Even farther in, sheltered by the ship’s bulk, they passed through multiple doorways, each smaller than the last, before they entered the space that held the Thing’s primary heart and its ventilation systems, vast membraned panes mottled pale blue on darker navy that filtered the air. Tiny biomechanisms flitted like bats here between the panes, keeping them clean.

Farther up, hallways and staircases led back and forth, most of them eventually heading to the pilot’s chamber and Takraven’s own quarters, atop the ship, luxurious and holding the machines he used daily: an exercise cube, a kitchenette with a store of freeze-dried meals in gold and silver wrappers, and an elaborate fresher with more settings than any of them had ever seen. All of this was open to them.

But Niko did what she usually did in times of trouble or stress when an action plan was needed—she went to Dabry.

The cabin allotted to him was large enough that it dwarfed the crate.

“I still don’t know why you brought that,” she grumbled.

He quirked a brow at her and opened the lid. She watched as he began to take out packets and tiny pots, each one bringing its own fragrant whiff. “You used it in order to bring your herbs?” she said incredulously.

He looked vaguely embarrassed. “There was a lot of excess room in there,” he murmured. “And they require a controlled climate. And two of those mints, you can’t find them anywhere, not good Martian vatmint. Plus I still have those vanilla beans infusing in sugar and I didn’t have time to take them out of their tubes. This was easier.”

“Please tell me you didn’t take out the occupant and replace them entirely with your own goods.”

“I most certainly did not,” he said, then added, “Maybe if there had been more time and I thought they would have recovered quickly enough to come with us.” Dabry was more than somewhat devoted to the collection of flavorings and seeds he had amassed over the years. He finished removing his belongings and reached for the control panel inside.

Niko caught that wrist. “Wait a minute,” she said, “What are you doing?”

“Waking them up.”

“Why now?”

“Because,” he said, “the situation is already complex enough that it seems insoluble. Adding another factor—who knows what that will bring?”

“You could just be awakening them to go to prison under suspicion of being an accomplice,” she said. “They won’t thank you for that.”

“In a way,” he said, “they don’t exist at all right now. I am making them exist. Most people do not object to that situation. And the presence of an Arranti makes me very nervous. I would like to know if the two are connected in some way.”