but

see anything, and cold enough to hurt her skin, where she was sprawled across something lumpy and cold. "Mom? Are we in the cargo box?"
No one answered. Yalena groped through the darkness, trying to find her mother's hand. Her seeking fingertips encountered nothing but more of the ice-cold lumps she was lying on. Panic set in. "Mom!"
Her wrist-comm beeped softly.
"Sugarplum?"
"Mom! Where are you?"
"That's not important. But I do need to tell you something that is. I can't go with you. There are some things I have to do. Or try, anyway. Tell your father I love him . . ."
"Mommy! You can't do this! You have to come with me!"
"I can't, sweetheart. And we can't talk like this, on an open comm-line. I love you. Remember that, always, whatever happens. I'll get a message to someone, to let you out of there, okay?"
"Mommy!" Yalena was groping, blind and terrified, for the side of the cargo box, where the door opened, and discovered there was no way to open it from the inside. Her breath caught in a painful knot. Her mother couldn't come