“Make it so,” she said. He started to turn, and she said, more kindly, “And know that I have listened, and that I will be wary of bad fortune, as always.”

He inclined his head toward her before he moved away.

Gio gestured something toward Milly.

“What’s that, soldier?” Niko said with a knife edge to her voice.

“I don’t know why you put up with that creature,” he told her.

“You know the story, you were there.”

“You were cast down for it anyhow. You didn’t have to tell him anything.”

“That’s what gratitude is.” She looked at Dabry, who stood ignoring them, caressing the eggplant with all four hands and his eyes half closed. “Sweet Momma Sky, should we leave so you can have your way with that eggplant or should I just let you take it to your bunk?”

His eyes closed entirely, his expression blissful. “Baba ghanoush,” he said. “Flat wheat bread dusted with cumin. Seared protein tinctured with lemon and garlic…”

“You’ve finally decided on the last details then?” Niko said, trepidation aquiver in her stomach’s pit. She’d told Dabry he could decide the overall menu, and he sometimes had a fancy for very expensive ingredients.

Still, for a Nikkelin Orb …

“Gio, start mincing garlic,” Dabry directed. “The good stuff that came in last week with that Prone ship.” He set the eggplant back down. “Captain?”

Niko had been eyeing the soy sausages that Dabry kept in a glass case, smoking them through some arcane process that she suspected the station would not have approved. She was lingering in the hopes Dabry would chop one up and give her a bit. They tasted of pepper and anise and some spice he refused to identify. “Yes?”

“Captain,” he said with excessive patience. “Get out of my kitchen.”

She saluted him. “Carry on, gentlebeings.”

She passed the twins in the hallway.

“On your way to help Gio now?” she said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Not pausing along the way for quick message checks or gibble gossip?”

“No, sir.”

“Carry on.” Her mouth wanted to quirk in amusement at the concerted whisker droop, but she throttled the urge.

Inside her office, she looked over the crate again. One triangular shard of the tag remained, carrying a few half letters that she could not decipher. She searched for a chip label on the crate’s surface, but that seemed to be missing, too, although she could find no stickiness to show where one had ever adhered.

That gave her pause. Taking a scanning device from her desk, she ran it carefully along each seam, then waved it in a slow zigzag over the entirety of every visible side. Sitting back on her heels, she contemplated it. Replacing the scanner, she slipped a clear hood over her head, tapping the ring at its base to tighten around her neck in an airtight seal. It hissed closed with a whiff of plastic and stale air.