Countless times I had gazed out that very window, in that very pose, a child staring at wonders both familiar and incomprehensible. During the eight years we lived aboard House of Wisdom, the ship had carried us throughout the solar system. Through that window I had watched Mars pass as a dusty red marble, Ceres as a dark rock lit from within by the sprawling mining colony, Europa with its frozen face pockmarked by research bases. I could still feel the slick sensation of the glass-mimicking window on my fingertips. I could still hear my father’s voice as he speculated about what the universe might hold beyond our sun and its satellites, and how he envied me that I might live to travel so far, that I would surely discover wonders of my own when I was older.

“Where did they go?” Xiomara’s voice carried through the corridors.

“Just up ahead,” Baqir said. “I think this way?”

“Are you sure? It could be—”

“Here,” I said. I did not shout.

They were coming closer, but Ariana showed no sign of having heard them. She was gazing at Earth, rapt, her bare fingers flexed against the window. I could not see her face, only the mist of her breath. I heard the tap of boots on the wall behind me.

“What are you doing? Why did you stop?” Xiomara asked in a hoarse whisper. Then her voice rose in surprise. “Ariana? Ari! Are you okay?” She tried to push by me, shoving angrily at my arm. “Let me go to her. We need to help her. She recognized you.”

“No, she didn’t. That wasn’t—”

“What is wrong with you? You heard her! Ariana!” Xiomara ducked under my arm and pushed away from the garden entrance. I grabbed after her, but she had given herself enough momentum to move out of reach. Baqir caught my arm before I could go after her; the grip of his metal prosthetic hand was cold and strong.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t get close to her.”

Xiomara thumped against the window a couple of meters to the left of Ariana. “Ari, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

For a long moment, there was no reaction. I held my breath, terrified of stirring Ariana into another violent frenzy. None of the people infected during the massacre had been like this. They had been delusional, violent, out of control. They had screamed, shouted, begged for help, attacked friends and colleagues, slashed their own limbs to pieces. If this was the calm Captain Ngahere had witnessed, it was far more eerie than I had ever imagined.

Then, Ariana turned.

Baqir sucked in a breath and let go of my arm. I heard the tap of his metal fingers on the doorway and glanced to the side; he was bracing himself with one hand to raise the suppression weapon Xiomara had taken when we made our escape.