I stared at Richards. That hadn’t occurred to me. Stick some roamers in the drones’ holds, and they could enter the Brazilian ship and extract the replicant matrix. I felt a twinge of nausea at what we were not-quite planning. Memories of Homer, of the five cubes back on Earth during Bob-1’s training, swirled with images from my imagination of Mack under Medeiros’ thumb. But we were dealing with someone who was about to drop a metal meteor on a colony. Squeamishness was inappropriate.