Rosalyn cut through the ship like a shark in chummed waters, scenting something important. He followed, pouring himself another round for whatever the hell was coming next. Idiot. It should have been his first move to sort through Piero’s things after his death, but he had been so distracted by Rayan’s death, by worrying about Rosalyn, that he had neglected to check. They knew Piero had poisoned Tuva, and they had found his fake identity with ISS. Now that he was gone, there was no stopping them from looking deeper. He was the newest among the crew, and he had fallen to the Foxfire the fastest, though Edison still wondered if that was due to his apparent willingness to kill his crewmates or the fresh head injury. The most injured among them seemed to fare the worst, just one more pitfall to fastidiously avoid. He rubbed at the bruise on his chin and winced, hoping it wasn’t enough to empower the Foxfire against him.

I don’t need a wound. I need my children. Piero . . . Rayan . . . Our family is breaking apart.

It was easier to ward off the voices with Dick Friday playing over the intercom; now he felt more vulnerable to the lurking suggestions. Edison tossed back a drink, close behind Rosalyn as she all but sprinted into the lab, continuing through as she caught sight of the crew lockers at the back of the room.

“Here we go,” she said, rubbing her hands together and crouching. His locker was on the bottom row, right next to Edison’s. They were arranged alphabetically by surname. Once upon a time they had been locked with codes that were forwarded to their VIT monitors, but once the code blue hit, the locks disengaged and the doors swung free. Edison hadn’t given it much thought; he had nothing to hide in his. Without an implant, Tuva had opted for the more traditional locker at the foot of her bunk, and they had already found the secrets hidden there.

There was no decoration of any kind inside the locker, just a neat pile of belongings. Edison had found the capsules right on top next to a very nice bottle of synthetic dolcetto. Rosalyn removed the bottle of wine to make room for rummaging, then pulled out an employee ID pass and stood, the plastic square dangling on the end of a twisty red lanyard.

“Looks like what all the security guys get,” Edison said, huffing when Rosalyn tossed it at him to hold. She went back to work, coming back up for air with a personal work tablet.

Rosalyn nestled it in the crook of her arm, turning it on and making a soft sound of interest when she found it unlocked.

“No code,” she whispered to herself. “Strange.”

The camera lens at the top brightened, a small red dot next to it indicating it was recording.