Chapter 27: THE SURVIVORS
Three of them, huddled behind a barricade that had been built from medical equipment and furniture. Scientists, based on their clothing—lab coats stained with fluids I didn't want to identify, faces pale with terror and exhaustion.
One of them raised a makeshift weapon when we approached—a surgical tool modified into something that might have been effective against unarmed targets. Against us, it was nothing.
"We're here to help," Holden said, raising his hands. "Rocinante crew. We're not infected."
"Everyone's infected." The speaker was a woman, middle-aged, her voice cracked from dehydration. "Everyone who didn't get into the shelters. Everyone who..."
"We came from outside," I said. "We're not part of the station population. We're here looking for survivors."
The woman studied us—really looked, assessing our suits, our weapons, the fact that we were moving freely through a nightmare that should have killed us. Slowly, she lowered her improvised weapon.
"You shouldn't be here. No one should be here. This place is..."
"Death," Miller said flatly. "We know. Tell us what happened."
They told us.
Protogen had announced a radiation leak—a cover story that explained the evacuation protocols without causing panic. Everyone had been directed to emergency shelters, packed together like cattle waiting for slaughter.
Then the ventilation systems had activated. And the shelters had become infection chambers.
"It was deliberate," the woman—Dr. Chen, according to her badge—explained. "They wanted maximum exposure. Maximum data collection. We were just..." Her voice broke. "We were just lab rats to them."
"How did you survive?" Naomi asked.
"We were in decontamination when it started. Sealed system, independent air supply. By the time we realized something was wrong, the shelters were already..." Chen couldn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
"Julie Mao," Miller interrupted. "Young woman, dark hair, probably arrived on a shuttle two weeks before the incident. Did you see her?"
Chen's expression shifted—recognition, and something else. Something like pity.
"She was already infected when she arrived. Fighting it, somehow. Holding on longer than anyone should have been able to." Chen looked away. "I treated her as best I could. But the infection was too advanced. Too integrated."
"Where is she now?"
"She went deeper. Toward the casino level. Said she could hear something calling her." Chen met Miller's eyes. "I don't know if she's alive. I don't know if any of us are really alive anymore."
Miller's jaw tightened. But he didn't break. Didn't shatter the way a lesser man might have.
"Then I'll find out," he said.
The infected breached our perimeter during the debriefing.
One of them—what had been a man, before the transformation—crashed through a maintenance panel and lunged toward Dr. Chen. Amos intercepted, driving it back with brute force. Miller put it down with three precise shots.
But the chaos had consequences.
Combat in close quarters. Bodies in motion, walls that weren't quite solid, the organic growth that covered everything reaching for new hosts. I moved to protect one of the survivors, blocked a reaching tendril with my arm—
—and felt the suit tear.
Biomass on my skin. Direct contact. The blue filaments touching flesh that should have been vulnerable, should have been consumed, should have become part of the protomolecule's endless hunger.
Everyone froze.
"Kwame." Naomi's voice was tight. "Your suit—"
"I know." I looked at my arm, at the blue growth that had touched bare skin. Waited for the burning, the transformation, the beginning of the end.
It didn't come.
Warmth spread through my arm, then faded. The biomass... retreated. Not consuming, not integrating, just withdrawing like it had encountered something it couldn't process.
"I'm fine," I said. "The suit stayed sealed."
It hadn't. We all knew it hadn't. But the others were too shocked to challenge the lie, and I wasn't ready to explain something I didn't understand myself.
"We need to move," Amos said finally. His eyes were on me, calculating, filing away information he'd use later. "This position isn't defensible."
"The survivors need to get to our ship," Holden agreed. "We can escort them to the docks—"
"No." Miller's voice cut through the discussion. "Julie's in the casino level. I'm going after her."
"Miller, we need to stick together—"
"I've been chasing her across half the solar system. I'm not stopping now." He checked his weapon, met Holden's eyes. "Get these people to safety. I'll handle the rest."
"You'll die alone."
"Maybe." Miller shrugged. "Wouldn't be the worst way to go."
The silence stretched between us. I watched the detective—his haunted eyes, his steady hands, the particular calm of a man who'd already accepted his own death.
"I'm coming with you," I said.
Everyone turned.
"Someone has to watch his back. And I can..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "I can handle the environment better than most."
"I noticed," Amos said quietly. He stepped forward. "Make it three. Holden, you get the survivors out. We'll handle the detective's crusade."
Holden looked like he wanted to argue. But he was a good captain—he knew when to trust his crew.
"Get in, get answers, get out," he said. "We'll have the Rocinante ready for immediate departure."
"Understood."
Miller was already moving toward the corridor that led deeper into the station. Toward the casino level. Toward Julie Mao, or whatever was left of her.
I followed, Amos at my side, walking into a nightmare that was about to get worse.
Julie Mao was close.
And something on Eros was waiting to see what we would do.
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