A seizure. Guy’s having a seizure.

Other people barge into the room—NASA physicians, engineers—and ask Levi questions about the stimulation protocol. He answers as best as he can, still holding Guy in his arms as the doctors work around them.

It’s because of Penny. Levi knows what to do because of Penny.

There’s mayhem everywhere. People running in the hallways, in and out of the control room, screaming, swearing, asking questions without replies.

Some are directed at me, but I cannot answer, cannot do anything but stare at Guy’s face, at the way Levi is cradling him. I collapse back in my chair.

After a minute or an hour, my eyes drift away.

The helmet is on the floor, rolled to the farthest corner of the room.

• • •

“—IS KOWALSKY?”

“He was driven to the hospital.”

“—going to be okay?”

“Yeah, he regained consciousness. It’s just a checkup, but—”

“—they gave him a fucking seizure, what is—”

“What a disaster—”

“—the end of BLINK, for sure. God, the incompetence.”

I’m a fortress. I’m impenetrable. I’m not even here. I don’t look at anyone. I try my best not to listen as I walk to Boris’s office after he hissed at me to be there stat. It was four and a half minutes ago. I should hurry.

I knock when I arrive, but enter before being invited to come in. Levi’s already inside, staring at the pretty green of the Space Center outside the square window. I ignore him. Even when I feel his eyes on me, the prickle of a glance asking for a response, I ignore him.

I wonder what he’s thinking. Then I don’t wonder anymore: it probably cannot be borne anyway.

“Where was the error?” Boris asks from behind the desk. He always looks tired and disheveled, but if he told me he was just run over by a truck, I’d believe him. I can’t begin to comprehend the repercussions of today’s events. For him. For NASA. For Levi.

“Yet unclear,” Levi says, holding his eyes. “We’re looking into it.”

“Was there a hardware malfunction?”

“We’re ascertaining whether—”

“Bullshit.”

A brief silence. “As soon as we know, you’ll know.”

“Levi, you see me as a paper pusher—you’re probably right, I have become one. But let me remind you that I do have a degree in engineering, plus a couple of decades of experience on you, and while I’m by no means the creative genius you are, I’m well aware that it won’t take you three weeks of system analyses to figure out whether there was a malfunction on the hardware side or—”

“There wasn’t,” I interrupt. They both turn to me, but I only look at Boris.

“At least, I doubt it. I haven’t run any analytics, but I’m sure the error was in the stimulation

protocol.” I swallow. “On my side.”

He nods, tight-lipped. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. My guess is that the stimulation was too intense or too high-frequency, and either displaced or too diffuse. This caused widespread neuronal misfiring—” “Okay.” He nods again. “How did it happen?”

“That I don’t know. We spent weeks mapping Guy’s brain, and nothing like that ever happened. The protocol was tailored to him.” I bend my head, staring down at my hands. I’m wringing my nonna’s ring. As usual. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“No, it won’t.” He runs a hand down his face. “BLINK’s over.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath—Levi’s. I look up. “What?”

“This is not a mistake I can tolerate. You took someone who went through years of astronaut training and had him in a puddle on the floor.

Guy’s fine, but what if the next astronaut isn’t?”

I shake my head. “There won’t be a next astronaut—”

“There should have been no astronauts. Especially not in front of half of NASA!”

“Boris.” Levi is standing behind me. Probably a little too close. “We tested this protocol over ten times. Nothing similar ever happened. You rushed the demonstration when we could have waited weeks—”

“And you vouched for Bee when NIH sent her here, and she gave a seizure to one of my astronauts!” Boris clenches his jaw, trying to calm down. “Levi, I don’t blame you—”

A loud knock. The door opens, and things get even worse.

No. Not Trevor, please. Not when I’m at my lowest.

And yet, Boris gestures for him to come in. “We were just discussing . . .”

“I heard.” He shrugs darkly. “You weren’t exactly quiet. So,” he says, clapping his hands, “I smoothed things over with the congressmen. Told them BLINK’s still salvageable.”

“Wait.” Boris frowns. I might throw up. “I understand there are many interests at play here, but not so fast. Clearly something went very wrong, and—”

“Someone,” Trevor interrupts. The look he gives me is full of contempt.

“I heard what you were saying. Clearly the problems were with one specific person, and they can be solved by eliminating the weak link and putting another NIH researcher on the project. Josh Martin and Hank Malik applied for the position, too.”

“Are you an idiot?” Levi takes a step toward Trevor, looming over him.

“You have no knowledge of your own scientists if you think Dr. Königswasser is a weak link—”

“Excuse me,” I say. My voice is shaking. I can’t cry, not now. “I don’t think I’m needed for this conversation. I’ll check on Guy and . . .” Clear out my things.

Yeah.