Io pulled her knees up to her chest as the recovery arm slotted her ship into the rails atop the hangar. The PA echoed into the cocoon of composite armor: "Emergency takeoff in progress. Secure all loose objects and head to the nearest jump seat immediately." Earlier, someone had thrown quilted lead blankets over most of the cameras that still worked, but one lens still gave her a private view of a hardhatted girl strapping herself into a thin beige throne in the wall.

  Good luck, little engineer... Aaand she's upside down, her legs kicking in terror and helmet pulling away from her head.

  Io tucked the hair out of her eyes and replayed the last few hours in her mind, the plastic trim vibrating around her. The pressure of blood pooling behind her face was nostalgic, like hanging upside down as a little girl; running round the Hall of the Founders like she owned it, thinking she could fix any problem if she grit her teeth and got mad enough. It took longer than usual to adjust to the darkness—likely on account of the light she'd seen over the skies.

  Nuclear light. Her eyes hurt just from the image of it in the cocoon of screens. A glow that had buried a history, even if it wasn't hers. Buried any survivors from a bloodbath that still didn't feel real. She pictured that girl in overalls from her class—Fredda—the way her eyes twinkled looking up at that old temple in the rock. What would she say to Io when she stepped out?

  Thanks for nothing. Maybe not, but that's what she should say, and Io pictured her baring her teeth and saying it over and over, increasingly indignant—crying, even. Close only counted for petanque boules and hand grenades, Drifter. And she'd been so fucking close.

  Close. Maybe that was the problem. Diane had launched that nuke to save her. Maybe, if she hadn't tried at all—Io kicked the MFD and moaned. She wanted to crawl into a hole and bury herself. Her face was so wet she didn't want to show it to anyone.

  "Alright gang, double time!" A chipper, muffled voice outside the cockpit. "Decon! Decon!"

  The ship descended from the rails, locking into the maintenance platform with a thud. Someone pulled the emergency release, which let Io's cradle pivot forward into the open cupola. She shielded her eyes from the blinding strip lights. Between her fingers she saw girls in clear CBRN suits wrestle a thick hose past the hull, from which they sprayed white ropes of foam onto the Arrowhead's side, churning in seconds to an alcohol-smelling pile.

  "Woah, this thing's cooked," said the one with freckles, her underwear soaked with sweat beneath the frosted coverall as she helped Io over the lip. Her wrinkled gloves felt cold and smooth. Was her name Chess? "Not my first decon, but I've never seen someone buzz a capital ship's engines. The whole left side's barbecued!"

  "Sorry!" Io ducked so low she nearly slipped on the step-ladder. "Sorry..."

  "...What?" Chess tried to scratch her cheek through the hazmat, seemingly taken off script—but collected herself when a glob of foam flew past. "What are you moping around for! Clear the platform!" She grabbed Io by the shoulders and shoved her towards the far wall.

  Before she could collect herself, a black Satori locked into the adjacent platform: that smaller, dagger-like interceptor with forward-facing nozzles where you'd expect intakes. That's interesting. The cupola bloomed away like a flower and the pilot dangled from it by a morass of thick cables—taking her vitals maybe, or applying active compression.

  The girl's eyes regarded Io blankly from across the room. Violet joss-paper wove in and out of her arrow-straight black hair, so black it had a faint sheen of blue. Suddenly a pair of attendants stamped past Io carrying water and the components of a ruffled black petticoat, clambering up a step ladder to lace it round the waist of her z-suit. Once dressed, she reached beside her cradle and whipped out a long metal rod capped by a small device: a Wand of Narcissus, also known as a selfie stick.

  "Eight today," she said, batting her lashes for the camera. An attendant plucked a gold marker and smeared the nose with the last few kills of Alice Specter.

  "You were... adequate," Alice addressed Io sidelong as she touched up her foundation. "I don't say that lightly."

  "I didn't ask," Io said, turning away. She wouldn't sit and be damned by faint praise.

  "...Based on what you described, your exposure should've been minimal—but take these, just in case."

  A hollow-cheeked Tian Lung girl closed a vacuum-pack of pills into Io's palm: potassium iodide. Her unkempt black hair spilled over a lab coat sullen with red regolith. There was a suspect smear of blood on her collar, and she smelled sharply of soap.

  The temporary hospital was noisy: a dull clamor of squeaky wheelcarts and hushed words, punctuated by fits of weeping. Gridded plastic curtains hung incongruously between green slabs of faux-painted marble, ancestral portraits peering over IV poles and bedridden girls.

  The deputized nurse frowned with worry. "Do you need any counseling, or...?"

  Io shook her head, tried to think of what she wanted to hear. She couldn't help but think of her father and his brand of 'tough love'—at least Marat would've been honest with her, and then some. That's what she needed now; not empty platitudes.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  "Can I talk to my parents?" she asked.

  "That's..." The nurse seemed to choose her words carefully, looking back over her shoulders at a queue of students at the far end of the room. "...There seems to be a disruption at the minute. I'm told President Lin will be making an announcement about it soon."

  Io sighed. She'd figured.

  Suddenly, there was a mass of footsteps as a line of Vestan students barged in with stretchers. Io and the nurse both turned to look. A scattering of visitors slowly gathered around the small girl at the head of the line.

  It was the grey-haired Vineta with her crooked tiara. She looked somehow different, her back too straight in the quilted suit, none of the usual ease in her steps.

  Someone in a little House Benetnasch puffer coat scampered towards her and bowed. "Miss Vineta... Thank you so much for finding my sist—"

  "I didn't do shit."

  Vineta's eyes were wide, and deadly serious.

  The other girl's shoulders shook. Apropos of nothing, someone came up from behind and slipped a large golden bottle into her hand.

