“God. And that thing inside you is probably doing everything it can to sabotage that attempt.” She sighed and pointed to the bunks. “I suppose this one is Tuva’s? Why are the others empty?”

“There are a few bunk areas on the ship, but a small crew. Tuva liked the solitude.”

“Good girl,” he heard her mutter. “Misato was right. I would like her.”

Edison watched her crouch in front of the one made-up bunk. The blankets and sheets were cleanly in place, pulled taut and precise. A military habit. Edison recognized it right away. Her trunk of personal items was pushed against the foot of the bunk, which seemed to levitate, though it was fixed at the head area to the wall, a neat little illusion of engineering. It provided more space underneath, but Tuva hadn’t used it, apparently.

“It’s unlocked,” Rosalyn noticed, pulling open the trunk. “Isn’t that unusual?”

“Tuva had this thing about lying and secrets. She thought being an open book was the most important thing in the world. I . . . didn’t really get it.”

“Enjoy lying, do you?” She glanced up, and her half smile told him she was teasing.

Muffled voices came through the floor below them, and he put a finger to his lips.

“Keep it down,” he said.

The room was almost completely dark except for the blue glow of the Foxfire along the walls and the automatic light on Rosalyn’s suit visor. She swayed a little, grabbing the trunk for support.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly.

“Just tired,” she said. “And hungry. Is there another way out of here? We’ll be trapped if . . .” And there she trailed off, busying herself with the trunk.

“He won’t hurt Misato. At least . . . I don’t think he will. Shit, I don’t know, he does seem to be changing.” Edison took a few steps deeper into the bunking area, but didn’t want to get too close. He could only imagine what she thought of him after he had chased her through the ship. It felt like another person altogether had done that, but the flicker of fear in her eyes told him otherwise.

He didn’t want to frighten her again, and he hardly trusted himself.

What are you waiting for, baby? You can help us all. Help your mother and rip open that silly suit. Rip it open. She can join us. You can give her bliss.

It never learned. Edison hummed to himself, as quietly as he could, pushing back the voice in his head. He imagined it like a boulder, halfway up a hill, his whole body braced against it, each note he sang forcing it back up bit by bit. The concerts he had gone to on the station always seemed to turn the tide. He wondered if that would change, if the thing inside him would get smarter and more dangerous. It seemed almost a guarantee that it would.