The lights in the Servitor’s eyes went very dim and then brightened. “Permissions accessed and altered, mission day eighty-three.”

Rosalyn blinked. Shit. “Eighty-three?” She consulted her VIT briefly and shook her head. “No, that isn’t possible. The salvage signal started beaming on mission day seventy-nine. Who changed your permissions?”

“Unavailable.”

“Agh!” She smacked the domed Plexiglas of her helmet with her fist. “I’m getting seriously tired of that word.” Standing up fast, she kicked the stool back with her heel. Her foot connected harder than she intended, and the chair tumbled across the room, knocking loudly into the card table. One of the abandoned hands of cards skittered softly to the floor.

She was about to turn back to the Servitor when she heard an answering noise through the sealed door. It was like a groan, a deep, metal scrape, the sound of something huge and hard and inhuman waking up.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, freezing.

“Get out of there,” Walters said, just as softly. “Devar? Get out.”

The noise came again, louder, and when her gaze drifted to the sealed, growth-covered door, she noticed it had begun to shiver. She heard scrabbling through the mic, as if Walters had fallen off his chair or ripped off his headset.

“The crew,” she breathed, feeling insane. How could they be alive? The oxygen levels were dangerously low. The ship had beamed a code blue.

“Life signs green,” the Servitor chirped back, almost cheerful. It swiveled, facing the door with her as if expectant.

“That’s not possible.” She knew the AI would contradict her, but she wasn’t saying it for the bot. The door hissed, and she felt the galley lurch under her feet. She stumbled, half tumbling to the card table and using it to hold herself upright. Her hands buzzed with fear, tingling, and she shook them out, trying to regain feeling. Trying to regain control. The jungle drums sounded in her head again. If only she could have a drink, sit down, just close her eyes and think for a moment.

It’s just the ship settling, or one of the engines trying to cycle.

“Look at the live schematics!” she demanded, shouting into her mic. More shifting and scratching on the other end. What the fuck was Walters up to? She actually needed him now and of course he was completely useless. “The door . . . the, um, the east door of the air lock galley, is it locked?”

“Uh, yes! Both locks are functioning,” Walters finally stammered back. “Shit, sorry, I’m getting my suit on, you can’t be alone in there. Something is going on . . .”

“Idiot. Stay on the Salvager!”

“I’m not leaving you alone!” he thundered back, voice breaking.

Rosalyn shook her head hard, clutching the table again. No, no, no, stupid idea . . . “Servitor,” she said, breathless, “lock down this area. Do you understand? Nobody in or out.”