There’s a large obstruction in the passage ahead of her, and she gasps when it becomes clear. It’s a body, probably one of the missing passengers. It hangs in the micrograv, very murdered. For one thing, it has been flayed, mostly the arms and legs. The head is preserved and strangely serene, as if the guy did not die in pain.

Chunks of muscle are missing, hence the lumps of meat she found, but they don’t account for the amount that is gone. The left thigh has been ripped to the bone. The abdomen has a jagged wound through which fluid leaks out. It’s distended, so this might be a rupture. Very little blood. This guy died in the passenger pods and was brought here. Shell touches the wounds. Frances didn’t do this.

She takes a sip of water.

She thinks of herself covered in all this… contaminated fluid and worried about the safety of her passengers. And crew. No water to decontaminate.

She is contemplating all this when she hears a noise up ahead. She focuses the torch.

Shell blinks to clear her vision, because she can’t possibly be seeing what she thinks she’s seeing.

There is a man, alive this time, floating, facing her, maybe even staring.

The fuck…?

“Hey!” she pushes the corpse out of the way. It floats behind her, shedding spherical drops of fluid and flecks of human tissue.

He is tall, taller than she, and coated in dark green, something skintight, with goggles that glow a gentle red, and the suit is broken in patches over his belly and legs. The exposed skin doesn’t look healthy and seems to be breaking off and ulcerated.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?” One of the passengers, maybe? Must be.

He crouches and the light in his goggles intensifies briefly, then goes out. “My name is Brisbane. Just stay out of my way and everything will be fine.”

“Did you kill this man?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I needed something to eat.”

“You needed something to… What?”

“I don’t have time for this.” He turns and propels himself away with his long arms.

Shell starts to go after him, then stops herself. She needs to plan. Who the hell is this? There’s usually no breathable atmosphere here, so how the fuck has he been alive without a space suit? Doesn’t matter. He did not seem afraid, and she will not go after such a man without the proper accessories.

“Fin, Fin, come back. Ragtime One.”

“Fin here, Ragtime One, go ahead.”

“Fin?”

“Yes?”

“I need a gun.”

“Say again?”

“We have vermin. I need a big fucking gun. Print me one. Right now. I’m coming to get it. Ragtime One out.”

Shell turns and starts back the way she came in, dragging the corpse along with her.

“Ragtime.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Who the fuck was that?”

“Captain, I am so sorry.”