“Orion used to say we don’t know what’s down there. It could be anything.”

“The probes and scans all say the planet is habitable,” I start, but she cuts me off. She drops to her knees and leans forward, her panicked eyes meeting mine.

“Orion used to show me stuff, forbidden records. There were dinosaurs on Sol-Earth. Monsters that eat you. Animals bigger than people. Sinkholes and volcanoes and tornados and earthquakes.”

“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my,” I say softly, but Victria doesn’t see it as a joke—she nods in agreement. These are monsters to her too.

She’s rubbing her stomach so much that she reminds me of the shiny-bellied Buddha at the Chinese restaurant Jason took me to for our first date, back before I even knew what Godspeed was.

“I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” Victria chants. Her hand clutches convulsively against her chest.

“Let’s get you in the chair,” I say, offering her my hand to help her stand. Victria shakes her head so violently that her entire torso turns. She jerks away from me. Her arms are seizing and shaking, and I can see beads of sweat building on her face, trembling down her neck. She rocks back and forth, clutching her legs closer to her chest, gasping for breath.

“I’m dying, I’m dying!” Victria chokes out.

“You’re not,” I insist, forcing my voice to remain calm. “You’re having a panic attack. Victria, you’ve got to calm down. The baby—”

“Oh, stars, the baby!” Victria wails, rocking faster. “I can’t have a baby! Not here! Not there!” She wheezes, trying to drag air back into her.

“Victria. Victria! Calm down, please, calm down. Tell me what’s wrong,” I say, desperately. “What’s making you so scared?”

All I can make out of her response is “dying” and “Orion” and “planet” and “no.”

I shove my hand into my pocket, withdrawing the same med patch Victria tried to rip open earlier. Beneath the wrapper, I can feel the oddly squishy patch—but it’s so thin that it’s hard to believe this little square can knock someone out. That three will kill. I smack it onto the top of her hand.

Her rocking stills. Victria’s arms slacken, and her legs sprawl out in front of her.

“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

Victria blinks.

“Come on,” I say, standing. I offer Victria my hand, and she pulls herself up. She’s upright now, but her shoulders are slouched and her eyes vacant. Her hair, sweaty and bedraggled, clings to her face. I reach over and swipe it off her forehead, tucking the loose strands behind her left ear, next to her wi-com. She doesn’t flinch when I touch her; she doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Victria?” I say. Then, louder: “Victria?”

Victria blinks.

I lead her to the elevator.