“So,” Holly says, “Shanghai will be here in five days.”

  The light of the mural of Hainan casts her—and the rest of you—in sickly green-yellow tints, which is because the rest of the lights in the pilots’ cafeteria are all off, the better with which to view the projection of Lantau they’ve got running on the cumbersome hologram display table someone dragged in. It’s morning somewhere out there, but in here you may as well be at the bottom of the sea, of the bay itself, where Holly’s laser guide points now.

  “Oh, goody! It was getting stuffy in here,” says Gutierrez. “Hey, do you think they’ll bring Xu? She keeps dropping my calls, the bitch.”

  “Can’t imagine why,” clips Lau.

  “Shirley, please, she’s sensitive. Tracey, worry about your paramours later,” says Enika. “This is a big development, so we’d like everyone to be on their best behavior. Holly?”

  Holly says, “They want to run a full patrol with us, after debrief with labs,” and Gutes groans audibly. “As I’ve said, they’re interested in the report we gave them regarding our findings from eliminating forty-one-one and forty-one-two. Central says they’d like to check things out for themselves. Labs will provide the evidence—”

  “They don’t believe us,” says Lau.

  “Well, now,” says Debrah, “we can’t know that for sure until we’ve talked to them. Maybe it’s a game of broken telephone, you know?”

  “Right,” says Holly. “Don’t listen to Gutierrez, please, everything’s speculative at this early stage. According to Central—”

  “I’m not listening to Gutierrez for dick shit,” says Lau. “Shanghai doesn’t believe us and that’s a fact. You said so yourself.”

  “Girls,” says Debrah, “come on. Eyes on the prize. What route are they going to be covering?”

  “Yeah, Holly, show us the route,” says Gutierrez.

  “It doesn’t matter the route,” Lau says. “They think we’re idiots anyway.”

  Holly closes her eyes briefly. Then she says, “We’re going to present our evidence to them. It’s up to them what they decide to do with it,” and, “Here’s the route we’ll follow.”

  Highlights blossom across the hologram map in neon chartreuse, a variation on the same pattern you’d followed on the very first sortie: down the middle of the bay, around and out the mouth at the south end (it does not escape your notice that this exit too is guarded by mines), and then to the shallow and long inlet where Tiantan Buddha has fallen, the exact spot where you and Carol had waited to ambush the Meg circled and underlined in eye-bleeding red. (And Carol? She is not here either; you are beginning to think you hallucinated her; surely she is somewhere out there, on solo patrol, or joyriding about if you ask Lau—your pager remains silent and still.)

  “Why are we bothering with Shanghai anyway?” says Lau. “It’s not like they’ve taken us seriously in the past.”

  “Shirley,” says Enika gently, “you can let it go. Aileen’s not even here to carry the grudge anymore.”

  “Then who will?” Lau rounds on her. “You all act like we have to play nice just because we’re all under the same program, but do you think it’s not every girl for herself at the heart of things? Do you really think they’re going to trust us just because we’re pilots too? No, so why should we?”

  “Boy,” says Gutierrez, “you really took Shi’s teachings to heart, huh?”

  “Diu lei,” says Lau. “You never fucking knew her, you fucking American, so shut the fuck up and keep her name out of your filthy wide pig mouth.”

  “Well,” says Gutierrez, stretching lazily, “I say we let Lau greet the visitors. Perfect welcome package right here, Captain, hospitality and everything.”

  “Fuck you,” says Lau.

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  “Tracey,” says Holly, “that’s enough.”

  “Shirley too,” says Gutierrez. “Only fair.”

  “Don’t you dare talk about what’s fair,” says Lau, rising. “Do you know what’s fair? If I rip out your fat fucking tongue and shove it up your stinking cunt,” and Gutierrez says, “Oh, you’d love to get your hands on my cunt,” and, “Since Shi’s off the table,” and Lau makes no noise—no warning shriek, no battle cry—but launches herself, like a thrown knife, and strikes Gutierrez in the throat dead on. They go tumbling over in an exclamation of chairs and used cutlery.

