“Should we?”

“Of course we should?”

Niko shook her head. “We have no way of knowing who it is, and we are about to have possibly—almost certainly—the most important meal of the restaurant’s existence. They could be a dangerous criminal or programmed for violence or some other disaster. Whoever they might be, they have been in stasis already for quite some time, look to have suffered no ill effects, and will in all likelihood not be harmed by a few more hours in it.”

Dabry’s face was enigmatic.

“What?” she demanded.

“Do you remember when General Hughes called you the hardest-nosed bitch he’d ever known?”

“Yes.”

“And afterward you told me that you didn’t understand why people kept saying that sort of thing?”

“Yes.”

“This is the sort of behavior that leads to that.”

“Ah,” Niko said. She rubbed her nose. “Fair enough. But for now we will let pragmatism rule the day.” She tapped the lid back down and it fell into place with a muted thunk.

“Very well, sir.”

She laid a palm on the lid and sighed. “What next, do you think? A failure of the electrical system? Food contamination? A surprise visit from the Inspectorate?”

Dabry said, “Mmm.”

“Afraid to venture a guess?”

“I’m thinking, rather, of the words ‘heavy portents’ and ‘deep doom.’”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I shouldn’t be. But you and I have both served in the ranks of the Holy Hive Mind. We’ve both seen magic work.” He gestured toward the kitchen where Thorn and Talon were.

“Magic, yes. But prophecy? If that worked, the Holy Hive Mind would have no need of generals.”

“Prophecies have guided the Holy Hive Mind for generations now.”

“You can twist any vague saying into a prophecy!” she snapped. “Heavy portents could mean anything from our critic getting a stomachache to the whole place getting blown up by an Arranti who thought it would advance their game.”

He paced the room, then stopped, laying a hand on the crate. “What if it’s someone who’s been kidnapped and you’re being framed?”

“And what if it is my long-lost grandchild, bundled up and tied with a bow?”

“Do you have a long-lost grandchild?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

He threw up his hands. “With your permission, sir, I will return to my eggplant.”

He retreated, leaving Niko to contemplate the crate.

Maybe this is the challenge we’ve been looking for, she thought. She reached out to touch the metal’s cold edge, thinking about the unknown that lay inside.