“How many ransom situations have worked in favor of the ransomers?” Park cut in then, desperate to keep them arguing. She could not believe they had concocted this ludicrous plan together. How long had they been conspiring? Why hadn’t any of them pointed out the absurdity of it all? “How many of those people ever truly got away?” she asked.

It was when Natalya was rounding to answer her that Sagara suddenly made his move. His hand flashed back and grabbed the muzzle of Boone’s gun, wrenching it away; at the same time, he turned and slammed the heel of his palm into Boone’s sternum with a strange, sickening little crack. Then, viciously, before the military specialist could catch his breath, he stamped his boot down on Boone’s instep—and snapped his leg.

Boone screamed and squeezed off a shot with the electrolaser. At the sound of it everybody ducked: Natalya flinched, her hand jerking, and Park wound her fist back and smashed it into the surveyor’s face, knocking her to the ground. She dove after her, grappling for the gun with slippery hands. Again she felt that same wild, sunlit strength—android strength, she thought in a rush. There was a brief struggle between the two of them—all limbs and punching and hot, furious breath—before Park knocked away the gun and sent it spinning off under a table.

Then Fulbreech was there, trying to separate them; Park hit him in the face, too, and the three of them tumbled around on the floor, scrabbling over each other like animals. Park couldn’t see Boone or Sagara in the red-hazed commotion; she could only think about finding the gun or bashing Natalya’s brains out against the floor.

Then another gunshot, which made them all curl defensively. There was a muffled exclamation, and then silence. When Park looked up, she saw Chanur standing there at the entrance to the bridge, holding her own smoking railgun. She was pointing it at the far corner of the room, where Boone was dragging himself up the wall, his leg dangling horribly, and Sagara was lying on the ground—bleeding.

“You shot him,” Park said out loud, stupidly. Chanur ignored her and motioned to Natalya with her gun, tight-lipped.

“Get up,” she said. “We’re taking them downstairs.”

The surveyor staggered to her feet and wiped her bloodied mouth. “Fulbreech hit me,” she said, spitting.

“It was an accident,” Fulbreech said, slumped down next to Park. He seemed dazed, winded, as if he’d spent the day playing a game he didn’t understand the rules of and was now tired out. “We were never supposed to hurt anybody—let alone kill. You told me that, Natalya.”