“Oh, hell.” Gin turned and was sick in the wastebasket.

The corners of Saul’s mouth drew down, but his voice maintained its usual softness as he said, “That’s how they reproduce.”

“What?” Gin gasped, appearing over the lid of the bin.

Saul didn’t reply, so Maren explained as she shakily poured a glass of water for Gin out of the pitcher in the corner. “Saul thinks—he thinks they don’t have babies—but they spread through infection—like a virus.”

There was more motion on the screen. Mark was sitting up. He swayed for a moment, then Holly helped him gain his feet. They stood facing each other for half a minute, eyes locked, then they both turned towards the door. Mark’s movements had none of his usual swagger; they were mechanical, perfunctory. He and Holly stood side-by-side, stock-still, their blank faces fixed on the door.

“I don’t want to watch,” Gin said, tears in her voice. “I want to turn the camera off.”

Saul sighed. “We need to ensure they don’t try to escape.” He paused, taking his eyes off the screen to glance at the women. “Look away if it bothers you.”

Gin slumped into her chair, holding her half-consumed glass of water loosely, as she stared at the dials. Mark and Holly showed no signs of movement, and Maren, with mental health so prominently in her mind, scrambled to find a distraction that would keep her friend’s mind off the monsters in the next room.

“The system’s back up, at least, right?”

“Yeah.” Gin took a gulp of water. “Good job on fixing it, I guess.”

Saul’s eyes were still alert, but he had leaned back against the wall. “There’s a light on your dash, Gin.”

“Huh?”

“The urgent-info-package signal.”

Gin laughed, and the sound scared Maren. It wasn’t Gin’s normal bubbly, infectious chuckle, but a dead and cold sound. “Yeah, I wonder if there’s anything dangerous out there they need to warn us about.”

“Saul’s right.” Maren patted Gin’s shoulder. “We need to listen to it. It might have something to help us.”

Gin looked at her, then at Saul. Her eyes fell very briefly on the screen before she turned back to the communication desk. “Yeah, sure. Okay.”

Maren breathed a little easier as she watched Gin’s fingers dance over the control panel. Her friend’s face was returning to the serene state she usually adopted when working.

“Okay, so, with the system back up, we’ve been receiving a swarm of messages. Looks like this thing is spreading—and quickly.”

“Yeah,” Maren sighed, glancing back at the screen where Mark and Holly stood next to each other, as still as mannequins. “I imagine it would.”

She thought of the crew of Station 488, and how they’d surrounded Maren’s small team. She’d known a lot of them from before the hibernation. Kelly, Chai, Devon, Petros, Mag… the extent of the loss hit her, and suddenly she was having trouble breathing. She would never get another chance to watch Kravos dance on the dining room tables when he got too drunk. Ella would never finish her mural. Jules would never again laugh at Maren when she had a bad hair day, and she wouldn’t hear Ignus tell her to shut up. Pete had talked incessantly about his wife and child waiting for him on Mandola, and he would never get to see them again—or get to kiss his toddler’s cheek or embrace his wife. No chance to say goodbye. All gone. All dead.