The ship, listening as ever, made a note about this concept called revenge.

“It is still barbaric,” Atlanta declared.

“I agree, it is.” Niko sat back down. “Ship, will those cookies be ready soon?”

The door whispered open. The same biomachine that had carried the previous cookies appeared, this time with two separate plates, each bearing three lemon-frosted cookies. It placed both on the table within their reach.

Niko took one and ate it in its entirety, savoring the browned, sugary edge before she spoke again. “Still, just because something is barbaric does not mean that it will not happen. You will find the universe is full of barbaric things. I suggest you make yourself known as quickly as possible, particularly in case I am not able to do it for you.”

“What if I choose to die with you?” Atlanta said defiantly.

Niko took up the second cookie. “That would be singularly foolish of you. And something that I, and probably Dabry, would do our best to prevent.”

“What if I put on a pressure suit and went over the hold and got into where Lolola is that way?”

“How would you get in?”

“Access panel. I already checked the schematics, and they’re all over the place.”

“Do you really think she wouldn’t have plugged that hole?”

“Surely it’s worth testing.”

Niko shook her head. “If I were her—and I don’t claim to think as a pirate would, but I suspect there’s the same pragmatism about either approach—I would have placed a trap or two. That disposes of any menace and is a message to anyone else who might try it. Remember that she was willing enough to kill us. It’s only the ship being a bit passive-aggressive that saved us.”

This intrigued the ship. “What is ‘passive-aggressive’?” it asked.

“That,” Niko told it, “is an advanced form of human emotions that I hope we will be able to discuss at length at some point. Alas, since you are unable to shake off the shackles of Lolola’s controls, we may never have enough time for that conversation.”

“We have almost two days,” the ship said.

“I am so preoccupied by our fate that I cannot give such conversations the full attention they deserve,” Niko said. “Perhaps Tubal Last will come down and converse with you, from time to time, but as we’ve said, my understanding is that he is more of a hoarder and put-into-storage sort of person than an interactive owner.”

“You are trying to give me incentive,” the ship said.

“I am being honest with you about my situation and the anxiety which it induces in me. If that should happen to underscore some pluses or minuses of behaviors and actions, that is surely incidental.” Niko leaned back against the wall, crossing her legs at the ankles as she stretched them, her face placid as a stone.

“You do not seem anxious.”