The engines had cycled, but only ship-critical systems remained functioning. She could hear the diminished hum of a ship running with locked thrusters. Likely plenty of fuel remained, but the code blue had sent them drifting toward headquarters, and now that the system had logged the linkup between the Salvager and the Brigantine, the ship would cease its trip. They were stranded. If she could somehow unlock the thrusters, she could pilot the Brigantine back to the Salvager 6 and leave the forsaken hulk far behind.

It was a fantasy, of course, but she needed a fantasy just then.

“Door sealing.” JAX snapped to action quickly, as if eager to be of use. The lights in the galley flickered, dim, less bright than the blue mass glittering along the walls and ceiling. It wasn’t much, but she heard the locks engage on the door and called it a victory. One step at a time. Even in a panicked state, it was critical to plan. Rosalyn glanced at Rayan, who fiddled sheepishly with the ends of his shirtsleeves.

“How much time before the rest of your crew gets through that door?” she asked. Rayan stared at her and shrugged.

“Depends on how motivated they’re feeling,” he said softly. “And, well, considering I locked them all up for their own good, they’re probably pretty motivated.”

“And dangerous?”

“They’re not dangerous,” Rayan insisted. He paced to the locked door, putting his ear to it. “At least, I don’t think so.”

Rosalyn smoothed her gloved hands down her thighs, a self-soothing gesture she hoped would stop her from wringing the guy’s neck. “The way you said it—‘they’re not dangerous’—what do you mean?”

“Misato and Edison are my friends, they wouldn’t want to hurt you, or anyone really. Piero is, uh, Piero. He’s got a bad temper, but he’s a good person. They’re all good people. They were, anyway, before . . .” He gestured helplessly to the blue glowing all around them. In him.

“That blue stuff is keeping you alive,” Rosalyn observed. In her many years of studying medicine and biotechnology, it was like nothing she had ever encountered. “You shouldn’t be able to breathe in this atmosphere, and your head wound—” His lips tightened at that, maybe a sore subject, so Rosalyn pivoted. She wanted to keep him from lashing out again. “But somehow that blue substance is controlling you or . . . or what, Rayan? Help me out here. You said you wanted to protect me with that injection, so give me something to work with.”