  "...They said you would accept this." She held it in front of her. "Advance on my family's debt."

  Vineta huffed, and grabbed the neck so violently they could hear it from here.

  "Call it even." She looked back over the stretchers before lugging it the way she came, small and alone.

  Io tailed briskly after her, remembering what the little girl had said about being in her corner. It felt like weeks ago now. She found the slender girl alone, leaning against the inverted arch of a viewport whose scalloped muqarnas cut upwards from the floor. The red arc of Tyumen tumbled in the glass, speckled with clouds.

  Vineta sighed to herself. Her sullen shoulders clutched a bottle of golden wine so large that her small body could probably fit inside if she tried.

  "Um, excuse me..."

  "You what?" The girl barked, far too loudly. Her eyes were distant and glassy, and she seemed to look just past Io rather than directly at her.

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." Io ducked her head.

  "Well, you just did, man." Vineta grumbled, glancing at her gilded boots before looking back with a flat smile. "...Maybe you should like to join me for tea."

  "What are you serving?"

  "Tokaji." Vineta raised the bottle slightly, but didn't meet Io's eyes. She seemed embarrassed to be seen this low.

  "...You can't have white wine for tea."

  "I'm a grown woman, I can do what I bloody please. You should feel lucky I'm not peckish or we'd be having it with roast bunting instead of biscuits."

  Io scratched her head. "At that point it's just dinner... A-And bunting, specifically?"

  "Yes?" Vineta tilted her head, as what she'd said were perfectly natural. "It's a songbird—a specialty of the Vestan trunk family. The way their fat little bodies burst in your mouth... yum." She wiped the spittle from her mouth before coloring bashfully at the idea that she'd just expressed a desire.

  "Well, I'm not sure I can..." Io gulped. She couldn't help but think of this as bribery, and there was an ill feeling in her gut that told her she needed to be sober for what was next. "I'll have to pass."

  "...I expected you to say that." There was a hint of pain in Vineta's eyes. "Why'd you string me along... maybe our crafty-old Diane would share this with me. Oh," she gestured with the bottle, "if it isn't the clever girl now."

  ...Oh, goodie. The person Io wanted to see the least.

  Diane stormed from the direction of the hospital in a waistless gown, her fringe tied back to reveal a cluster of electrodes. A beige diagnostic device ringed her head like a polymer halo. There was a commotion behind her: students from no particular class rubbernecking with a wide berth. Her bare feet made no sound on the tile—only the whistling wheels of her IV pole. It was faint, but she seemed to be smiling.

  Suddenly, Io saw the flash of an Athame in the corner of her eye and turned the other direction.

  It was none other than her classmate Ema—her sportcoat and necktie still tied over her collarbones. Ema's shoulders slumped in sheer exhaustion, but she still somehow found it in her body to level the unfolded knife at Diane.

  “First you rammed me—then you nearly killed her!” Ema spat. “What the hell were you thinking, Diane. If Lin won't ground you, I'm going to cut that stupid smile off your face and use it to wipe my ass!”

  "Youuu won't ?" Diane smirked, shuffling forward in her gown. "Face it, Cairnbrae: my superior intellect salvaged this botched operation. Really, I think some genuflection is in order. And if you don't," she mustered the IV pole threateningly, "Well, I hope we have the same blood type ?"

  Ema took a step back, a twinge of fear in her eyes. This seemed like a pattern with them; Ema always used the knife, but didn't seem to think it was sufficient—not even with Diane in this pathetic state.

  Io tried to step forward, but she felt Vineta tug her sleeve. The little girl shook her head 'no'.

  Ema gulped. "I... I want you to..."

  “Finish that thought.” Diane gritted her teeth. “Use the Lamb's Eye. You won’t.”

  “You're beneath it," Ema said.

  “No—Because you can’t.” Diane grinned. “Your blood is so far removed from the original matriarch that all you can do is wave that trinket around and squeal like a pig.” She undid the butterfly needle from her wrist and curled her fist into a ball. Blood from the IV dripped between her toes. "I'll make you appreciate your betters." The gowned girl broke into a charge.

  Ema didn’t look like she was going to dodge it. Instead, she stood her ground and leveled her index finger at Diane as if accusing her of a crime.

  “I command you to—”

  —"By His grace, I retract your gifts."

  A white kimono flashed between the two like lightning, ancestral talismans trailing. Student council president Lin crept between the girls and jabbed her fingers into particular points on their necks, then released them before either of them realized what happened.

  “W-Wh…” Diane knew something was wrong, but lacking an explanation, could only stumble clumsily into Ema’s bosom. Her punch sagged into the girl’s shoulder with all the force of a wet noodle.

  “I… I command you to…” The words seem to catch in Ema’s throat. She looked like a fish gasping for air, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Morons. The last thing I need right now is fighting in the hallway," Lin grumbled. "You will make a good example for the others and settle your differences.”

  She grabbed both of them by the scruffs of their necks. They could only loll their heads weakly, like deactivated cats. Then, in full view of everyone who had come to watch, she tilted their heads in opposite directions and made them kiss, like a child playing with dolls.

  “F… Fuck off, Diane! You smell like a furniture store!”

  “Why, I never...!”

  The instant Lin released them, both girls melted to the floor like mannequins. The crowd backed away slowly, as if Lin was a kind of landmine.

  "That's right, back to your dorms," she said. "All of you elect a class representative while you're at it. We're convening in a few hours."

  Her expression softened as Io approached, as if to say, 'you dropped something.'

  Io kneeled and tucked her hands under Ema's armpits, slowly peeling her off the floor with a dumb smile on her face. Ema wasn't that difficult to move, all things considered, and she'd at least speak her mind.