Fulcrum has a point, damn him. But Krok has his fears and the last few days have been a fine reacquainting of himself with most of them. He sags with relief when Fulcrum doesn't immediately tell him one of the others is hurt, but doesn't budge and certainly doesn't take up the offer.

He thought he couldn't cry any more, not after all this time. But his face feels hot and his fuel pump seems to twist and unknot itself at the same time. He buries his face in his hands to hide the glow of rapidly overheating optical filaments and cycles air in deep, rattling gusts, shaking from the force of his fans as they stop and start.