“That night after we explored that sunken rocket, we were sitting on the boat under the stars—do you remember? It was an unremarkable night, I suppose, and so many years ago, but it was beautiful. The sky was so clear, the stars so bright, and all of us were talking like we always did, students who thought we knew everything. You were going on about your lost ships . . . Even then that was all you ever wanted to talk about.” Dr. Summers pressed her lips together, inhaled through her nose and let the breath out again, and on the exhale it was damp, ragged, with barely suppressed sobs. “You were talking about the people from before the Collapse, and how it was amazing they had ever gotten into space at all, with all the times they had blown themselves up trying, with how obsessed they were with gathering wealth and waging wars and killing one another for the stupidest of reasons. So much hatred, so much cruelty, and so many failures, all across the world. All their broken ships and rockets scattered around like so many toys underfoot. Just another part of the mess they left for us to clean up.

“And you said—you said even knowing they were so bad at everything except killing each other and poisoning the world, even knowing that, you hoped some of those idiots survived out there in the black. You wanted that for them, even knowing what they had done.

“Gregory,” Dr. Summers said, leaning forward, her white hair flowing around her. “I don’t know when you lost trust in us. But I hope you remember that night out on the water, and when it comes time for you to tell them what’s happened here, you—”

A loud siren wailed. I jumped and looked around before realizing it was on the recording. Dr. Summers looked down at the screen. The siren wailed again, and white lights pulsed brightly around her. Her shoulders slumped.

“Oh,” she said quietly, in the momentary space between sirens. “I didn’t recognize that. I’ve only heard it—”

Another earsplitting wail.

“—in drills. But it says right here: fire suppression. I guess she—”

And another, painful in the ears.

“—to me after all. This might at least slow them down.”

Dr. Summers waited for the siren, but it did not sound again. In its place came a low hissing. Behind her the white emergency lights stopped pulsing to shine steadily. She looked up and around, every plane of her face, every line of her body signaling defeat. “If this is Lilian’s doing, I hope you remember her as a hero, not a murderer. Please forgive her. Please forgive us all.”

She reached forward, then paused, looked at the camera again. For a moment her lips parted as though she was going to say more, but in the end she only shook her head and said, “End recording.”

The screen went black.

•   •   •

Zahra,” Malachi said.