They reached out together, he and Mother, not with hands but with the mind, traversing the intricate network that connected them together. It was stronger now, that bond, and they sensed each spore, each flowering shock of blue along the ship’s walls and ceilings. The crew had left the engineering bay, their locations pulsing noticeably, like three proximate hearts.

Misato and the salvager were traveling together down the corridors. Reaching out through their cluster, Piero prodded at Misato’s mind, searching for her intention. She resisted him, as always, but he was stronger now, stronger through Mother. Images flashed before him—a hand, a fish, a lock of white-blond hair.

Tuva. She was taking the salvager, the interloper, to Tuva. Piero snarled. It would be a short but infinitely satisfying hunt.

21

“We put her in the body drawer,” Misato was explaining, pulling on the long silver handle at about waist height. “She should be well preserved.”

Rosalyn took a deep breath, preparing herself, as she always did, for the sight of a corpse. The air felt stranger when a dead body was nearby. This one, however, was just as Misato expected. Preserved. Tuva Sverdal might have been taking a nap, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted as if she had just exhaled. Her skin was ghostly, ghostly pale, almost like chalk, thin, blue veins visible along her jaw and forehead. Blond hair fell to her shoulders, parted in the middle, and her eyelashes were that same snowy color.

“You removed her suit?” Rosalyn asked.

“I wanted to check for marks.” Misato deflated a little, sagging against the deep drawer. “After that, I couldn’t get her back into the suit myself. Too heavy. It didn’t seem right to ask the men to help.”

Rosalyn nodded, gesturing for her to pull the drawer out farther. Already gloved, she leaned forward toward Tuva and carefully pulled back her eyelid. Normal. From what Rosalyn could see, there were no outward signs that the Foxfire had tried to take over her body.

“Did you consider an autopsy?” she asked.

“Of course,” Misato said. “But the others disagreed. They wanted to leave it to HQ when our assignment was done. Then the Foxfire happened and, I hate to say it, but I think we all forgot about her in here.” She sighed and let go of the drawer, taking a tiny step back.

Something down by Tuva’s waist caught Rosalyn’s attention. She picked up the woman’s wrist, holding it up closer to the light on her visor. There was a small tattoo, black ink, in a language Rosalyn didn’t speak. Right away her AR display highlighted the words with a shimmery box, translating.

“Fight back,” Rosalyn whispered, then looked at Tuva’s closed eyes. “Is that what you were trying to do? Fight back. Maybe I’ll get one of these if I ever make it out of here alive.”