There had been a realization growing in my mind ever since Tamara had told me I was in a vacuum chamber. This thought didn’t bubble up, bright and quick, like the others. It had risen slowly, thick as molasses. I was standing inside a human-sized vacuum chamber. The vacuum of space was, at nearest, just a few feet away from the inside of this ship; why build a vacuum chamber unless you wished to control exactly how low of a pressure you wished to apply? And why build one large enough for a person to lie down in unless you wished to put a person inside?

The Ministers were very resistant to the vacuum, and to the sudden pressure changes caused by going to and from the vacuum. I’d seen it with Indigo when he’d rescued me, and had been alert and coherent enough to tend to my injuries and keep watch while I passed right out. I’d seen it with Indigo when he’d first come into the ship, passing through straight vacuum and arriving alert and coherent enough to stop our bullets and cut Leah’s throat.

The Ministers were designed to be resistant to the vacuum. The scientists who had made them would have had to test that resistance, gather data and develop strategies to improve that resistance. And they would’ve had to do it with live subjects. I wondered how many people had died in this little room.

If Tamara didn’t hurry up, that number might become one more.

Something slammed against the glass again, just as hard as before, but the jolt of adrenaline seemed to rattle me less. I opened my eyes to find Tamara very close to the glass, mouthing something very deliberately and frantically. I stared at the movement of her lips and struggled to shape them into words.

She pointed down at the screen and mouthed, No, over and over. This was simpler, and easier to understand. The computer must not be working perfectly anymore, or Tamara couldn’t find the off button, or maybe the sequence to turn off the vacuum was more complicated than the on button had been.

My hand was braced against the glass near my face, and my veins were standing out against my skin, thick and blue. I swear I could see them pulsing quickly. It was revolting, like little blue worms under my skin.

“I don’t like my worms,” I said.

Tamara tapped against the window. When I looked up at her she contorted her brows in the universal symbol for What?

Oh, the Talk button. I reached out and missed the button the first few times.

“I don’t like my worms,” I said, trying to speak clearly and certain I wasn’t succeeding. “I don’t like my worms or the tunnels they make in me.”

Tamara looked like she regretted asking.

I held up my hand because maybe she didn’t know what I was talking about. Lifting my arm was weirdly hard. I let it drop for a minute and stared down at my dangling hand. Then I thought that my arm felt so much better lower down that I might feel better, too. I sat down heavily on the floor.