“Got company?”

“Glad to see you got those viewfinder upgrades at last.”

“Shut up.” She flicked idly at the other woman’s hair with hard-lacquered fingernails, grinning when the tresses crackled and shifted away from the touch.

“Who is this? Bit late for shore-leave romances, isn’t it?”

“This is Micky. Micky, meet Jadwiga.” The slight woman winced at the full name, mouthed the single syllable Jad. “And Jad. We are not fucking. He’s just crashing here.”

Jadwiga nodded and turned away, instantly disinterested. From the back, the kanji on her skull readjust don’t fucking miss. “We got any shiver left?”

“Think you and Las dropped it all last night.”

“All of it?”

“Jesus, Jad. It wasn’t my party. Try the box on the window.”

Jadwiga walked spring-heeled dancer’s steps across to the window and upended the box in question. A tiny vial fell out into her hand. She held it up to the light and shook it so the pale red liquid at the bottom quivered back and forth.

“Well,” she said meditatively. “Enough for a couple of blinks. Ordinarily I’d offer it round, but—”

“But instead you’re going to hog the whole lot yourself,” predicted Sylvie. “That old Newpest hospitality thing. Just gets me right there every time.”

“Oh look who’s talking, bitch,” said Jadwiga without heat. “How often, outside of mission time, you ever agree to hook us up to that mane of yours?”

“It isn’t the sa—”

“No, it’s better. You know for a Renouncer kid, you’re pretty fucking stingy with your capacity. Kiyoka says—”