She had not finished putting her space suit on. She wore no helmet or gloves, and the legs weren’t properly sealed into the boots. Her face was waxy and shriveled. It had been cold and dry inside the ship for ten years. She was mummified. Her straight brown hair floated like a fan around her face.

Her entire torso, her shoulders, her upper arms, they were all stained with blood.

It was such a shocking sight that at first I thought my eyes were deceiving me. It could not be blood. It had to be something else—oil, paint; my mind tripped over the unlikely possibilities. The stains were so dark, the blood so thick. I could not immediately locate her wounds. I had to be wrong. I needed to get closer. I could not make myself move.

A rapid and totally fatal outbreak of Zeffir-1. A known weaponized virus, a savage artifact from humanity’s dark past, set upon the ship by a known monster. That was what they had said. Dizziness, fainting, fatigue, internal bleeding that might lead to a bloody nose or bloodshot eyes or massive bruises, but nothing like this. Rapid pulmonary failure. An hour, maybe two, from the onset of symptoms to death, after two days of incubation within the body. Within minutes the victims were too weak to move, much less save themselves. Many fell into comas almost immediately and would not have suffered. That was how House of Wisdom was lost. For ten years SPEC had been telling the same story.

This woman had not died in a coma. She had not died quietly.

“Huh,” Dag said.

There was no revulsion in his voice, no emotion at all, and for once I was glad for it. I tried to imitate his calm to quash my own growing horror. Nausea churned in my stomach, but I reached for the handholds on the wall. I needed to be closer to the woman’s corpse. But I was afraid. I desperately wanted to turn my headlamp away from her bloodied body so that it might vanish into the darkness, and when I looked again, courage regained and nerves steadied, she would be peaceful, bloodless.

“What’s going on over there?” Panya said over the radio, her voice laced with concern. “Zahra? Talk to us, sweetie. Is everything okay?”

I licked my lips. “We’re making sure the cargo bay is clear.”

“Work faster,” Boudicca said. “I don’t think our friend Barcelona is falling for our misdirection.”

“But they’re not supposed to notice yet,” Nico said. I cringed at the whine in his voice. I had not wanted to bring him along, mistrusting his sulking and contrary nature, but Adam had insisted.

“Guess nobody told them that,” Boudicca said drily.

“I only meant—”

“For fuck’s sake, shut up,” Henke snapped.

“Nico, Henke, you’re not helping,” Panya said, ever the peacemaker. “Let’s stay calm.”