Another pause, then she nodded. “I will do what I can.”

My aunt did not make promises she could not keep.

Captain Chavannes broke into our conversation. “Homestead seems to have ceased its trajectory corrections. The lateral thrusters haven’t fired in several minutes. The ship is now on a course for Providence Station. The crew has indicated they intend to surrender to security personnel when they arrive.”

Quietly, so quietly there was no way it would carry over the radio, Zahra inhaled a short, sharp breath.

“Are you able to make your way to the main docking area of House of Wisdom?” Captain Chavannes asked. “Our assessment tells us that’s the safest place for us to extend a sealed passage between the ships, but if you aren’t able to get there—”

“No,” I said. “We’re not going to wait that long.”

“There are evacuation suits aboard, but you would be adrift for several hours.”

And that would only give SPEC a reason to come to us. “We’re taking my mother’s experimental small craft away from here.”

Captain Chavannes’s eyes widened; it was the strongest reaction I had seen from her. “Absolutely not. That is not safe. You cannot—”

“We can, and we will,” I said. “We are not waiting here any longer than we have to. And when you pick us up, you’re going to put us in full quarantine. No exposure to anybody until we’re sure we’re not infected.”

“Mr. Bhattacharya, if that’s—”

“It is absolutely necessary. See you soon, Aunt Padmavati. Please make them listen.”

I ended the transmission before my aunt could see the tears in my eyes. The display changed to House of Wisdom’s location in orbit, with Pangong, Homestead, Providence Station. The Moon. Earth. It all looked so small on the screen.

For a long moment, nobody spoke.

Then Baqir said, “Will they listen to her?”

I rubbed my face. “She’ll have a better chance of convincing them to stay away if we get out of here. My mother’s workshop is on Level 12. It’s not far.”

•   •   •

There was blood smeared on the door. A handprint with a long trail: somebody had slapped a bloody hand on the wall before being dragged or pulled away. It was brown, dried nearly to dust. I avoided it carefully.

Slowly, as though waking from a deep slumber, the lights came on. My mother’s workshop was a massive chamber on the starboard side of the ship. It spanned two levels, large enough to house three of my mother’s small experimental vessels side by side. Numerous catwalks surrounded and crossed the space, with ladders and handholds on all sides to facilitate work in zero gravity.