“What did you do to the ship? JAX says someone is screwing with the monitoring systems manually and he can’t override it.” A pause. He shifted closer, and she could hear him breathing heavily outside the duct hatch. Her leg was cramping up and she twisted a little, wishing she could wipe at the sweat dripping down her face. She was trapped now, with her one way out blocked by Edison. No, not by him, by the stuff taking over his body.

That didn’t help. She didn’t need to sympathize with a person she was about to kill.

“Don’t try to open the hatch,” Rosalyn warned. She heard whispering. Someone else was out there with him. It was easy enough to guess that Piero wasn’t there, otherwise she’d already be fighting him off. “I’m holding a loaded gun,” she added. “Don’t make me use it.”

More whispering.

“You have a gun?” Edison finally asked, incredulous.

She sighed. “No . . . not literally. Just go away, please. It’s harder to do this with you here.”

Rosalyn regretted the words as soon as they tumbled out. Why did it matter? This asshole had chased her through the ship. He would’ve killed her if he had the chance, or at the very least forced her to be exposed to the fungus.

He’s not human. None of them are human anymore, right? This is mercy.

It had to be mercy.

“What’s harder to do?” He sounded nervous now, afraid. His voice was suddenly hoarse and shaky.

She knew the feeling. Her finger moved closer to the panel.

“I’m killing us. All of us. It’s the right thing to do.”

Silence. No more whispers. Rosalyn expected the hatch to be ripped away, to be faced with wild, bright white eyes and clawing hands. But none of it came. Her hand began to tremble in earnest, perspiration stinging her eyes. Then tears formed there, not just from the stinging but from terror. She didn’t want to die. Closing her eyes, she tried to stop the shaking in her whole body. They killed Walters, Rosalyn, and they’ll kill you, too. This is just the death you choose.

“I see.”

Two words. Why did they stall her? Maybe it was the resignation in his voice. Or the sadness.

“D-Don’t try to stop me,” Rosalyn stammered. “I’ve made up my mind.”

“Okay,” Edison said. “You do what you have to do.”

A shaky hand had stopped her before, ruined her career, ruined everything. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

“I will,” Rosalyn said, pressing her fingertip to the touch screen, disabling the solar panels, closing her eyes as the ship’s RTGs kicked in hard, a terrible force sending her crashing back against the wall. Her head slammed into the base of her helmet, and she saw a brilliant kaleidoscope of stars, and then nothing.

18