Reluctantly, the security officer nodded and began to follow her, shining his light so that Park could see where to place her feet. The tunnel seemed to stretch endlessly, but Park told herself that it was because they were expecting the turn: their apprehension distorted their perception of things. And yet her throat felt clogged with sudden fear. Slowly, an ache started up between her shoulder blades—it was the same prickling feeling that she was being watched by someone behind them.

Without either of them speaking, their strides lengthened. When Park dared to look at Sagara, his face was tense and troubled. She nearly asked him if he had a weapon; would have found a little comfort if he had, even if there was the possibility that he could use it on her. But she stayed silent. She had the strange notion that giving voice to her fears would allow them to manifest. If she held them within, she told herself, everything would be all right.

The tunnel stretched and stretched. After a while Park became convinced that Sagara was right; something had gone wrong. The passageway was so straight—and she knew there was no such construction on their rabbit’s warren of a ship.

“We’re going the wrong way,” Sagara said finally, with impatience. He seemed irritated that he didn’t understand what was going on. Being puzzled seemed to be a foreign feeling for him.

Park kept her eyes forward, on the lit, straight path at their feet. “How are your inlays?”

“They’ve gone dark. I can’t reach the others or access the ship’s computer.”

That was when Park heard it. A sound like knocking, or more accurately, pounding: a set of fists thumping urgently against the walls. And voices far off, arguing. Alarmed, she looked at Sagara. But when he looked back, she saw that he simply looked displeased.

“Did you hear that?” Park asked him.

The security officer scowled. “Hear what?”

Park faltered. “A—a sound like knocking. People shouting.”

Sagara looked at her as if she had sprouted two heads.

The knocking sound loudened. Now it sounded like more fists had joined the first pair; Park felt as if someone had gotten trapped inside the walls, and was urgently signaling for help. She had to dig her fingernails into her palm, trying to block out her feeling of disquiet. Her dread. The dark corridor suddenly felt too hot and airless. She felt as if she wanted to claw her way to the surface, gasping for air.

“Sagara,” she said quietly, sweating. “Listen. Something like this has happened to me before—”

He looked at her, his dark gaze intent. “What do you mean? A blackout?”