She grinned across at him and nodded. He wanted to lean over and kiss her, or the shield, but stopped himself, just enjoying her look of momentary satisfaction and shyness. Of course he had known she was smart and resilient, but to see it turned toward a cure to help them felt like an act of compassion. He looked down into her shining eyes and felt his heart clench; she had leaned a little closer and put her hand firmly over his.

“You’re welcome.”

39

Station approach still made her jumpy and nervous, even after dozens of longer flights and casual interstation hops. From where they all stood, watching the flight screen intently, side by side, JAX’s small, square hard drive cradled in Misato’s hands, Coeur d’Alene Station appeared normal enough. Six concentric rings around a central powering core, with elevators running along the core exterior, a docking flat at the very bottom. Most modern stations were organized similarly, and Rosalyn felt an anxious itch at the back of her neck.

They were getting closer, closer, and the silence in the cockpit made her ears pound.

“Nothing,” Rosalyn whispered. “Christ. They aren’t hailing us. Why aren’t they hailing us? Customs should have—”

“I know,” Edison interrupted sternly. “Look at the docking flat. There’s no movement. No shuttles. No ships.”

Rosalyn covered her mouth with both hands, landing on her helmet visor. “Can you dock us manually?” she asked. Do you even want to?

“This is going to be bumpy,” he replied darkly, sitting down at the central cockpit chair. “I suggest you take a seat.”

She moved wordlessly to his right and dropped like a stone, fumbling with numb fingers for the safety belts. The feed was mesmerizing in its horror. It looked fake, like a toy floating out there in the thin mist of space, light asteroid debris drifting by, oddly placid given what must have taken place within.

From across Edison, she heard Misato’s belts click into place. “They could have evacuated,” Misato said. “We don’t know anything yet.”

But Edison glanced Rosalyn’s way and she stared back, jaw set. She had been right; something terrible had happened on CDAS, and all his lofty optimism was crashing down around his ears. He looked stricken, a sick, green cast to his dark skin, as if he might be ill at any moment.

“Can you feel that?” Misato whispered.

Rosalyn stayed quiet, knowing the question wasn’t for her. All she felt was the cold dread in her body and the nauseating certainty that she needed to harden herself against what was to come, and fast.

“Yes,” Edison said. “She’s excited. Mother is . . . happy.”