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skitters straight between my boots and streaks away.
    â€œSomeone catch that animal!” the deck captain shouts.
    No one moves. We haven’t drilled for this.
    â€œYou.” The deck captain locks eyes with me and points.“Go after it. I want that thing quarantined.”
    â€œMe?” I glance over at the gurney where two other medics are fitting an oxygen mask over the toddler’s small, soot-streaked face. One of them starts chest compressions.
    â€œYes, you!” the deck captain shouts. “Go. Now, before it gets loose in the ship!”
    I cast one last look at the little Rover girl—small and fragile as one of my butterflies before it sheds its cocoon—and run back the way I came, down the corridor leading to the gardens. If I’m in luck, the entrance to the gardens will still be sealed off, and it will only be able to run so far.
    I slow as the entrance to the corridor closes over me. Emergency lights still flash, flipping the walls and floor from yellow to gray. A small dark shape moves at the far end, creeping across the floor. It turns and freezes. Its eyes flash at me, an eerie phosphorescence in the near dark.
    A chill runs up my spine. A cat? I’ve heard of ships keeping them as good-luck charms and rat catchers, a throwback to the time when we had only Earth’s seas to explore. The Ranganathan doesn’t keep cats. Its vents are seeded with rodent-repelling biomarkers, and a top-of-the-line research vessel doesn’t need to rely on superstition to make a safe flight.
    Get the cat. Get out, I tell myself. The less time I spendin this yellow twilight, the better. I keep thinking I see shadows in the corner of my eye.
    â€œHere, cat.” I crouch and move forward slowly with my hand out, feeling more than a little ridiculous. I signed up for first response duty to save lives, not chase down pets. And I don’t even particularly like cats. I’m definitely not letting a dakait take me down for one.
    The animal’s eyes go wide, and it slinks off.
    â€œDammit,” I mutter, and follow. I try not to frighten it, but any time I start to close the distance, it startles and bolts ahead. The dakait ’s smile plays over in my head, and I squeeze my nails into the nerveless flesh of my palms. Ava would know what to do. She’s good with animals in a way I’ve never been, except when it comes to horses. I try to picture her and Rushil calling the half-feral cats that skulk around their salvage and repair shipyard. I kneel in the middle of the corridor and clear my throat. The cat watches me warily from a distance.
    â€œHeeere, cat,” I trill in my highest voice, hoping this is not the last thing I say before being knocked unconscious. I swallow and purse my lips to make a kissing noise I’ve seen Rushil do to call the strays. “Here, kitty-kitty.”
    The cat holds perfectly still, sizing me up, no doubt, and then takes a hesitant step in my direction.
    â€œThat’s right.” I drum my fingers on the floor and make the kissing noise again. “Come here, you little sidey bastard.”
    It pads closer, still eyeing me warily. Soot cakes its body, and the fur of its low-dragging tail is singed. It lets out a soft, hoarse mew .
    Guilt softens my voice. I would bolt, too, if I had almost burned to death and some strange giant was chasing me. “Here, little guy.” I hold out my hand again, and it bumps my palm with its head.
    â€œOkay, very good.” I coax it closer until it rubs against my leg, leaving a sooty streak on my uniform. “Nice cat.”
    I pick it and hold it against my chest. It hooks its claws into my shirt and presses its small body against me. Its heart beats out a rapid thump-thump , and a slight wheeze accompanies its every breath. It won’t stop trembling.
    â€œHey, it’s okay.” I stroke the cat awkwardly. “Don’t be scared. Everything’s okay.” The last