“It won’t work,” I said again. I was pleading, but only the copilot spared me a glance. Fear clawed at my throat. We were too close. The drones would attack. This was a passenger shuttle. It had no defenses, no real maneuvering ability. “You’re going to get us all killed, don’t you understand? You can’t—”

“Quiet,” Zahra said.

The copilot, his curly brown hair dampened with sweat at the temples, sucked in a startled breath. He tapped frantically at the screen. I couldn’t follow what he was doing, but I could guess. He was trying to persuade the security system to accept my genetic identification as a passkey for the quarantine. I was the only person alive whose ID was still in the House of Wisdom roster; the nature of my departure would have left an open query in the ship’s system. It was possible that a confident hacker could try to persuade the security system that my shipboard identification was enough to allow passage through the security net. SPEC had tried a similar tactic themselves some years ago, but their failure to get it right led to the destruction of a second ship. The loss of one approach team was tragic; the loss of two was reckless. Three would have been unforgivable.

The copilot did not look like a confident hacker. He bit his lower lip, making him look even younger. His hands were shaking. He didn’t think he could do this. He couldn’t do this. Even SPEC hadn’t been able to, with all of their knowledge of the House of Wisdom system at their disposal. The drones would attack. I wondered what sort of emergency space suits the shuttle had on board, and if we would have time to reach them. What a stupid way to die.

“Well?” the pilot said. She was smiling, but unlike the cruel smile of the big man in the cabin, hers was one of something like excitement. “We’re getting pretty fucking close.”

“One second,” said the copilot. “It’s—okay. It’s good.”

“Then get him out—fuck!” The pilot flinched as an object whirled by the ship outside, flashing from one screen to another so quickly it was impossible to see what it looked like. “What the fuck was that?”

She jabbed at the display, called up a slowed-down recording for a closer look.

It was one of the security drones. The ship’s computer gave its distance at closest pass as ten meters.

“What’s going on?” the pilot demanded, returning the screen to its live feed. “You said it was good.”

The copilot was focused on his controls, his hands moving swiftly, more steadily now.

“Malachi, what’s going on?” Zahra said.

“The passkey was accepted.” The copilot was Malachi. Another name to remember. “They’re not attacking.”

“Then what are they doing?” the pilot asked.