until we can get into dock and have a new one installed.”

“So what’s the name we’re flying under now?” Kira asked.

“The Finger Pig,” said Falconi.

“You really like pigs, don’t you?”

“They’re smart animals. Speaking of which … Gregorovich, where are the pets?”

“They are again blocks of furry ice, O Captain. The UMC decided to return them to cryo rather than deal with the hassle of feeding and cleaning up.”

“How considerate of them.”

The Wallfish jolted as it disconnected from the docking ring, and then the maneuver alert sounded seconds before the RCS thrusters kicked in and shoved them away from the station.

“We’re going to give Orsted an extra dose of radiation today,” said Falconi, “but I think they earned it.”

“With interest,” said Sparrow as she sailed past Itari by the doorway. She snared a seat of her own. The Jelly braced itself against the floor, preparing for the upcoming burn.

Vishal’s face appeared in the holo-display. “We’re good to go in sickbay, Captain. Hwa-jung is here as well.”

“Roger that. Gregorovich, get us the hell out of here!”

“Yes, Captain. Proceeding to ‘get us the hell out of here.’”

With a rising roar, the Wallfish’s main rocket slammed Kira back into her seat as they hurtled away from Orsted Station. The thrust forced a laugh from her, though the laugh was lost in the sea of sound. They’d actually made it. The realization seemed almost absurd. Now maybe they could keep the Seventh Fleet from destroying any chance of peace.