Fluke squeezed between Cedar and Iris, poked them sharply with his elbows, and puppeted his hand in the air like a chattering frog.

He hopped to Listener and Rose, flung his arms behind their necks, and walked his fingers in a gesture like sneaky little elves.

With a shushing finger against his mask, Fluke extracted himself from his comrades and dove for the big chest full of weapons, which he proceeded to dig into like a dog after a gopher.

Finally he found a smaller wooden box. He popped it open, then he tumbled toward Iris, then Cedar, then Listener and Rose, and he handed each of them a little plastic earpiece with insistent force.

He jammed his own earpiece under his mask, then shoved his hand into a glove that was thick with twisted wires and electronic nodules.

He flexed his fingers and turned his wrist, and a little round drone floated up out of the little box, its camera lens focusing and gleaming. It was like a blue tennis ball with tiny fluttery feet and a big shiny eye, hovering soundlessly in midair.

[color=B6C6AB]”I’ll stay outside and watch your backs,”[/color] he promised merrily, and they could all hear his (and each other’s) voice through the earpiece. [color=B6C6AB]”If you die, I can go for help.”[/color]