“You’re mad,” Niko said. “The Arranti game has nothing to do with beings other than the Arranti. Everyone knows that, and only the Spisoli claim differently.”

“So they say. But I have not heard of one destroying an entire space station before.”

She kept holding his wrist, and he refrained from using any of his other hands, waiting and watching her face.

“All right. But are you sure?” she said. “Have you ever been to Scourse? Whoever this is, they won’t thank you for taking them there.”

“Captain, I am rarely sure of anything,” he said. “Should I call Lassite and have him prophesize?”

She made a face, then reluctantly let go of his arm.

His fingers played over the controls. The crate hissed as its mechanisms engaged, and a faint, chilly mist rolled away from it as it settled fully on the floor. The sides fell away, dissolving into wisps of odorless white smoke, and the motionless humanoid form they had seen before inside emerged from the fog.

Small, not hulking, Niko was relieved to note. Flakes of white began to sift away from the anonymous white lump, revealing …

A small woman, barely out of her teens, with dark hair worn in a braid curled in a crown atop her head. She lay still. For a second Niko worried that she had not survived stasis—although that would have solved some things, she told herself in irritation.

Kid’s not even awake and you’re worrying over her. That doesn’t bode well.

The woman took a deep, shuddering breath, and rolled over, coughing and spitting out clear fluid, half falling out of what remained of the crate. She landed on hands and knees, doubled over and shivering.

The ship absorbed the fluid dripping from her. It was faintly salty and mildly poisonous, which made it complicated and therefore entertaining to neutralize.

“Take it easy,” Dabry said kindly. He raised his voice, “Ship, we need a hot beverage, nutritious but bland, in my quarters as soon as possible.”

The newcomer raised her head at the sound of his words. “How…?” she gasped.

“Here, help her sit up,” Niko said. “Don’t ask questions yet, kid. Just breathe and get yourself in order.”

They assisted her into one of the folds that served the room as chair. The door to the room slid open and a ship manifestation, a thing of long, curling tentacles and dark skin, produced a tray with three steaming cups—their substance seemingly the same as the manifestation, an odd material that resembled tree bark.

Dabry held one out and when the woman reached feebly, helped her by wrapping his own fingers around it to guide it to her lips. She sipped, swallowed, doubled over coughing again. Dabry stood back a little, watching her.