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The frisson of annoyance that had entered Ida's breast at the thought of having to interact with Althea vanished immediately. This was far better news than she had expected, and she was pleased that the mechanic had finally taken it on herself to obey Ida's orders, though she hardly understood why it had been necessary to interrupt the interrogation to inform her. “What did you find?”

“Not all the way,” Althea amended. “Just a little bit. I don't think it's possible to get farther in, not without putting the whole ship at risk.” Ida gritted her teeth; phrased that way, the System would be certain not to approve any further investigation into the
Annwn
. The safety of the
Ananke
was above all most important to the System.

“But I did,” said Althea, “manage to find their…stash of useful programs.”

“What was there?”

“Some viruses,” said Althea. The lights of the control panel behind her flashed on and off in patterns Ida lacked the ability to recognize. “Not much useful, but there were some things. One”—she took a breath; the girl was nervous, Ida saw, anxious and on edge for no reason that she could see—“was a program for the detonation of a sequence of bombs.”

Ida nearly smiled, that flush of near triumph she had felt when Ivan had slipped earlier that day coming back to fill her hollow chest. The Mallt-y-Nos was a bomber. And here Ivanov had connected himself to her favorite weapon. “What kind of bombs?”

“I don't know—”

“Doctor Bastet, this is very important,” said Ida. If she could only connect Ivan explicitly to the missing Class 1s, she would have him and have reason to use the Aletheia. “Tell me, what kind of bombs?”

“I don't know.” Althea's hand had fallen onto the back of the piloting chair; her fingers were digging into its gray fabric. She was so tense, and Ida could hardly understand why.

“Then give me a size. Large or small?”

Althea looked behind Ida, presumably at Domitian. “Don't look at him, look at me,” Ida said. “Tell me what kind of bombs.”

“There's no way to tell,” said Althea.

“Surely you can tell me, large or small.” Ida was growing frustrated.

“I can't!”

“You can tell me nothing at all about the type of bombs this program is designed to detonate?”

“No, just that it detonates them in sequence or all at once—it's a timing mechanism basically, but more advanced—”

“So this program,” Ida interrupted, “could apply to a sequence of small explosives such as the kind used by thieves like Ivanov and Gale to open locked doors?” The two had used that very tactic many times before to get into and out of secured System locations.

“Yes, but—”

“Then I thank you for your assistance in this matter,” said Ida, and could not stop herself from using a tone that said the opposite. If the program had such a simple explanation, the information was useless to her and the interruption to her work unnecessary. “Write up a report and send it to myself and the System, and you may return to repairing the
Ananke
.”

Althea Bastet took a deep breath. “It could be used to detonate bombs on the
Ananke,
” she said.

Of course. Ida understood now the reason for Althea's anxiety. She was afraid for her ship. It was a silly, stupid fear; there was no reason to think that the
Ananke
was in danger, and Ida very much doubted that if the ship had been wired to explode, someone on the crew would not have noticed by now. “And have any of the many sweeps of the
Ananke
performed by yourself, the computer, and the rest of the crew located any bombs or signs of bombs?” she said with deliberate patience.

“No,” Althea admitted.

“And did Gale have sufficient time while on board to plant a series of bombs on the
Ananke
?”

“No, but—”

“Then I suggest,” said Ida, “that it cease to concern you.” The mechanic still looked nervous, so Ida added, vaguely irritated but wishing to end Althea's anxiety before it could grow and become an issue, “In a few days' time I will take Ivanov off ship. You will not have to trouble yourself with this affair again.”

Althea's chin tipped up. Whatever was troubling her, Ida's words had seemed only to increase it: Althea's hand was shaking, trembling nervously in steady rhythm against the piloting chair. “There was something else,” Althea said. “There was another program on there. Most of the programs were viruses, but there was the bombs one, and there was this one. This one was—it made it so that whatever computer had it installed would react to the appearance of certain people. It would recognize them and do something about it.”

Ida frowned, an ominous suspicion growing in her mind about where Althea was going with this.

