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before hadn’t lingered. What had that been? Some physical manifestation of fear? She considered that until she looked up and saw that Bergen was studying her intently.
    “What are you thinking about, Doc?” he asked softly.
    “I…well, I was thinking about when we opened the hatch. I—I felt so strange there for a few minutes. Did you—”
    A hiss of static came over the comm and they turned toward the others. It was a broadcast from Houston, the voice of the NASA Administrator, Gordon Bonham. “Providence. Houston. Acknow ledged. Received audio transmission. Awaiting video transmission at this time. Our recommendation: proceed with caution. Operation: Delta Tango Uniform. Houston out.”
    Jane shook her head. The message was in code, telling them to explore the ship with weapons drawn—expecting hostiles. Walsh would follow this order to the letter, she was sure.
    * * *
    Jane and Bergen eyed each other, both openly skeptical, as they lined up. They all would go in except for Compton, who would stay behind to guard Providence. 
    Walsh made a show of handing Jane a weapon. She refused it, as he knew she would. She had always objected to any contingency that called for weapons use.
    Jane blinked hard. The buzzing had returned, though it was softer this time—a little easier to ignore. Something about it ni ggled at her. She’d never felt anything like it before. Not when she was struggling to drag her colleagues to safety by canoe, deep in the Amazon River basin, flushed with fever and starving, forced to push on despite the death of their guide. Not when she’d encountered giant snakes or carnivorous insects that swarmed over a person’s body while they slept, nor when she’d stumbled upon hostile tribesmen who would just as soon deliver a poison dart as a greeting. Even in those horrifying, desperate, exhausted moments she’d never felt a fear like this, that tapped into her ability to reason.
    Walsh and Gibbs were poised near the meter-wide portal b etween the two vessels.
    “What color would you call that, Jane? Split pea? Bilge green? Puce? Ugly as hell,” Gibbs commented with a wink, gesturing t oward the Target.
    Jane nodded distractedly. She couldn’t answer Gibbs' call for levity. He was too excited to look disappointed.
    Walsh pushed off and half a second later, Gibbs did as well. She pulled herself closer.
    A strangled cry and a yelp resounded in her ears as Walsh and Gibbs crashed into a heap on the surface that housed the greenish lights.
    The floor, evidently.
    “Shit,” Bergen muttered, his blue eyes lighting up. “Artificial gravity. Wasn’t expecting that.”
    “Really?” Jane asked. “I was sort of—”
    Compton shoved his way in, pulling Ajaya to the opening as he repeated, “Walsh, Gibbs—report.”
    Ajaya’s fine features were pressed into a mask of worry. “They’ve passed out. Clearly. They shouldn’t be out long. I dearly hope they haven’t broken bones.”
    Bergen huffed through tight lips. “We have no idea how many G’s that is. Even if it’s only one-G—they’re wearing 230-pound suits. They’re going to have a hell of a time getting up. If that’s more than one-G, this could be a serious problem. We still don’t know if that’s breathable air in there.”
    They peered into the Target, helmets gently tapping.
    “They’re so close. Shouldn’t we try to pull them out?” Jane asked the others.
    Ajaya frowned. “We could try—but I suspect we would pass out before we could get a hold on them. Let’s give it another moment.”
    Walsh moved his arm.
    “Walsh, report,” Compton barked.
    “Ffffthff,” was all Walsh could manage. Then he groaned, “Dammit, Gibbs, get off me.”
    Gibbs didn’t respond.
    Ajaya leaned in. “Commander, are you hurt?”
    “Just my pride. Bergen, were you keeping this as your special little secret for me, or what?” Walsh wheezed.
    Bergen was miffed.
    “He was just as surprised as you are, Dr. Walsh,” Jane put