Regrowing a hand itched fiendishly. I didn’t want to imagine what regrowing your skin and your eyes would feel like.
If I’d had time to train properly for this mission, the trainer would have reminded me that vacuum was survivable. Montague would have sent me to one of the low-Earth-orbit stations to drill exactly that—and a hundred other emergencies—until I knew it in my bones.
I was seriously unprepared for Wemm Station.
Overhead, Monard twisted against my weight tugging at his shoulders, falling back against the railing.
One of his feet left the mesh floor.
A shiver went up my spine.
“Uh, Habre,” I said.
Habre didn’t answer. She hadn’t even heard amidst the fading cheers.
“Lieutenant!” I snapped. If she acted quickly, if she used one of her own safety lines—
Monard’s second foo
