Still, she did not ask any more questions of Dabry. She was worried that she would hurt his feelings if she went too far, and that the friendship between them would dissolve if she said the wrong thing. She thought that she should be able to know in her heart that he wouldn’t, that the sort of friendship that flourished among the crew was genuine, something extended freely, without thought of cost or obligation.

But that was so antithetical to the way the court worked that she had a hard time trusting it. When she had been little, and just come to court, one of the older women had befriended her, and made a pet of her. Only later, coming upon her in conversation while the other was unaware of her presence, did Atlanta discover that the woman was already figuring out what advantages she might be able to seek with the favor of an Imperial Heir and that in actuality she thought Atlanta “a milksop with no backbone,” confessing that it was that quality in fact that had made Atlanta attractive to her.

That incident had shaped all of Atlanta’s reactions to friendly approaches by others. But something about having been shoved in a crate and emerging in a strange place had helped her step beyond that.

She wanted to be friends with the crew; she was afraid that her overtures would be rejected or, worse, that they would inadvertently offend the very people she wanted so desperately to be friends with. She didn’t know how to go about any of it.

And she had very little time in which to figure it out before they arrived at the IAPH.

“Ah, there you are,” Niko said, appearing in the doorway.

Atlanta glanced up from her reverie, surprised. “You were looking for me?”

“Indeed. If the Empress has given you to me as my responsibility, then I should make sure you are ready for this encounter.”

“I am not as helpless as you think,” Atlanta said, angry at being underestimated. They all acted as though they were so dangerous, but she had a few tricks of her own up her sleeves. “I have several bioweapons that are designed to protect me.”

Niko’s head tilted as she considered Atlanta. “Let me guess,” she said. “Something in the smallest finger of each hand, perhaps a missile shooter or shock administration of some kind. Your hair probably has a high tensile strength. Mmm, and maybe a pop capsule concealed in a hollow tooth. That’s always been popular.”

Atlanta gaped at her. “You did a bioscan on me?”