Rosalyn put her hands out in front of her, desperate, wishing there was something feasible to grab, but the rovers locked to the walls were just out of reach, and the little opening in the doors was coming fast. She spun once, twice, watching in mute horror as her death approached. Just an inch of space light, half an inch, then . . . nothing.

Floating, she bumped gently into the closed doors. Listened with sobs of hysterical relief as the seal engaged, the lock pressurized, and the gravity stabilizers kicked in. She fell with a thump to the ground, laughing and crying so hard she could barely breathe. On all fours she hiccupped and gasped, hiccupped and gasped, trying to chase down the lump of certain doom in her throat.

“Rosalyn! Holy shit, it worked. Rosalyn!”

Edison limped toward her, then managed to pick up the pace and reach her, falling to his knees and taking her shoulders as the magnitude of what she had just survived hit full force and she vomited into her helmet, slumping into an unconscious bundle at his knees.

—

She didn’t know how long she had slept or how she had gotten to cold storage, but she woke slowly in the fetal position, the right side of her face soaked, lying an inch deep in cold, sour vomit.

“We tossed a fresh suit in with you. Can you hear me? How’s your oxygen? You should check the filters.”

Rosalyn sloshed herself upright. She was almost sick again from the smell, but managed to swallow it down instead. The shield held, a tiny fissure down the middle, but it was otherwise intact. Edison stood on the other side. He had changed into a fresh crew uniform, a tight, collared thermal tee and baggy cargo pants.

Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of him.

“What? No! No, don’t cry. Hey . . .”

“It’s going to happen,” she wheezed. “The crying. A lot. Hasn’t . . . hasn’t happened in so long. Just let it be. Christ, are we really alive?”

Edison gave a dark laugh, nodding. “Apparently.” Then he pointed to the clean, white hazmat suit next to her. “You can run it through the decontam chamber. Misato is pumping the vents extra hard in here so you might feel a little light-headed. She just wanted to make sure all the junk on your suit was killed off.”

The diffuser was on, too, the herbal, sharp scent of melaleuca oil and oregano flooding the room, tingeing the oxygen coming in through her helmet.

“Can you give me a minute?” Rosalyn asked. He throat was hoarse from being sick and screaming so much. “I should . . . I’d like to clean up.”

“Take all the time you need,” Edison said softly. He tapped his temple. “You know where to find me.”

She would. Her AR indicator for him was full and blinking, showing him right there on the other side of the shield.