They checked the hallway to make sure it was empty before they crept back out. The ambient temperature of the air blasted into Park so that she nearly howled with pain; she had to blink away smarting tears as she hobbled after Sagara to the corner, where he crouched with difficulty to check the other corridor.

Then he turned back to her and whispered, “I’m not even going to bother questioning how you did that. We need to get to the weapons locker.”

“Weapons locker?” Park’s head was spinning—she didn’t know if it was from the thawing out or from the golden feeling leaking out of her brain like disturbed dust flying out a window. She blinked and shook her head. How armed had this crew come, without her knowing it? And how many weapons did that give the mutineers access to?

Sagara nodded. “It’s on Deck A, through a hatch in my room.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he said, unblinking. “I don’t know if Boone and the others know about it. I have to assume not, since I didn’t see any of them carrying anything from there. We’ll get there, arm ourselves, and then—”

“And then what?” Park asked, shivering violently now. Her teeth chattered as she looked at him. “We’ll storm the bridge, just the two of us? You with your game leg and me with my zero weapons training?”

Sagara made a face, and it looked like he was about to argue when they both heard steps from around the corner. Sagara stiffened, and he motioned for her to scoot as far back as possible. Park saw the wicked silver gleam of the syringe in his hand again.

I’m not prepared for this, she thought in that tense second; she was not prepared for a confrontation, to try and kill someone again. But even as she thought it, some of that golden, sparking strength rushed back into her, and her heart swelled.

Someone rounded the corner before Park could say anything. Sagara surged up like a panther and rammed the needle savagely into the intruder’s throat; the person fell over soundlessly and he went with them, stabbing once again for good measure.

Someone else yelled. Park leapt after Sagara, feeling the fiery phantom pain of limbs gone cold, ready to hurl herself at the second patroller—but then a voice stopped her in her tracks. She lurched to the side, clutching at the wall to keep her balance.

The person on the ground said, “It is Jimex, Captain Sagara. Please stop your assault.”

She looked. It was indeed the custodian android, lying there on the floor and looking up at Sagara with a politely unimpressed look. The syringe stuck harmlessly out of the synthetic skin of his neck. Sagara growled and shoved himself off of him, whirling around to face the second person—Fulbreech—who sprang back and yelped.