“That’s . . . that’s good.” The intense brightness in Rayan’s eyes dimmed a little and he glanced sheepishly at his boots. “I don’t want to do this at all, but you need to follow directions. If you don’t follow directions, then I’ll have to restrain you. Mother just wants what’s best for us.”

Mother?

He was reaching for something in his off-duty crew suit. The jumpsuit had multiple deep pockets, a few sewn across the chest, others positioned under his hips. She braced, expecting him to pull out a knife, or some kind of makeshift weapon, but instead he produced a clean, new syringe device.

Rosalyn fixated on the glistening needle, taking another tiny step toward the air lock doors. “There’s no need to make threats, Rayan, we’re on the same side here. We both work for Merchantia, right? You wouldn’t hurt a coworker. We only came because of the code blue signal; we thought you and the others were hurt or dead.”

“Threats!? Shit, I’m equalizing the tunnel, Devar, I’ll be there soon, okay? Just . . . fuck, I don’t know, just keep him distracted!” Through his mic, she heard the distinct hiss of the Salvager’s door decompressing.

Suddenly, JAX shifted closer to Rayan, standing at his side, its automated voice overlapping with her pilot’s. “Air lock doors engaged, Salvager 6 safely linked to Brigantine main galley.”

“No!” Rayan slapped the side of his head again and lunged for Rosalyn. She wasn’t prepared to fight him off, but she tried to dodge, yanking her arm out of his grasp and backing up toward the exit. “Hold her, JAX, we need to . . .” He flinched, head jerking to the side as if pulled by a leash. “Hold her!”

Fighting a metallic, inhumanly strong AI was not the same as fending off a lanky lab researcher, and JAX’s hand closed around her wrist tight as a cuff. She screamed, sure now that she had lost complete control. The Servitor would not unclamp no matter how hard she pulled and twisted. Sweat gathered in her helmet, pouring into her eyes, condensation filming her view now that her breathing grew too fast and panicked for the suit to automatically dehumidify the polycarbonate visor. Still, even through that fog, she could make out Rayan’s glowing, crazed eyes.

He lunged for her again as she heard the air lock on their side whir to life. Dave was coming. Dave would be there any second, she thought, but still too late.

The syringe in Rayan’s grasp plunged toward her, and she shrieked, writhing and punching at him with her free hand until the syringe flew out of his hand, clinking softly against the wall.

“He . . . he tried to stab me! Fuck!” Calm, calm, calm. But she couldn’t pull herself back from the fear now, from the rage.