Donovanian TriNA. If the stories were true, the molecules were a nightmare turned real, an insidious presence that crept into the blood and took over a person’s body. Especially children. They had all heard the stories about Kylee Simonov, who was so wild she’d never set foot in Port Authority.

Michaela had met Talina Perez, looked into the woman’s inhuman eyes, tried not to stare at her peculiar cheekbones or the alien shape of her face. She’d felt as if Perez was something “other.” Just being in her presence had been upsetting. That she’d almost murdered other human beings while under the influence of alien TriNA made her even more disturbing.

Now they were afraid of it here? Among one of the children? Was little Toni, too, going to become a half-human monster like the Perez woman?

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” Vik Lawrence muttered in a harried voice as she peered into her microscope’s imaging screen.

Michaela had followed the microbiologist into the lab after the breakfast dishes had been cleared. Not that anyone was getting much done, most of her people finding ways to stand around in little groups with like-minded friends, all trying to figure out what Toni’s paralysis meant. Discussing whether they should or shouldn’t fly the little boy to Port Authority. Periodically checking on their own children, alarmed to find that most had a slight fever, muscle aches, and sore joints.

Iso was giving Felicity aspirin and had confined her to bed. She said that she was sweating enough to stain the sheets. Anna had checked her and could find no sign of fever or incipient paralysis like Toni exhibited. But her sweat remained curiously slick, almost oily.

Gabarron—never anyone’s favorite given her usually sour disposition—was now on call, going from kid to kid, taking temperatures and blood samples, peering into eyes with her scope, and tapping on chests and bellies.

For their part, the children were adamantly maintaining that none of them had ever, ever, taken anything from Iso’s storage closet. They all swore that not one of them had seen Toni playing with any detergent bottles or cans of any kind of oil or lubricant. And that was probably true. Not only were the toxic chemicals all accounted for, but the children were constantly underfoot, always within sight of an adult. The only time they were ever unsupervised was when they were in “science club” in the observation blister. Whatever science club was.

Nothing that resembled oil had been in the observation blister. The place consisted of a transparent dome with cushioned benches. Period. The safest place on the Pod for a kid to be.

Toni’s exposure remained a mystery.