Torin thought about flattening him. Didn’t. But it was close. “You’d be amazed at how few people shoot at the media, all things considered.” She nodded again at Helena—good-bye and thank you and don’t worry, we’ll bring him back all layered onto the movement—then paused, just inside the Second Star’s air lock. “You went out after Jan and Sirin.”
Alia had the grace to look embarrassed. “To find out what happened. We know what happened to Craig.”
Torin laid her palm against the control pad, one finger bent to touch the plastic trim. “No,” she said quietly, “you don’t. Craig told me once that you took care of your own. He was wrong. All you’re willing to do is throw parties for the dead.”
Pedro’s small ship was the same basic model as the Promise—rectangular cabin with the control panel and two chairs across one narrow end, bunk and the hatch into the head across the other. The air lock and suit storage took up the majority of one long wall while across from it were general storage, cooking facilities, and a half-oval table with two chairs that snapped out from recesses in the wall. Because the Second Star had an additional three-by-three module, some of the storage space had been replaced by another hatch across from the air lock. Presit claimed this space as hers and graciously permitted Ceelin and their equipment to share it.
“I are willing to support you in front of fools and cowards,” Presit announced, climbing up into the second control chair and tucking her feet under the thick fringe of her fur, “but now it are just you and me, I are wanting to be assured you are knowing what you are doing.”
“The station’s docking computer is in control until we clear the panel array,” Torin told her without looking up from the board. She’d been surprised to learn the station had a docking computer and wondered if they hadn’t trusted her to leave on her own without causing deliberate damage. Fair enough. She didn’t trust herself.
“Not what I are asking. You are having a plan?”
A call from the station pinged the ship before Torin could answer. Unlike the steady stream of data still being downloaded through Pedro’s personal comm to the Second Star, this message was addressed specifically to her.
“Kerr, go.”
The Krai on the screen looked nervous, his nose ridges opening and closing so quickly they seemed to be fluttering. “Gunnery Sergeant Kerr, this is Kenersk. We uh, spoke, back at the funeral.”
“I remember you.” An ex-Marine who’d done two contracts, Kenersk had fought with the Four Three, holding the line during the evacuation of the Denar Colony, so she let the form of address stand. Turned out, he’d also been the Krai who’d allowed Winkler to get his hands on the cup of sah—which was why she remembered him.
“I don’t know if it’ll help, but I can tell you where you can find a pirate ship.”
Torin waited.
After a moment, Kenersk rubbed a hand over the bristles on his head and continued. “It’s a Krai ship, the Dargonar. All Krai. Captain Firrg hates Humans, I mean, really, really hates them. Don’t know what she thinks about di’Taykan, but Humans, Humans she obsessively hates.”
“I got that, Kenersk.” The information might have been a warning. Or possibly merely Kenersk trying to talk himself into the betrayal.
“Yeah, well, they say she likes to pick off the occasional ore carrier—just the drones, though, and never often enough to set off alarms—and they say she sells the ore at the Prospect Processing Station. They say, she’ll be at Prospect in two days.”
“Who are saying . . .”
Kenersk broke the link.
Presit snorted. “If he are not supplying his sources, I are not trusting his information.”
Torin drummed her fingers against the control panel’s inert trim. “Good thing it’s my call, then.”
“Why are you trusting him? Because he are stroking your ego and calling you Gunnery Sergeant.”
“No. Because he feels guilty about Winkler getting the sah, and he owes me for not calling in the Wardens. Salvage operators don’t like to be beholden. It makes them feel dependent.”
“They are not liking to be dependent on the kindness of others. It are a quote from Human literature,” she added, sounding annoyed that Torin hadn’t recognized it. “I are having read it at university in XenoHistory. You are being familiar with it?”
“No.” She slid her hand between Presit’s fingers and the board. Presit’s claws caught against her knuckles but didn’t break the skin. “Don’t