I adjusted my grip on the weapon. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt Panya and Dag. They were my friends—my family. They were scared and confused and frustrated, but they were still family. I couldn’t hurt them. I kept seeing the boy on the shuttle, the one I had killed, how his head had vanished in a cloud of blood. I had killed him without a thought, as though he wasn’t a person at all. I couldn’t do that to Panya. She had taught me how to survive in the desert, selflessly imparting wisdom she had known her entire life. She was the one who had comforted me when Mama died, who had told me how to avoid angering Adam when I fell from his favor, who had lifted her hand and her voice in support when others argued against letting me lead this mission.

Panya pressed her weapon to the back of Malachi’s head. Her voice was damp with tears. “Zahra. Don’t make this difficult.”

“Panya, please don’t. Don’t hurt Malachi. Help me fix this.”

“You should not have brought the hostages over here,” Dag said. There was no apology in his voice, no pity, but neither was there anger. He spoke as though it was the plainest fact. “If you had left them where Adam commanded, Henke would be alive, and there would not be an armed girl loose on the ship. And now you are getting distracted by unimportant things.”

“It’s not unimportant,” I said quickly. “You have to listen—”

“You are too inexperienced for this command,” Dag said. “Adam was blinded by his affection for you. He made a mistake.”

Malachi said, “You’re right. Zahra wasn’t ready for this. But you still need our help. You still need—”

“And you,” Dag said, “have failed every step of the way. We should have the ship by now. It should have been ours hours ago.”

“He’s been trying,” I said, confused. “You’ve seen it! He’s told you why—”

“Zahra,” Panya said. “Zahra, sweet girl, do not make me kill him. Give your gun to Dag.”

I braced myself on the workstation and tossed my gun toward Dag. It glided easily through the air, turning slowly. I saw Malachi twitch—the beginning of a motion, indecisive—but he stilled again. Dag caught the weapon and holstered it.

“Now, both of you,” Dag said. “Suits off.”

“What?” I said.

“You heard me. Take off your suits.”

“But—”

“We can’t have you following us,” Panya said apologetically. “Please let’s not argue anymore. We have work to do. There’s so much work to do. We need you to stay here, where you’ll be safe.”

“We’ll be infected,” I said, horror making my voice high. “We can’t.”

“It’s not safe here,” Malachi protested. “This is where the virus—”