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thing I need is this thing developing supraventricular tachycardia and dying on me. Then I’d be stuck in quarantine until one of the senior medics got around to doing an autopsy.
    I make my way back to the dock, the cat clinging to me the whole time. The crowd has thinned, and the only sign of the fire is a blue haze hanging in the air. The cat mewls hoarsely at me.
    The girl I saw earlier, the one carrying the toddler, stands facing the first response captain, her hands planted on her hips. She can’t be more than my age—my real age, not the one on my records. Oily ash covers her clothes and streaks her skin. Soot weighs down her hair.
    â€œWhat do you mean, you’re not going after them?” The smoke has left her voice low and hoarse, and something about it hits me dead in the chest. The glassy sea. Ava skimming the sloop over the water after the storm, when we still thought we might find survivors. When I was hanging on to a thread of hope that we might still find my manman.
    â€œThey have my brother. You have to go after them. You have to get him back.” The girl’s voice cracks, and she falls into a coughing fit.
    The deck captain waits until she can breathe again. “Miss.” She sounds weary. “This is a 128,000-acre research ship. Even if we could spare the fuel to change course, we could never outpace a dakait ship. They’re designed for one thing we’re not, and that’s speed.”
    The girl wipes soot from her eyes. “You have those fighters. They could take them down.”
    The deck captain shakes her head. “They’re short- range only. They gave chase as long as they could.”
    â€œSome help they were.” The girl hugs her arms toherself. “They let them get away. You couldn’t catch a single one?”
    The deck captain presses her lips into a line.
    I hold the cat tighter. They didn’t catch any of the dakait ? A whole DSRI research ship kitted out with fighters and guards, and they still got away? The image of the dakait ’sboot slipping away flashes through my mind, followed by a wave of shame. They didn’t let them get away; we did. I did.
    â€œLet me talk to your captain,” the girl says.
    â€œCommander,” the deck captain corrects.
    â€œCaptain, commander, I don’t care.” Her voice trembles. “Don’t you know what they’ll do to him?”
    The deck captain shifts her feet, weary. “I truly am sorry, miss. You can speak to the commander if you wish, of course.” She waves over one of the medics stowing empty oxygen tanks in a cart. “But first we have to check you over. You’ve been through quite an ordeal—high carbon dioxide exposure, dermal burns . . .”
    â€œI’m fine,” the girl growls as the medic presses a stethoscopic meter to her chest.
    â€œPlease, miss,” the medic says. “We’re trying to help you.”
    The deck captain turns away and nearly walks into me.“Oh.” Relief flashes across her face. “You caught it.”
    â€œYes.” Behind her, the medics lead the girl to one of the gurneys.
    â€œVery good, crew member . . . ?” She trails off, unsure of my name.
    â€œSpecialist Guiteau. I’m one of Dr. Osmani’s assistants,” I say.
    â€œDr. Osmani? You’re in biology, then?”
    â€œSort of.” I look past her to the girl, lying on the gurney with her hands over her eyes. “My specialties are more in biomorphology and biomimesis, but . . .”
    â€œNo, that’s perfect,” she interrupts. “You’re exactly the person to take care of this problem.” She gestures at the cat.
    My eyes go as wide as the cat’s. “Me? But . . . no, I don’t—”
    She nods. “You’ve done well with it so far. And if that animal is carrying any diseases, you’ve probably already been exposed to them. I can’t think of a better