Althea said, “I know for a fact that that program was in my—was in this ship. That's how Gale and Ivanov got on board. And I keep finding traces of that same program still—it keeps showing up in the errors in the camera programs. Until I can wipe it out completely, it's still possible that there might be consequences for taking Ivanov off ship. I don't know what kind of consequences; it could be anything. It could be more sabotage. Gale could have programmed the ship so that if we ever killed Ivanov, the ship would destroy itself.”

“Revenge from beyond the grave?” Ida asked drily. The mechanic was letting her fancy get the better of her. “What are you saying, Doctor Bastet?”

“You can't take Ivanov off this ship.”

Ida said, “I beg your pardon.”

It had sounded for a moment as if Althea had tried to give her an order.

Althea was leaning more heavily on the pilot's chair, and somehow, without either of them moving, she seemed to give the impression of having been backed into a corner. The room was small, Ida knew, and the force and strength of her unspoken anger had filled it and driven Althea back.

“I think it's too dangerous,” Althea began, but Ida interrupted her swiftly.

“I decide what is best for the prisoner. You were not presuming to tell me, your superior, how best to manage the prisoner under my care?”

“No, I—”

“Then I will expect you will not try to do so again,” Ida said. “Write your report on your findings on the
Annwn
and deliver it to me. Then return to your job and repair this ship.”

Althea looked beaten back and beaten down, and Ida almost turned to leave, successful at stamping out the mechanic's useless grab for control, but then Althea Bastet straightened her back and a determined look settled in place on her heart-shaped face. It was unexpected, as if the mechanic had a spine Ida had failed to recognize before, and Ida watched her with narrowed eyes. Althea said, “I'm not acting out of my authority.”

Ida raised an eyebrow and prepared to beat the mechanic down again, this time for good.

But Althea wasn't done. “The facial recognition program means that there could be hidden viruses in the
Ananke
that Ivanov is affecting in ways that we don't understand. The only thing we can do until I can fix the computer is to keep the ship in the same state it is now and to not make any changes.”

Ida tilted her head, daring Althea with her eyes to finish her thought.

The mechanic dared. “Until I finish repairing the
Ananke,
” she said with only the slightest tremor of nerves in her voice, “for the safety of this ship, you cannot take Ivanov off board.”

Ida returned to the interrogation room with fury boiling under her skin and sharpening her movements. Gagnon was standing just inside the room, arms folded, watching the back of Ivan's neck. Ida dismissed him with a sharp cut of her hand, and he left swiftly.

Back inside the room, with just herself and Ivanov, she tried to center herself. This was what Ida had been building to throughout that long day of interrogation; this was what she wanted to know. Milla Ivanov, Constance Harper, Matthew Gale; all were of only tangential interest to her. But Abigail Hunter: there was a lead. Ivan knew it, too. Ida was certain. She had a clear goal, and she had only to reach for it.

But when Ida tried to reach for calm, she found only the image of the little mechanic standing in the piloting room, frightened but daring to defy her, and succeeding. She found only the knowledge that she had been confronted and had lost to the most insignificant member of the crew, wielding her petty power with all the stupidity of a child.

Time was of the essence. She could not stand just inside the doorway of the room and fume all day. “Let's talk about Abigail Hunter,” she said to Ivan as she strode into his line of sight, her heels ringing out with savage sharpness against the paneled floor. He looked at her warily.

She could not show weakness, not here and not to him.

“How did you meet Abby?” she asked.

“Accidentally,” Ivan said. His answer was as swift and short as her question had been. He was picking up on her mood and responding accordingly.

“On her part or yours?”

“On Mattie's.”

“Explain,” Ida said.

“Mattie took me to meet Constance a little over seven years ago. After we left her bar, we went elsewhere on Mars to refuel and restock our supplies. Abby found us there.”

“And your first meeting?” Ida said. “What was that like?”

“Unfriendly,” said Ivan, “with an edge of violence. You're out of sorts, Ida. What happened to you?”

