Finally the woman obeyed, turning to meet Park’s gaze. Her eyes were flat and gray—glazed in that same way Holt’s had been. But before Park could decipher any more, a lancing pain shot through her head—and the ship lurched, sickeningly. She recoiled from Hunter, trying to keep her balance, but it was as if someone had wrenched the gravity controls: there was that swooping in her stomach, a lift in her chest; her feet left the ground, then touched it again. Then once more, then again. Park stumbled and tottered and fought off a wave of nausea as she thought, Oh God—she did damage the controls!

Then Hunter pushed her to the ground.

Park tucked her body into a ball as she fell, the way the emergency training had prepped her to do: it lessened her chances of breaking her neck. She felt Hunter land on top of her, felt the other woman’s hands scrabbling blindly over her decksuit. Park tried to twist away, yelling, but the fierce stabbing ache in her head had worsened—it felt as if her brain was rattling in her head like a marble in a tin cup. Hunter was shouting something at her.

“Hell, hell,” she said, trying to wrench Park up by the shirtfront; Park could feel her hot animal breath panting against her face. “I’m free—it’s lost me—we’ve got to go, Park—”

“Get off of me!” Park ground out, trying to shove Hunter back to get some space. Some breathing room. She needed to breathe. The room spun crazily as if she were drunk. She had to screw her eyes shut.

Hunter’s hands clutched her collar tighter. “It wants you Park, it sees you it wants to take you I won’t let it but it’s inside me—”

Then, abruptly, there was a stifled grunt—then silence. Hunter’s body went slack. And she fell on top of Park in a heap.

Park managed to heave Hunter’s body off of her before she had to turn her head to the side and retch. A violet-white pain was blooming through her body, along with fierce waves of nausea; her pounding, blistering headache refused to wane. Time passed—it could have been seconds or hours. When she finally managed to open her eyes again she found that half a dozen android hands were touching her, holding her up; cool synthetic palms were laid against her face and neck, as if she were a holy relic, being venerated.

“Jimex?” she said, looking for him. Her sight was blurry: all of the faces looked the same to her.

He spoke right in her ear; he was the one holding her up. “Here.”

“What . . . what happened?” She wanted to sit up, but feared it would make her sick again. “Hunter?”

“She’s unconscious, but alive.” His voice was as calm as ever. “I had to subdue her. She would have harmed you.”