Swords flashed as Farah burst out onto the Ariomma's pivoting gangway. Rather than skid to a stop, she lunged for the Nectamia's first mate with the full momentum of her arrival. The woman's intention to turn and strike crossed her mind. Farah ducked the glinting blade. She spun on her heel and came up behind the woman, knife at her throat.

"Drop the blade," she snarled. Her voice plunged for its natural register. The sword hit the deck. Before anyone else could react, Farah ducked away and grabbed Kazem, dragging him back towards the airship as shouts and footsteps shook the gangway. The chains linking it to the Nectamia's rattled fiercely. Then the silence of the airship swallowed them both. Farah nearly slammed the door behind her, but that would lock the rest of the crew outside. Little as she cared about them, she could not sail this ship alone.

"Farah—" squeaked Kazem.

"This is why you don't volunteer to talk to enemies, you sun-baked idiot."

Farah made for the staircase, one hand still locked around her brother's wrist. Nobody followed them. She dragged Kazem through both decks to the crew's quarters—the only part of the ship other than the galley that could lock from inside—and propelled him through the doorway as he resisted. She slammed the door and locked it behind them.

Kaz was breathing hard from the escape. When he finally looked up, a shock ran through Farah's body. He was glaring at her.

"What was that for?" he demanded.

Farah stared at him, unwilling to believe he could be so dense. "What? What? Someone draws a sword right beside you, intending harm for this entire crew because they think we're all sparrow-dung, and you ask me why I came for you? That was about to be a fight, Kaz."

"She pulled her sword because Esfandiar wouldn't stop ogling at her navigator! If you'd stopped and listened—"

"I was listening to the whole thing."

"—and gave her two seconds of benefit of the doubt instead of assuming everyone wanted to kill us—" He broke off, almost incoherent with frustration. "Jhaṛa had it under control. She was about to send Esfandiar back to the ship. And then you barged in there with a knife, threatened their first mate, and dragged off one of the people in the party we sent. I was talking with them. They liked me."

"What, as in they might have spared you while they slaughtered everyone else?"

"That wasn't an attack!"

"Then why did they all have blades out?"

"It was a misunderstanding."

"Was it?" Farah's voice leaped up half an octave. "Was it? Or was I right when I heard from that friendly first mate of yours that she didn't give a rat's tail whether any of us lived or died? You were 'talking' with a shipload of Colony snobs who thought we were their culprits and put the burden on our captain to prove otherwise—and they weren't about to believe us."

"They said they did. They were about to leave."

"Not after planting a tracker on the Ariomma while you were all distracted by those oh-so-shiny blades."

It was Kazem's turn to step back, stunned. "What do you mean?"

The vindication of being right seethed through Farah as potently as her anger. "Exactly what I'm saying. The mechanic had it. And I'll bet Jhaṛa didn't even notice."

Silence fell, save for both of their heavy breathing.

"Didn't she send you up onto the envelope?" said Kazem. "I thought that was out of your range."

"I didn't go to the envelope. She didn't want me coming, so I eavesdropped from the viewing deck."

Kaz's dark skin darkened further as a flush crawled over his face. "You should have listened," he said quietly. "You messed it all up. They'll actually hate us now."

Farah stopped dead. "What are you implying?"

"You always jump to assumptions about people. I'm not surprised she never lets you join negotiations."

Those words stung like nettles. Worse than Jhaṛa's veiled threats, her scarcely hidden distaste, and the prospect of being radio-tagged like stray cattle just because they were from the outer city. Did Kazem not understand? She had done it for him. Listened in because she didn't want to leave her brother alone with the enemy again—voluntarily or otherwise, because his choosing to go hadn't protected him before. Dug for the thoughts that might pose a threat, so that she would it before anyone else did. Before it was too late. Risked herself to keep him out of danger. And now he had turned on her, too.

"Is it really that?" she said. "After all the times I've spotted real enemies before they attacked? All the times even the captain admitted I was right? Were they really worried I would jump in first and attack without reason? Or did they just not want a Colony ship to know we had a thistle on board?"

Kazem cringed at the word. How many years had he listened to people call her something less than human—a weed, a pest, a threat—the moment they discovered she could read minds? That was her reality in the outer cities. Constrained by the rules, spoken or otherwise, that distrusted telepaths at every level. You didn't step on a thistle, but you didn't let them anywhere near your garden, either. And while murder was loosely forbidden in the outer city, nobody would object if someone snuck in on a dark night, uprooted a thistle that had been putting thorns in everyone's feet, and tossed them away.

Kazem was frozen now, his face a mask of anguish. He had probably meant it. He'd told her off for revealing herself in public, too, even when it kept them both alive by scaring people out of messing with them. He'd always wanted to talk his way out of situations. But the outer city didn't work that way.

She couldn't look at him right now. The door blurred in Farah's vision as she fumbled with the lock and wrenched it open. She let it slam behind her. The silence of the halls soothed her ragged breathing as she strode back across the airship. Nobody else had come inside. Still, she took the more hidden route down to the hold to retrieve her patching supplies. If the captain came for her, it would be better if she was alone. Then only she would take the punishment for getting in the way of someone who didn't want her there.

She had always said she would play the obedient crew member so long as Kazem was safe. She owed him that, really, after everything he'd done to get them both a place on board the Ariomma. He'd never told Farah how he'd found the ship, but knowing him, she suspected he'd approached every captain at the docks to ask, risking threats and retaliation, until he found one who didn't believe a thistle would bring bad luck or drive off trade deals. She would play along when he was safe, yes, but he was naive to think that he could keep putting himself in danger and expect her not to stand guard.

On her way back up from the hold, Farah stopped again at the observation deck. The two ships had not drawn apart from one another yet, but there were significantly fewer people on the interlocking gangways. Esfandiar had been sent inside, as had the Nectamia's first mate. It was a cold consolation. Farah hoped her own intervention had helped expose the sailor's willingness to draw a blade in the middle of negotiations.

Toxic thoughts poured up from the gangways the moment Farah tuned into them. The poisonous disdain of the Colony sailors was seeded with snatches of their plans: the questions the captain would ask next, the triggers that would tip things over the edge again, and the more measured awareness of the mechanic as he calculated the best moment to plant his tracker.

A signal passed between him and the closest sailor. She tipped the file folder under her arm. It wasn't enough, so she tipped it further, until papers came loose and spilled out. It was a good thing the Tideless never had wind. The documents scattered over the gangway, and the mechanic immediately stooped to help gather them. Now his hands were hidden. He slipped the card-shaped tracked between the gangway boards, as confident as if he'd done this a hundred times before. Knowing the Colony, he probably had.

Farah felt his satisfaction as he straightened up again. He handed back the papers, making sure to smile at the other sailor, and to look embarrassed for everyone else. It was all a front. Farah curled her lip and pushed away from the window. She made only one more stop on her way towards the catwalks and the long ladder to the top of the envelope. When the ship's cook left the galley for more supplies, Farah snatched fishing line and tackle from their box beside the cleaning basin. If the captain denied her a place at the dinner table tonight, she would at least come prepared.