“Mmmm-hmmm.”

“Would you stop mm-hming and tell me what’s wrong with them?” said Thorne.

“Patience,” said the doctor. “The optic system is delicate, and an incorrect diagnosis could be catastrophic.”

Thorne crossed his arms.

The doctor changed the settings on his tool again and completed another scan of Thorne’s eyes. “Indeed,” he said. “Severe optic nerve damage, likely as a result of traumatic head injury. My hypothesis is that when you hit your head during the fall, internal bleeding in your skull caused a sudden pressure buildup against the optic nerve and—”

Thorne waved, bumping the doctor’s tool away from him. “Can you fix them?”

Dr. Erland huffed and set the tool down on the counter that ran the length of the Rampion’s medbay. “Of course I can,” he said, sounding insulted. “The first step will be to collect some bone marrow from the iliac crest portion of your pelvic bone. From that, I can harvest your hematopoietic stem cells, which we can use to create a solution that can be externally applied to your optic system. Over time, the stem cells will replace your damaged retinal ganglion cells and provide cellular bridges among the disconnected—”

“A-la-la-la-la, fine, I get it,” said Thorne, covering his ears. “Please, never say that word again.”

Dr. Erland raised an eyebrow. “Cellular? Hematopoietic? Ganglion?”

“That last one.” Thorne grimaced. “Bleh.”

The doctor scowled. “Are you squeamish, Mr. Thorne?”

“Eye stuff weirds me out. As does any surgery regarding the pelvic bone. You can knock me out for that part, right?” He lay back on the exam table. “Do it fast.”

“A localized numbing agent will suffice,” said Dr. Erland. “I even happen to have something that should work in my kit. However, while we can harvest the bone marrow today, I don’t have the instruments necessary to separate the stem cells or create the injection solution.”

Thorne slowly sat up again. “So … you can’t fix me?”

“Not without a proper lab.”

Thorne scratched his jaw. “All right. What if we skipped the whole stem cells, injection solution thing, and just swapped my eyeballs out for some cyborg prostheses instead? I’ve been thinking how handy X-ray vision could be, and I have to admit, the idea has kind of grown on me.”

“Hmm. You’re right,” said Dr. Erland, eyeing Thorne over the frames of his glasses. “That would be much simpler.”

“Really?”

“No.”

Thorne’s mouth twisted into a frown.

“At least now we know what’s wrong,” said Cress, “and that it can be fixed. We’ll figure something out.”

The doctor glanced at her, then turned away and set about organizing the medbay cabinets with the equipment they’d taken from his hotel. He seemed to be making an attempt to hide any emotions aside from professional curiosity, but Cress got the impression that he didn’t care much for Thorne.

His feelings toward her, on the other hand, were a mystery. She didn’t think he’d met her eye once since they’d left the hotel, and she suspected he was ashamed about the whole purchasing-Lunar-shells-for-their-blood thing. Which he had every reason to be ashamed of. Although they were on the same side now, she hadn’t yet forgiven him for how he’d treated her, and countless others. Like cattle at an auction.

Not that she’d ever seen a cattle auction.

If she were honest with herself, she had uncertain opinions about most of the crew of the Rampion. After seeing Wolf snap in the hotel, Cress had done her best to steer clear of him when she could. His temper, and the knowledge of what his kind were capable of, made the hair prickle on her neck every time his vivid green eyes met hers.

It didn’t help that Wolf hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left Africa. While they’d all discussed the danger of staying in orbit before Cress could reinstate her systems for keeping them unobserved, Wolf had crouched solitary in a corner of the cockpit, staring empty-eyed at the pilot’s seat.

When Cinder had suggested they go somewhere that was in reach of New Beijing while they figured out the next phase of their plan, Wolf had paced back and forth in the galley, cradling a can of tomatoes.

When they had finally descended into the desolate wasteland of the Commonwealth’s northern Siberian regions, Wolf had lain on his side on the lower bunk bed of one of the crew quarters, his face buried in a pillow. Cress had assumed it was his bed, until Thorne informed her it had been Scarlet’s.

She pitied him, of course. Anyone could see that he was devastated at Scarlet’s loss. But she feared him more. Wolf’s presence was like a ticking bomb that could explode at any moment.

Then there was Jacin Clay, Sybil’s one-time guard, who spent most of his time in smug silence. When he did talk, he tended to say something rude or prickly. Plus, while he may have joined their side now, Cress couldn’t help but think of all the times he had brought Mistress Sybil to her satellite, how many years he’d known about her captivity and done nothing to help her.

And then there was the escort-droid, with her Master this, and Master that, and Would you like me to wash your feet and give you a nice foot rub, Master?

“Captain!”

Cress bristled at the girly squeal, followed by a blur of blue that fluttered into the medbay and slammed into Thorne, nearly knocking him off the lab table.

He grunted. “Wha—”

“I love it!” said the escort. “I absolutely love it! It’s the best present anyone has ever given me and you’re the best captain in the whole wide galaxy! Thank you thank you thank you!” The android took to smothering Thorne’s face in kisses, ignoring his struggles to back away on the table.

Cress pressed her fingers into the portscreen until her arms began to shake.

“Iko, let him breathe,” said Cinder, appearing in the doorway.

“Right, sorry!” The android grabbed Thorne’s cheeks and planted one more adamant kiss on his mouth before pulling away.

Cress’s jaw began to ache from grinding her teeth.

“Iko?” said Thorne.

“In the flesh! How do I look?” She struck a pose for Thorne, then immediately started to laugh. “Oops—I mean … well, you’ll just have to take my word for it that I am gorgeous. Plus I checked the manufacturer’s catalogue and I can upgrade to forty different eye colors! I kind of like the metallic gold ones, but we’ll see. Trends are so fleeting, you know.”

Beginning to relax, Thorne smiled. “I’m glad you like her. But if you’re here, who’s running the ship?”

“I just switched out the personality chips,” said Cinder. “Darla didn’t seem to care one way or the other. Something about ‘Whatever would please my master.’” Cinder pretended to gag. “I also undid some of her programming. Hopefully she won’t be feeling too concerned about law-breaking after this.”

“Just how I like my ships,” said Thorne. “Darla, are you up there?”

“Ready to serve, Captain Thorne,” said a new voice in the speakers overhead, strangely robotic compared with Iko’s hyperactive tones. “I am pleased to act as your new auto-control system and will strive to ensure the safety and comfort of my crew.”

Thorne beamed. “Oh. I’m going to like her.”

“When you’re done with your examination,” said Cinder, listing her head toward the door, “come out to the cargo bay. We have a lot we need to discuss.”

*   *   *

Within minutes, the crew of the Rampion had assembled in the cargo bay. Iko sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, mesmerized by the sight of her own bare toes. Dr. Erland had wheeled out the small desk chair from the medbay to sit on—Cress didn’t think his old age and short legs would have allowed him to get up on one of the storage crates unassisted. Wolf leaned against the door to the cockpit, shoulders hunched, hands tucked into his pockets, and dark circles beneath his eyes. Opposite him, Jacin stood against the wall beside the corridor that led to the crew quarters and the galley, turned sideways as if he could only be bothered to give Cinder half his attention.