Pain fired up Becca’s hips and across the bony ridges of her ribs as Ethan dragged her through the hatch. She rolled onto the habitat floor as he slammed the conduit closed before throwing the watertight deadlocks. Ethan collapsed onto his knees, his chest heaving as he ripped the rebreather from his face.

Becca turned away from him, her body disconnected, her limbs loose and boneless. Above her, lighting buzzed on and off erratically, shorting from damage incurred by the depth charges. A bulb shattered, raining glass onto the floor but Becca barely flinched. Aimee sent the Lady to the surface without us. Her brain struggled to compute the enormity of the situation.

Strong hands locked under her underarms and dragged her upright, then Ethan worked the straps of her face mask, freeing her hair in painful snatches. The mask released, and the stale air of the habitat infiltrated her nostrils once more.

God. No.

Ethan was above her, his mouth moving, his face contorted, but her ears were still ringing from the depth charges, drowning out his voice.

Becca gasped and finally surfaced from the sucking murk of her thoughts as if from under toxic water. Her stomach muscles contracted, and she wheezed, clutching her sides as the world crashed back into brittle focus.

“Becca!”

“I’m fine,” she croaked, her lungs finally working and her heart pumping blood again. One by one, her limbs reconnected to her body, arms, legs, and head. The thump of her pulse faded as Ethan held the back of her head against his chest, engulfing her in a bear hug.

“I thought I was going to lose you.” His torso trembled, his voice catching. “I’ve only just found you again. Jesus.” He kissed her forehead, his breath hot and alive against her skin.

Becca raised an arm and touched the warmth of his cheek. Hot blood still roared in his veins, despite Aimee’s intervention. Nausea shifted within Becca to something more potent. Fury.

Aimee did this.

Becca rubbed her eyes. “What the hell?” she muttered, under her breath. She lifted her face. “Aimee. Explain yourself.”

Nothing.

“Aimee. Respond.”

“My apologies, Dr. Johnson.”

Ethan’s eyes widened.

Becca held a finger to her lips. “Why did you launch the Lady?”

“Company Directive 20.1. Minimization of loss of life. My extrapolations indicated that the Gray Lady needed to leave. Any delay would’ve jeopardized the launch.”

“Stranding us was a calculation?”

“Yes, Dr. Johnson. It was an accurate calculation to enable minimal loss of life. Research data was also secured on the Gray Lady. Research recovery overrides human safety. Company Directive 20.2.”

Becca spluttered, “What?”

“Research recovery overrides human safety. Human lives expendable. Date point January 26^th, 2035. Research priority one,” Aimee intoned.

Ethan frowned. “That was yesterday.”

Becca stood up. “Are you telling me that, thanks to a new directive created yesterday, you closed the doors because it was more important that the research made it to the surface than that Ethan and I survived?”

“That is correct, Dr. Johnson.”

“Why, you…”

Becca grabbed a chair and threw it at the ceiling. An animal scream erupted from her, tearing at her vocal cords as the chair clattered across the floor.

“Dr. Johnson…”

“Don’t fucking Dr. Johnson me, you bitch!”

Becca picked up another chair, but this time she ran with it toward Aimee’s interface. The screen shattered with a satisfying crack under the driving force of the metal chair legs and exploded in a perfect corona of greenish-blue glass. Shards scattered in an impossibly wide circle across the floor.

Becca dropped the chair, her breath coming in ragged pants. She wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot. She picked up Em’s screwdriver from the counter and hacked at the remnants of the screen. The metal dented, and slivers of glass stung her face. Becca didn’t care. Thick, black rage flowed through her and she wasn’t going to stop it.

Over the racket of her bludgeoning, Aimee was squawking, “Dr. Johnson, please refrain…”

Becca ignored the psychotic machine and hammered even harder. Blood blurred her vision.

Ethan caught her hand on an upswing, bringing her to an abrupt halt. “Becca.”

She swiped loose hair from her face with her free hand and jerked her wrist ineffectually against his firm grasp.

“Enough. We have to get out of here.” His voice was soothing and she lowered her hand.

He was right. She needed to conserve her energy. She stared at the computer console. There wasn’t time to do all the damage she wanted to inflict. She glared and swallowed, her mouth bitter from blood where her teeth had punctured her tongue. She released the screwdriver and exhaled a long, shuddering breath, wrestling to bring herself back under control.

Ethan guided her across the room to the holo-map. “Come on.”

It was still illuminated, although it kept blinking out of focus.

A low, creaking groan shifted through the ceiling above.

Ethan’s gazed at the distorted ceiling panels. “We haven’t got much time. The bulkheads are stressed and failing. Once they start with the depth charges again, it’ll be all be over.” He peered at the map, his brow furrowing.

Light flickered on and off under the console, bathing Ethan’s face in an irregular wash of blue and white light. “This,” he said. “Talk me through the logistics, Becca. All of it and don’t miss anything out.”