“Do we have any weapons?” Rosalyn asked, determined not to give in to the tempting pit of hopelessness yawning before them. It wasn’t too late to turn back, but she knew nobody would allow that, including her. If nothing else, this confirmed that there were answers on the station. Being hailed and asked for corporation clearances would have meant that there was a small, small possibility of the Foxfire remaining innocuously on the docks. She hoped against hope that Misato was right, that the contamination had been detected early and evacuations had started immediately.

But she couldn’t help but fixate on the ships motionless on the docking flat. Nobody going in or out. If there had been an evac, those ships would surely be gone.

“As soon as everyone started hearing voices, I incinerated Piero’s security kit,” Edison said. “I didn’t know if we would turn on each other or ourselves. I’ve heard some dark stories about deep space mutinies.”

“I can’t blame you,” she said. “I’ve cleaned up some of those deep space mutinies. I think you two should suit up,” Rosalyn added. “We don’t know what we’re going to find in there. It would at least offer a little protection, and the atmosphere could be nonexistent.”

“Not a bad idea,” Misato agreed. “But you’re in my suit.”

“How long until we dock?” Rosalyn asked, unbuckling.

“Not long. Like I said, it could get dicey.”

“I’ll be fast,” she said, grabbing the top of her chair and hoisting herself out. She heard Misato shrug out of her safety belts and follow.

“I won’t make you wear my old stuff; I have no idea what it smells like in there,” Rosalyn muttered.

They were silent after that. It was a tense jog to cold storage. Rosalyn hadn’t even considered that this was likely the last time she would see that weird little haven. She wouldn’t miss sleeping on the floor or the constant decontam showers, but all the same, sadness pulled at her like an insistent child until she distracted herself with the business of changing out of the suit, decontaminating it and the old one just to be sure, and dressing again. Misato chewed her nails on the other side of the shield, eyeing the crack in it and the bloodstain there.

“Rosalyn.”

She worked at the toggles on her helmet and turned to face Misato, then crouched to gather up the other suit and fold it over her arm. “Yeah?”

The Brigantine shook as they neared the station, and Rosalyn flailed, reaching for the kitchenette counter to steady herself. Misato braced in a wide stance, managing to stay upright.

“Remember what we talked about.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but a command.

Rosalyn avoided her gaze, dropping the barrier shield and handing over the cleaner suit. There was a detectable vomit scent clinging to the inside of her helmet.