Uncle Bo was wearing a knee wrap made with some adaptive Vedani material. He prodded Vanessa’s suit at the shoulder. “I tried to beat you at this, you know. If I could, it would be me going.”

“It’s okay. None of the adults beat the kids at this. It was our idea. We worked with it and got good at it. We had more time to be ready, but also mentally. We started this because we want something fixed. Maybe we care the most. We’re not mixed up about what’s important in life. This is important. We know it’s dangerous.”

There was a moment of fond and rueful gaze before Uncle Bo threw his arm around Vanessa, and she wrapped one arm around his shoulders to wrestle back and forth a little like they do. They both mussed each other’s hair slightly.

“Besides,” said Vanessa, shrugging her body into the mekani interface suit, “this isn’t even the hard part. It’s just some night gardening.”

Vanessa was in early varsity track, while school sports was in session. She’d been working at it, and she was good. Stretching and conditioning was important. She did that now, for this event similar in many ways to a track meet. She felt in top fourteen-year-old shape. She was already wearing the interface suit, thick with readable connectivity elements while still light and nimble. It covered her toe to fingertip, and over her head except her face. Like the usual Vedani piloting suits, it was also light impact armor. She finished her round of stretches and shook herself out.

It was her uncle that she’d convinced to come with her into purposeful danger, to reassure and look after her while she pursued her convictions. Vanessa Udar was brave, but not invincible, young though she was. These children of capable ages faced their call to action in seriousness, with the help of each other and their guardians.

This building of a vessel was made to go where none else could go, and do what none else had done. Every corner of it was exciting. Danger added spice to thrills, sure, but Karma could see here why additional danger was unnecessary. This wasn’t made of proven concepts, this was proof of concept.

From the Arch a core crew was present for the welcoming, plus a scatter of other recipients. There was the Dragon Arkuda, looking gouged but healed, in scaly humanoid form. Arjun Woollibee, the customary knowledgable receiver, stood with an elbow on the shoulder of the Hoopoe, who mildly allowed it. Arys Steinman wore his formal touches for important business and old friends.

Recipients were called on an outward display, and people came forward in snappy fashion to retrieve their addressed items from the shipping capsule conveyor. The amazing visitors drew attention, but this had to be done. This was a high-stakes drop, even if some people were receiving mundane supplies, and there was tension in their movements.

Arys opened his package in that room in front of everyone, hoisting his gin and marveling at the cookies. He cradled these both as he went to strike up a merry conversation with Karma. His part in this orchestration was complete, he could just watch now. They each had a cookie and a capful while they watched. They hadn’t been expecting to be able to share that with each other in person.

Derringer and the Hoopoe pointed at each other like they were dangerous elements, yet smiling. It was the Hoopoe’s turn to go up for his box, which was a manageable armful. He hoisted it, weighed it, and sniffed it. He didn’t feel like defying unimpressed looks with justifiable explanation. None of them cared if the doohickey was pretty, they might not even think so. He was ready to glory in it, as he furtively absconded under watchful gazes without added delay. He’s going to make music like it’s the only thing that’ll fix this crazy world.