  Someone gasps—Holly leaps from her chair and lunges toward them—but it is Debrah who descends upon them like Moses parting the sea, reaches in and draws out Lau all but by the scruff of her neck. Behind her you see Gutierrez, half-fallen against the wall, hair in wild disarray. It all happens so quickly: five seconds tops, then already done.

  For a moment the room is still. Lau quivers. The look on her face, you see, is not the wildness you had expected; it is not rage, it is not pain, it is nothing at all. Her eyes are like two holes.

  Holly says, very quietly, “Lau.” And, “Tracey.” You look at Gutierrez, who is panting, mouth hanging half-open, lips softly parted; something glistens on the side of her neck, maybe blood, maybe sweat, you can’t tell, neon green in the light from the display. Holly says, “Come by my room later.”

  Lau stubbornly avoids her gaze. Gutierrez says, “Yes sir,” and, “I’ll take vent check duty.”

  And, ignoring Holly’s outstretched hand, she hauls herself to her feet with a little grunt and slouches against the wall, chin raised, arms crossed, as if she had not just been taken to the ground by a woman half her size.

  “You’ll take what I tell you to,” Holly says, and Gutierrez doesn’t even make a dick joke about this. “Right now I want you all to set aside your differences and save them for after Shanghai. Please. We have one chance to make our comeback look good. This will be the first time they’ll see Chang in public since—” Yen coughs. “Since she was last active,” finishes Holly, as if she doesn’t notice the way Lau flinches at this, though her face does not change at all.

  Gutierrez says, “Where the hell is Carol, anyway?”

  “Fucking your mother,” says Lau.

  “Patrolling,” says Enika evenly.

  “She could’ve told us that,” says Gutierrez. “Say, Venky, when’s the last time she even spoke to you? Christmas?”

  “It doesn’t fucking matter where Carol is,” says Holly. “She’ll be there. So will we. That’s all.”

  The pager in your pocket suddenly weighs as much as a Titan. You haven’t felt or heard it go off since you sent your message.

  “So,” Holly says. “Shanghai. Five days. Be ready. I want you all to get at least one pairwise run in before then. I’m issuing overviews of what we’re dealing with to all of you, reports from on high—study them. Ask me questions if you need. We can’t afford to be caught off guard.”

  She’s looking at you as she says this, you swear.

  “Okay,” says Gutierrez, “sure. First question—where the hell is Carol and does she know all of this?”

  “Yes,” Holly says, “she does. Any other questions?”

  “Does Emma know where Carol is?” says Gutierrez.

  Well, fuck, now everyone’s looking at you.

  “Oh, please, Tracey,” says Enika, “be fair to the poor girl,” but Gutierrez says, unexpectedly sharply, “No, she should know. She’s her shield,” and Holly is still looking at you—the hologram still glimmers between you within the big glass table display, each slender light column like a leafless tree, and it is all you can do not to fix your gaze on it and count how many columns there are.

  Instead you look back at Gutierrez. You say, “Sure. She was in my room last night.”

  “Oh, okay,” says Gutierrez, “great, happy for you. Where the fuck is she now, dummy?”

  Not with any real anger, but it still stings. And, frankly, you deserve it. So of course you double down: “Not in yours.”

  “Wow, Smalls,” says Gutierrez disappointedly, “really?” And then Holly says, “Okay, enough, everyone shut up,” and Gutierrez shuts up, but even in the green gloom you think you see a flash of something surprisingly fragile and earnest in her eyes—oh come on, did she really take you seriously? Isn’t this how you’re supposed to talk here? Fuck! Nothing makes sense. You cross your arms and slump in your seat.

  “Five days,” says Holly. “Xu’s leading. Venkatesh and I will spearhead.” (“Naturally,” mutters Gutierrez.) “Trace, I don’t care if you’ve been dumped or not; behave. Emma,” she says, “keep your head down. I’ll tell you when to speak up.”

  “Sure,” you say, which comes out more sullen than you’d meant it to.

  “The rest of you,” says Holly, “be ready. It’s the least you can do.”

  The line of whatever-it-is has dried onto the side of Gutes’ neck. “Yes sir,” she says, and the line flutters when she speaks, and you remind yourself of the fucking toothpaste and will yourself not to feel sorry for her. Every girl for herself, Lau said, after all.