“Answer the question, Ivan,” Ida said with all the deadly sweetness she possessed.

“I was buying provisions, minding my own business. Mattie had gone elsewhere to get something else; negotiate for fuel, I think. Then Abby came up beside me and said, ‘So you're the one who nearly got my brother killed.' ”

“Referring to Europa.” The significance of seven years and change had not escaped her.

“Referring to half a dozen things,” Ivan said. “Including the
Jason
. I didn't know who she was, of course, so I stalled for time. She wasn't System, that was obvious, but I knew that she was dangerous. What
did
happen to you? Tell me, I'm curious.”

“Whatever may or may not have happened to me is not your concern,” Ida said. “We are here to talk about you. When Abigail confronted you, what did you do?”

“I asked her what she meant while I reached for my knife. She saw me going for the knife and told me I didn't want to do that. I told her I thought I did. Mattie saw us then and came over, grabbing my wrist so I couldn't finish drawing the knife. He told me who she was. She'd already heard about me.”

“Where did this take place?” Ida asked. She had not seen the footage of this meeting, which meant the System hadn't flagged it. Perhaps it was part of some surveillance that hadn't been watched yet. That she had never even heard of the encounter—from surveillance or rumor—only increased her simmering frustration.

Ivan had the nerve to smirk. “It was in a traveling black market. No cameras, no regular location. There's no surveillance footage of this meeting. Abby's more paranoid about cameras than anyone else I know.”

Useless. Another dead end on Abigail Hunter. “Mattie told her about you but not you about her?” Ida asked.

“That's right. I think he was waiting to introduce us.”

“Why?”

“Abby's the black sheep,” Ivan said after the slightest hesitation. “She completely embraced the criminal world, just like Constance keeps herself well out of it. Connie doesn't like her; the two haven't spoken to each other or communicated at all in years.”

“Mattie also lives a life of crime,” Ida pointed out. “As do you. I don't think even you could deny that.” She smiled at him, and he mimicked her. She wondered if there was that much unpleasantness in her smile or if he had added that on his own. “So why would Mattie be shy about introducing Abigail to you because of the life she leads?”

“Abby's embraced it more,” Ivan said. “We steal for ourselves. Abby connects criminals. There's a difference.”

“One I'm failing to appreciate.”

Ivan sighed. “As a necessary part of her job, Abby works with people more dangerous than we do. She has to make nice with them.”

Ida gave him a look. Ivan returned it. She said, “Dangerous people. Like terrorists?”

“I meant more like hit men and people involved in organized crime,” Ivan said with very weary patience. “But I don't ask. I told you before. Abby works for money, not ideals. If she has any terrorist connections, they keep her well out of the loop.”

“But you can't deny that she might have some.”

“I can't,” Ivan admitted.

And with that confirmation, Ida could certainly present the System with a plan to intensify the manhunt for Abigail Hunter. It was not proof enough to convince the System that she had been right all along, but it was something, at least. She had achieved at least one small thing today. Unbidden, she thought again of the mechanic, Althea Bastet, defying her.

“Someone disobeyed you,” Ivan guessed. He was watching her face closely. The faintest of smirks, insolent and nearly invisible, lingered on his lips. “Just now. That's why you're off your game. You seem like the kind of person who wouldn't take it well when other people don't do what you want.”

Ida looked at him coldly. She was not off her game no matter how unnerving it was that Ivan had guessed so accurately what had gone wrong for her. That was what he did, she reminded herself. He read people.

“Tell me about the fire,” she said.

Ivan lifted his brows. He hated her, he loathed her. She could see it in his faint and mocking smile. The sight of his loathing sharpened her intent, made it easier for her to turn her wrath against Althea into a weapon to be used against him.

Ida said, “Tell me about the fire when Mattie, Constance, and Abigail were children. The last time Abigail was a law-abiding part of the System.” The last time there was ever concrete surveillance footage of her. The story was an old one, but in its context it was of interest to Ida.