For half a heartbeat, a stupid, fragile hope sparks in my chest.
They’ll catch it here.
Deep Space 12 is an IHC hub. Layers of security. Biofilters. AI oversight. A thousand protocols stacked on top of each other like armor plates. If anything in human space should be able to see what Ciampa’s carrying—whatwe’recarrying—it’s this place.
The docking clamps engage with a heavythunkthat I feel through the chair strapped to my spine. The ship shudders, settles.
We’ve arrived.
I hold my breath.
Nothing happens.
No alarms. No lockdown shutters slamming shut. No hard command voices barking through the intercom.
Instead, the docking tunnel extends. Seals engage. Atmospheres equalize.
And then the doors open.
Ciampa steps out first, calm as a priest entering a temple. Darwin follows, hands folded, head tilted slightly as if listening to something I can’t hear. The rest of the crew trails after them, faces soft, eyes bright, smiles…ready.
I lean forward in my restraints, pulse pounding.
“Don’t,” I whisper, though no one can hear me. “Don’t let them?—”
The station greets them.
A junior officer appears at the end of the docking tube, tablet in hand. She smiles professionally, already talking. I can’t hear the words, but I see the shape of them.Welcome. Clearance. Purpose of visit.
Ciampa answers.
He gestures.
And then—gods help me—someone laughs.
The sound carries faintly through the bulkheads, distorted but unmistakable. It’s light. Friendly. Human.
The officer nods. Taps her tablet. Waves them through.
Just like that.
I sag back against the restraints, dread blooming cold and heavy in my gut.
They don’t even scan them.
Or maybe they do—and it doesn’t matter.
Because the spores don’t wait.
They don’t need clearance.
They move faster than procedure, faster than suspicion. They ride on breath and skin and sound. And when the station’sinternal comms ping to life—routine announcements, docking confirmations, traffic advisories—the song slips in with them.
At first, it’s nothing.
Just a faint harmonic under the white noise of station life. A vibration so low it barely registers. Engineers pause mid-step, brows furrowing. A tech scratches at his ear. Someone hums without realizing they’ve started.
The first time I hear it clearly, it’s over the lab’s internal speaker.
