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everyone around you is bristling with rancor and suspicion, but let someone show you some genuine kindness, and you find yourself on the verge of breaking down. So I just nod and follow his instructions. Can feel Dina’s eyes boring into my back. That one would rather space me than deliver me safely to Lachion.
    Walking away, I hear Dina logging her report: “Aft shields at thirty-five percent in sectors 12 and 18, damage to the holds, structural damage in—” But I tune her out. That stuff is her worry. As long as the ship’s in one piece and will get us there, I don’t much care.
    My quarters are small, no more than a closet with a bunk built out from the wall, but as promised, I find a change of clothes and a san shower. Feels good to be clean, and when I dress, I notice that someone’s been studying my file. Because this blue bodysuit is an exact replica of one I wore for a photo op with tall s-leather boots and tribal jewelry from one of the inhabited rim worlds, all handmade stuff, very rare. A gift when we made planetfall since a jumper is part navigator, part surveyor, and part diplomat. I’ve made first contact with indigenous peoples no less than five times.
    The outfit is smooth; it stretches at the neck enough to let you shimmy into it, then the fabric snaps back into place. It’s some poly-silk blend that looks elegant but doesn’t snag or tear and it’s damn near fireproof. I wish I had my boots; they weren’t just a fashion statement, as the toes were reinforced and a well-placed kick would break someone’s kneecap.
    As I’m emerging from quarters, March’s voice comes over the comm. “Approaching Lachion, planetfall in half an hour. All crew to stations please.”
    That seems an unnecessary formality, given the size of the crew, but I watch, hoping to learn something about my companions. And I do. From the central hub, Saul heads for medical, but I already knew he’s the ship’s doc. Dina told me she serves as mechanic, and that just leaves Loras. He takes position at the comm, so he must be the communications officer, and that usually includes systems work and encryption.
    â€œHe’s a savant,” March says at my shoulder. “He hears a language once, intuitively understands its syntax and structures. Vocabulary takes another day or so.”
    I jump. “Going to put a bell on you,” I mutter.
    Is he reading my mind? Or following the trajectory of my gaze, deducing my thoughts via logic instead of Psi? I honestly have no idea, and I’ve never encountered that before. Nothing in his mind gave me any clue. Unlike Kai, who was a chaotic whirl of impulses, half-formed ideas and inclinations, March was orderly, silent, contained. Even while we were jacked in, I received few things from him that he didn’t specifically send.
    Compartmentalized, I realize. Like me.
    I glance at him.
    And he smiles, cool and humorless. “They’ll be waiting for you when we touch down,” he says. “Try not to offend anyone.”
    Smile sweetly back and reply, “Isn’t that your job, dickless wonder?”
    I’m pretty sure I hear Dina chuckle.

CHAPTER 6
    The sky looks like a boiled potato.
    An ugly gray-white, overcast, beyond the hangar it’s sputtering snow, and March didn’t see fit to advise me of the season or provide a winter coat. So I’m shivering, arms wrapped around myself. Hard to look imposing while your teeth chatter.
    Don’t know what I expected, some kind of diplomatic delegation or another sort of welcoming party? What’s waiting for us looks more like a dysfunctional family. There’s a tan, leathery man chewing on an unlit cigarillo, yeah, I know—those have been outlawed on civilized worlds for a long time. He’s wearing an old-fashioned gun belt, retrofitted, wherein he’s carrying the tools of his trade. I hope those are spanners.
    They don’t even