I was trying to think about it as Aunt Padmavati would think about it, looking at every angle, every shadowy gap between what was known in secret and what the public believed. There were factions within SPEC, as there were in any sprawling governing commission, and among them were those who certainly believed that another mission was worth the risk. They had been thwarted many times by the Councilors, like my aunt, who did not want House of Wisdom to claim even one more life.

I would never have suspected the nervous young man with the curly hair and brown eyes of being a SPEC Intel agent—but if I had, he would not have made it this far. I moved over to the comm where Malachi had been working, slid into the chair, and hooked my feet to hold myself in place.

“What are you doing?” Xiomara asked, following me.

“Calling for help. We have to get away from here.”

“Can we use the evacuation suits now?” Xiomara asked.

“We need to contact SPEC first, to warn them.”

“What was it called—Pangong?” Baqir asked, his voice thready with pain. It was hard to see how much damage Dag had done, as removing his suit for a better look might do more harm, but the jut of his shoulder beneath the space suit was all wrong, angular and seeping blood where the prosthetic ended.

“Stop moving,” I said. “You’ll hurt yourself worse.”

I looked over the display, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. I blinked quickly and rubbed my eyes. Malachi had been telling the truth. The ship was ours. There were no more command overrides, no more quarantine protocols. The radio was functional and waiting.

I opened a channel. “Um, Pangong, this is House of Wisdom. Can you hear us? Can anybody hear us? This is House of Wisdom.”

The response was instantaneous. A woman in a SPEC uniform appeared on the display at the front of the room, her brown face looming larger than life. Compared to House of Wisdom, the bridge of Pangong was so clean and bright it seemed unreal, like what a child would imagine a spaceship to be. The woman had a crown of braids and captain’s star on her collar. Her uniform was crisp, her expression alert.

“We hear you, House of Wisdom,” she said. “This is Captain Chavannes of Pangong. You’re Jaswinder Bhattacharya, aren’t you?”

I felt sick with relief. “Yes, I am.”

“Are you safe? What’s your status?”

“We’re safe for now,” I said, hoping it was true. With every movement, I felt itches on my skin, tickles on the back of my neck, but I had no abrasions, no injuries, nothing crawling beneath my skin.

“You’re not alone?” Chavannes asked.

“There are four of us.” I hesitated, then added, “The SPEC agent is gone.”