Astrid circles the engine, sizing it up, her footsteps soft on the concrete floor. They can't know how anxious she is, she thinks. She has to stay calm and collected. Steadying herself, she kneels down next to the engine and takes a deep breath in, letting the smell waft over her. She begins talking, at first so quietly that it is just a whisper. Gradually, the volume of her voice increases as her awareness outside of everything but the machine in front of her fades away.

“This thing is ancient. Judging by the smell, it ran on gasoline at one point, but based on the relatively weight it feels like someone ripped out half of the components and slapped a conversion matrix inside. Why your mechanic would do that instead of using more appropriate housing I can only guess. I don't even have to open it up to know that the reason it started on fire is because the conversion matrix wasn't properly insulated, but let's do a proper check.”

She pulls a few wrenches out of her bag and begins undoing the bolts on the engine, talking the entire time to keep herself occupied. “Now normally, I would have to raise this up to get at all the bolts, but I have a hunch that the previous owner didn't do a terribly thorough job. See? I just took off the fan, and there we are, already inside the housing. It looks like he just sawed a hole in the metal and slapped a fan onto it, which is frankly mind-boggling.” Astrid reaches inside the ragged hole and feels around. “It's almost like...” Her finger seize on a small, round object, and when she withdraw her fingers she has finds a small, circular tin in her palm. “It's almost like this isn't a motor at all.”

Sylva's quiet choking noise drags Astrid back to the present, reminding her that there are other people in the room. She jumps, and offers Sylva the tin. Sylva takes it from her and gingerly sniffs it, then opens it and runs a finger along the inside of the lid. Her finger comes away stained a bright, poisonous blue. She slams the tin shut and immediately begins scrubbing at her finger with the edge of shirt, looking disgusted. “Shit! That's gloss! High quality too.”

“That little rat,” Drew says, taking the tin from Sylva and examining it incredulously. A few motes of blue dust fall from it like tiny raindrops “He used our engine as a stash.”

“That must be why he always wanted to do maintenance on the shoulder after our matches.”

“I can't believe this. A loss in the championship because we hired a dealer.”

“Wendy is going to murder him, after she gets done murdering me for hiring him.”

Astrid tunes their conversation out. Now that she has gotten over her initial disgust at the construction of the motor, deconstructing it has become almost like a game. She is already deeply involved in the question of how the previous engineer had managed to keep the drugs from combusting in the engine, and what had gone wrong that led to the breakdown of the system.

“Astrid?”

Astrid blanches. She had completely forgotten that she was in the middle of an interview. She immediately straightens up, hastily stowing her tools in her bag. “Oh, sorry! So sorry! Yes?”

Drew gives her a small smile, the first she has seen out of her, and Sylva positively beams. “You've got the job, if you want it.”

Astrid supposes that she should feel excited, or at the very least something other than existential dread at the idea of continued interaction with these admittedly very nice people. “Great,” she manages, arranging her face into what she hopes is a smile. “That's great.”

Drew offers her a hand and helps her to her feet. “We've just got to clear it with our pilot. You'll be working very closely with her if you choose to take the position.” He gestures to Sylva, who bustles off into the building, her yells bouncing off the walls and making Astrid wince.

“So what exactly do you guys do—”

Sylva returns to the room, talking nonstop to someone trailing behind her. “Listen, you're going to love her. She's going to be a natural, I swear. Disassembled it in nothing flat. She's the sweetest person, too!”

“I get that you're excited Sylva, all I'm saying is wait until I'm dressed next time.”

“Look, if you didn't stay out all night, this wouldn't be an issue. Just come up, chat with her, and give us a yes or no answer. That's all.”

“Fine.”

A young woman slouches into the room behind Sylva, back hunched and hands stuffed deep in her pockets. She comes to a halt a few feet from Astrid and raises her head. The moment she does, Astrid's stomach drops out.

Even with her unkempt hair and bleary air, the woman in front of her is clearly the same one who saved her. The one who should have been stabbed, and then miraculously managed to walk it off. Recognition blooms across her face, followed by the mixture of fear and anger she displayed when Astrid saw her unbroken skin. Astrid swallows.

“Good to have everyone finally together,” Sylva says brightly, oblivious to the situation. “Astrid, this is our pilot and team leader, Wendy.”

Wendy, as she is apparently called, glares at Astrid. Her brown eyes brim with an icy fury far beyond anything Astrid has seen in Tove or Pell's eyes. It crosses the boundary between dislike and hatred, edging into murderous territory. Astrid's gut urges her to run, but she remains fixed to the spot, unable to move. Wendy gives her a cursory look up and down, then shakes her head.

“Absolutely not.”

Wendy turns on her heel and strides from the room, slamming the door behind her so hard that it echoes through the cavernous workshop.

After overcoming her initial surprise, Sylva's eyes narrow, and for the first time since Astrid has met her, a scowl crosses her face. “If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'm going to go have a very... polite... exchange of words with our dear leader.” She rushes out of the workshop after Wendy.

Astrid does not move, does not breathe, until Drew taps her on the shoulder. “Come on,” he says, gesturing for her to follow him. “Those two are going to be a while. Let me show you what it is that we do here.”