Niko sat down on the bed, suddenly weak in the knees. “Wait, what? The Empress? Calling me?” She’d had her doubts about Atlanta, thinking pieces of her narrative were unconfirmed. Sometimes she seemed not to recollect things so well, like physical details of the palace. Other times she spoke in loving detail, descriptions that sounded, to Niko’s practiced ear, a bit rehearsed.

But a call from the Empress herself would seem to confirm her story. From what Niko knew of the Paxian Empire, its leaders took care of their multiple heirs, grooming and training them so one day one of them could step into place with ease should the need arise.

The console chimed. The Empress’s face, shown in miniature atop it, smaller than Niko’s head but seeming much grander. More regal.

“Captain Larsen, I owe you an apology and explanation. You were entrusted with something for safekeeping and seem to have weathered extraordinary circumstances with it.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Your Majesty,” Niko said. “I’m happy to be of service and trust I will be well compensated for it.” She paused before adding, “Whatever it was, exactly, that I was supposed to do.”

The Empress ignored the indirect question. “Bring your cargo to Pax, and I will both compensate and explain.”

Niko inclined her head. “As Your Majesty wishes.”

She waited until the connection had been fully severed before exploding. “Sky Momma’s frozen tits, what now?”

She returned to the bay where the rest of them, having finished the game, were chattering and conducting the usual postgame analysis, bragging and pretending not to miss the absent Thorn or sulking Talon. She said to Atlanta, “That was a call from the Empress. She said come to Pax and all will be explained.”

Dabry turned to Atlanta, arching an eyebrow. “All will be explained? What does she mean by that?”

“I don’t know,” Atlanta said, bewildered stomach sinking.

Skidoo patted her. “It will is being okay,” she said confidently. “Captain Niko is being making sure of that.”

Niko kept silent but she had her own doubts. The Empress had referred to Atlanta as “cargo.” That was an odd choice, and one that might not bode well for Atlanta. Cargo was not allowed to choose its fate but rather had to go where it was sent.

Like the Thing. Despite the changes that Lolola’s programming had wrought in it, the Thing was still very much a product of the shipyard that had grown it. The Thing had told Niko that the factory had fail-safes, signals that, when broadcast to a ship, would cause it to destroy itself by whatever means were at hand. If they’d known the Thing had been taken, it would have been forced to destroy itself before docking at the IAPH.

“Kill you?” she’d said. “Why would they do that?”