Page 156 (1/2)

They push e Not a prison block, but so deck Dozens of pilots and infantry queue for the si the crescent wall Even I know the Pandora A ship synonymous with House Julii Nearly two hundred years old, a predator of the deep, and veteran of a hundred battles, or so like that

Then I see Volga

While only two guards were needed to guide me out to the ay, ten surround the Obsidian She’s taller than the tallest Gray by at least two hands, though she hunches to see, and her frazzled white hair looks one part tragic, one part feral But those ars…They look more like knotted Cimmerian cebola trees than human limbs They could break me in half with a twist

Maybe that’s why my hands are free and hers are bound behind her back in reinforced cuffs Her eyes widen as she sees o rancid “Figment!”

“You gilded idiots,” Fig snaps at the Sol Guards “I told you to put a slave ring on the bear!”

“She’s just—”

Fig slips forward and secures a thin bit ofin front of Volga Fig slaps Volga across the face and the slave ring crackles till I ss her hands around The Grays back away and raise their rifles warily as her cuffs drop to the floor with a thunk

Somehow she unlocked herself

I grin a little That’s a freelancer all right

Unfortunately, she ain’t the only one Fig produces a spiderlike contraption fros constrict around the tips of Volga’s fingers, interlocking them as a thin wire snakes around her waist “Not like last tiirl Made this specially for us”

Volga’s voice is deep and ht I broke your spine in Old Tokyo”

“You did” Figa “Gods, you srunts “Julii wants you doused in cinnaive you back to the old man He’s probably worried stiff What’s a man like that to do without his bear to kick? Move”

They shove us toward the gravLift

“It is nice to a whispers down to a flinches and turns to look at the woman over the heads of the Grays She stares at her until the doors open “I was just being polite”

They take us to a barracks locker room It’s older than the rest of the ship Soalos At least two hundred years old, then There’s not a spot of rust here, though Volga is guided to another block, escorted by Fig My lone Sol Guard tosses a change of clothing on a bench and gives me a crooked smile from behind his helmet’s jaw armor Doesn’t look much older than ot handle and the dryer controls “Na?”