“Raist marines!” came a crackly, reinforced yell from around the corner. “Lay down your weapons!”

  Throat microphone, and external speakers. Meaning combat armor. These weren’t the riot-shielded police that had broken up our previous fight. These were the deep-space troops, with the big guns.

  The two broken bodies bleeding in the corridor said as much. They’d been torn to pieces by something a lot heavier than my assault rifle.

  Part of me wanted to keep screaming, keep fighting. In the ice, I was indestructible.

  I didn’t feel fear, didn’t feel horror. Didn’t feel my wounds. Small hole in my shoulder, big hole in my leg, both bleeding. I was standing in a puddle of blood.

  Ice mind didn’t care.

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  “Crud,” someone said nearby. “You’re hit.”

  My foil rose on its own, searching for someone.

  Hao.

  I stared at her, my foil raised. Long enough for her eyes to widen in fear.

  Hao. My friend.

  Ice mind cracked, ablating from the pain flooding my brain, cutting, fiery pain from my thigh, the weight of Young Voice and my own exhaustion driving me to the deck.

  I had the presence of mind to up-tune my wards, extinguishing the ripstone and sheathing my foil.

  “Raist marines!” the speaker voice yelled again, loud enough to be painful.

  Close enough to be painful. Six armored marines, bulky, dark-green shapes with faces hidden by their opaque visors. Full space suits.

  Because we were on a ship, and ships got holed. Right.

  “Drop your weapons!” the speaker roared.

  Young Voice shifted, his head lifting off my shoulder.

  “Cousin Dhalia,” Young Voice rasped. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  His head leaned in against mine and he went limp. I tried to let him down gently, but slipped, and fell to the deck beside him. The last thing I saw was Hao’s hands in the air, her Tornado hanging limply by her side as the Raist marines moved in to disarm us.