She tried to make sense of the mayhem. The glittering growth of Foxfire along the Brigantine’s walls and ceilings was disturbing, but this was far worse by comparison, like a typhoon next to an afternoon shower. The only word that came close to describing it was hive. It was like a hive, blue and webbed and shining. It was much worse than the ship, worse than a smatter of blackish, lichen-like growth with twinkling blossoms. No, it was an overwhelming riot of color. Nothing that she could see moved among it, yet it breathed.

Rosalyn hugged herself, feeling the dread in her gut spiral into panic. Breathe, she reminded herself, drawing air but only suffocating. The harder she tried to breathe, the less air came in. Wheezing, groaning, she rocked back and forth, squeezing her middle hard until it ached, until she felt like her chest was caving in. How long would her oxygen filters last in an environment all but choked with dangerous spores?

“Talk to me.”

His voice cut through the attack, her face hot and covered with sweat. She blinked up at him, pursing her lips, sealing a sob inside her throat.

“You were right,” she hissed. “I should have stayed on the ship.”

“No, no. We knew it could be bad. Remember? You told me to prepare for the worst,” Edison told her, holding her and leaning into her in a rocking motion. Somehow it felt better, less painful when he did it with her. “We’re in the worst now, and I need you to help me get through it. We can help each other now.”

“It’s too much. You saw it. It’s too much . . .”

He cupped her visor, raising her face to his. His eyes were still that too-bright blue and it frightened her, but at least the color seemed warmer beaming from his face. She expected platitudes or begging, but all she wanted was to stay there on that elevator floor until it could go down again and bring her back to the ship. The floors dinged by, moving fast, bringing them swiftly to that horror she had glimpsed from below.

“Tell me the plan,” Edison said, touching his helmet to hers.

Rosalyn blinked. The plan. Her mind spun into a frenzy without her meaning for it to. A plan. She licked her lips, which were cracked and stickily dry. “M-Misato has JAX’s hard drive. We need it.”

“That’s good. What else?”

“Search the manifests,” Rosalyn whimpered. “Search Piero’s handle, find out where he got the Foxfire in the first place and make sure this was the only point of origin. We should be able to check the numbers we found with his badge, too, see if those launch dates coincide with any pickups.”