“I know, I know.” Edison put up his hands and turned around, walking slowly and deliberately to the door. He breached the hall and gave her time to watch him swivel back around. The cold storage rooms were one of the few areas with clear plastic shields that could be lowered for lab observation. Edison put the shield in place, and it dropped between them with a soft plink.

He knocked gently on the barrier. “Get up. You can lock the shield from your side.”

Rosalyn hesitated, then climbed to her feet and approached, eyes so fixed on him it made him go rigid with embarrassment. He deserved that look.

“Six-five-seven-five is the code,” Edison told her. “It’s my administrator’s key.”

“Which you could input from that side, too,” Rosalyn shot back, breathless.

Edison shook his head, lowering his hand. “No, the lab side has priority to protect samples and keep things locked down during decontam. No one can get into that room unless you let them.”

“Or you cycle the engines,” she pointed out.

“Sure,” Edison told her. “But I won’t do that.”

“Right. And I’m just supposed to trust you after . . . after that?”

Sighing, he leaned his forehead against the shield, his breath fogging it a little. “What do you want me to do?”

Rosalyn studied him through the shield for a long time, and he didn’t dare raise his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to see in her gaze what she thought of him. Monster. That acid pit in his stomach sizzled again, but this time out of shame.

“Let me go. I’ll take one of the evac pods and pilot it back to the Salvager, then I’ll leave. I won’t tell anyone about you or what I saw here. Please. Please let me go.”

Even if he wanted to, even if he could . . .

“I can’t let you do that,” Edison murmured, squeezing his eyes shut. “I jettisoned all the evac pods a week ago. As soon as I realized what was happening to us . . . I couldn’t let any of us get out of here and risk spreading the spores.”

She made a tiny, hopeless sound. “You can still let me go. I’ll find a way to get to the Salvager.”

“Mother, I mean, the Foxfire won’t let me,” Edison told her. It was true, but he did wonder. He wondered if he could fight it back long enough, keep his own mind and desires long enough to unravel whatever plan the monster inside had. It was too risky. If he failed, if he hurt her . . . “I’m sorry,” he said. “It won’t let me.”

Even through the shield he felt her go cold.

“You’re pathetic,” Rosalyn whispered.

“Believe me”—Edison pushed away from the barrier and showed her his back—“I know.”

15